A/N: Oh nuouuuouoououoooo I just checked my message board earlier today and realized that I had a TON of messages (wasn't expecting this) and so many sweet people I haven't been replying to! My greatest apologies. The messages have been replied to. Eep.

I hope you enjoyed reading the Honey-Jaxes at the beach! ^0^/ Atlas' POV was amazingly fun to write.

As usual, here's a long chapter for you to enjoy. This week's Sunday update shall be a short story on Lion!Leroy and Reindeer!Vanilla and will be available here on Wattpad. It's sort of like the Bunny!Chip and Wolf!Xander one but clearly better because lol I mean obviously I wrote that nearly seven years ago and looking back wow I had such low standards and bad characters. For sneak peeks, I'll be putting them up on my Instagram (hisangelchip) ^^ hehe.

Enjoy!

=================

[Leroy]

I'd dropped him a text about not attending the party and telling him that he should, instead, because more than half the ramen recipe, he'd been the one to improvise and help me with. So if anyone was celebrating anything, he'd have to be there with seventy-percent credit. Knowing him, he wasn't going to claim a thing; and the fact that he wasn't felt like a wasted opportunity for everyone to recognize his abilities and admit that he was no fluke.

He gave in. Eventually. And then asked if there was any chance we could have a late-night supper together after my shift. The plan had been to surprise him with a take-home tub of ice cream from the parlour and drop by his room without telling but now that he'd asked, turning him down wasn't really an option. The catch: he'd be doing the cooking.

So we were texting, back and forth, and I was heading out of Roth after grabbing my things from the locker room when Pierson showed up. Out of nowhere, right by my shoulder; hugging my arm like this was an open fucking sea and he wasn't a swimmer. Initially, I thought it was some ghost hand reaching out to me but it wasn't, so I looked away in disappointment and continued down the hallway. He followed.

"—tulations on your win! You never said a thing about being so talented... you must be really humble. It's so nice to see a humble chef. I've never tasted ramen so refreshing and rich at the same time!"

"Guess you haven't been to Japan, then." I was counting the number of steps to the main entrance. Twenty-three. Twenty-four.

"Mmhm. Not yet. Have you? It'll be so nice to have travel companions. You seem like a very nice person to travel with, too. I'm always going out alone. It get's a little lonely sometimes," he said, gazing up at me the entire walking distance while I kept my eyes on the door that was less than a couple feet away. The rightmost corner of my vision was a pink ball and for some reason, the arm he was holding onto was feeling heavier by the second.

"Oh um, by the way. I was thinking... to celebrate a great first round and you winning. Would you like to join some of us from the other schools for a party tonight? At the lodge, maybe? Liqin brought us..." Ah, fuck. Not again. I tuned out as soon as he said something about hosting a party at the lodge and stopped in my tracks, turning to face him.

"I have a shift in thirty minutes," I laid out, serious.

"Aw, you always work so hard! Maybe it's time you relax a little," he was telling me what to do with my life and that wasn't exactly something anyone would like to hear from strangers. "What time does your shift end? I can come pick you up. Where is it? We could maybe... spend some time together. After that."

This made things clear. Although I wasn't the kind the sort things into black and white categories—his intentions hadn't been glaringly obvious, and it wasn't like I bothered observing him more than necessary—I made up my mind there and then to get straight to it.

"I'm busy. And attached."

Done. That was his signal to back off. I was about to turn back around and make my escape while he busied himself with shock or whatever emotion I was expecting him to feel when all of a sudden, he did my expectations a one-eighty and if anything, tightened his grip on my arm. With his other hand that was free, I was made into some art project of his. What in the fuck was I looking at?

"That's okay. You can be attached and... still have some fun, right?"

I backed up, struggling with rising flames and stamping them out before they were beyond my control. To be sure, I was holding Pierson at arm's length just in case he decided to get any closer. All he did was laugh sickly sweet and I thought he was out of his fucking mind to talk about cheating like it was the weather. Look, I don't want to—

"Not if his girlfriend just heard your entire conversation, you little brat."

In the span of just five seconds, I was experiencing three levels of what in the fuck am I looking at stemming from the general combination of Pierson mentally, Pierson physically, Birchwood descending the right side of the double stairs behind us, and whatever she just said out loud.

"O-oh. Violet? Um, I didn't mean to... so, um. We were just... talking about the party tonight."

Her face was table-salt white and unlike her usual irate self, had some other emotion written all over her face that looked pretty much like regret. I wanted out. You'd think a high-functioning introvert would know how. Not me. This level of social interaction should've been left to professionals.

