Ji Hoon looked around before taking the last free seat in the corner. His eyes swept over the chamber—by his quick count, there were at least a dozen groups, each with six members. That meant seventy, maybe more, contestants packed into this one hall.
'Would I really pass against all of these people…?'
As his thoughts wandered, heavy footsteps echoed toward him. A tall, broad-shouldered man, the kind whose presence filled the space, approached with three other boys trailing behind him like shadows. Ji Hoon straightened instinctively.
'Should've brought Adrine with me…' he thought with a small pang of regret.
The other youth in their group and the lone girl remained where they were, watching silently, as if curious to see what would happen.
The tall man stopped in front of Ji Hoon, smirking, his gaze drifting down to Ji Hoon's tailored clothes. His voice came out rough, dripping with derision.
"Fancy outfit, kid. What are you, a noble?"
Ji Hoon met his eyes steadily. "…Yes, I am."
The man's eye twitched. Then, suddenly, he threw his head back and barked out a laugh.
"Hahahaha! Hey, everyone—look at this! We've got a noble in the kitchen!"
Heads turned, murmurs rippled, and Ji Hoon felt dozens of judging eyes land on him. The big man leaned closer, smirk widening.
"This isn't some ballroom game, rich boy. This is cooking. Real cooking. You sure you won't burn your delicate little hands?"
The three boys behind him snickered, chiming in.
"Maybe he thought this was a tea party."
"Probably here to play cook until the heat makes him cry."
"Better run back to your mansion before you get embarrassed."
Their laughter echoed in the room, feeding the whispers of others who watched. Ji Hoon let them finish, his expression calm, his voice even when he finally spoke to them.
"…Anyone is allowed to enter this competition. Noble, commoner, or slave—it doesn't matter. Only skill decides who stays."
The tall man sneered, unimpressed. "Big words. But words won't save you when you're standing in front of the stove."
Ji Hoon leaned back slightly in his chair, his silver hair catching the light. His lips curved into the faintest of smirks.
"Good. Then I'll let my food do the talking."
The quiet confidence in his tone cut sharper than any retort. For a moment, even the bullies faltered, their grins twitching as if they hadn't expected such composure.
The girl who'd been watching from the side raised an eyebrow, almost amused. The silent youth glanced at Ji Hoon, then back at the group, but said nothing.
The big man clicked his tongue, scoffing. "Hmph. We'll see if you can back that up."
But the way Ji Hoon sat, unshaken in the face of their mockery, left a different impression in the minds of the onlookers.
"Group 45 to 50, please proceed to your respective rooms!" a young clerk's clear voice rang out across the hall.
Ji Hoon glanced down at his tag.
'53… looks like I'll be waiting for a while.'
He exhaled quietly and sat back, watching as clusters of contestants shuffled toward the doors on the right side of the room. Six groups at a time, disappearing behind those heavy doors that seemed more like trial gates than simple hallways.
The waiting dragged on. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as Ji Hoon sat, tapping his finger lightly against the wooden tag in his hand. The air around them grew heavier, quieter, filled with unspoken nerves.
At last, the doors opened and the first group—group 45 among the six groups that entered came out.
Dozens of heads turned at once as the first batch of contestants stepped out. Everyone's eyes searched for the telltale sign—the clerk guiding someone to the "passing" line marked on the far side of the hall.
But… no one moved.
Every single cook who walked out kept their heads lowered, faces pale, expressions grim. Not one of them dared look at the crowd. The silence was suffocating.
'They… didn't pass?' Ji Hoon blinked, his gut tightening.
The hall rippled with uneasy murmurs.
"Not even one…"
"Seriously? All six members failed?"
"Then what kind of test is it in there?"
Before the shock could settle, another Six more defeated figures walked out—eyes down, steps dragging, the weight of failure clinging to their backs.
Two group failed. Three groups failed. Four groups failed. Five.
In three hours, thirty contestants had gone in… and thirty had failed.
Ji Hoon's hands tightened around his tag, his heartbeat louder than the chatter around him. 'Out of so many, not even one?'
The air in the waiting room was starting to curdle into fear.
"Do we really have a chance?" someone whispered.
"I heard the ICC's standards were high this year, but this is insane!"
"If even they couldn't pass, what about us…?"
Ji Hoon looked around and could see it: confidence cracking, shoulders slumping, whispers feeding doubt like wildfire. The tension was almost unbearable.
Then came the last group from the six groups that went in. The door swung open once more, and six more contestants filed out. Their faces were mixed—some disappointed, some completely broken. But this time…
One young boy with short purple hair and sharp almond-shaped eyes didn't join the others on the "fail" side. Instead, he walked forward—straight into the passing line.
