The first judge was the captain of the Forgemasters guild, a man with calloused hands and a palate accustomed to strong, hearty flavors like smoked meat and dark beer. He took a sip of Izen's broth, a skeptical look on his face.
The moment the liquid touched his tongue, his skepticism vanished.
His eyes shot open wide. He didn't weep like Marrowe Pastiche. He didn't get disconnected from reality like Judge Hino. His reaction was simpler, and in a way, more profound.
He grunted. A deep, guttural sound of pure, unadulterated satisfaction.
He had been expecting the simple flavor of a chicken or beef stock. This was not that. The flavor was impossibly deep, a multi-layered tapestry of savory notes. He could taste the rich, creamy collagen from the beef marrow, the lighter, cleaner essence of the chicken carcasses, the faint, sweet gaminess of the lamb. Woven throughout was the subtle, earthy sweetness of the vegetable peels, their flavors drawn out and concentrated to an unbelievable degree.
The broth was so rich, so full-bodied, that it felt like it had a physical weight. It coated his tongue in a velvety blanket of pure umami. It was less like a soup and more like a melted steak. A wave of warmth spread from his stomach through his entire body, a feeling of deep, bone-bred nourishment that seemed to soothe away years of aches and fatigue from the forge.
It was, in a word, powerful.
Without saying anything, he took another, larger spoonful. And another. He completely forgot about the noodles and the egg; he was lost in the broth.
The other two judges, watching his reaction, tentatively tried their own. The woman from Agronomy took a delicate sip, and her stern, weathered face softened into an expression of pure bliss. The third judge, a wiry man from the Tinker's Union, drank half the bowl in three huge gulps before letting out a long, shuddering sigh, as if he'd just had the best meal of his entire life.
In less than a minute, all three judges were furiously slurping down their soup, their heads bowed over their bowls in reverence. All thoughts of professionalism were gone. There was only the soup.
Grit Hark watched, his smug confidence beginning to waver. "Hey! You're supposed to taste my dish, too!" he barked.
Reluctantly, as if waking from a dream, the judges put down their now-empty soup bowls. They turned to the magnificent platter of roasted pork. Dutifully, they each took a slice.
They chewed.
The skin was perfectly crispy. The meat was juicy and smoky. By all accounts, it was an excellent piece of roasted pork.
But after the profound, soul-deep satisfaction of Izen's broth, it tasted… hollow.
It was just loud. The smoke was a shout. The spicy sauce was a punch. It was aggressive, shallow, and one-dimensional. It was a fleeting pleasure for the tongue, whereas the broth felt like a fundamental healing for the body. The pork was a rock concert; the broth was the resonant hum of the universe.
The Forgemaster judge chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. He looked at the slice of pork, then back at the empty soup bowl. He pushed the plate with the pork away slightly. His verdict was already made.
"The theme is POWER," he declared, his voice rough but firm. "The Titan Tools Club has demonstrated the power of fire. An impressive, but temporary force. It burns hot, and then it is gone."
He gestured to the empty bowls on the table. "The Hearthline Guild has demonstrated the power of nourishment. The power that builds bones and fuels a lifetime of hard work. This is a deeper, more enduring strength."
He looked directly at a stunned Grit Hark, then at a calm Izen.
"The winner," he announced, his voice ringing through the silent arena, "is the Hearthline Guild."
For a moment, there was nothing. Then, a smattering of applause started from the neutral guild members, which quickly grew into a roar of approval from those who understood what they had just witnessed.
From her seat, Nyelle Ardent let out a sharp, astonished laugh. "He actually did it," she breathed. "He beat a jet engine with soup."
Ciela Vantablue was screaming into her phone. "DID YOU SEE THAT?! GARBAGE GANG WINS! THE GOD OF GARBAGE IS UNDEFEATED! THE ERA OF THE SOUP GOD HAS BEGUN!"
Kael and Elara stood in a state of shock, tears of joy welling in their eyes. They looked at each other, then at Izen. They hadn't just avoided disbandment. They had won. They were Rank 71.
Grit Hark, however, was pale. His entire guild was staring at him in disbelief. He had lost. It was impossible, but it had happened. He had been so sure of his overwhelming advantage that the loss felt like a physical blow.
He looked at Izen, who was already calmly packing up his ultrasonic machine. There was no gloating, no victory dance. He just looked like a man who had finished a day's work.
The proctor cleared his throat. "As per the wager," he announced, a bit nervously, "the Titan Tools Club will cede their Rank 71 to the Hearthline Guild, and their entire surplus ingredient allotment for the next thirty days."
Grit flinched as if he'd been struck. That was a massive blow to his guild's resources and pride.
Izen paused his packing. He walked over to the defeated Titan Tools captain. Grit tensed, expecting mockery, but Izen simply gestured to the massive, barely-touched boar carcass.
"We can't let that go to waste," Izen said, his voice matter-of-fact. "Let's butcher it. Your team gets half, my team gets half."
Grit stared at him, dumbfounded. The boy had just publicly humiliated him, seized his rank, and taken his food supply... and now he was offering to share the spoils?
"W-why?" Grit stammered.
"Because the night-shift workers are going to love pork noodle soup," Izen replied with a simple, guileless smile. "And because it's a shame to waste good food."
It was a gesture of such straightforward, unpretentious decency that it completely disarmed Grit. It wasn't pity. It was just… practical. It was Izen's philosophy in action. Waste nothing.
Defeated not by power, but by a deeper wisdom, Grit Hark, captain of the Titan Tools Club, could only hang his head and nod. "Yeah," he grumbled, his voice quiet for the first time. "Okay."