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Reality stuck hard, leaving Igna speechless. The great hall was further from the truth. Before reaching there, they exited through the back entrance of the office building onto a lovely stone-path. To the left were fields where the students played football as well as run on the perimeter made to be a running track. On the right stood a swimming pool. The extravagance of the piles bordering the body of water sent shivers. As it so happened, the iron fencing separating the path from the various facilities didn’t block much. A few students were spotted laying on beach-style chairs, taking the sun for a loveable tan. The amount of liberty given was frightening. Obliged to keep pace with Leko, they next came across a heated court for tennis. Balls smacked against the orangish color floor. Each time one would receive, the ball flew across with a less than amiable grunt. It felt uncomfortable as the seamlessly innocent sound could have fooled the wisest of minds. The size of the academy became apparent.

“Leko’s Cooking Academy rivals most schools and highschool in Plaustan. The sheer size puts the Adventuring Academy to shame,” said éclair. “The project was funded by the Trader’s Guild, under the condition that Leko is a member and never leave unless permitted by Lady Haru. Part of the money comes from Phantom as well. The company in charge of construction is affiliated with Skokdrag’s construction company. Considering the facts, Leko’s Academy can be said to have been built using Ardanian craftmanship.”

“What about the students, what happens to them?”

“The nobles who graduate the academy are granted the honor to train at Leko’s side for a month. There on, they are forwarded to the World Culinary Institute of Fine Dining where another test is conducted. Top restaurants around the world, regardless of the nation, come in flocks to fight for the elites. Cooking is a growing market; food will never go extinct – the skilled are in to make a fortune.”

“Part of me doesn’t think it’s the only reason.”

“Yes, that is true. They invested in such a show of a compound is to gather the truly prodigious to work for Arda. The province is now one of the richest around the world.”

.....

“Yeah, I don’t care about the politics. I want to know how they cash in favors...”

“Someone’s gotten smarter,” said éclair, “-it’s pretty simple. The rich and famous come, they sign contracts with the Trader’s Guild to become business partners. The chefs are often the heir to riches beyond a person’s imagination. Add that to another reason why Arda’s growing in strength day by day, another reason why the crown is in trouble.”

“Once again,” mumbled Igna, “-I don’t care.” And so, the path arrived at rectangular archways leading towards a massive grey-door. A slide of a card gave a faint beep.

‘Great hall...’ thought he after crossing the labyrinth of corridors, ‘-why does everything have to end up like this.’ Once again, for god knows how much, rested a battle-style arena. The Hidronian culture was one birthed off bloodshed and fight. Even now, in times of peace, even in a simple and peaceful activity such as cooking, was a place for battle. For an outsider, this belligerent behavior and will to sort out any misunderstanding on a battlefield, felt crude and barbaric. Yet, inside, for those born and raised, the survival instinct was primordial. Monsters, peoples, roads, even plants, anything could kill at any moment.

“This is where the graduation will happen,” thundered Leko clopping down the stairs. The voice echoed in full around the empty seats. The closer the stage came, the bigger it was until, finally, he stood to face the audience. It’d take a few minutes to go from one end to the other. The screen behind, somber and unactive, toggled with the flare of a solar eruption. The disturbance fired across by jolts of electricity and crackling of white-noise. The screen froze, shifted between distorted images, and ultimately played a familiar video.

“LOUD!” cried he to Leko, who shrugged.

“Igna, come here,” he gestured.

“Yes, what’s the matter, chef?” gently touching the earlobe, “-something amiss?”

“No,” said he, *clap,* the stage rumbled, clogs and ticking permeated outwards the ground to the head. The assistants from before were nicely seated in the front row.

“What’s going on?” the video behind showed,’-cook-off.’

“I wanted to do this from the day you returned,” smirked Leko, “-partner, will you take part in a cooking battle?”

“Isn’t it a bit too soon?” he wondered, “-don’t you have to watch the students or something. As the director, won’t doing this be disrespectful?”

“Shut up,” he laughed, “-Igna, you worry too much.”

“...” two cooking stations sprawled to face one another; a line crossed the middle.

“Igna, my partner,” said Leko with pan in hand, “-Cle is coming soon. I want us to have this battle right now since graduation is upon us. The girls will serve as judges. Is that acceptable?”

“I don’t mind it,” said he, “-if you’re sure about the contest, then I’m all for it.”

“Attention to all students,” intercoms blazed onto classrooms, the outside, and the changing rooms, “-Director Leko will have a cook-off against a young Chef. Anyone who wishes to assist, please make way to the great hall.” Just like that, the empty arena shook by the multiples of steps.

‘This feeling,’ a glance showed the seats filling at a rapid pace, ‘-when did they get here?’

“Igna,” said Leko, “-watch me, and not the audience. We’re going to go head-to-head. Are you ready for the challenge?” he held a knife.

“Chef Leko,” returned he, “-what are the conditions?”

“Free for all, make a single dish!”