"Yeah? Yeah you, you really think I'd actually buy that? Oh my god how stupid do you think people are? Your hands were—they were all over Co... Leroy, my boyfriend."

Hold my fucking chicken what in the holy fuck was I looking at? I stared at her like she was mad and caught the brief tightening of her jaw followed by an instance of the usual glare she preferred to give. Which meant she hadn't completely lost it.

Pierson was trying to save himself. "Oh no, that was... w-well I stumbled and he was—"

"No you didn't!" Her jaw dropped and while I sure didn't know what to make of all this, I couldn't exactly deny the amusement either. "I saw the whole thing so you can stop your act, like, right now honestly. Show's over, okay? Go away. Shoo." She waved a hand downwards in short bursts, challenging Pierson to what seemed like a staring contest.

He gave her the auto-win, somewhat anxiously apologizing before leaving in the direction he came from—back down the hallway. I made for the main entrance.

"Hello?" Ah, fuck. Just let me get to my shift already. "I just saved your ass! You can't just leave, at least thank me or something you moron."

"Yeah?" I glanced over my shoulder. "I didn't ask for your help."

She followed me out the door. "That doesn't... you can't ignore my act of kindness, Leroy Cox oh my god why are you always ignoring people? You're a rude, ungrateful brat and I should never have thought of... god, why did I even... I don't even know how those words came out of my mouth. I saw the whole thing and my thoughts were just—they were running around and and I was supposed to be thinking and I didn't even realize I'd said those words until the two of your turned and oh my god I must have been mental."

I was crossing the plaza, past the fountain and down the steps to where the winery was at the bottom of the hill. A quick time check confirmed that I wasn't going to make it for the train I'd been planning to take so taking the bus was next in line on my option list. The bus stop was a little past the winery.

"I was just trying to save your ass, okay? The boyfriend thing doesn't matter. Pink-hair's not going to bother you if he thinks I'm your girlfriend. He knows the influence I hold over the school and is, like, one of my fourteen thousand followers so he's aware of my social media presence. He wouldn't dare."

I checked the bus app on my phone and saw that my ride was only going to arrive ten minutes later. Still better than the fifteen minutes for the train plus a little downtime since I was going to miss the other one before but the station's some ten minutes away too so I might end up missing another train. Fuck, great.

"So... not that I'm curious or anything. But since you owe me, I'd like a name. No questions. Just the name of whoever it is you're dating. Does Keith Tang know about this, by the way? Chief editor of the school press, magazine, social media thing?"

Torn between slowing down (standing still waiting for the bus wasn't my thing) and speeding up to put some distance between me and a voice droning on and on in my ear, I stopped to register how else I could rid of the latter only to actually start taking in what she was saying.

"Why?"

"I said no questions you moron. Were you even listening to me?"

"No."

"Oh my god Leroy Cox I swear by my chocolate tarts I'm never going to help you ever again even if Pink-hair starts rubbing himself all over you! Just tell me the name! What, don't tell me you're embarrassed or some stupid excuse like that."

Already, I could hear his ripples of a summer pool in my head saying something along the lines of 'if I knew a thing about politeness,' cute things like that. Still, we hadn't exactly had the talk just yet. The only person he'd told was Si Yin and I could see why he told her about us but he never really raised the topic about everything else and would only always go on about 'being in broad daylight' or a 'public space'. If I was going to make things clear, we needed to be on the same page and how the fuck was I going to know if we were, if we hadn't even had a proper discussion about it?

"Can't tell you. Don't have his approval."

Her reaction was immediate, but I didn't think much about it until repeating the sentence in my head and realizing that I'd sort of given it away. I mean, there was only one male companion I was so obviously—

"W-wait what? YOU'RE DATING CHEN?"

"Get your eyes checked."

================

[Vanilla]

The cocktail reception hosted by Chef Marseille had somehow turned into a meet-and-greet session with the guests we'd served earlier today and needless to say, Chen was the center of it all in Leroy's absence. There were several key players who did our school proud during the buffet, apart from those they'd expected it from—number one and two—Birchwood and Si Yin were among the few picked out by Chef Allan himself, our dean of culinary arts.

I, too, had intended to congratulate Birchwood in person but failed, for some reason, to spot her champagne-blonde hair amidst thirty other students joined by staff, facilitators and guests alike. When I finally saw her making her way across the room in a seemingly pleasant disposition with a wine glass of what seemed like apple juice between her fingers, I'd called out to her.

"Oh. It's you. Some people were talking about your shrimp. They're over there," she jerked a thumb over her shoulder, gaze not quite following the direction she had pointed me in. "My new fans are waiting to take a selfie with me, so. Bye."

