[April Fools 2024] – Master Cook

[April Fools 2024] – Master Cook

“Master Cook? Never heard of it.”

An Aspiring Moon dressed in the formal apparel of one of Hora Therapeutic’s trainees confessed into Snap’s giant recording eye.

“The invitation clearly says its being held inside of the Nexus. Problem is that I’m not a Blessed.”

A shopkeeper revealed a shabby-looking ticket with the words, ‘YOU are invited to become the NEXT Master Cook!’. Three familiar faces of wolf Demi-humans smiled back from the ticket with a toothy grin.

“I don’t even know who the first Master Cook is.”

In another instant, Snap shoved its monocular lens to capture the expressionless face of a Missionary of Act X.

“It would be a lifelong dream for me. I’m ecstatic.” The entity smiled hollowly, its empty eyes sockets staring deep into Snap’s. “As per the Script says.”

“Do I really want to be here? No. But one of the Heads of Security made it compulsory if we wanted to receive our Aspiring Moon titles.” A Candidate Moon on the brink of becoming an Aspiring Moon complained in a low voice.

“I dunno about you, but one plate isn’t going to cut it. Just a gut feeling. It’s Jury we’re yawning about.”

An adolescent, black-haired girl with golden eyes yawned from her cozy, fluffy bed. She peered into Snap’s eyes drowsily, tapping on it with drool hanging from the edge of her mouth.

“One sheep. Two sheep. Three sheep. All sizzling on a rotisserie grill.” The girl drifted off to sleep.

“I’m Ber, the Claw of the Head. I’m a professional cook of forty years. I’ve been around the world tasting thousands of different cuisines. If there’s anyone that knows how to cook, then trust me, it’s the Moon with over 30 Levels in the Cook Profession.”

Ber revealed herself onto a stage overlooking twenty Candidate Moons and Atelier personnel. Rows of capable kitchens powered by sponsored Atelier tech was where the Candidate Moons would be creating dishes worthy of praise. But more than that; to be fed to the illustrious Beholder Jury.

The reason for this was because Ber could not cook.

Why couldn’t she cook?

Because she was busy having to judge these cooks, of course!

“I’m Res, the Eye of the Head. Like you all, I’m not a profession cook but I have worked alongside the best chefs in the upper Floors of the Nexus (Just Ber). The key is my eye for detail. Presentation is everything. We eat with our eyes.”

Res marched out to join Ber atop the stage.

Finally, the last of the judges revealed themselves. A short woman emerged from behind a distant door, her arms folded as her eyes glared back at the contestants.

“I’m Cer, the Fang of the Head. I have no cooking experience. I don’t how to cook. I don’t even cook at all. What I bring is honesty. So, if your food is crap, then you’ll be charged for attempted assassination of a pivotal figurehead. Sentence? Quadruple digit working hours. Every day.”

She warned, joining the others, adding:

“And for preference, I prefer to be eaten instead but that’s irrelevant here –”

“Contestants! You will have sixty minutes to create a world-class meal!” Ber shouted excitedly.

“You will have access to the Nexus’ most esteemed pantry!” Res announced as Snap panned its camera towards a door.

Outside were the streets of the Common Hub.

“The shopkeepers might look shocked at first, but this is an opportunity for you to learn what your upcoming title as Aspiring Moons implies. Who can say no to you? But for Atelier members, we can’t make any promises to cover your tracks.” Cer shouted, right before Res pointed towards another door which led into a beautiful marble pantry filled with every conceivable ingredient.

“Idiot, don’t tell them to abuse their authority!” Res hissed in a silent whisper.

“What? I didn’t say they had to go out and hit Public Defenders.” Cer interpreted her words literally.

“Contestants!” Ber cut through their squabble, pointing at a giant clock that hung above. “Are you ready!? Your time starts… it started five minutes ago.”

The contestants looked at each other in confusion.

“Time is ticking!” Cer shouted. “Do you wanna graduate into Aspiring Moons – I mean, become our first Master Cook or what!?”