Murmurs about why such an unprecedented event passed from ears to ears. The lecturers and instructors were baffled at the director’s actions. He, the great chef Leko, an example to any respectable young chef, was in a battle against an unknown. For him to acknowledge the opponent, he ought to be strong, was the conclusion many arrived to.

‘My arms and legs feel like mush.’ Cold knives stabbed his back, the look of dejection from the students wasn’t something to laugh at. The top student of the academy didn’t have the honor to challenge the director; the student council president, arguably the most talented youngster to touch a knife. He had been featured in many magazines, even Lady Lordon spoke about him on her various drunken escapades.

There, shy of the field of vision, the judgmental student council stared from their seats at the upper floor of the arena. Ingredients were brought to the center; assistants were at the ready to help in whatever way needed. Anything went as long as the rules were respected. The battle in question, free for all, meant, anything goes.

On one side, Chef Leko had picked and was readying the ingredient, on the other, Igna stood still facing the sink. ‘The pressure, the nervousness, I’ve never experienced this before,’ a feeling of nausea spurred from within, the vision narrowed, the hands trembled, and the mind blanked. The sudden change, the wanting glances of the audience were new to him. ‘-This is different from a combat trial. There, the attention is on staying alive, the body moves per instinct and the mind thinks of how to overcome trouble. Here, there’s no escape, the mind is free to wander and think of multiple possibilities. The fear of failing, the fear of underperforming. Is this the pressure lady Haru hinted at? Was I this much of a fool to think Cle would be easy? I’m failing here, what about the bigger stage, what about the expectation from Loron. They voiced to have me score a spot at the event – this is...’ *cling, cling, cling,* blade against blade, the slow tapping, the soothing sound of water boiling, the sharp smell of spice. ‘What was I thinking?’ facing him was Chef Leko moving graciously. The way the ingredients were prepared, *smack,* a piece of dirty-muddied meat flopped onto his chopping board.

‘Dungeon-Style cooking. Chef Leko is going all out, he’s not going to let me win that easy.’ Back to reality, although the nervousness and anxiety had their clutches around the limbs, Igna took the first step. Murmurs increased at every move he made.

“He’s completely out of it,” said a girl holding a teddy bear.

“Chef Leko gave him the honor of a cook-off, is that how he’s going to act?” rage-induced grits channeled into a clenched fist. “What’s so special about that good for nothing. Was I nothing more than failure in his eyes? I worked so hard, I beat every opponent, conquered the world of fine cuisines... all I wanted was to be acknowledged. I thought graduation would give me that chance, yet, he chose that, it pisses me off!”

“Come on, Chef Igna,” shouted second years, “-show us what you can do!”

‘The students from the apprenticeship.’

“Igna, it’s time to start cooking,” flashed éclair, “-the crowd is getting angrier by the second. Are you going to fail without a fight?”

“No.” Masking the nervousness with a smile, he made for the center and picked exotic ingredients. Things people would often cast aside. The choice sent the audience in a frenzy, questions about what the options and quality of the picks fired one after the other. The standard set wasn’t a thing to laugh at. Everyone in attendance was strong on their own merit. Aspiring chefs who would give anything to stand where he was. A position granted by merit and luck. ‘I’ve not attended cooking school. I’ve trained by the sides of legends and elites. That in itself is rewarding enough. I was given what most people dreamed about, I’m sure they’d kill to have the experience I’ve amassed. Getting started in a crowd isn’t worthy of my teacher’s effort. I need to be better. I’m the prodigy of Medusa and the assistant of Chef Leko. I worked at Loron, my understanding of the fundamentals is unbeatable. Chef Leko,’ digging around the pocket, he pulled the bandana. Tied at the back, the aura changed.

Similar to how Chef Leko pulled out a disgusting piece of meat. Igna pulled Kord from a tiny pouch, the reward offered by Kul. A gateway to the bottom-most layer of Coria. To his surprise, the lake also harbored Kord as well as another rare-type of a creature. Knife in hand, the prepping began. The ambidextrous boon worked wonders to ready the pans and stove. Bowl by bowl, ingredient by ingredient, the foul stench from Leko and Igna merged into a repulsive cacophony. The scent alone had many avert their eyes. Dungeon-Style Cooking, against Dungeon-Style Cooking.

Forty-five minutes later, the hypnotic and hard battle reached the end. Four plates on each side. Sweat dripped, anxiety from before vanished. Leko stared with a smile. Judges for the contest were moved to the stage. Three tasters waited impatiently, and so, the dishes were brought one after the other. Works of art rested on the counter; the audience was on the edge of their seats. The magnification of the seats all but swelled the appetite.

“That was a rough start for you, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said he to Leko, “-thank you for the experience. I don’t know what would have happened if I went to the event without preparation.”

“I just wanted to fight,” they stared one another with plates in hand, “-let’s see what the judges have to say.”

One bite each turned into silence, the elated faces spoke volume. The first dish was made by the director, most expected said reaction. Second, came the equally delicious looking dish.

“This is,” they crunched, “-amazing.” Rawness, fierceness, and the sense of danger from the dungeon, all transmigrated into their plates. Taste, flavor, spices, it all merged into a hardcore Xius song.