"Hold on," I raised a hand, confused as to why she'd go out of her way to mention those people talking about my dish. "I wished to congratulate you on placing fifth. First, for desserts, of course. Naturally. The edible serveware idea was ingenious!"

"Yeah well duh," she scoffed, a rather smug look on her face. Usually, it came with just the former, without the latter part. Someone must've put her in the best mood possible. "Are we done now?"

"Um... well technically, yes. But I see that you're in a rather pleasant mood this afternoon! Did, um, did you perhaps receive a stunning compliment from a famed or perhaps recognized guest? If so, I wouldn't be surprised."

Birchwood appeared mildly taken aback by my conversational approach to potential friendships and while I'd run at least seven simulations of probably content, this was in no way close to anything I had been anticipating. More practice was, um, therefore necessary. I made mental plans to bolster my knowledge of social interactions, perhaps by starting on the new text by L.O. Red, The Art of Communicating in a Socially Destructive World.

"Okay first of all," she was back to frowning and immediately I was afraid of ruining her decent mood. "What's this? Why are we talking? Why are you talking to me? Second of all, yes, I'm in a good mood. A sixty. What you're doing now is bringing it down to a fifty-six and I do not appreciate it. But you know what could bring it back up? I've been dying to tell someone but I can't because it's supposed to be a secret kind of thing but who cares, you practically have no one to tell, I mean, you don't have friends, so. Can you keep a secret?"

A-at once I was flustered and somewhat desperate to salvage the social mess I'd currently gotten myself into; remind me to never again attempt to start any friendship of mine with a seeming conversation because it has yet, to date, never worked out the way I'd hoped it would. What with Birchwood's act of kindness before the start of the first round—swapping stations with myself even though she knew it would've been incredibly risky had something gone wrong with the wiring of her coolers with two minutes left on the clock—I had, in me, harbored some hopes of establishing a new friendship.

I nodded quickly. "Yes. Yes of course."

"Leroy Cox is gay and that's why he showed no interest in me," unveiled Birchwood in a lowered voice. "It makes perfect sense, how he doesn't react to hair twirling or cutesy voices and short skirts. I haven't lost my game!"

Nervous, I blanked out for a good second or two before somehow forming a response. "Is that so? I mean... he's... he told you this? Personally?"

"Well he said something about having a boyfriend, so."

"Ah, so um, there wasn't a name?" I had to ensure, slightly relieved.

Birchwood rolled her eyes. "He wouldn't tell me no matter how many times I threatened him with... with threats. But who cares? I mean, point is: he's gay. Likes boys. Hooray!" Her hands did a mini dance in the air and I was careful to remind her of the apple juice.

*

I'd retired from the cocktail reception earlier than the others after feeling slightly drained from social interaction. Chef Marseille had come up to me in the middle of it to formally introduce Chef Allan, who only taught upper level modules and wasn't familiar with first years like myself. She'd then very generously spoke of my apparent 'problem-solving abilities' and critical thinking, earning me a pat on the back from the dean himself. It had all felt quite surreal indeed.

So I was on my way back to the lodge for a quick shower (and to prep for the most important midnight-snack I, as terrible chef, was ever going to make) when I spotted my student buddy, Juanita Castillo, making her way back to the lodge with my other student buddy, Nia Williams.

Pleased to see that the two were getting along swimmingly, I'd waved them over and they spotted me at once, making their way across the plaza before joining me on my journey back to Cinnamon.

"Good work today. All of us made it, huh." Castillo was being far too humble with her words. I was quick to correct her understatement.

"I'm sure you more than just 'made it', Chef Castillo. Your Singaporean laksa was a hit among the guests! I'm surprised you didn't beat Leroy Cox from our school." This was not a lie. I'd had the privilege of tasting both and though a certain idiot had gone out of his way to save me a generous portion of ramen (and extra toppings), I had no doubt. Hers was better. "You made some stunning Sichuan dumplings the other night for everyone at the lodge, didn't you?"

"Global's her thing, y'all." Williams laughed, slapping Castillo on the back. "Or like, Asian...? Specifically, I mean."

"I have a passion for Asian cuisine, yeah. Vietnamese, Indonesian, Malaysian, Thai, Japanese, Filipino, Chinese, Korean, Mongolian. It's complex. Same region, but sort of like another world altogether. It's different from, like... us. Back home in the States."

"Honey, you right but you be roasting us on a stick and I'm not too sure how I be feeling about that." Williams was back at it and they both laughed before turning to me, somewhat anticipating a response.

I thought it was really nice of them to bother waiting for my opinion, having experienced such a dynamic for the first time with complete strangers. Let alone, in a group.

