A/N: UwU!! Sorry everyone for being a little late to the update. It's a little longer than usual cuz I missed last week's update (was actually writing fanfics instead dear god what have I done HAHAHAHA). Thank you for being patient as usual! 

And for the Beans from Indonesia, HELLO THERE ;v; I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Hehe. 

Soundtrack is from a very old anime by the name of Free! I felt extremely nostalgic listening to this OST but it was (and is) the best soundtrack that reminds me of midsummer emotions. The entire tracklist is extremely good at evoking nostalgia and a longing for crystal clear waters and the beach hehe. 

Enjoy.

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[Vanilla]

It is a personal achievement of mine to have dressed smartly for every swell occasion I may attend; however small it may be. Needless to say, no summer heat or ocean wave should impose upon my desire to put on a favorite tie or splendid quality vest to match and though I did consider folding the sleeves of my dress shirt for the morning shoot, I eventually thought against the idea after deeming it a tad scandalous. Three episodes in and already, exposed forearms? Never.

"Welcome chefs! To Jakarta, Indonesia." Chef Pao was holding in a bout of laughter while the cameras were rolling, despite having had a moment of his own backstage when he first saw how I was dressed for the day. "Look at the skies. Breathe in the sea. The beautipul water. The wind... and also Banilla's tie that has nearly slapped me in the face twice because of the wind."

I grabbed ahold of my accessory, attempting to keep a straight face myself. The sea breeze out on the deck, coupled with the natural speed and momentum of the superyacht headed toward our destination of the day made for flying locks of hair and any form of clothing material at the mercy of the elements.

"And because I make the rules, I say this," Pao went on with cheeky grin on his face. "Whoever returns with more than one catch at the end of today's field lesson gets to decide Banilla's outfit for tomorrow."

Amidst collective laughter and looks, I turned to Pao on my left with a subtly horrified expression of controlled fear and utter shock. "I—well—bold of you to assume I own anything other than dress shirts and ties, Chef Pao."

"Aw I like this side of you, Vanilla," Amelia said lightly. "They say that in every block of ice lives a flame. Oh and you don't have to look so frightened; Pao is being very generous, but I'd be very impressed if any of our chefs returned with even one fish today."

"Ay that is correct, Amelia." Pao rubbed his hand in glee. "Today, you will learn the art of spearfishing! One of the most challenging fishing techniques to ever exist."

"Teaching you this skill is instructor Rashid and his fellow villagers," I chimed in on cue, "who take an active role in passing down the tradition of spearfishing by organizing weekend trips to lesser-known fishing spots. They are our experts for today and will be joining us on board as soon as we dock at the shallow reef."

"Most importantly, you will be putting these skills to test... in a team-based catch and cook challenge tomorrow," I said with added emphasis, observing a glimpse of alarm across the board. Unsurprisingly, most chefs working in production kitchens have never experienced the act of fetching their own ingredient out in the wild; what with the many commercial fish farms, vegetable markets, and butchers that catered to quality restaurants like their own.

A certain idiot on the other hand, housed a spark in his eye. He'd always had a soft spot for any activity remotely close to nature and the wild—add to that an irresistible challenge, and Leroy was a happy man.

"Your team captains have already been decided," said Amelia, taking over the rest of the details. "The two winners of the toque blanches thus far: Chef Tenner and Chef Pierson, will lead a team each. Naturally, we're expecting the leaders to be on the lookout for member picks over the duration of today's field lesson. Tomorrow, Tenner will be picking for the red team and Pierson, the blue."

"And with that," Pao clapped his hands together. "We begin. In a few minutes, the yacht will dock and we will receive our local friends. But before that... does anyone not know how to swim?"

Two hands rose into the air. Not too bad a ratio of swimmers, really—I myself was no expert in the waters and the only previous occasion of actual pool-dipping was seven years ago on a midsummer evening in Si Yin's terrace pool with a little pocket diary in hand and a fool in my eyes.

"Ay. Okay good, so everyone except Chef Saito and Chef Lin, please allow the wardrobe team to assist you with the wetsuits and we'll see you back here in a minute."

Director Stan called for a cut and the crew rotated around the chefs they were assigned to. Everyone had given their sizes and measurements prior to the trip and relevant gear had long been prepared with the help of local sponsors. Nerves and excitement buzzed in the air while the contestants got busy and in the distance, Pao, Amelia and I spotted the shallow reef we were approaching.

"Is it weird? I just want to see them get wet," Pao was yet again, rubbing his hands in anticipation. Amelia had laughed on cue, rolling her eyes. "What about you, Banilla? Does it not excite you? Chefs, not dressed in the usual kitchen whites but in wetsuits? I want your opinion."

I cleared my throat, opting for a straight-jacketed response and hoping my ears weren't red as strawberries.

"It is rather exciting, yes. Spearfishing is the traditional way local fishermen in many parts of the world hunt to feed their families from day to day. Amelia is right. There is no sugar-coating this; I don't expect any one of our chefs to return with a single catch. It is a difficult task that requires precision, patience, and practice. Back when commercial fishing and ocean trawlers didn't exist, spear and small-scale net fishing was all these fishermen relied on! Naturally, it has now turned into something of a sport and most importantly, working in shallow waters mean minimal damage to the natural habitat and non-target species, so... I say let them suffer."

