The atmosphere was heavy when the contestants walked into the arena again. The hall was quiet, filled with the lingering smell of spices and roasted meats from the first round. Every step echoed against the polished floor as the cooks lined up in front of the judges' table.
The four judges were already seated, their expressions unreadable. Cameras zoomed in on every twitch, every breath. The audience hushed, the entire city waiting on the verdict.
The host, standing at the center, gave them all a smile. "Welcome back, contestants. The moment has come. The judges have deliberated carefully, and the names of those advancing to the next round will soon be revealed."
Judge Emilia leaned forward, folding her hands. "Chefs. Today, you gave us a storm of flavors, courage, and imagination. But this competition is brutal. Only five of you will take a step closer to the crown. The rest… your journey ends here."
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush.
The contestants shifted nervously. Some clasped their hands tightly together while others fixed their eyes on the floor.
The host stepped into the spotlight, a folded note in his hands. He held it with deliberate slowness, milking the moment.
"Chefs advancing to the next round are…"
The pause stretched like wire. Hearts thumped.
"…Chef Elena."
Elena gasped softly, hands flying to her mouth. The crowd cheered as she bowed quickly, fighting tears.
"Chef Marco."
Marco's grin flashed, his shoulders loosening. "Let's go," he muttered under his breath.
"Chef Alvaro."
Alvaro exhaled hard, relief flooding his sharp features.
"Chef Liona."
Liona's jaw unclenched, her posture straightening with pride.
The host drew in the crowd's anticipation, then spoke the name everyone was waiting for.
"…And Chef Vincent."
The arena erupted. Some fans screamed, others clapped like thunder. Vincent's chest swelled, but he kept his bow steady, his smile calm—though inside, fireworks exploded.
The host folded the note, voice firm.
"Congratulations, chefs. You have earned your spots in the next round."
But before anyone could celebrate fully, Judge Lionel raised a hand. "To the rest of you—failure is not the end, it is a lesson. Your dishes showed potential, but fell short today. Hear us carefully. Growth begins with knowing where to improve."
The cameras shifted, catching every crestfallen face.
Judge Henry pointed toward Sofia.
"Chef Sofia, your beet gnocchi had refinement, but this wasn't the arena for refinement alone. Street food lives on approachability. You made it too heavy, too fine-dining. Next time, lighten your sauces. Give the public something they can crave on the street, not only in a palace."
Sofia nodded tightly, swallowing the sting.
Emilia turned to Hana. "Chef Hana. Your saffron onigiri cone was clever, and the presentation daring. But your balance betrayed you. Mango dominated the crab. Learn restraint. Remember—one note too loud, and the whole orchestra suffers."
Hana bowed, lips pressed together.
Lionel's gaze fell on Krauss, sharp as a blade. "Chef Krauss. Your execution was flawless, yes. Lobster, foie gras foam—beautifully done. But this is a street food battle. You played the wrong game. Perfection means nothing if it doesn't fit the stage. Next time, adapt. A master must bend, not just shine."
The audience murmured; Krauss's jaw flexed, but he accepted the blow with a stiff nod.
Finally, Marissa addressed Victor and Daniel together. "Chef Victor, your venison was bold, but undercooked meat makes eating a chore. Technique must never sacrifice comfort.
And Chef Daniel, your Wagyu tower dazzled, but your glaze drowned the meat. A dish should highlight its star, not bury it. Both of you—remember, restraint is not weakness. It is wisdom."
The eliminated chefs bowed as one, the sting of loss mixing with respect for the critique.
The host stepped forward again, voice rising. "To our advancing five—Chef Elena, Chef Marco, Chef Alvaro, Chef Liona, and Chef Vincent—congratulations. You've secured your spots for the next round. Rest well, because Thursday, the fire returns. And it will only burn hotter."
The lights flared. The arena thundered with cheers.
- - -
That night, the city was electric. Hashtags blazed across every platform. Comment threads spiraled into chaos. Everyone had something to say about the victors—but especially about one name.
Vincent.
On FoodNet, one post shot to the top within minutes:
"Did anyone else see Vincent's burger? That wasn't food. That was ART. I swear the truffle called my soul by name."
"This man didn't just cook. He ascended. Someone check if Vincent's even human."
Other fans raved on ChefTalk:
"Zero criticism. NONE. The judges literally said his dish was fit for a coronation feast. Bro, the man just cooked a KING'S BURGER."
"Forget the judges praises, did you see them wipe their plates clean? That's insane. Vincent's a beast in the kitchen."
"I thought Marcus was bold. I thought Krauss was untouchable. Then Vincent said: 'hold my fries.'"
A video clip of Marissa's words looped endlessly: "It feels like I've been invited to a royal banquet." Underneath, someone commented:
"Royal banquet? Please. That was The banquet. Capital T. Vincent's burger is now law."
Even clips of the judges savoring each bite—soft 'Mmm…' and 'Ahh…' escaping their lips—were trending within minutes. Fans replayed the videos endlessly, marveling at the way the dish had them practically hypnotized.
Twitter exploded too.
"#StreetKingVincent — trending number one in the city. Deserved."
"Imagine biting into that burger?? I'd sell my rent money."
"Mark my words. Vincent isn't just advancing. He's taking the crown."
"Call off the competition. We already found the crown. #CoronationBurger
Even skeptics were converted:
"I doubted him, but wow. No critique from any judge? And the judges even wiped their plates clean. That's insane. The man's unstoppable."
Vincent scrolled through the flood of praise on his phone as he sank into the cab seat. His grin was unstoppable. Every comment made his heart race faster. He leaned his head back, replaying the moment the host called his name.
Home glowed in his mind like a safe harbor. But what thrilled him more was the thought of tomorrow—the park, his stall, the faces of his loyal customers. The joy when they heard their local cook wasn't just surviving on the streets anymore—he was standing among giants.
He kept replaying Lionel's words in his head as he stepped out of the cab: 'A royal feast.'
Bubbly laughter burst out of him as he unlocked his apartment door. "Ha! A royal feast, huh? Then tomorrow, my customers will be royals."
He could already imagine the looks on their faces when they found out. The crowd at the park would be wild, louder than ever. They'd seen the broadcast. They'd read the comments. They'd come hungry, and he was ready.
Vincent clenched his fists, excitement burning in his veins.
"This is just the first step. Next round… I'll rise higher."