Chapter 82
Upon hearing that a competition was going to be held, I decided to ride Count Kleber's carriage to the amphitheater in advance with Marie.
I'd been uneasy ever since I heard that Count Kleber had rented it.
A cooking competition belongs in a kitchen.
A place with broad worktables, a reliable supply of water and fire, stable ingredient storage, and convenient cleanup.
But this man had said he'd rented the largest amphitheater in the capital.
When I first heard it, I thought he was joking.
But perhaps because he intended to sell tickets, Count Kleber had really secured that enormous place.
When I stood on the central stage, I could see the audience seating all around me.
I heard it had been a place where gladiatorial matches, swordsmanship competitions, major speeches, and public executions had been held countless times.
Fortunately, these days it apparently hosted only swordsmanship competitions and speeches.
Our footsteps echoed across the stone floor, and the empty seats were strangely imposing.
I stood in the center and sighed.
“We're cooking here?”
Marie said beside me.
“At least people will be able to see plenty.”
“That's the problem.”
“Why? Isn't it good if they can see well?”
“Cooking can go wrong when you design it to be entertaining to watch. Big movements look impressive to guests, but flavor can be ruined by a small mistake. Some people's hands will tremble here, and others will burn things because they can't control the heat.”
“Then we'll get to see their real skill.”
I marked where the workstations would be placed.
If they were too far away, the food would grow cold before the judges could taste it, but if they were too close, contestants would get in one another's way.
I also had to figure out where to bring in water, where to take out waste, and how to separate the areas for using fire from those for cold preparation.
A cooking competition is a much messier event than it looks.
Ingredients pile up, peels accumulate, pots boil over, someone cuts their hand, and someone else burns a sauce.
The audience will want to see only the finished dishes and the tension, but in reality, countless piles of trash and dirty dishes lie between those moments.
I pointed to one side of the arena.
“That side is for storing ingredients. It needs to be partially hidden from the audience's view. If it's too conspicuous, it'll look more like a warehouse than a place serving food.”
Marie nodded.
“Then what about that passage?”
“That's the exit route for eliminated contestants and dishes from failed attempts. If they carry everything straight past the audience, they could become objects of ridicule. Even if a chef fails, we need to preserve at least a minimum of dignity.”
“You think about that too?”
“If we make a chef's failure into nothing more than entertainment, good chefs won't enter next time.”
Even as I said that, I thought of the bastards at the television station in my previous life.
They were crazy bastards who loved tears more than flavor and treated conflict, rather than cooking, as their source of dopamine.
This competition couldn't become like that.
It had to be a hit, but the chefs couldn't be sacrificed for it.
I didn't know how well Count Kleber would enforce that boundary, but as a judge, I at least had to hold the line.
Just then, quick footsteps sounded from the entrance of the amphitheater.
It was Count Kleber, who had stepped away briefly to discuss things with the person in charge.
He was always relaxed under normal circumstances.
He was even more relaxed when money was coming in, and when things grew bigger, he only smiled more.
But today, his face showed the slightest hint of fluster.
It was really only the slightest hint, but that little bit was more frightening.
I asked immediately.
“What happened?”
Count Kleber caught his breath and said,
“The schedule has changed.”
“Is the competition canceled?”
“No. Quite the opposite.”
‘Can the word opposite really sound this ominous?’
Count Kleber looked around the amphitheater once and said quietly,
“An imperial swordsmanship competition was originally scheduled to be held here.”
“Yes, well, isn't that what this place is for?”
“It's a major competition in which imperial knights and noble-house swordsmen participate. According to the original schedule, they had this amphitheater reserved before us. That's why I rented it for the period after their competition.”
“…Yes, Your Excellency?”
“The location of the swordsmanship competition has been changed by His Majesty the Emperor's order.”
I swallowed dryly.
“Why?”
Count Kleber smiled very cautiously.
“So His Majesty could use this amphitheater for the cooking competition.”
For a moment, the inside of the amphitheater seemed even larger.
I looked down at the route chart in my hand.
The emperor again.
Why did he keep putting his name on the kitchen counter of my life? Was he insane?
“Then what will happen to the swordsmanship competition?”