"Well, um. I think the food you have in the US isn't all that bad. It has some complexity, for sure. Especially down south! And Mexican food. Nothing beats a good understanding of spices and a love for local ingredients. Not everything's as one-dimensional as... as, um... goodness, I'm sorry, it appears that I'm having issues with my brain, um... I can't think of a hallmark dish that's representative of the States—hamburgers? Corndogs? Apple pie?"

"No shit sweetie, we can't either," Williams shrugged. "I mean, up North, at least. Your girl's from the city."

"But I like soul food. And you make some great hushpuppies, Nia. I saw your station had so many kids over. Oh yeah, did you make the cut for the... uh, the bonus round thing?"

"Nah. They got some others for that. What about you honey?" Williams redirected the question my way soon after, looping me back into the conversation. "Y'all go by the ranks?"

"Um, well the instructor overseeing us warned against fixing a team for the bonus round prior to the release of any additional information. So far, all we know is that a maximum of eight students per school are allowed to participate in the bonus round. At least that's what I've heard from a friend of mine," I added just in case. The last thing I wished to be doing was spreading false information.

"That's what we heard too," Castillo nodded. "Yeah maybe it's not a good thing to decide right off the bat... though I think they've got my name down already. Um... by the way. About your friend," she averted her gaze, awkward and stiff all of a sudden. "Is he the guy we saw on the porch the other time? With pink-hair boy."

I blinked—mildly taken aback. "Well um... yes, that is... I am familiar with him. Sorry I hadn't made this clear back then... I'd assumed it wouldn't matter very much."

"Aw hell no sweetie, don't apologize," Williams exchanged a look with Castillo before turning to me with an apologetic smile. "We been wondering about you all over dinner that night. Next time, hold me back, okay? Your girl's an insensitive bitch. Sometimes."

"You looked upset after seeing your friend with the other guy, but we didn't want to point it out just in case it wasn't related, but then I saw him serving you a bowl of his ramen and I told Nia," Castillo explained, a guilty look in her eyes. "So you guys were friends. Sorry I laughed back then..."

Immensely caught off guard by their kindness and lovely disposition, I felt a tight bitterness at the back of my throat threatening to surface. "No... no, you don't have to... it's not something to feel bad about," I tried to say, falling flat and instead ending up in a miserable, choked-up state. "I never knew I was one to wear emotions on my sleeve. I'm sorry I made you guys uncomfortable... Leroy's... well, we're dating. And I've never quite dated anyone. Though I understand how jealousy could very well be detrimental to any relationship, so... so I kept that to myself. And I trust him. Maple's... well, I don't know him very well. And I'm sure he's lovely but Leroy has his heart in the right place."

*

Castillo and Williams were the sweetest listeners, hanging out in the dining area while I'd prepped the ingredients for a nice platter of Thai lemongrass fried chicken—a sinful midnight delicacy for a certain idiot—and provided their very own versions of relationship advice that was both thoroughly amusing and insightful at the same time. Apparently, providing concrete answers to potential and existing issues was no fool-proof solution for Williams, but felt necessary to Castillo herself. Hugging someone else was a huge no-no for Castillo, but not for Williams.

Most importantly, neither of them acted strange or overly curious when Leroy finally appeared at the doorstep of our lodge, and had politely left the kitchen to ourselves once he was inside. Needless to say, I was quietly grateful. The next mental note I had made was to properly introduce them to Si Yin one day, and then the rest was quite difficult to remember since, well, you know how Leroy is with me a-and... well, me.

"The stringy bits," he'd noticed as soon as I'd served him at the table. The rest of the lodge had retired to their rooms. "You fried them? The lemongrass."

"Simply combined them with the pieces of chicken thigh and added to that a coriander garlic paste—there wasn't a pestle and mortar so I made do with a Ziplock bag and a rolling pin—and then tossed them into the deep fryer with some kaffir lime leaves," I'd said then, rather quickly. "How... um, how was your day?"

He'd looked up, after picking the juiciest-looking piece of fried chicken and holding it between his fingers. "Normal, I guess. Nothing much happened at work... was looking forward to this," he said, referring to the lemongrass chicken with a single glance. "You okay?"

"Oh," I'd filled the seat across, having expected him to say something about speaking to Birchwood. Leroy had his attention split between me and the piece of chicken he'd popped into this mouth whole. "Um... I wanted to tell you that I'd... told my student buddies about our... about us. They were very nice about it."

"The lemongrass... gives a nice texture. The crunch. And the flavour," he'd reached for another and I was at once given the impression that I had chosen the wrong time to be speaking about serious matters, but then he turned his attention back to the conversation. "You okay if I tell other people about us too?"

