The air in the Tholus Culinarius was a physical thing—filled with a flour dust, and crackling tension. The roar of the crowd had faded into a low, constant hum, the true sound of the arena now the frantic symphony of the eight cooks fighting for their futures.
Ji Hoon's eyes, sharp and analytical, swept across the four dueling stations, taking in the final, desperate movements.
At the nearest station, Yuliana moved with a quiet, ferocious grace. Her hands, dusted white, shaped a rich, glossy dough into intricate knots before sliding them into the blistering heat.
She was making St. Honoré's Braid, a classic Valerian celebratory bread, its surface gleaming with an egg wash that promised a perfect, golden-brown crust.
Across from her, Isaac Grace was a study in brute force. He slammed his fist into a dense, heavy dough, his face a mask of fury as he formed a massive, rustic loaf studded with nuts and dried berries—a Warrior's Loaf, meant to impress with sheer size and heartiness.
Further down, the duel between Chief Albian and Malak Grace was a silent war of masters.
Albian's hands moved with an old man's patience, meticulously scoring the surface of a delicate, paper-thin flatbread that puffed into a delicate sphere in the searing heat—a Sun-Disc.
Malak mirrored him, his own version slightly thicker, more robust, a testament to his powerful style.
But Ji Hoon's gaze kept being pulled back to the fourth station. Lucius Frost worked in a pocket of unnerving silence.
His dough wasn't kneaded; it was folded, layered, and turned with the chilling precision of a clockwork artisan.
He was creating something Ji Hoon had never seen: a pale, multi-layered pastry that resembled fossilized stone, its surface etched with geometric patterns. It gave off a faint, minty chill even from a distance.
The wave of motion crested. Oven doors clanged open one after another, a chorus of finality. The scents of baked flour, caramelized sugar, and yeast leavened pastries bloomed through the arena, a tantalizing promise of the judgment to come.
Above it all, the numbers on the Light Box blazed red, ticking down the final seconds.
Master Guy's voice boomed, counting them out, pulling the entire dome into a unified chant.
[ TEN! NINE! ]
Ji Hoon's fists were clenched.
[ EIGHT! SEVEN! ]
Yuliana placed her braid on the counter, perfect and gleaming.
[ SIX! FIVE! ]
Lucius set his stone-like pastry down without a sound.
[ FOUR! THREE! ]
Isaac slammed his giant loaf onto a board.
[ TWO! ]
Albian and Malak stepped back in unison.
[ ONE! ]
A final, deafening bell echoed through the stone chamber.
[...AND ZERO!!! TIME IS UP! ] Master Guy's shout cut through the last echo. [ CONTESTANTS, STEP AWAY FROM YOUR STATIONS! THE JUDGING FOR THE SECOND ROUND… BEGINS NOW! ]
Sixteen hands went into the air. The arena fell silent, the only sound the hiss of cooling ovens and the frantic beating of sixteen hearts.
The silence in the arena was heavier than any cheer. It was the sound of eight fates being weighed. The contestants from the first bracket stood rigid before the four judging tables, their creations steaming under the critical gaze of the masters.
Ji Hoon watched, his chef's mind dissecting every detail from a distance.
The first result flashed on the Light Box almost immediately.
Yuliana vs. Isaac Grace
The judges sampled the Warrior's Loaf. It was impressive in size, but one judge frowned slightly as he chewed. "Robust. Hearty. But the crumb is dense, a little stubborn. A warrior indeed, but perhaps one who forgot to stretch before the battle."
Then, they turned to Yuliana's St. Honoré's Braid. The golden crust shattered with an audible, delicate crackle. The judge's eyes widened. "Ah… this is control. The gluten development is perfect. The yeast activity is even, creating a light, airy crumb with a complex, subtle sweetness. This is not just bread; this is craftsmanship."
The scores materialized in brilliant light:
Yuliana: 8, 8 — Total: 16/20
Isaac: 7, 7 — Total: 14/20
A small, genuine smile touched Ji Hoon's lips. He saw Yuliana's shoulders, which had been held with iron poise, drop a fraction in relief. She had won.
Next to him, Lior let out a low whistle. "She crushed him."
The Light Box shifted.
Ansen vs. Helene
Ji Hoon's smile faded. He could see Ansen's simple, perfectly shaped milk bread rolls next to Helene's intricate, spiraled pastry. The judges praised Ansen's technique. "A soft, pillowy texture. Excellent proofing control."
But when they tasted Helene's creation, their language changed. "The layers! The butter integration is flawless. This is the work of a seasoned professional who understands the science of lamination."
The scores were brutal in their clarity:
Helene: 8, 9 — Total: 17/20
Ansen: 7, 7 — Total: 14/20
Ansen's head bowed, his face flushing with disappointment. Lior groaned beside Ji Hoon, slumping in his seat. "Ah, tough luck, kid."
