When I woke up, it was already February 15—the day of the Food King Tournament.
At 10 a.m., I arrived at the arena to confirm my participation with the staff, who were dressed in red Boron uniforms with white lines, collars, and only two buttons at the neck.
Jacob and the others would be arriving later.
The staff asked me to present my ID to verify my name. Apparently, my name was more commonly used by women—so, in short, they were suspicious.
I took out my Red-rank adventurer ID, and after a single glance, the staff member accepted it without further doubt.
The ID card itself had been processed with a special tool—something invented by past Braves. Once a name, date of birth, and place of origin were written on it, the card would recognize that person as its owner.
I didn't know exactly how it worked, but it was probably based on those three pieces of information. Otherwise, how would it distinguish between people with the same name?
There was no need for any additional verification method, either. The card had been designed to enter self-destruct mode if touched by anyone other than its owner. If it didn't come into contact with its rightful owner within five minutes, it would explode with the force of a firecracker. With that kind of mechanism, further identification wasn't exactly necessary.
After confirming my identity, the staff led me to my cooking station.
There were a lot of stations—three across, and more than ten rows deep, as far as I could tell. Each one was spaced about two meters apart.
There were a lot of contestants too. Standing out among them would require real creativity and skill. I could feel getting nervous.
When we reached my station—second row from the side, fourth row facing the judges—the staff began explaining the basic equipment.
Each station only came with a stove, sink, refrigerator, and oven. Anything else had to be brought personally. All of the equipment was magical tools. The person who discovered elemental magic cores must've been a genius.
Once the explanation was over, the staff member spoke to me in a serious tone.
"Karen, since you're a foreign participant, we'll need to inspect the ingredients and tools you've brought."
"Alright."
Jacob had already told me about this, so I agreed immediately.
I opened my storage space and took everything out—tapioca starch, brown sugar, black tea leaves, milk, fresh milk, sugar, a knife, three large pots, chopsticks, a measuring cup, two ladles, a skimmer, a strainer, a cutting board, a large bowl, five bowls, five plates, two ice molds, five custom-made glass cups with glass straws, a cloth for drying hands, a blue apron, and a duckbill cap I bought on the way here, since the sun was so strong today.
I explained anything the staff didn't understand. Then came the body search.
I really hated being touched by strangers, but I couldn't refuse.
Once the inspection was over, I put my phone back into storage. They only found my ID and pocket watch, but the whole process left me feeling violated. It was disgusting.
"Karen, after you present your dish to the judges later, please remember to remove your hat. Otherwise, you'll be disqualified."
"Got it. Thanks for the reminder."
The staff were really kind. Actually, everyone in this country seemed pretty friendly. I hadn't run into anyone with a bad temper so far.
After the staff left, I put on my cap and glanced nearby, completely understanding the expression of a red-haired man with glasses who was also being searched. His face looked like he wanted to kill someone. The staff hurried through his inspection and quickly left, clearly intimidated.
I didn't really understand him. If he hated being touched that much, why enter a competition that clearly stated foreign participants would be inspected? Did he have some reason he couldn't refuse?
At 11 a.m., all the contestants had arrived. I looked toward the audience, wondering if Jacob and the others were here—and where they were sitting.
The seating area was divided into commoner seats and noble seats. The commoner section was just rows of concrete steps—no aesthetics, and pretty cramped.
The noble section, on the other hand, consisted of private boxes with roofs, single and double sofas, and tables for food and drinks. Luxurious and comfortable, located right behind the judges' area.
At that moment, a man walked up to the judges' platform. He raised a microphone to his mouth.
The microphone was also a magic tool, invented by past Braves. There were six speakers in total—three on each side. The circular arena had eight entrances leading to the audience seats, each with a speaker installed above it.
Then the man began speaking in an energetic voice.
"Hello, everyone! It's time once again for the highly anticipated monthly Food King Tournament! I'm your host, Dale—a funny and handsome man. Though I'm already married, and I deeply love my beautiful wife. You're welcome to admire me, but please don't fall in love with me!"
"HAHAHA!!!"
So he was the host. Handsome or not, I couldn't tell—but he was definitely funny. His ability to hype up the crowd was impressive. Everyone burst into laughter, and I couldn't help but chuckle softly too.
This kind of atmosphere felt unique—I doubted you'd see it in other countries. Even the nobles in the special seating area were laughing happily, seemingly unconcerned with the strict etiquette they usually upheld. It was like, as long as they were having fun, nothing else mattered.
After a few more jokes, the host wrapped up his opening and moved on.
"Alright, enough showing off my happy married life before the single folks get jealous. Let's welcome our judges!"
As soon as he said that, the audience erupted into applause. I joined in, looking forward to seeing the judges.
"Our first guest judge is a young lord who's been widely praised for inventing the delicious mayonnaise that has captured everyone's taste buds! Please welcome Viscount Nicolaj Edelfield!"
So not the queen or the general first—starting with guest judges made sense.
Behind the judges' platform, two soldiers pulled aside a red curtain, revealing an entrance. A young man stepped out—at least, I assumed he was young. He was too far away to see clearly. But the host had called him a young lord.
A young viscount—impressive. Inventing something as widely used as mayonnaise must've made him a fortune.
As he walked toward the judges' seats, he waved lightly to the applauding crowd. From my angle, he took the first of the five seats but remained standing, turning to face the entrance.
The host continued.
"Next, we have two guest judges who traveled all the way from the western region to join us—a model couple! Please welcome Duke Eddie Blair and Duchess Eugenia Blair!"
Again, the curtain was drawn aside. The woman walked out arm-in-arm with the man, both waving at the crowd. The viscount immediately bowed in respect—because they were of higher rank.
They had come all the way from western Delibrash, while the capital was in the southeast. That must've taken days—maybe even months. This tournament really had a long-standing reputation if people were willing to travel that far.
The duke and duchess took the two seats on the right but remained standing as well.
"Now, for our regular judges!"
At those words, the entire audience—nobles and commoners alike—stood up, cheering loudly. Everyone was clearly excited. After all, this was their once-a-month chance to see the queen and the general.
The host raised his voice even more.
"First, the mighty guardian who ensures our nation's safety for thousands of years—our revered and dashing general, Arakeya Diklar!"
"GENERAL ARAKEYA!!!"
The crowd went wild. The viscount and the duke couple immediately saluted.
I squinted to get a better look. He was an elderly man with red hair, full of authority, yet still physically strong. Even his walk carried a sense of power.
Did his appearance change with age? Or was it like elves, who stayed young forever?
Without acknowledging the crowd, the general took the second seat beside the viscount, remaining standing.
"And finally—our beautiful, elegant, and wise ruler who brings joy to our nation—our eternally youthful and noble queen, Her Majesty Ainasse Kejellari Dilibrash!"
"LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!!! LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!!!"
The cheers grew even louder. The queen was clearly beloved.
She gracefully waved to the crowd, and somehow, the cheers intensified even more. At this point, it was practically noise.
Even from afar, I could tell how slender she was—much thinner than the average citizen. The general being a dragon explained his physique, but the queen? As the ruler, she should've had access to even better food than most. How could she stay that thin? What an unfair body.
Even the general saluted her—surprising, but understandable. No matter how powerful he was, he still served under her authority.
Five attendants stepped forward and pulled out chairs for the judges. After the queen sat down, I noticed two maids had been following her all along.
The audience finally sat back down, and the cheers faded.
All five judges were now present.
The competition was about to begin.