The rest of the night, too, had unfolded rather slow and calm. Leroy had made the choice of not making this a grave subject—agreeing or disagreeing in casual, ordinary tones that made it seem as though we were exchanging toothbrushing techniques but the effect of it was oddly miraculous. Instead of having a serious discussion over the dinner table after supper, we were aggressively kicking his bar of soap wrapped in plastic through the gap under the frosted glass that separated our bath stalls. This act had been appropriately accompanied by a conversation about making our relationship semi-public. That is, should someone ask, we would gladly provide an honest answer.

"Mind you, I wouldn't want you to be provoking others into asking the question. And do be sure to clarify their understanding of your sexual orientation... unless it doesn't matter to you." "Leroy-motherfucking-Cox is gay!" "Calm down, we're in a common space." "Gay for Vanilla Julian White!" "Good god, you're such an idiot." "Idiots are attracted to geniuses." "I'm trying to return the soap bar and you're just—you really want to play this game?" "I like embarrassing you." "Well, I don't like to be embarrassed." "I like that you don't like to be embarrassed." "I am not fond of where this is going. We're not going to have a war of double negatives in the shower, Leroy." "I'd war you." "There are at least three grammatical mistakes in that statement, and I shan't speak to you unless you somehow identify them and correct yourself." "You're speaking to me." "W-we're not speaking!"

The general consensus over a series of light-hearted, casual conversations was that we were oddly accepting of anything that either of us were personally comfortable with. As long as the other had made the decision of telling someone else, it was within both our zones of comfort to do so.

Before retiring to Leroy's bed while he stayed up listening to Chen and Layla Tenner exchanging feedback and an apparent blow-by-blow account of today's events, I'd come to the conclusion that I was, indeed, a very serious human being. Uptight was the word most people would have used and perhaps having a certain idiot around had its own merits that I'd so foolishly missed.

Nevertheless, I was careful not to be further influenced by said idiot's idiocy and double, triple-checked our ties before wearing my own and helping my sleepy companion with his. At present, the two of us were making our way down to the plaza for further instructions regarding the bonus round to be held first thing in the morning.

"You're wearing the wrong tie."

I'd glanced at my companion's, refusing to check my own at give away the multi-level insecurities I'd accumulated thanks to our previous escapade of swapped ties. Red. So, according to probability, which has never once failed my deductive abilities, I was wearing the correct—

"I have two ties."

Immediately, I was buying into his awful teasing and glanced down at my own, only to see that he'd done that just to annoy me and was at once sending a glare his way. Thankfully, Si Yin had arrived just in time to save me from the depths of the hellish flames he embodied and we parted ways, him heading down to the front where the 'C's were and me joining one of the rows at the back with my best friend.

"Is it me, or are you guys just wearing the correct tie? That's a huge problem," she snickered, and I nudged her in the side. She continued to laugh. "Oh and uh, remember how I told you about the uh the thing where I do incredibly well on individual segments when I'm not on my meds? Like, the—"

"The hyperfocus."

"—Kuroko no Basket 'zone' stuff, yeah hyperfocus, but 'zone' sounds cooler so I'm using that. Anyway... so uh... Birchwood came up to me after the party yesterday which, yeah, shocking, I know, and so she came up to me and was like 'Leroy Cox is GAY' and I was like 'Okay BEAUTIFUL' and she thought I called her beautiful...? Wait, is it okay that she's going around telling people that sort of thing? Should I be doing something about that? Not that being gay is bad but humans, you know. Okay so back to Birchwood, she started going crazy and stammering and stuff so I thought I'd gone mad and then I started panicking too because that beautiful thing was not what I meant and then I somehow jumped ship—you know how I'm like when I panic—and started changing the topic and I ended up telling her about the not eating my meds thing and now she knows! Oh my god..."

I listened closely before placing both hands on both sides of Si Yin's shoulders in an attempt to calm her down. "And there is... nothing wrong with that, correct? Unless you're referring to the fact that she knows about your ADHD but that, too, isn't a problem, is it? There's nothing wrong with having ADHD."

"Yeah but what if she tells the captains when its team picking time because round two is team picking time and no one's going to pick me if, you know... if I'm me."

I had proper reason and evidence to be disagreeing with Si Yin but most importantly, explained to her how her situation was not going to affect her placing in the competition. "You did amazing yesterday and no one's going to ignore concrete numbers. They loved your croustades! I've had guests talking about them in front of my station. Yes, the second round's going to feature teams, but I assure you... you will be picked for your talent."

