Chapter 19
Chapter 19
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: The Tyrant's Verbal Blunder
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Meanwhile, Del BlackStone was shooting piercing glares at the participants.
On the surface, he looked every bit the stern and imposing judge...
But inside, he was deeply uncomfortable and frustrated.
A few days ago, what had his second son said?
- "Father, just sit in the VIP seats, enjoy some delicious food, and watch."
He had fallen for those sweet words, starving himself since morning in eager anticipation.
Instead of VIP seats, he ended up in a judge's role he never imagined for himself.
And the script that Leban had slipped him earlier with a "for reference" was even worse.
[Recommended Dialogue Examples]
- "The only place fit for eating your cooking is the trash can."
- "It's food that belongs in a hellish banquet hall."
- "It'd be cleaner to cook it out your ass!"
Del's eyebrow twitched violently.
'...He wants me to say this vulgar crap?'
He was so appalled that he shot a glare at Leban in the corner of the set.
But the boy, oblivious to his father's feelings, was cheerfully giving a thumbs-up with a big grin.
'That insolent brat...'
But the stage was set, and countless participants were watching him.
As the king's representative, Court Count Del BlackStone couldn't back out disgracefully now.
Del swallowed a deep sigh and forcibly furrowed his brow.
What choice did he have?
He had come this far already.
For today, he would play the nitpicking critic his son wanted.
"Don't think you can fool my eyes. Any team with poor hygiene or a messy cooking process won't even get a chance to submit their dish!"
As his stern declaration rang out,
Ding-!
The bell signaling the start of full-scale cooking echoed through the arena.
"Get the flour! Butter and sugar too!"
"Meat! We need to grab the meat first!"
"Run!! We don't have time!"
In the short time allotted, they seemed to have somehow settled on their menus.
All teams sprang into action, scrambling to claim the ingredients they needed.
Meylin was returning to her station, carrying a basket full of whole chickens.
After huddling together, the three had agreed on oven-roasted chicken.
Joel, the ex-army cook, would prepare the chicken; Samuel would apply a special royal sauce he'd learned as a royal chef; and Meylin would roast it to perfection with her keen temperature sense. It would play to all their strengths and produce a flawless dish.
Plus, chicken was an ingredient almost everyone liked, with little room for dislike.
However, as she waited for the oven to heat up, Meylin's expression darkened.
She scanned the surrounding stations with a serious look.
The team next to them was dumping sugar into pancake batter; the one in front was butchering an entire pig's foreleg.
Somewhere, the whirring of whipped meringue rang out; elsewhere, the sweet aroma of simmering syrup filled the air.
"Uncle Samuel..."
"Hm? What's wrong?"
Meylin let out a deep sigh with a worried face.
"Everyone... seems to be thinking the same thing. It's all sweet or greasy dishes."
Samuel paused his work and looked around.
Indeed, as she said, the air was thick with the scents of sugar and oil everywhere.
"Won't the kids get sick of the food too quickly like this? And... suddenly eating a ton of greasy stuff could upset their stomachs."
"You have a point. But... we can't exactly do a vegetable dish. In a place full of meat and sweets, what kid would choose to eat grass?"
This was a survival show.
Health was nice, but surviving came first, didn't it?
Meylin bit her lip.
At that moment, a brilliant idea flashed through her mind.
"I have a great idea!"
"A great idea?"
"A dish that even kids who hate vegetables will love—one that's vegetable-heavy for easy digestion and soothing to the stomach!"
"Does such a dish exist?"
To Samuel's question, she replied confidently.
"Chop meat and vegetables fine, stir-fry in tomato sauce, then cover with mashed potatoes like a blanket and bake!"
"Hm... You're talking about cottage pie. It's certainly soft and easy to digest."
But Samuel's expression wasn't bright.
"But Meylin. Won't it look too plain? Next to flashy pastries or whole roasts, kids won't even glance at it."
At those words, Meylin fell silent.
It was a choice that risked elimination.
Sticking to the original plan of roast chicken, she was confident they wouldn't drop out.
Silence fell over the three for a moment.
Around them, the aromas of butter and roasting meat were already wafting.
Amid that tempting scent, they had to decide.
A moment later, Meylin cautiously asked,
"Should we... just stick to the original plan and roast the chicken?"