The first one.
Gasps and whispers immediately surged through the waiting hall.
"Finally, someone passed!"
"So it is possible!"
"Look at him—he doesn't even look shaken…"
A thin thread of hope wove through the crowd, fragile but alive.
Ji Hoon exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing with new resolve. 'So… it's not impossible. That's enough.'
But before Ji Hoon could let the relief settle, the clerk's voice rang out again.
"Groups 51 to 56, please continue to your assigned rooms!"
Ji Hoon rose from his seat, clutching his tag. His steps carried him toward Room C, where his number matched. Just as he reached the doorway, a large shadow loomed.
The massive man from earlier shoved past him with a mocking laugh, his three companions trailing behind like hyenas. They sauntered in before Ji Hoon as if the place belonged to them.
Ji Hoon sighed softly, ignoring the provocation. So childish. He stepped inside.
The room was spacious but suffocating, its stone walls reflecting the glow of overhead chandeliers. Six polished cooking stations stood arranged in two neat rows, each equipped with basic utensils, a cutting board, and gleaming metal counters. At the far end, an elevated table stretched across the room.
And behind it sat the judges.
Three of them, each radiating their own kind of pressure.
The first was a middle-aged man with a sharp goatee, his posture straight as a spear. His robes carried the insignia of the Ministry of Food, and his hawk-like eyes scanned the contestants with merciless precision.
Beside him sat a plump, cheerful-looking woman in a red dress, but her expression wasn't soft. Her hands were folded, her gaze firm, as though she could dissect a dish before even tasting it.
On the other end was a younger man, perhaps in his thirties, dressed in a deep green coat embroidered with golden threads. His calm, half-smiling demeanor gave him the air of someone impossible to read—a judge who could praise you with words that cut deeper than criticism.
Ji Hoon straightened his back, feeling their combined weight pressing down on him.
He wasn't alone. Five other contestants lined up at their stations.
The hulking brute from earlier, grinning as though this were already his victory. Three boys—two who seemed in their thirties, nervous energy in their steps, and one with a sly, foxlike grin.
A single girl, calm and serious, her long black hair tied neatly back. And finally, Ji Hoon himself, quiet but observant, standing at the end.
The lead judge with the goatee rose slightly, voice cutting through the silence.
"Welcome, contestants of Group Fifty-Three."
The six straightened unconsciously, even the brute.
"You've all reached this stage after registering, but remember this well—the preliminaries are not here to flatter you. They exist to expose the unworthy. In this round, you are working alone. No assistants. No second chances." His gaze hardened. "You will prepare three identical portions, one for each of us."
Murmurs rippled among the six.
"You are given two hours," he continued, his tone colder than steel. "And know this—the group before you produced nothing worthy of passing. If you do not meet our standard, you will leave with nothing."
The room chilled instantly. Even Ji Hoon felt his pulse quicken.
The plump woman judge leaned forward, her voice firmer than her smile. "We are not interested in half-hearted efforts. Show us skill, precision, and understanding of flavor. Nothing less."
The green-coated man gave a faint smirk, his words deceptively soft. "In short… impress us or vanish. And more importantly, don't forget the theme."
Ji Hoon caught the nervous shuffles of the three younger boys, even the brute's grin twitching slightly.
The lead judge reached down and grasped the large hourglass on the table. With deliberate slowness, he flipped it over. Golden sand began to fall.
"Your time begins—now!"
The announcement cracked like a whip.
Instantly, the six contestants surged into motion, footsteps echoing as they hurried toward the storeroom at the side of the chamber.
Ji Hoon moved quickly but calmly, weaving past the brute who shoved someone aside to snatch ingredients first. He entered the storeroom, the air rich with the scent of flour, sugar, and spices. Shelves stretched high, stacked with jars, sacks, and crates of every basic necessity.
Ji Hoon's eyes scanned everything swiftly, and his lips curved into a small smile.
'Yes… this will do.'
One by one, he gathered his choices: Water, Butter, Salt, Cornstarch, Whole milk, Flour, a vanilla bean, Granulated sugar, Cocoa powder and at last Heavy cream.
His arms weighed down with the essentials, he returned to his station. He laid the ingredients carefully across his counter, lining them up in order like a general preparing his soldiers for battle.
He brushed his fingers along the smooth pod of vanilla and thought to himself, 'They want to see our foundations and be impressed,' he smirked. 'Then I'll show them a dessert that uses the theme: egg and shows the basic foundation, a dessert loved so much that its name means 'flash of lightning ', because of how quickly it is eaten in a flash.'
The aroma of possibility was already filling his mind.