We both paused, and in the middle of our silence, heard the sharp, unwelcomed feedback of the open-air sound system. She finally smiled, seemingly relieved (for the moment) and I made a mental note to keep a lookout for related matters, especially during the second segment.

"Thanks, Einstein."

I returned her smile but soon registered the title and cleared my throat to correct her. "That is not a title I can live up to, unfortunately."

She squared her shoulders. "It's not a title. Just your half of the ship name, so."

I was about to ask her what the definition of 'ship name' was since, well, I'd always been an eager party in growing my mental dictionary when we were interrupted by Chef Allan's voice over the sound system. At once, all attention was drawn to the front of the stage, where they had a list of instructions similar to how they were presented in the previous round projected onto the screen.

Ingredient Identification

Type: Bonus

Style: Roulette

Participants: 8 x 3 = 24

Teams: 2 of 12

Scoring: Point per ingredient correctly identified

The explanation we'd received soon afterwards was unfortunately disorganized and overall confusing even for a meticulous, instruction-loving person like myself. The term 'roulette' had me thinking it would have something to do with a game of chance but according to Chef Allan's verbal explanation, was a turn-taking Russian Roulette, in which each team would have their members taking turns to identify the ingredients on the table according to the randomly-generated number.

"Each school is only allowed to send eight participants. Altogether, that's twenty-four which we will then split into red and blue team with an equal mix of all three schools. This is to enhance and assess your abilities to work as a team. Yesterday's opponents are today's..."

I caught several heads turning in the middle of Chef Allan's instructions and, well, naturally glanced over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of whatever it was at the back of the plaza. Nothing, however, seemed quite out of the ordinary, and so I returned my gaze back to the stage up front only to see more eyes on me.

"V. J. White?" A senior standing directly in front of me had asked.

I blinked. "Yes. That I am."

"—cooperate and thus assess each participant's ability to work with others and ultimately assign a private individual score that will be added to their team performance score. The participant with the highest score will provide their school with a huge advantage in this afternoon's..."

"They're calling for you to go up front." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and I paused, turning to Si Yin to check if I'd heard him right and she very apparently gestured in the general direction of the stage as well.

"We might be playing a game of broken telephone here," I pointed out, trying to keep my attention equally split between the instructions and everything else happening around me.

"Get some Vee White guy to the front!" "First-year V. J. White someone's looking for you." "Vay Je Wyatt?"

The sheer number of people getting my name wrong on purpose was not a matter of comfort and I, thoroughly embarrassed, was given no other choice but to quietly slip out of line and weave my way up front to avoid turned heads and stares. By the time I'd made my way past the 'C' and 'B' rows, I spotted what seemed like a non-alphabetical row at the very front of our school's third of the plaza. Chen did not just pick me to be one of the eight school representatives.

A familiar face appeared to be waving me over, whom I quickly identified as Leroy's senior from equestrian, Lee Jungwoo. Chen was standing beside him, apparently re-ordering the people up front according to whatever it was he deemed appropriate. He snapped his fingers in my direction upon spotting me from afar before pointing to his left. I made my way there.

"Missed me?"

I did not need to turn my head to identify the owner of an illegally attractive voice with the hint of a disarming smirk on his lips.

"We were barely apart for ten minutes. Of course not."

"Felt like an hour."

I was about to provide him a proper explanation of what seconds, minutes and hours were when Chen came by doing a headcount and stopped short between me and Leroy. He frowned. "Where's your friend? The Chinese girl."

"Si Yin?" I blinked. "She's... at the back. Did you call for her too?" I felt my spirits lift at the thought of someone else recognizing her abilities, but Chen seemed fairly impatient, what with Chef Allan's instructions coming to an end and teams about to be called on stage.

"Guess you can't even rely on teenagers to pass on a simple message. What's her row?"

"X."

I watched him grab someone nearby and then after whispering something in his ear, propel him in the direction of the last row. Turning to the idiot beside me, I was surprised to see him so calm and casual about being picked for the deadly Russian Roulette. My first instinct was to assume that he had all his attention focused on Chef Allan's instructions but with his eyes insisting on following my every move, I could confirm that I was wrong.

"—reminded that participants demonstrating poor teamwork or attempting to cheat by giving the opposing team a deliberate advantage for the strategic purposes of the school they are representing, may be disqualified."

"Nervous?"

I met his sideway glance with a huff. "Naturally. This isn't on the same level as the cross-year we were in. Plus, having to work with complete strangers sounds especially daunting."

"Raul and the rest were strangers to you."

"They were your peers. Handpicked by you," I pointed out the obvious. "Of course I was sufficiently foolish enough to place my complete trust in your judgement."