And just like that, the contestants immediately sprung into action, flooding straight into the pantry room. However, the door only allowed one person to fit through at a time, resulting in a major personnel jam.

Cer glanced into Snap’s camera.

“Please. Cooking? You mean that thing where you put raw meat into a flame? Pfft. Humans, am I right? What comes before that? The hunt. The pantry is a red herring. If they were smart, they’d go and target that one.”

Snap panned over to a sheep Demi-human.

“Incredible.” Ber clapped once, turning Snap’s head around to face her. “The first step to cooking is to know what you want. Some might die along the way but for a good meal, there is no better sacrifice. We live to kill as Moons.”

She moved in place as though she urgently needed to use the bathroom.

“The Atelier personnel are at a major disadvantage. Wait look. They’re using kitchen utensils to saw a hole into the side of the door!” Res pointed out.

“Smart. Adapting on the spot is required from a good cook.” Ber was impressed. “If the animal doesn’t have enough legs, then you have to make compromises. That’s why we have such adorable Healers.”

Snap panned over to a pair of heavily armed Black Wings.

“Only animals take off their own legs. They should learn from the Amalgam.” Their twisted faces instantly became like that of angels at the mention of Frost. “She’d never resort to those methods. Every part of the Amalgam is sacred. We know how creative she can be. They say better them than me, and I say that’s right. The beast course of action is to take the legs of someone else.”

“Alright. Enough about the legs.” Res sighed. “Oh, here we go! They’re coming back out!”

“All twenty of them? Tch.” Cer clicked her tongue, gesturing for Snap to come closer with the flick of her head. “I planted some Puff Puffs in there. I was hoping someone would try to cook one. The key to being a Moon is to unexpect the expected. That way you can go in and expect the unexpected.”

“Exactly. Truer words have never been spoken.” Ber nodded in agreement.

Meanwhile, Res remained silent, looking at the camera and shaking her head as she mouthed: “I’m not related to them.”

Flames and delicious scents filled the pale chamber as the contestants fired up their stoves. The triplets keenly observed like a pack of wolves, their tails wagging in tune with the ticking of the great clock.

Suddenly, as an Atelier personnel was chopping down an onion –

“Healer!”

– They sliced open the tip of their finger.

“What’s happened to her over there?” Ber whispered.

“Get this. A cat Demi-human just cut themselves while slicing their vegetables.” Cer whispered back.

“What vegetable?” Ber asked with urgency.

“Does it matter?” Res muttered.

“Shh. Sis. I think it was a lettuce.”

“Dear God. Will she be ok?”

The Healer stared at the cat-eared woman with deadpan eyes.

“It’s a small cut. You think I’m going to waste my time on you? These bullets aren’t cheap.”

“W-What’s the point of having Healers on board then?” The frazzled woman questioned.

“Just in case things devolved into a last man standing situation. Which by the way – can still happen!”

No one took a bite of Cer’s bait, instead choosing to keep their heads down and work harder.

“Oh my, look at that.” Ber softly pointed at the girl the with cut. “It’s dripping into the pot.”

“Disgusting –”

“Wait, what does that mean?” Cer cut Res off.

“It’s a smart move to utilize everything you have. At that temperature she can elevate it by enriching the broth with small traces of blood. It’s a common technique you’ll find in Vampiric cuisine.” Ber explained. “That’s her on a plate.”

“I can’t keep this act up anymore…” Res murmured in an aside.

Surprisingly, there were no sabotages despite the incentive to do so. Eventually, the clock ran down. Unbeknownst to them was that the clock overhead was slightly slower than a regular clock, which resulted in the contestants having far more time than intended.

No one needed to tell the triplets how horrible things were going, but right now the end was in sight.

It was time to judge their food.

“Time… Is… UP!” Ber announced. “Hands off your stations!”

“Well done. It’s a miracle that you’re all still here.” Res sighed in relief.

“It’s too soon to decide that.” Cer grinned. “Alright! Come up one by one starting from left to right. No. Not your left. My left. So that’s your right!”

