Chapter 7
Chapter 7
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: The Long-Awaited Competition Day
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The much-anticipated day of the competition had arrived.
The open field outside the capital's encircling walls was already swarming with people from dawn, forming a sea of humanity.
On the ground that had been meticulously leveled by laborers over the past few weeks,
there stood a grid of ten rows and ten columns—exactly one hundred simple cooking stations lined up in perfect order.
The floor was covered with massive magic circles designed for communication, video transmission, and blocking external noise, while magic crystals installed everywhere whirred tirelessly, capturing the heat of the scene.
"My god... what the hell is all that?"
"I can't even see the end of those cooking stations!"
The onlookers peering at the spectacle whispered excitedly, their eyes sparkling.
But my feelings, tasked with overseeing it all, were a bit complicated.
"Whoa, there are seriously a ton of people here."
I checked if the dozens of magic crystals were properly filming the venue, then let out a deep sigh at the crowd gathered like clouds.
There were a whopping thousand applicants.
We couldn't cram all thousand into this cramped venue, so we'd divided them into ten groups of a hundred each. Even then, we'd have to run preliminaries all day long.
"Leban, mic sound check is done. Lighting magic circle is good too."
Lucia, who had been tinkering with complex magic circuits beside me, lifted her goggles and spoke.
Dark circles shadowed her eyes, but her gaze sparkled with curiosity.
I was tired too, but she'd probably gone without sleep checking the magic circles and crystals overnight.
If this shoot goes well, I should give her a fat bonus.
"Good work. Oh, just move crystals 14 and 26 a bit more to the left. Their views are overlapping with the others."
"Got it."
No need for detailed instructions—we moved like clockwork.
It had to be that way.
We'd done rehearsals for this day countless times.
From crystal positions to lighting angles, we'd spent dozens of hours debating head-to-head, reaching the point where we could read each other's intentions with just a glance.
At that moment, Marquis Frederick, who had been sitting quietly beside us, twiddled his mustache and asked slyly.
"Heh... since when did you two get so close? You're even on casual terms now. Anyone would think you're dating."
"...Pardon?"
"D-Dad!! Please don't say stuff like that! I've told you, I'm not thinking about marriage yet!"
Lucia shrieked, and the marquis grumbled, shrinking back a little.
"Ah, no. Who said anything about marriage... I just said it's nice seeing you two close."
At that instant,
the noon bell tolled from the city, and a soft glow began to emanate from the pre-set magic circles.
And simultaneously, a tall young man stepped onto the platform beside the cooking stations.
"Ah, ahh."
On the platform, our brother Lucius—hosting as the MC—tapped the mic with a stiff, rigid face, carefully checking it. His image was projected through the crystals.
The guy who wouldn't flinch before hundreds of soldiers seemed pretty tense in front of these mysterious magitech devices.
"Esteemed citizens of Ispellia, and challengers gathered here dreaming of culinary mastery."
'Nice, that's the stuff.'
But I trusted my brother.
He might not be entertaining, but his diction was crystal clear and precise.
His announcer-like enunciation and trustworthy voice would elevate the competition's dignity.
"We now commence the first preliminary round of Royal Chef Survival!"
Roooar—!!!
The crowd's cheers erupted.
Unfortunately, the magic circles blocked external noise, so we couldn't hear it.
I'd have to add crowd roar sound effects in post-production for this part.
My brother explained the rules in his calm, deliberate tone, enunciating each word sharply.
"The theme of the preliminary mission is... 'potato'."
Staff waiting nearby placed three potatoes on each participant's station with a thud, thud.
The participants' tense expressions instantly turned to bewilderment.
Lucius cleared his throat once, then declared sternly to the participants.
"Time limit: 30 minutes. Provided ingredients: three potatoes, seasonings, a bit of milk, and cheese. No meat, no vegetables. Satisfy the judges' palates using only these potatoes."
The moment he finished, murmurs of discontent rose here and there.
"Cook without meat or fish?"
"Only 30 minutes?"
"Potatoes? What the hell are we supposed to do with just potatoes?"
Listening to the uproar, I scratched my head in embarrassment.
'Sorry, budget ran short...'
It was all because way more participants showed up than expected.
A thousand people.
Providing meat or fish to everyone would've emptied our family vault before the main round even started. No choice...
So we'd chosen potatoes.
Cheap, abundant, and above all... perfect for weeding out the weak.
Irregular shapes make them hard to peel without waste, and the sprouts are poisonous—you absolutely can't eat them raw.
No better ingredient for testing basic skills.
Of course, we'd packaged the public excuse nicely.
"A true chef draws the most extraordinary flavors from the most common ingredients! Prove your creativity right now!"
With Lucius's shout, the starting bell rang.
Ding—!
"Begin!"
In that instant, the hundred participants forgot their complaints and sprang into action.
Some grabbed knives to peel potatoes, others sprinted to the communal faucets placed at the cardinal directions for water.
No budget for individual faucets, just like in my past life shows...
"Hey, zoom in on 77 and 90! Get as much bumping and collar-grabbing as possible!"