“It will be held at another location. No one will complain, since it's an imperial order. On the surface, anyway.”
“I imagine they'll curse us in private.”
“A few swordsmen may come to dislike chefs.”
“Isn't that a problem?”
“If we invite people from the swordsmanship side to the final, that should resolve it to some extent. We can present it as masters from different arenas meeting one another.”
Truly a genius at putting a spin on things.
But my stomach couldn't accept that spin.
My stomach burned.
Count Kleber hadn't finished speaking.
“And we have a little more time now. Since we can use the amphitheater earlier, we'll have enough time to install the workstations and hold rehearsals.”
“That's good.”
“Yes. It's good news.”
“Then there must be bad news too.”
Count Kleber fell silent for a very brief moment.
Marie took a step back beside me.
By now, we'd both gotten used to it.
Bad news always follows good news.
“His Majesty the Emperor himself will come to watch the final.”
I immediately felt acid rise from my stomach.
The back of my throat stung.
I hurriedly grabbed the water bottle I'd brought and poured water straight into my mouth.
Some water ran down my chin, but I had no time to care.
Marie patted my back in surprise.
“Kyle, are you all right?”
“No, I'm not.”
Count Kleber said,
“The fact that His Majesty is taking an interest is an immense honor.”
“The honor is so boundless that I feel like I'm going to have a heart attack.”
“This competition will attract the attention of the entire Empire.”
“……”
I looked at the center of the amphitheater again.
Things had gotten far too big.
I had hoped this competition would bring renewed attention to the Empire's chefs.
But if the Emperor came in person, that changed things.
The chefs who reached the final wouldn't just be making delicious food; in the Emperor's presence, they would become the face of the Empire's culinary culture.
If they made a mistake, their lives could be thrown into turmoil.
Of course, if they succeeded, their lives would hit the jackpot.
“We need to tell the finalists in advance.”
I said.
Count Kleber nodded.
“Of course.”
“No, I mean we can't just tell them that His Majesty is coming. We need to prepare them to withstand that pressure. If their hands shake, they'll ruin the food. If they cut their hands while chopping in front of him, it'll be even worse.”
“We'll increase the rehearsals.”
“And we need to review the audience routes too. If His Majesty comes, he'll have an escort. If the security detail's route overlaps with the ingredient route, we're finished. If the security detail knocks over a sauce at a cooking competition held in place of a swordsmanship competition, it'll go down in history.”
Marie said quietly,
“I kind of want to see that.”
“Marie.”
“I'm joking.”
I drank some more water.
Count Kleber quickly wrote it all down.
“We'll separate the imperial security route, ingredient delivery route, judges' route, and eliminated contestants' exit route.”
“We'll move the final's workstations toward the center and, unlike in the preliminaries, make sure the audience can see them clearly, while providing support space behind the workstations. If we make everything visible just because His Majesty is there, we'll kill the chefs.”
“Good.”
Count Kleber was gradually regaining his usual expression.
A man who came alive as things grew bigger.
I'm the opposite.
I'm the sort whose stomach starts hurting as things grow bigger.
But after drinking some water, my head cleared a little.
The emperor's arrival was unavoidable.
Then we had to make use of it.
“We need to change the final's theme too.”
Count Kleber's eyes lit up.
“How?”
“Simply making something delicious in front of the Emperor won't be enough. We need to show him the Empire's table. The challenge should test how they can bring the Empire's regions, social classes, techniques, tradition, and change together on a single plate.”
Marie looked at me as if she couldn't believe it.
“You looked like you were about to die a moment ago, and now you're already thinking about work.”
“If I want to survive, I have to think.”
Count Kleber smiled with deep satisfaction.
“Excellent. His Majesty will like it too.”
“Our stomachs need to survive before we worry about whether he likes it.”
“If your stomach's the problem, go back to Montbel Territory and buy yourself a glass of milk.”
“Will you give it to me for free?”
“The milk shop charges everyone the same price, regardless of status.”
I glared at him.
“Count Kleber.”
“I'm joking.”
“You meant it a little.”
“A little.”
This man was consistent to the end.
Still, at least I had a rough idea now of what we needed to prepare.