At that, Joel, who had been silently prepping the chicken, spoke up.
"No, the little miss is right."
He wiped his sweat and looked at Meylin with an approving expression.
"I've got a six-year-old daughter this year. Thinking of her coming home from out with a bellyache from greasy sweets... it's horrifying. At least one team should make something healthy to soothe the kids' stomachs, don't you think?"
Then Joel rubbed under his nose and chuckled.
"Even if it means we get eliminated. A cook has to think of the eaters first."
At those words, Samuel's eyes changed.
He had once been a royal chef.
The pride of tending the royal table.
That feeling he thought forgotten stirred in a corner of his heart.
"...You're right. We can't abandon a cook's duty for mere victory or defeat. Sorry. My thinking was shortsighted."
Samuel smiled kindly at Meylin.
"Instead... we have to make it really delicious. Think we can? No point if the kids won't eat it after all."
With the adults' solid support, Meylin's face lit up brightly.
"Yes! I'll make the world's tastiest cottage pie!"
And so, Meylin's team changed course.
The prepped chicken went into a bubbling pot as broth stock, and the three hauled in mountains of vegetables to finely chop for the sudden menu switch.
Chop chop chop chop!
The lively knife sounds announced the start of Meylin's team's cooking.
A start much later than the others.
A simple menu without flash or stimulating scents.
But on their faces, as they peeled potatoes and chopped vegetables without rest,
there was not a trace of hesitation or regret.
The arena was filled with the clash of knives, sizzling oil, and shouts.
But even in that heat, one spot had a chilling atmosphere.
It was where today's special judge, Count Del BlackStone, stood.
'Leban, you punk... you're in for it when we get home.'
But contrary to his grumbling thoughts, his eyes scanning the stations were sharply gleaming.
He was the type who couldn't stand sloppiness in anything.
Though thrust into the judge role unexpectedly, a sense of duty burned to oversee the children's food even more rigorously.
Thanks to that, the participants were dying.
Matching with unfamiliar teammates was hard enough, but they also had to watch the judge's mood while minding hygiene and cleanliness.
Whether his efforts worked, no major issues had erupted yet.
Just occasional minor pointers, like replacing a dirty rag or wiping an oil-splattered counter.
Then, Del BlackStone's gaze lingered on one participant.
A participant who seemed to have a cold, constantly sniffling.
Suddenly, he wiped his dripping runny nose and then kneaded the flour dough with that same hand.
'Look at that guy. A so-called cook without the basics. Got a cold and no mask. Time to chew him out.'
With an angry expression, Del strode over and stood before the participant, clicking his tongue.
"You planning to feed that dough to the kids?"
"Pardon? Is there a problem..."
"A problem, you say?"
At that instant, his son's scribbled note flashed in his mind.
The persuasive words about giving a strong warning now and then to instill caution.
Del resolved to give the participant a stern lecture and spat out with a hardened face,
"You're trash."
"Pardon??
The participant jumped in shock, and Del was even more shocked.
He had meant to say, "The only place fit for eating your cooking is the trash can," but tension made his words tangle.
"Ah, no. I mean... the only place for crap like that is the shitter."
In that instant, every participant who heard froze solid.
"Father! You're the best!!"
I rewound and replayed today's highlight scene, grinning ear to ear.
Know what most intuitively shows if a show among people is trending?
Catchphrases.
A well-crafted one spreads by word of mouth, drawing in more viewers.
And it gets repeated endlessly in daily life, extending the show's lifespan.
The most regrettable part of my footage had been the lack of a solid catchphrase...
But that roast? It's gonna live on forever, passed from mouth to mouth. I'm sure of it.
As expected of my father. I knew he had the talent.
Give a nitpicker like him a stage to unleash, and of course he'd shine.
"Um, is that... okay? There's the Court Count's reputation to consider..."
"It's fine! Father's image is so good, this won't scratch it!"
I waved off Lucia's concern like it was nothing.
We had footage of the participant kneading dough with snotty hands, and Father's strict principled image was already well-known.
This was well within acceptable bounds.
Besides, not using a scene like this? That'd be dereliction of PD duty!
Well... Father might see it differently,
but as long as he doesn't find out until editing's done, we're good!