"Already on it!"
I directed the scene frantically while feeling a thrilling rush.
This was it. This raw energy. This chaos!
Dopamine I'd craved so much surged through my veins, filling my body.
But the true survival was just beginning.
Because Grand Chef Sir James had started prowling between stations with a sharp eye.
"Stop right there!"
James's bellow pierced the noisy venue.
"You, throwing potatoes into the pot without properly removing the sprouts?"
"B-Basic prep is done..."
"Cooking with poisonous parts left in! What if a guest gets sick? Your fundamentals are a total mess!"
Sir James ruthlessly snatched the white toque from the participant's head and flung it to the ground.
That meant instant elimination—no need to watch further.
James perfectly embodied what I'd hoped for.
My pre-competition advice was paying off: "To uphold royal authority, cut out the riffraff decisively."
"Someone without basics talking about cooking! Hygiene is a chef's life. Pack up and get out!"
"P-Please, just one chance!"
"Drag him out!"
Staff hauled the participant away.
The brutal scene made nearby participants tense up visibly.
'Yes! This is the essence of survival!'
As the brutal preliminaries hit their midpoint...
I scanned dozens of crystals, picking out participants to spotlight.
"Camera 3, show station 12. That blond guy."
Zooming in on one crystal revealed a handsome young man with blond curls.
"Hmm. The youngest of the Potail Count Family... Dave, was it? That family's known for cuisine. They've long been a hub for goods, so their gastronomy developed well. I used to visit often..."
I ignored Marquis Frederick spilling trivia in excitement and focused on the participant.
Impressive knife work.
He sliced the potatoes paper-thin and double-fried them.
Slow-cooked at low heat first, then plunged into boiling oil!
Sizzle—!
Amazingly, the flat slices ballooned round like balloons.
"Pomme Soufflé. Seems simple, but uneven thickness turns it into basic fries. Even pros succeed with seven out of ten perfect; that kid... nearly all his are artistically puffed."
Hearing the marquis chatter excitedly again, I quickly directed.
"Got that shot? The potatoes inflating! Don't miss the frying sounds—capture it all! Add another crystal for close-ups on his face and the dish!"
This guy's a 100% lock.
Noble heir backstory plus artistic technique.
Boosting guys like him makes survival shows fun!
If Dave's flashy visuals handled the eye candy, on the opposite end was a participant showing deep fundamentals.
"Station 58."
There sat Samuel, the former Royal Chef, a middle-aged man.
Ignoring flair, he silently boiled and strained potatoes.
Once, twice, thrice.
Until the potato bits were mashed to silky smoothness.
Then butter, a touch of milk, and finally cheese, stirred and kneaded endlessly.
Simple work, but his familiar hands brimmed with decades of mastery.
"Aligot. Easy-looking, but needs perfect timing and relentless wrist strength."
Ignoring the mutter behind me, I zoomed in.
Sir James was approaching Samuel's station.
Just finishing, Samuel lifted his ladle.
Potatoes flowed like melted cheese or white silk onto the plate, smooth and unbroken.
James eyed the perfect texture and nodded approvingly.
"...Perfect consistency. Excellent."
A proud smile lit Samuel's face at the words.
"Perfect. Noble flair versus veteran basics. Rivalry setup spot-on. Great start."
I leaned back with a satisfied smile.
But then.
"...Huh?"
Scanning screens, I spotted something bizarre.
Station 99.
A girl with a grubby bundle beside her was rubbing three potatoes with salt.
Skins still on.
"What's she doing? Half the time's already gone."
While others chopped, mashed, and stir-fried frantically...
She rubbed the potatoes in salt forever, then skewered them whole on a metal spit.
And...
Whoosh!
"Hey! Crazy! You can't just shove potatoes straight into the fire!"
Despite my near-scream, the girl calmly rotated the skewered potatoes.
Sigh... obviously, the insides wouldn't cook, and the outsides would char black.
She had a cute look—worth pushing if she passed prelims—but instant flop?
Regret washed over me just then.
"...Wait. Zoom on participant 99 cooking. Quick."
Watching her cook, my jaw dropped unconsciously.
Crackle, pop.
Her wrists moved rhythmically with the firewood's snap.
She hadn't just jammed them into the flames.
On the edge where fire licked but didn't devour.
Maintaining that precarious line, she spun the skewer round and round.
Even brushing oil on with a basting brush in between!
"Turn the potato~ spin it round~"
She even hummed some unknown tune.
With utter innocence.
No tension whatsoever—just absurd nonchalance.
"......"
I stared, entranced.
Clearly cooking, yet I couldn't look away.
Her dance-like motions before the flames.
Sizzle of steam each oil brush.
And her clear smile peeking through.
"...Lucia, you recording her?"
"Obviously. Two crystals on her since earlier."
"Crank the mic volume. Get that song perfectly."
My PD instincts screamed.
This kid's a breakout star.
Cute looks. Killer skills. Quirky charm that hooks eyes.
If she survives, she'll carry this show's hype.
In the hellish preliminaries,
raw gems in the scorching flames began to shine brilliantly.