Chapter 441: Secretary Fox Koyan
The furious Pablo gritted his teeth, the sound grating in the silence. If he were in Europe, he would have chopped the person who dared to provoke him into mince and dumped them into the Seine to feed the fish.
At this moment, Cleopatra's voice rang out: "Contestants, please follow the staff's guidance, take the elevator, and return to the basement lounge to rest. We look forward to seeing you refreshed and ready to create even more perfect dishes upon your return."
"Hmph!" Pablo held back his outburst. With a cold snort, he turned and walked straight toward the passage where the staff were standing.
Shirou looked toward the two old men and shrugged his shoulders.
Before the host had finished speaking, Pablo was already striding back to his lounge. He cursed internally: "Damn it! Where the hell is this teacher from? A detective training school? I haven't even done anything yet! Did that woman Koyanskaya come or not?!"
"Masked kid, I look forward to your performance later." Master Liu smiled and left first.
"To be favored by that person, you truly have a limitless future." Nakiri Senzaemon looked at Shirou with a complicated expression.
"Yes, yes, I will work hard," Shirou replied hurriedly, afraid to let the old man continue.
After that, both men were led by staff members back to their respective lounges.
As soon as Nakiri Senzaemon returned to his room, a blonde woman immediately helped him sit down, served him a hot towel, and brought him tea.
Once everything was settled, Erina said: "Well, Grandfather, please rest. I'm going out for a moment."
"I am heartbroken. My own granddaughter is running off with a boy who won't even show his face. Am I destined to be the sinner who watched Totsuki Academy fall..." Nakiri Senzaemon sighed, feigning deep disappointment.
"Managing Totsuki is something I can do perfectly well on my own! You know what Shirou thinks, Grandfather; he just wants a peaceful life and has never intended to interfere with what I want to do. If something were to really happen to the Nakiri family, he definitely wouldn't stand idly by." Erina was immediately displeased, adopting a strong posture to defend her beloved.
"Since he wants a peaceful life... then just how long will it take for my great-grandchild to be born?" the old man asked, shifting the focus.
"Grandfather! I'm not talking to you anymore!" Erina cried out in embarrassment and ran out the door. Needless to say, her destination was Shirou's lounge.
Nakiri Senzaemon watched Erina run off with a flushed face and sighed: "Truly, a daughter grown up cannot be kept at home. However..."
The next moment, the old man's gaze turned deep and sharp. "Well, at least Shirou's culinary skills have not lagged; his performance so far has been above the passing line."
As the former head of a great house, his network—the farms and food companies partnering with the Nakiri Group, and the graduates of Totsuki Academy—had been painstakingly built by him over decades.
The founders and veterans of the food industry were mostly his friends. The chefs of emerging restaurants were all disciples of Totsuki. In fact, many critical matters still required his personal intervention.
Therefore, the old man had to be responsible for these stakeholders. As the successor to Totsuki, Nakiri Erina had inherited the position of Commander, and with it, these heavy responsibilities. She couldn't be like an ordinary woman, setting everything aside to pursue a free and impulsive romance; this was the mission she was obligated to shoulder, having been born into this family.
When faced with major events that could affect the livelihoods of tens of thousands, or even millions, of people, one person's romantic attachments were simply negligible.
Of course, if Shirou were willing to reveal his identity and stand with the Nakiri Group, then with two of the world's top four chefs being Japanese, even if they were still a distance behind the Chinese legend, it would be enough to let the Nakiri Group hold its head high in Japan and the global culinary scene.
More importantly, Shirou was young enough. As long as the "God's Tongue" was by his side to keep him on the right path, it was easy to imagine that the future of the culinary world for the next few decades would belong to him.
It was precisely because they saw this that the elders of the Nakiri Group and other associated interest groups followed his advice, temporarily exercising patience and allowing Erina's relationship with Shirou to continue.
If they forced the issue too hard and pushed Shirou into the camp of their enemies, the result would be a loss that outweighed any gain—a lose-lose situation where others would reap the benefits. But regardless, this tournament was the final deadline. After this, the elders would surely erupt again. One way or another, a final result had to be determined.
However, there was one fact that only Nakiri Senzaemon understood: He was nearing his limit. Competing on the same stage as the world's top chefs had already forced him to exhaust every trick in his repertoire.
The only reason he could still stand on this stage was that he had taken advantage of "home court" conditions, exhausting all his resources and connections. Only with that, and a bit of luck, was he able to achieve this result.
After all, he was not a monster like Master Liu. With the right time, place, and people—if even one of these had been missing, the person resting in this lounge and participating in this tournament would likely have been someone from another country. The person replacing him could have been a representative of Turkish cuisine, or another outstanding figure from China. There were actually plenty of people with culinary skills comparable to his—at least twenty or thirty of them worldwide.
In other words, if Shirou had revealed his identity early, he—being a fellow Japanese—would have inevitably been eliminated. The current situation was actually an unexpectedly good outcome.
But Shirou still wore that mask, with no intention of revealing his true identity. And Erina was too stubborn to take advice. If they united, both sides would benefit; if they separated, both would fall. The old man let out a long breath. Let everything follow the course of nature; this is no longer a matter I can control.
On the other side, a fuming Pablo arrived at his lounge door and turned the handle. The female model waiting inside immediately rushed up, threw herself into his arms, pointed inside, and complained: "Darling, you're back. This strange woman broke in without permission."
"Yes, yes~! Guest, I've brought what you wanted~!" By now, the Secretary Fox, Koyanskaya, had quietly arrived in the lounge, sitting on the table with her legs crossed. To fit the occasion, she had changed into a white fashion outfit refitted from a chef's uniform. In her hand, she dangled a small glass bottle filled with pink powder.
