Luca would be a liar if he said he was completely chill.

  The only sound that broke the silence was the one made by the judge, deliberately cutting a piece of the Spiral—or rather, the sushi-like creation they’d managed to cook. The piece was small, but Luca noticed the judge had made sure to take a bit of everything—from the rice with the sauce to the monkfish center.

  Chewing and swallowing it in less than a dozens of seconds, Chef Dominatom’s expression didn’t change. No. His eyes didn’t change. It was like they were frozen.

  “Again?” asked the host when the judge simply returned to their seat. Their voice sounded faintly resigned, and their mouth stretched into a particularly vicious smile. Suddenly, their voice seemed to echo as if coming from underwater. “I hope we’re in for a spectacular reveal at the end of this.” The unspoken ‘or else’ hung heavy in the air.

  Luca blinked, resisting the urge to rub his ears.

  Chef Harpira descended from her throne and did something similar to the previous judge, but her eyes narrowed, and she turned them toward him as she chewed.

  “Interesting choice,” were the only words she offered. Her scales glinted under the light as she returned to her seat, making way for the final judge.

  Chef Tartarus didn’t bother cutting anything and simply grabbed one of the ‘rolls,’ tossing it into his mouth. Luca was watching closely, and because of that, he caught the brief upward quirk of the corner of the judge’s lips. His heart nearly leapt.

  “Hmm,” said the judge, and with one last glance at the dish, he walked away.

  Does this mean he liked it? Luca couldn’t help but think as he returned to his group, met with looks that begged for some kind of clue. He decided not to give anything away and gave them the slightest shrug before standing there like a good soldier—a good Aspirant.

  The shadowy figure clapped three times. “The presentations are over! Now that the judges have tasted all the teams’ dishes, it’s time for them to make a decision. Who will spend the next few days in the very hotel built by the Demon King himself, and who will spend the night in the stables with… pleasant company?”

  “Give us a few minutes,” said Chef Dominatom with a disdainful smirk. “Believe it or not, it’s a tough decision when everyone is equally terrible.”

  Whispers erupted among the groups. A hand gripped Luca’s shoulder, squeezing—and then another.

  Though his expression didn’t change, Luca felt like he’d just become one of those little stress balls for his teammates. Would it be better to switch tactics and turn into a nervous wreck? Or was it too late for that?

  “I expect to hear some good feedback!” said the host, smiling brightly. “The poor Participants deserve it after such an eventful afternoon—and the judges’ long faces.”

  As always, the host was digging an even deeper hole for all of them. What a lovely individual.

  “They’ll get the explanations they deserve,” assured Harpira, her tone icy.

  As the three judges began discussing among themselves, none of them gave any hints—not even a glance in the direction of the groups.

  100% psychological pressure, huh? Luca glanced around. Setting aside his own group, the others didn’t look too good either. The mounting tension felt like they were inside a pressure cooker about to explode at any moment.

  Luca breathed slowly and deeply, keeping his composure as best as he could. It wouldn’t do any good to let emotions take over. Better… if it came to the worst-case scenario, what options did he have? Were the horses resistant to his acid? He could only use the shield for a few minutes, so he’d need to be careful about when to deploy it. Besides, there was… something harder to explain. The capsule didn’t belong to this world, and more importantly, it didn’t look like it was part of it.

  Finally, after what might have been the longest minutes of many lifetimes, Chef Dominatom turned back toward the participants.

  The host hurried to speak up then, as if trying to win a race in the final seconds. “The judges are ready to deliver their verdict! No more mysteries, my esteemed jury, or our poor participants will explode from nerves.”

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  “They seem to be holding up pretty well,” said Chef Tartarus dismissively.

  “Better than I expected after such… presentation.”

  Were the words or the tone? Perhaps both brought a cold heaviness to the air.

  "Starting with the first group." Chef Dominatom fixed their gaze on them. "With the number of ingredients you had, you had the best chance to stand out simply because of the wide range of options at your disposal. However, you chose to present us with minotaur steak accompanied by a couple of Evil Roots and a sauce that didn’t complement the flavor profile."

