Vincent got home that night thoroughly exhausted, but the thrill in his chest burned hotter than his fatigue. The cheers, the chants, the endless line of customers—it all replayed in his mind like a fever dream. He'd run out of stock, but not out of spirit. He went to bed thrilled at the support he received from his customers today.
The next day, he didn't lift a spatula. Vincent slept. According to him, rest was a weapon too, and he wasn't about to enter the next round drained. Competing at this level demanded everything—focus, precision, skill. He intended to walk in sharp, not staggering.
Finally, Thursday arrived.
The Grand Culinary Hall was alive with energy. Lights blazed across the massive stage where five polished cooking stations gleamed under the spotlights. Cameras panned across the crowd, capturing every anxious expression, every cheer, every whisper of excitement.
"Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen, to the Culinary Masters Challenge, Culinary Ascension– Round Two!" The host's voice boomed through the hall, echoing off the high ceiling. Applause thundered, banners waved, and the buzz of expectation surged like a storm.
Rows of audience members leaned forward in their seats, eager eyes locked on the chefs who now stood behind their counters. Every contestant wore the same stark white apron with the golden emblem of the Challenge stamped proudly across the chest, but the differences in their stance, their nerves, and their confidence were obvious.
Vincent stood straight, arms crossed lightly, his gaze steady as he scanned the room. He could feel the stares—people already whispering his name.
"That's the rookie chef who went viral online."
"I heard he crushed the qualifiers like it was nothing."
"Pfft, hype never lasts. Let's see if he can handle the remaining stages."
Vincent didn't react. His eyes were fixed on the judges seated at the long table in front.
"Chefs!" The host raised a hand. "Today's challenge is unlike anything you've faced before. This round is all about reinvention and creativity. We've selected ten ingredients—each versatile, each challenging in its own right. Your task: create a dish that incorporates at least seven of these ingredients, weaving in a smoke element—whether in taste, flavor or presentation— and a refreshing, complementary drink that pairs seamlessly with your dish. You may supplement with items from the pantry, but these ten ingredients must shine at the heart of your creation!"
The audience roared with excitement. Cameras zoomed in as a large digital board lit up behind the host.
The first word appeared in glowing letters.
"Beef."
A ripple of approval went through the crowd. Strong, versatile, a staple of the kitchen. Many chefs nodded in relief.
"Alright, beef, that's manageable," one muttered to his neighbor.
The spokesperson's grin widened as the second word appeared.
"Bread."
"Easy pairing," someone whispered. "Sandwiches, sliders, bruschetta—piece of cake."
The third ingredient flashed: "Tomatoes."
The audience clapped. "Classic," someone in the front row said.
But then—
"Peanut butter."
The hall erupted into chatter. Chefs exchanged bewildered looks. A few mouths twisted in confusion, some in horror.
"Peanut butter with beef?!" one chef exclaimed, earning laughter from nearby contestants.
"That's insane. Who even thinks of this?"
Vincent's lips curved slightly. Interesting.
The fifth word pulsed onto the board. "Cinnamon."
Now the crowd laughed and gasped at once. "Dessert and meat? This is cruel!" a voice cried from the stands.
"Seven ingredients minimum, right? Maybe I'll skip cinnamon," a chef muttered under his breath, clearly rattled.
But there was no escape.
The sixth ingredient: "Lime."
Seventh: "Coffee."
At coffee, one contestant swore audibly, slamming a hand on the counter. "What kind of Frankenstein combo is this?!"
The eighth ingredient appeared: "Coconut milk."
Murmurs rose again, some relieved, some worried. It was flexible, but with coffee and peanut butter? Tension thickened in the air.
The ninth word glowed ominously. "Soy sauce."
Now the arena was split between laughter, disbelief, and groans. "They're sabotaging us," another contestant hissed.
The final word slid across the screen in bold, black letters: "Squid ink."
The room fell into silence for a moment before chaos erupted.
"What?!"
"No way!"
"Squid ink with peanut butter?!"
The host raised both hands, silencing the storm. "You heard correctly. Ten ingredients. Beef, bread, tomatoes, peanut butter, cinnamon, lime, coffee, coconut milk, soy sauce, and squid ink. Use at least seven. Time limit: ninety minutes. You will be judged on taste, creativity, presentation, and how well you elevate these ingredients into something extraordinary."
The timer overhead flashed 90:00, waiting to tick down.
Vincent could feel the tension rippling across the stage. Some chefs were already sweating, whispering plans to themselves.
The host's eyes sparkled as he paced slowly across the stage, microphone in hand. "Chefs, this round isn't about safety. It's about daring. About risk. About proving that you belong here." His voice dropped low, dramatic. "One wrong step, and you'll be swallowed whole by flavors that don't forgive."
Gasps echoed through the crowd. The tension was almost theatrical, like a gladiator ring waiting for the first clash.
Vincent, however, didn't rush. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the ingredients settle in his mind. Beef, squid ink, peanut butter, coffee. A wild combination—but he felt the dish click together like puzzle pieces. A smirk touched his lips.
Let's give them something they'll never forget.
The timer beeped, loud and sharp.
"Round Two… begins now!"
The stage exploded into motion. Knives clattered, pots banged, the sizzle of oil and the rush of footsteps to the pantry filled the hall.
"Coffee and soy sauce? Are they insane?" a chef two stations down muttered furiously, already slapping beef onto a cutting board.
Another scoffed. "I'll play it safe—bread pudding, cinnamon, coconut milk, maybe drizzle coffee. Forget beef. Too risky."
The host roamed between counters, microphone catching snippets of chaos. "Chef Alvaro, What's your strategy?"
Alvaro, sweating through his headband, laughed nervously. "Honestly? Survival!" The crowd chuckled.
When he reached Vincent's station, the host leaned close. "Chef Vincent. You've stunned the world so far. But these ingredients—let's be honest—they don't make sense together. What on earth are you planning to do?"
Every camera swiveled, every eye locked onto him. The hall seemed to hold its breath.
Vincent glanced up from the beef he was trimming, a calm smile tugging at his lips. His voice was steady, confident.
"Simple," he said. "I'm going to make them fall in love with chaos."
Gasps rippled through the hall. Some audience members cheered at the boldness, others scoffed in disbelief.
"Arrogant."
"Confident."
"Or crazy."
The spokesperson blinked, startled, then grinned wide. "Ladies and gentlemen, you heard it! Chef Vincent plans to tame chaos itself!"
Vincent returned to his cutting board, unfazed by the noise. His knife sliced cleanly through the beef, movements precise, unhurried. While others panicked, he already had a vision burning bright in his mind.
Ninety minutes on the clock. Ten ingredients on the table. Five chefs battling for glory.
And Vincent?
Vincent was about to turn madness into a masterpiece.