The focus moved to the battle of the masters.
Malak Grace vs. Chief Albian
The two Sun-Discs lay side-by-side. Malak's was slightly thicker, darker, a testament to his power. Albian's was almost translucent, a delicate golden bubble.
"A valiant effort, Cook Malak," a judge said, tapping the thicker disc. "Strong, with a good nutty flavor from the longer bake."
Then, he broke a piece of Albian's. It dissolved on the tongue with an audible, airy crunch. "But this… this is the soul of the Sun-Disc. Ethereal. A whisper of flour and fire. The control to achieve this fragility is the mark of a true Chief."
The scores were a lesson in refinement over power:
Albian: 9, 9 — Total: 18/20
Malak: 8, 8 — Total: 16/20
Malak accepted the defeat with a stiff nod, but the frustration was plain on his face. He had been outclassed by the very man he sought to surpass.
Then, a hush fell over the entire dome. All eyes turned to the final table.
Lucius Frost vs. Tobias
The Royal Cook, Tobias, had produced a beautiful, classic brioche, rich with eggs and butter, its top a glossy, perfect dome. The judges nodded in appreciation. "A textbook example. Rich, tender, a delight."
Then, they turned to Lucius's creation. The pale, stone-like pastry with its geometric cuts. It looked nothing like bread. A judge broke a piece off. Instead of a soft tear, it fractured with a clean, sharp snap.
The judge's eyes went wide the moment it touched his tongue. He didn't speak for a long moment. "It's… cold," he finally murmured, astonished.
"The layers are countless, shattering like ice. But the flavor… it's not sour, not overly sweet. It's… pure. The fermentation was halted at the absolute perfect moment, capturing the yeast's energy without any of its byproducts. This isn't baking. This is alchemy."
The scores that flashed on the Light Box drew a collective gasp from the thousands in attendance.
Lucius Frost: 10, 10 — Total: 20/20
Tobias: 8, 9 — Total: 17/20
Another perfect score. The crowd erupted. Ji Hoon felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach, the confidence he'd felt after his own near-perfect score feeling suddenly fragile. This guy wasn't just winning; he was redefining the competition.
"Unbelievable," Lior whispered, his usual bravado gone. "Who is this guy?"
Master Guy's voice boomed, drawing the formal close to the first bracket. [ And there we have it! Our first four elites to advance to the quarter-finals! Let's hear it for our winners! ]
As the applause rang out, the winners and losers filed off the stage, a mix of triumph and dejection on their faces. An attendant in green hurried over to the remaining contestants. "Second bracket, to your stations, now!"
"Alright, brother," Lior said, slapping Ji Hoon's back, the shock replaced by competitive fire. "Our turn."
They moved onto the stage, the heat from the recently used ovens washing over them. The Light Box flickered, displaying the new matchups.
Cassian Ahn vs. Hans
Lior vs. Liang
Eira Frost vs. Maribel
Ixchel vs. Gezele
Master Guy's voice filled the dome, dripping with drama. [ The first four spots in the elite eight are sealed! But four more remain! Who will claim them? Will the de Clein franchise trio secure a victory? Will the mysterious Northern prodigies continue their legacy? The last of the royal cook?
Or will our new contestants, Cassian Ahn and Lior, continue their stunning rise? The answers… are in their hands! Contestants, you have one hour!
Your time… begins NOW! ]
The colossal timer on the Light Box reset to 1:00:00 and began its merciless descent.
The arena exploded into a fresh wave of noise and motion. Lior immediately began grabbing bowls. Ixchel, the purple-haired boy, was a blur of activity. Across the stage, Hans shot Ji Hoon a look that was anything but culinary—it was a predator's glare.
But Ji Hoon's world had narrowed. He blocked out the crowd, the noise, even Hans. He picked up the small ceramic cup containing the Shell-Boar Yeast. The coarse, brownish powder seemed to vibrate with a frantic, unseen energy.
From the book he read, the words echoed in his mind: '…fermentation window is 9 to 10 times faster than common yeast. Optimal gas production is achieved in minutes, but without absolute temperature control, metabolic byproducts—primarily acetic acid—accumulate rapidly, resulting in an unpalatable, sour loaf.'
It completes a process that should take an hour in ten minutes. It sounded like a blessing, but it was a trap. Speed without control was useless.
The yeast would gorge itself on the sugars, producing a fantastic rise but also dumping a huge amount of acidic waste, turning his dough sour and sharp long before the flavors could develop properly.
This wasn't just about mixing flour and water. This was about taming a wild thing. He wasn't just mastering an ingredient; he was negotiating with a living, breathing, and fiercely impatient organism.
A new challenge was here. And for the first time in this competition, Lee Ji Hoon felt a thrill that was purely, entirely his own. He reached for his flour. The duel was on.