He laughed, giving my forehead the usual and then nodding at something over my shoulder. I followed his gaze. Chen and Si Yin were apparently squabbling their way over to the front row in their native tongue, the former seemingly impatient, and the latter appearing thoroughly bewildered.

I couldn't understand what exactly it was they were going on about but her timely arrival was somehow also the cue for all participants to gather on stage for the sorting of teams. There was applause and cheers and Chef Palmer wildly gesturing for us to get ourselves on stage and Chef Marsielle snapping at Leroy to fix his tie (which I did) and then it was all eight of us, along with eight others from L'assiette and eight from CSS up on stage, facing a sea of cheers coming from their respective schools.

From our point of vantage, I'd expected to see the judges for the second round lined up before us and had been anticipating guest judge Chef Yamazaki's radiant smile only to be disappointed by the three primary judges. Well, not that they weren't great people but... just relatively unfriendly. As most of the culinary world seemed to be.

"You're red. You're blue. You, red. Blue." Before the applause died down, Chef Allan had taken the liberty of getting started on the sorting, speaking through the mic as he did. He was going down the row, tapping each student on their shoulder whilst announcing the colour of their team and in mere seconds, the rest of us were instantly aware of a single fact: that the people to our immediate left and right were not going to be on the same team.

Needless to say, I had resisted the immense urge to meet the flame of a candle for a grand total of three seconds before giving in—turning to him with an uncontrollable smile that he, too, seemed to wear. Only... well, only bad and provocative and borderline ban- and censorship-worthy. Almost at once, I knew what he was thinking.

"A stunning opportunity to reveal the list of things I have in mind for you to correct, starting with the unruly state of your room."

He raised a brow, holding my gaze sideways. "You think I'd let you win?"

"There's no 'letting' in ingredient identification, Leroy. I know what I'm doing."

"I have a list of my own for you."

"Well, let's hear it. It might be your only chance at mentioning it, even."

"Think I'd actually get arrested if I said the stuff I wanted you to do out loud."

Processing that gave me a headache and understanding it escalated things into an awful migraine that had me wondering how the authorities were allowing such outrage to walk the earth without being reported. I hid half my face with a hand.

*

The twenty-four of us were at once brought into what they called a 'waiting room', next door to the very same examination hall they had conducted my fifty-six-ingredient taste test in. I recognized the hallway as soon as we were making our way down to the very end in silence, led by a facilitator and Chef Marseille bringing up the rear. The embarrassing memories I had of misidentifying a banana species was enough to send shivers down my spine. I found myself no longer standing alongside Leroy and Si Yin, who had, by the power of fortune and authority, been placed in the red team while I and Chen, along with two other familiar faces, were placed in blue.

"Red will take the right half of the room and blue, the left," said the facilitator, reading out a chunk of text on her clipboard. "Each of you will be miked up before going into the room. Your performance as a team player will be assessed through your words and behaviour during the ten-minute discussion. After which, you will all be proceeding into the examination hall. There should be no verbal or gestural exchanges between members of different teams."

I was among the first few to be miked up and made to test the volume of my voice. Each person took less than a minute to be done with the entire process and we soon gathered in teams—red and blue—on our respective sides of the room, awfully silent now that we were hyper-aware of someone else being able to listen in on our every word.

They called for our ten-minute time and started the clock as soon as the last participant entered the room, leaving the twelve of us on blue team staring at each other with blank looks on our faces.

"Let's start with introductions. Name, grade, course. How about that?" Chen was no different from his usual demeanor but with our leadership and teamwork abilities being assessed, I could sense an air of false confidence in his voice that, as much as I did not wish for to happen, could be picked up by the rest of blue team at once.

"Great idea. Then we could pick a leader and work from there," added an apparent senior from CSS. He, too, seemed rather keen on expressing his capabilities. "It'll also be good to know what everyone else is good at so that in the case we're asked to identify unfamiliar ingredients, we know who to go for feedback."

We went in a circle for self-introductions before jumping straight into making guesses at how we would be made to identify the ingredients.

"It's got to be taste. They'd blindfold us or something and whoever guesses first gets the point?" "Or they'd put it in a dish. And then ask us to list every ingredient inside it." "They could also make it harder by eliminating taste and doing it purely according to touch." "I don't think it's going to be that complicated..." "Let's stick to the basics. We've got someone good with seafood. Yes, Mika, right? And then we have someone great with the cut of red meat—"

We had five people talking over one another, trying to establish a seeming confidence and attempt at bringing the team together to whoever was listening in and already, I could tell this was not going to work out. I'd kept my opinions to myself throughout the discussion since adding on would've only made the conversation extremely unhealthy. I was the only first-year on the team and telling everyone that too many cooks spoil the broth was not going to end very well.