"Get lost! Give it to me!" Pablo shoved the model away rudely, walked up to the Secretary Fox, and snatched the bottle. His eyes were bloodshot, and he seemed to be brewing some terrifying plan in his mind.
"Yes, the delivery has been made," Koyanskaya said, her eyes narrowing and the corners of her mouth curling into a wicked arc, like a fox that had just caught a chicken.
"This... drug! It really won't be discovered?!" Pablo scrutinized the small pink bottle.
"Mmhmm, colorless and odorless. It's a secret seasoning that human senses can absolutely not perceive, and even current technology cannot detect any clues. It is undoubtedly the highest-grade spice. Otherwise, wouldn't you know if you just tasted a little, Guest?" Koyanskaya giggled, offering a "kind" suggestion.
"Hmph! That's true. Let's try it out! You! Come here!" Pablo said coldly. He turned around, grabbed the model by the arm, and pulled her over.
"Wait! Darling? Don't be so rough, okay? I can help you call someone else. Wait! What are you doing to me! No! Pablo!" The model's attempt at coquetry failed; her face turned pale as she screamed.
Pablo pinned the model down like a bear and pinched her chin with his other hand, his voice deep: "Shut up! There's no time to dawdle; just eat it obediently. This is a precious spice worth
a hundred million Euros a bottle—a luxury you would never be able to taste in your lifetime. You should be down on your knees thanking me."
"You jerk! I listen to everything you say, I take your abuse and your insults! But not this! Absolutely not! Let me go!" The model's expression was one of terror as she hammered against Pablo's back.
She had heard the rumors about Pablo: the underground emperor of the catering industry. Aside from international hotel chains, all private restaurants had to defer to him. It was said that he secretly controlled powerful underworld gangs. His food would make people addicted before they realized it, and everyone who ate it became his captive puppet.
Whether they were stars, politicians, or wealthy merchants, he would hold their secrets over them, exploiting them until they had no value left. It was more terrifying than any drug.
One might ask, why did she throw her lot in with such a dangerous person? Because Pablo was generous with his money! In the end, she couldn't hook a man who was rich, powerful, moral, and self-respecting. All she could find were generous old men. This was the lifestyle she chose.
There was no other way. She wasn't very smart and didn't have high academic qualifications. If she wanted to get ahead, she could only rely on her looks and her body. Her only advantage was that she was better at playing games than others, more "open," and better at catering to men. As long as it allowed her to escape the curse of poverty, she was willing to endure anything.
Was she supposed to be like those ugly women, finding a plain, honest man to marry and have kids with, then slaving away to support a family? Working overtime for thirteen or fourteen hours a day, paying off mortgages and car loans, with the remaining money barely enough to survive, not daring to get sick or travel, living in constant fear?
But even so, she had her bottom line. If she touched this, she would really be finished.
"Don't kid yourself. Didn't you already sell your body to me? Who gave you the right to choose now? I let you spend my money and ride in my cars! That means you have to listen to me! Making me happy is the only value of your existence, isn't it? Isn't that all you could do from the start?" Pablo forced the model's mouth open bit by bit.
"Aha~! That's exactly how it should be! A cold-blooded, heartless, evil man—this is truly the peak~!" Koyanskaya watched the spectacle, smiling dangerously and applauding.
How did Daji use the blind favor of King Zhou of Shang to set traps, frame others, and eventually torture the Empress and other concubines to death? No... those women were just stupid. They knew exactly what kind of cold-blooded, brutal master they were serving, yet they still harbored expectations, thinking they could be the exception, engaging in jealousy and wanting to kill others to rise to power.
Little did they know that the way they killed others was exactly how they would be killed in turn.
But humans were just that dirty and base. That was why it was so interesting to watch them indulge in their desires until they were unable to extricate themselves, leading to their own destruction.
Thinking of this, Koyanskaya's smile became even sweeter.
She was an Alter Ego of Tamamo-no-Mae. As a Servant contracted to the Alien God, she excelled in various types of assassinations and possessed the ability to freely traverse different dimensions.
The thing she liked most was trading, hoping to use it to gather all the luxury goods and treasures in the world and make them her own. The thing she hated most was... humans!
Which was exactly why she was so happy to see such a cruel and ugly act perpetrated by one human against another.
Under a look of terror and despair, the model's mouth was forced open. Particles of the pink spice powder were poured into her oral cavity, bit by bit. They merged with her saliva, transforming into an invisible fluid that flowed down her throat, merged into her internal organs, and moved through her bloodstream to affect the nervous system throughout her entire body...
"That should do it, right?" Pablo threw the model onto the floor, wiped his saliva-stained hand, and looked at the femme fatale with long pink hair.
"Cough... ugh, cough, cough." The model sat slumped on the floor, thrusting her fingers into her throat, dry-heaving as she tried to vomit out the poison she had inhaled.
Koyanskaya smiled and held up three fingers: "Mmm, 3... 2... 1~!"
As soon as her words fell, the model stopped struggling. Her arm, which had been clutching her throat, dropped. In that instant, her eyes became hollow, and pink hearts emerged within them. She had been transformed into a flesh-and-blood doll that anyone could manipulate at will.
"As long as they swallow this magic medicine, they will be brainwashed. Whatever happens, they will obey the other party's orders," Koyanskaya said, crossing her long legs and watching the ugly mutual destruction of the human race with amusement.
Pablo circled the model, observing her state. Suddenly, he lifted his foot and kicked her hard in the stomach, sending her flying across the room.
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