  "The steak was adequate. Nothing more," Chef Harpira said, her brow furrowing slightly.

  "I expected more," added the last judge with a shrug.

  "The second group…" Chef Dominatom paused for a moment, as if considering what to say.

  "You had something good there, something interesting, but." Chef Tartarus grinned, baring all his teeth. "It ended up as a disaster. Raw, half-cooked, cooked, overcooked—quite the mix. Did you feel proud of this?"

  Someone behind Luca stifled a snort, though not quietly enough to go unnoticed.

  Stupid, Luca thought.

  "Are you still capable of laughing?" Chef Harpira turned toward them, her eyes sharp as an obsidian knife. "Purple Group, in my opinion, your dish was the worst of all. The balance of flavors was completely off."

  Chef Dominatom continued, "And you. What genius thought it was a wonderful idea to use the rinds of the Forbidden Fruit as seaskin?" Their eyes narrowed, and smoke began to rise from their head. "And to use the sauce to mask the spiciness?"

  A faint sound came from the direction of one of the other teams.

  A flame flickered above Chef Dominatom’s head. "Red group, your situation isn’t any better. I didn’t even bother tasting your sides because the disaster was obvious from a rotten river away." Then, slowly, and not less meany, he said, "personally, I didn’t even like your steak."

  That surely hurt like shit, Luca mused.

  "Well, it seems this evaluation has been quite… interesting," said the host. "But surely the judges have found one dish more deserving of tonight’s accommodations, haven’t they?"

  The judges exchanged glances among themselves ,and then, Chef Dominatom smiled. It wasn’t a kind gesture at all—it made everyone shiver.

  "No, that’s not the case."

  "Pardon…?"

  Chef Harpira continued, "We believe a night of reflection will be enough for all participants to find renewed determination."

  "Fear and pain forge the best chefs," added Chef Tartarus.

  Luca pressed his lips together. He was certain this hadn’t happened in the book. How could they decide to send all of them? It was clear that by the next morning, there would be fewer participants—and the horses wouldn’t be the only cause.

  "Wait, wait a moment, judges—are you telling me that all the dishes were equally bad?" The host shook their head, gliding across the space until they reached the red group’s station. "No, that’s not a result I’m willing to accept. Come on, I need the least terrible one, even if it’s by less than fury's patience."

  Chef Dominatom gave them a look. "We’ve spoken. The evaluation is over, so you can start sending them to the stables. Tomorrow’s challenge begins early."

  "... How about this?" the shadowy figure suggested, their voice persuasive. "Each judge can save one person from each group, either because they stood out while cooking, planned the dish well, or simply because they were one of the ones chosen at the start. Those who aren’t selected will face the punishment."

  "Ehh? Since when do you care so much?" Chef Tartarus asked. "But, it’s not a bad idea."

  "Just because I can doesn’t mean I should," said Chef Harpira. "I doubt I’ll even use one of these ‘votes.’"

  This was particularly bad news for those who had been chosen by her.

  Chef Dominatom snorted. “You’re so caring,” he mocked. His eyes swept around the three groups, searching. Luca didn’t need to look at the others to know that a torch of hope had been lit within them. He stayed still and calm, giving no indication that he felt the weighty gazes on him. Judging by the chef’s words, they knew what had happened. They probably knew what each of them had done.

  Chef Dominatom knew that it was him who came up with the idea for the sauce.

  "I’ll go first," said Chef Tartarus. "You—" he pointed at… the Imp. "I like your guts. You, and you."

  One of those chosen was Claw, who practically deflated like an anxiety-filled balloon beside him. His hand gripped Luca’s shoulder again, and he could hear him muttering a mix of relieved words and a few choice curses.

  Chef Dominatom snorted. "Hmm, among you..." He stretched his hand forward. "You," the first person he pointed to was a demon from the green group whom Luca didn’t recognize. "You," he said, unsurprisingly pointing at Imuit, though his tone was... sharp. "And finally... you."

  Luca should have feel relieved.

  He really should.