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“I guess,” losing interest, “-there’s nothing much here I suppose.” The door locked to ease the atmosphere.

“Who was it?” approached a boy with white hair, “-did you kick him already?”

“Yes sir,” said the guard, “-he left as soon as you ordered for him to be kicked.”

“Any inclination on the uniform, what was he wearing?”

“Normal attire, he’s the boy from earlier, the one who’s going to judge the graduation exams.”

“SHIT!” a chance to showcase the skill slipped from the oily fingers. Once more he had been humiliated, or so was the feeling brewing within. Igna’s walk went from top to bottom, examining the campus and wasting time. éclair played the previously known recording of Cle – walking was more of an excuse than anything. Looking at the chef’s checking their profiles, learning about the world of excellent cuisine. Culture and upbringing mattered a lot on the plate, the chef’s souls reflect on what he serves. A quote from one of the many magazines. As is the entertainment business, there are a few companies at the top who control how the populous view cooking. Like actors, artists, and entertainers, cooks are without escape. Popularity makes one’s business run, and the competitive restaurants need the advertisement to keep afloat.

.....

From what he gathered, there were three magazines hailed as the best. Monthly Digest, Weekly Digest, and FD-Magazine, short for Fine Dining. MD is the most sought after by those in want of publicity. The critics, gastronomes, and reviews are worshiped by a cult following of rich heirs. WD is more of the run of the mill news, being featured on there is a guarantee raising brows situation. FD-M is more on the common side of the spectrum, a bi-weekly publish with emphasis on anything and everything relating to food.

Going into details; what makes MD so wanting is the Chef feature. Those who can have their face printed on the front cover which is tantamount to drinking the ocean, are guaranteed an influx in sales and overall fame.

Digest, weekly and monthly, are owned by Sprint publishing. A renowned publisher with multiple famous authors under their grasp. Fine-dining’s ownership falls to Dodo’s Ink, a somewhat competent company who rose to fame per a single series of books. The history and rivalry between them two go up decades where letters were commonplace. Back then reading was the only way to get smart and entertaining.

As Cle knocks on the door, the various magazines rushed to the selected candidates for a shot at fame. Covering their background and maybe detailing the next remarkable chef is a plus.

The entrance inside the academy felt louder with each second. Sat under a tree from which dropped dead leaves, time passed until the journalists were here. Many rushed the premises, a mob of hungered packs of reporters. Even so, a group of select few stayed at the back inside black cars. A flash of grey hair strolled by half-way down the window. ‘Who are they?’ wondered Igna carefully examining the scene at hand. The seemingly famine crowd came to a sudden halt before a barricade. Orders were given to allow reporters... though it didn’t mean all of them. The calm and collected ridden on their metal steed stopped to hail the guardians. Those of big stature smiled to frown at the hungered masses. If one isn’t famous, if one isn’t credible, the world of journalism can end before it even starts. A taste of reality was served. In total, three were allowed in and the rest kicked out. Cried as they might, screamed as they would have, the danger of letting strangers in the campus overwrote any fleeting empathy. Inside was a treasure trove of rich heirs who, if by mischance, were to be kidnapped, would mostly bring a heavy ransom. The enticement, the dream of living a life of comfort, was too heavy a burden to bear. If a brother can commit fratricide for mere pennies or an argument, who can say what a stranger’s intentions are. People are scarier than any old monster or demon.

At their entrance into the library, the aura changed. Now that the crowd cleared, students could be spotted peeping from the main-building. Some even went as far as to casually stroll nearby and glimpse inside.

An assistant came running down the pathway, “-Igna, Igna,” screamed he, “-where are you?”

“Over here,” he hailed, “what’s the matter?”

“It’s the people from Digest. It’s the interview, you have to go.”

“Ok, ok, I’m coming,” and so they returned with the assistant giving few bits on the interviews. He explained as if it was something normal. The curious gazes of the students could have said otherwise.

A tidy office, two chairs sat before the dark-oak desk. Bookshelves as the backdrop and gentle sweet lights on the ceiling. The mood was set for one to recount a mystery novel. In said whelming atmosphere; the windows opened to allow the evening draft. Cameras, microphones, and photographers were seated behind the interviewer.

‘The grey hair.’ Jumped immediately at his mind, ‘-why’s the tension so high?’ forced to tiptoe about in fear of disrupting the pressure, a lovely helper guided him to the seat. Where oppose the actor would have the upper hand on the discussion, this situation here felt reserved. Leko stood at the back with wanting eyes and crossed arms.

The lady cleared her throat and gave a handshake, “-good evening. I’m Lia from the Weekly Digest. I know what you might be thinking, the WD, what’s the point? Let me tell you something,” her face flushed with irritation, “-Monthly or Weekly, we get paid the same. Just because they have it easy and do it once a month while we have to do it 4 times.”

“Lady Lia,” whispered another.

“Sorry about that,” her face changed into a corporate smile, “-forget what I said.”

‘Bit on the unstable side,’ he kept quiet. “I’m sorry in advance, I’ve never done these kinds of things before.”

“You haven’t,” she leaned in intrigued, “-I suppose it’s like me taking your v-card in an interview,” nervous laughter followed.