* * *

“Chef Ber. This is a seafood pie topped with egg, with a side of steak and spring onion salad.” A cow Demi-human presented.

Ber smiled, taking a small bite of each component. After savoring the meal, she tapped the side of the podium and gave the contestant a gentle smile.

“It’s delicious. I would go easy on the seasoning and really up the portion because it’s Beholder Jury we’re talking about.”

Next up was Res to taste test it.

“Visually, it’s beautiful. The taste is too salty, but I like to eat with my eyes. I think it’s nice.”

Then, it was Cer’s turn to judge.

“Salad is a sign of an insecure chef. It’s not bad. Can be better. Drop the salad. Also what’s this?”

Cer picked up a small piece of lemon.

“Lemon, Chef.”

“I know that. But what’s it doing here?”

“To squeeze to your taste, Chef.”

Her fluffy ears drooped with each spoken word. Until suddenly, her face flushed red when she noticed that Cer’s eyes were fixated elsewhere.

“I, right now, want to squeeze you. You know that, right?”

“C-Chef?”

“Back in line.”

“Aw…?”

For some reason, despite how crude Cer was, the cow Demi-human was oddly disappointed.

* * *

“Mango pancake.”

“Really? A mango pancake? This is all you came up with in an hour? A shame.” Ber shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I’m not even going to taste it.”

“It looks delicious. I just wished the taste was more than just mango. It… really doesn’t pair well.” Res politely said. “If it was in 15 minutes then it would be wonderful.”

Cer on the other hand…

“Your ancestral bloodline was a mistake, and this brings me the same level of disgust as your food.”

***

“Lizard meat with a yellow sauce and hollandaise.”

“It’s simple, but heartful. As wolves we can appreciate good meat. Just… it’s well done. Had you cooked it perfectly then it would have gone from down here, to up here.” Ber said.

“You know what you’re getting at first glance. That’s the beauty of this.” Res smiled.

“I don’t accept bribes. You have to remember that it’s a Beholder you’re cooking for. *munch* I’m confiscating it.”

* * *

“Banana pasta –”

“Stop right there. Banana pasta? I think you’ve gone bananas.” Ber gagged at the mere thought of tasting this monstrosity.

“… You’re joking, right? I know Jury can eat anything, but this is crossing the line.”

“Tch. Do you cook for your family?” Cer asked unexpectedly.

“Y-Yes.”

“Are they still alive?”

* * *

“Hamburger.”

Ber nodded to herself. “Hamburger?” She whispered.

“Hamburger…?” Res tilted her head.

Cer’s eyes lit up with intrigue.

“Hamburger.”

* * *

“I call this the ‘Amalgam on a Plate’, Chefs.”

“A bit of everything, but you don’t need all of this stuff.” Ber shoved aside the bread and the lone cherry.

“It’s a bit of a dilemma. How would I go in to eat it? The egg on top makes it hard to really grab it without breaking the yolk and making a mess everywhere.” Res complained.

As for Cer…

“I’m disappointed in you. Wolf Demi-human to Wolf Demi-human. This is exactly why you don’t have a pack and will never have one.”

* * *

“Chef, this a meatball boiled in orange juice, and finished with an orange-flavored glaze –”

“Boiled in orange juice!?”

“… Why does it look so good?”

“Black Wing. Kill this one. Snap. Don’t look. Only a Corrupted can make something so diabolical.”

* * *

In the end, no one really knew if Jury ended up getting something to eat. Legend has it that Jury is still hungry to this day.

Then again, when isn’t Jury hungry?

As for who won the competition…

… Suffice to say, no really cared who won.

The Candidate Moons just wanted to graduate, and the Blessed Atelier personnel had better things to do. If anything, the title of Master Cook would be a permanent stain on one’s records.

And where did the food go?

A certain blue-haired machine took pleasure in enjoying the wonderful and despicable combinations.

In truth, it was all made for Nav.

And sitting in the center of it all was the slab of meat Cer had confiscated earlier, still steaming like it had just come off the stove.