couple years has pass
Kaino rarely watched cooking shows.
In his past life, he had dismissed them as noise—manufactured tension, exaggerated reactions, children praised too early for things that meant nothing in a real kitchen. Cooking, to him back then, had been quiet. Lonely. Earned in silence, not applause.
But this life was different.
The envelope arrived on a quiet afternoon, thick cream paper stamped with gold lettering. Keano St. Hunter opened it without ceremony, skimming the contents while standing near the kitchen island. His expression didn't change, but Kaino noticed the pause in his father's breathing—the slight stillness that meant something mattered.
"A kids' cooking challenge finale," Keano said calmly. "They want a guest judge."
Kaino looked up from the floor where he'd been practicing cuts with a wooden block. "Kids?"
"Yes."
Normally, that would've been the end of it. Kaino would've gone back to his practice. But something stirred—small, curious, unfamiliar.
He was nine now.
Nine years old, with burned fingers, blistered hands, and a growing understanding of what cooking demanded. He had watched professionals his entire life, but never his peers. Never people his own size, his own age, standing where he one day intended to stand.
"Can I come?" he asked.
The kitchen went quiet.
Keano looked down at him, surprised—not by the request, but by the certainty behind it. "You don't usually care for competitions."
"I didn't," Kaino said honestly. "But… I want to see."
Keano studied him for a long moment, then turned toward the living room. "Kaia?"
His daughter lay on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, nose buried in a book. "Hm?"
"Want to come with us tomorrow?"
She didn't even look up. "No."
Keano smiled faintly. "Why not?"
"I don't like cooking like that," she said simply. "Too loud. Too fake. Food should speak, not people."
Kaino glanced at her, then back at his father. "I want to go."
"You're sure?"
He nodded. "I'm nine."
That was enough.
The venue was nothing like the St. Hunter home.
Bright lights, polished floors, cables snaking across the ground like living things. Children in aprons hurried past, parents whispering instructions with tight smiles. The air smelled less like food and more like nerves—sweat, sugar, perfume, anticipation.
Kaino stayed close to his father, eyes wide, absorbing everything.
So this is what a stage feels like.
A tall man with silver hair approached them, laughter already in his voice. "Keano! Glad you made it."
The Head Judge.
They shook hands warmly. "It's been too long."
"You brought your famous son," the man said, crouching slightly to meet Kaino's eyes. "Nice to finally meet you."
Kaino bowed his head politely.
"I hear your daughter has an incredible palate," the judge continued. "Where's the young miss?"
"She stayed home," Keano replied. "She doesn't enjoy competition cooking."
The judge chuckled. "That's a good thing. Not everyone belongs on a stage."
Kaino felt that settle somewhere deep.
They walked past the contestant area, and that's when it happened.
Someone bumped into him.
Hard.
"Watch it," a sharp voice snapped.
Kaino stumbled, catching himself before falling. He looked up at a girl his age, arms crossed, chin tilted high. Her apron was pristine. Her badge glittered.
"I don't know you," she continued, eyes raking over him. "Which means you're not important."
Kaino blinked.
"I've been champion for three years," she went on, clearly enjoying herself. "Since I was seven. If you were anyone, I'd know."
Before Kaino could respond, another girl stepped between them.
"That's enough," she said calmly.
This one was different. Quiet eyes. Focused posture. No wasted movement. She looked at Kaino—not dismissively, not curiously, but thoughtfully.
"Leave him alone."
The cocky girl scoffed. "Whatever."
An intercom crackled overhead. "Finalists, please report to prep stations."
The two girls turned away. As they walked off, the quiet one glanced back once, eyes meeting Kaino's. Just for a second.
She nodded.
Minutes later, the Head Judge leaned down beside Kaino. "Want to sit in today?"
Kaino stiffened. "Me?"
"You won't be judging officially," the man said. "Just observe. Learn."
Keano placed a hand on Kaino's shoulder. "It's your choice."
Kaino swallowed.
Then nodded.
The stage lights were blinding.
Applause thundered through the studio as the judges were introduced. Kaino's heart pounded so loudly he thought the microphones might catch it.
"And our guest judges tonight," the host announced, smiling wide, "world-renowned chef Keano ST Hunter… and his son."
The crowd gasped.
Kaino felt it—the shift.
The cocky girl's confident grin faltered. Her eyes widened.
The quiet girl smiled. Just barely.
So that's why.
Kaino sat, hands folded in his lap, breathing slow. He didn't look away when the cooking began. He watched stations. Movements. Timing. Confidence built not on words, but repetition.
This wasn't about kids.
This was about chefs.
As the timer started, Kaino understood something new.
Stages don't make you strong.
Work does.
And one day—
He would stand here again.
Not as a guest.
Not as a child.
But as a chef.
The lights burned bright. The knives moved. And somewhere deep inside, destiny stirred.