“Lady Lia, it’s not appropriate to make such lewd comments,” whispered the same assistant.

“Not funny?” her shoulders dropped, “-whatever. Ok, Igna,” she smiled, “-don’t worry about anything. We’ll just talk, the cameras will record us and that’s about it. Take it as a normal conversation, does that sound alright?”

“Put it that way,” he eased into the seat.

“Well, hello,” she turned to the camera, “-for the guests at home, and live listeners; I’m Lia, from the Weekly Digest, interviewing our next issues. Once again, the company would like to thank you for the continued support in this avant-garde format.”

‘What’s this about live?’

“It’s a live-stream,” said éclair, “-here’s the channel,” he showed the page. “The video is deleted after the interview, it happens randomly; a sort of sneak-peak into the coming issue. You know, a way to build hype. Just deal with it for now.”

Perplexed, to say the least, her ramble continued into an advert. “Excuse me, there was no talk about a live show,” voiced Leko from the back.

“Chef Leko, please,” said she softly, “-I’m handling the PR for this boy here. You personally contacted me,” the intent went from childish to professional.

‘Run me a background check on this Lia person.’

“Sure thing,” the request went through and returned almost instantaneously, “-Lia Parnt, a former editor at the Monthly Digest. Her articles were always funny, well-paced, and filled with easy-to-read passages. The emphasis on such a simple style ultimately made her the best advertiser out there. She could be considered the incarnation of the snake-oil salesmen. She can change any narrative of any situation to fill her needs. A truly ruthless person who could bring even a politician to her knee. Many are glad she’s not interested in politics, else, it would be carnage.”

“Welcome back to the show,” she turned to the interviewee, “-I’m here today in the company of Igna Haggard. The prodigy of the Medusa of Cooking, the boy who went viral a few months ago.”

A pause and she followed, “Recent talks about the unprecedented recommendation from multiple red-collar chefs have many wanting answers. Could you give us a short story about the journey there?”

“Sure thing. I started off working for the Trader’s Guild. There, I met Chef Leko, who introduced me to Lady Yuki. One thing led to another, and I found myself training as her prodigy. I am honestly honored to have been blessed with such brilliant chefs. They always inspire to get better; nothing can ever change that feeling.” Though it fell short here, the actual story had more details of which the live-viewers swallowed without a word said.

“Must have been hard, training under such a star. The media attention should have had you in the spot-light months ago.”

“Not really,” said he nicely, “-I wasn’t really one for the public eye. The peace and quiet are things very enjoyable. The ability to settle and think. Lady Yuki knew my intentions and helped in safeguarding the little-bubble I’ve made.”

“Is it true you’re also a fighter?”

“Not so much a fighter than a boy who can wield a sword. If things get rough, I can somewhat protect myself.”

“That brings us to the Dungeon,” her legs crossed, “-Lady Yuki, Chef Leko, and a few others began a project many years ago, a new style of cooking. One involving monsters as means to satisfy the pallet. It’s still shunned by the community, what are your thoughts on that?”

“My thoughts?” a few seconds passed, he shifted from left to right, looking for the perfect posture, “-I suppose my intentions will be clear at Cle.”

“I see,” she smiled, “-keeping the suspense, I like it. On Cle, did you know someone from the Academy was also recommended to partake in the event?”

“Right now?” the eyes narrowed, “-here?”

“Yes, I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

“I’m afraid not,” the lips dropped to a standstill.

“Give me a moment,” her long arms pillage and robbed her bags, “-found, here.”

“An issue of the Monthly Digest,” flipping the pages, *The Future of Leko’s Academy, a virtuoso of ingredients.* “The student council president!”

“Correct,” she nodded, “-he’s the one many elites have admired and respect. The innovations in his dishes go beyond what we think. The hard work he pours into each dish is something to behold. The nickname of Virtuoso comes from how he moves. Calm and flowing, a serenade of violins and piano.”

“You speak highly of him. I’m afraid I was too busy having my head dug into a frying pan. The world of fine-dining isn’t that familiar to me.”

“It’s fine. Setting cooking aside, what is the thing you hold most important in life?”

“Relations with those I care about. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for people. I’m grateful for Hidros, it’s a good place to be. There’re squabbles here and there, the continent isn’t perfect, but I like it. It has its charm; people are motivated to do what they want. The drive to become better, I’ve seen it multiple times. The academies, in particular, the rawness of their passion, a very good place to be. What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.”

“Lastly, Mr. Haggard, I like to ask a personal question.”

“Depends on how personal it is.”

“The Haggard name, are you part of the Dynasty, and by that, I mean, Phantom and the Royal family.”

éclair remained silent; the heritage would have caught up regardless of the time he kept quiet. “Tell them,” said the spirit, “-people will know sooner or later.”

“Yes. I’m part of the Dynasty. It’s not that big of a deal. I don’t have any claim to the royal throne. I’m a Haggard in name alone, that’s about it.”

“Still,” said she, “-the Haggard name is very respected around the continent.”

“I know,” said he, “-my uncle is the example of what a leader should endeavor to be.”