"Times up. Can I get both teams lining up in a single file?"

This was the state in which we were made to enter the examination hall with an entire gallery filled with non-participating students watching us with their noses pressed up against the glass. The air was similar to my first time in the room. A long, empty table was set up in the middle of the floor and behind it, the primary judges.

My gaze drifted, on instinct, towards the person it always seemed to rest on, only to see that he was, already, looking my way. The candle in his eyes gave nothing away as our teams were told to stand in a row, facing each other down the empty space in front of the empty table.

"You will be taking turns to identify the ingredient labelled with the randomly-generated number presented on the digital screen behind me," Chef Allan began, and rest of the culinary deans stared us down as though weeding out our confidence was what they'd been told to do. "There will be no tasting. No touching. No smelling. This test is purely visual."

Almost at once, I could hear the mental shock gripping the room in its freezing skeletal fingers and our entire team exchanged a single look that did not bode very well. Somewhere from the several other entrances and exits in the examination hall, the wheeling of carts could be heard until finally, trays and baskets of ingredients, labeled one to twenty, began to fill the table. These were not everyday ingredients—they were aboriginal; Native Australian ingredients.

"There are four rounds in total. Your first challenge will be to identify these well-sourced, rare Native Australian ingredients. Can the first participant of each team step forward... we will now begin the exam."

19

The CSS girl from our team was up against a boy from our school and the panic on her face was written clear as day. None of us had expected to be identifying ingredients purely based on how they looked since, after all, the textures and taste of ingredients sometimes mattered even more than their appearance. She turned over her shoulder, completely lost.

A separate screen showing a close-up of ingredient number nineteen was presented to both the rest of the room and the gallery upstairs.

"Dried peas." "I think it's... Garden Peas."

"It's Wattleseed," I said under my breath, and the four students, including Chen, standing in front of me turned almost at once, eyes wide.

"Unfortunately, nineteen is Wattleseed. Can we have the next two participants come forward?"

Chen was looking at me with a huge beam on his face and everyone in my immediate proximity had turned to follow his gaze. I was naïve enough not to get the message until our school's number one hissed under his breath. "What are you waiting for? What else do you know?"

And then before I could waste another precious second, I started naming all the ingredients that were large enough for me to identify from where I was standing, without the help of an additional close-up image.

2

"Two is Paperbark. Seven, Kakadu Plums. Nine, Muntries. Ten—"

In hushed tones, they told me to slow down, attempting to memorize them according to the numbers. On the other side of the room, the red team seemed to have notice our hushed whispers and were staring daggers down the space between us. Si Yin had on her face a wild look in her eyes, as though she was thriving on the adrenaline and loved the pressure. She'd given me a private thumbs-up from afar.

"Two is, indeed, Paperbark. Point goes to the blue team. Next!"

I wasn't the only one interested in Native Australian ingredients (albeit my interest began at the age of ten, after watching a documentary about bush tomatoes). Someone on the red team from CSS had apparently studied the ingredients as a part of their course and, um, according to their accent, was Australian. We were down half a point by the end of the first round due to a mispronounced word and before anyone could rejoice or feel the momentous relief of tension, assistants began to wheel in the next round of ingredients.

Traditional Chinese Medicinal Herbs.

Needless to say, I was no expert in this. And though Chen was Chinese, his face gave away every bit of his confusion, sealed by the private indecent finger he presented to the person behind. That's me.

Si Yin was whispering. She would be—it was likely the reason why Chen had wanted her to be on the team in the first place. Though I wasn't exactly too sure how much she knew about the ingredients on the table, she did mention about her grandmother's expertise in medicinal herbs just once.

Not to mention, Juanita Castillo, my student buddy who specialized in all things Asian, was on the red team too. Needless to say, we lost terribly during that round. Most ingredients were small too, and particularly difficult to identify from afar. This made most of us on our own, though it seemed as though red team had better luck.

Then it was an array of seafood and of course, this being something everyone was sufficiently familiar with (and also big enough for me to identify without looking at them up close), our team emerged with six points more than red. This entire time, I had been resisting the urge to let my eyes wander and rest on a certain idiot.

And when they finally wheeled in the ingredients for the final round, I could resist no more.

"There are 7,500 known varieties of apples grown throughout the world," Chef Allan had the most brilliant smile on his face, sucking the life out of every other person in the room. "Here are thirty of them. All you need... is to send one person from each team to name as many as they can."