Pao had paused. And so had Amelia. "So... uh... summary...?"

"Spearfishing is difficult but it is the least harmful fishing method in open water that is more effective than a rod," I said, fairly embarrassed.

"And you enjoy seeing the chefs suffer."

"Well not necessarily enjoy but..."

My counterparts each provided an unembellished, but telling look to prove their point. I simply proceeded to shut up.

Leroy was the first of contestants to return from the changing rooms in a full-body, black wetsuit and immediately, I had my eyes fixed on the exquisite flooring out of fear that my gaze would wander unchecked. Pao in comparison, had much to say about the fit of his suit.

"Ay! Leroy my man. Wow. Very nice. Can't believe we're getting this for free... are you seeing this, Banilla? Amelia. Back me up."

"Ignore him, Chef Cox," Chef Amelia cleared her throat to stifle a laugh. "What we're trying to say is that um, your build appears to suit the gear you're wearing just as well as a chef's jacket does."

I caught his gaze veering my way and promptly looked elsewhere, nodding vaguely in agreement. I'd nearly forgotten how attractive his shoulders were and good heavens, did a reminder come at the wrong time. Not forgetting the torso, of course. A-and whatever was below, the um, the general... below.

"Can your dog swim?" Pao asked as soon as Chicken made his appearance, padding up to Leroy across the deck. "Still, I think open waters can be dangerous so better leave him with us. What did the crew say?"

"Said nothing," he came up to us, barefoot, and with what looked like a pair of flippers—no, fins—in his size. "Guess I'll leave him with you guys... unless you're coming with us for a dip?"

"Oh no, I can't swim," Amelia said at once, turning to Pao for a word and then, myself. "Pao... no? And you, Vanilla?"

I was about to respond with a generic excuse when several other contestants in wetsuits returned from the changing rooms with additional gear in-hand, filtering out onto the deck while Pao and Amelia gave them due attention.

The remaining idiot so decided to take this window of opportunity for a private exchange; glancing at me with a sideway smirk and reaching out to brush a gloved finger against the side of my thigh. I nearly jumped.

It didn't help that I was already oddly on edge the entire morning, perhaps partly due to the weather and having spent a night out at sea, but mostly on account of a growing awareness of Leroy and my behavior in general.

And while I was perfectly distracted by the slight physical contact and the less-than-a-foot-long distance between us both, he'd sealed the deal by reaching out to undo the top button of my vest before leaving the crime scene with his dog as though nothing had happened and he'd been a mere innocent bystander.

????

Utterly flabbergasted, I was. Absolutely gobsmacked. Hurriedly fixing my attire and re-calibrating my senses, I spoke briefly to the production team about leaving Chicken on board. Spare minutes later, the yacht came to a stop approximately a mile away from a jetty in the distance and welcomed a motorized fishing boat with several people on board. They waved; and, as instructed in the script, received cheers in return.

Our local guides and interpreters soon got to work with the spearfishing instructors who brought with them additional gear—spearguns and lead weights—introducing them to the crew and then conveying Stan's vision for the scene they were about to shoot.

Pao, Amelia and myself got out of the way and observed from the upper deck under the comfort of shelter and shades. And a glass of non-alcoholic Blue Lagoon each.

Much of the safety instructions, including personal training, breathing practices, adjustment of relevant snorkeling gear and speargun practice, were carried out in a split-group basis in groups of three to four contestants, rotating from instructor to instructor before finally taking things to shallow waters for a final rundown.

Underwater cameramen, too, were at the ready. Us judges headed down to the main deck for a closer look.

"Today, we will be spearfishing for species of fish such as grouper, sea bass, giant trevally, red snapper, tuna & others trevallies species. Don't worry. This place is for beginners and each of you will have a fishing partner as a guide. Do not be overconfident. Sometimes you fish for go one hour, two hours... and still, you cannot hit one fish. Be patient. It is about waiting for the right time."

From our vantage point on the upper deck earlier, the view of the reef not far away was characterized by dark patches of coral underneath crystal waters the shade of turquoise, spotless and quite nearly untouched. Thank goodness the yacht was docked a distance away and the local fishermen had decided to bring their own small-scale boat to ferry the contestants to and fro.

Pao, Amelia and I watched as the instructor-fishermen, chefs, and two cameramen hopped onto the boat and sped closer to the shallow waters. Two other locals and cameramen remained on standby just in case they were required, and among the locals was a middle-aged lady dressed in bright blue batik clothing who met my gaze and smiled.

I decided to approach her with an interpreter, leaving Pao and Amelia to rest on the sunbeds lined up by the deck and play the waiting game. Chicken tailed me with a wag of his tail.

"Hi. Hello. I'm Vanilla. It is a pleasure to meet you." I sort of extended a hand but also embarrassed myself by not quite knowing if it was an appropriate gesture. The interpreter opened her mouth to speak but to our surprise, the middle-aged lady beat her to it with an eager response.

"Vanilla Julian White. I know you," she rejoined, taking my hand and shaking with both of her own before resting them at her heart—a very sweet gesture that made me wonder if it was customary. "You can call me Nora. I have a friend. She is very young, but she come to our village to teach English sometime for free. And we give her vegetable, fruit, and fish to cook and teach her sambal matah, sambal bajak... she show us videos of you. In English. Talking about food."

Excitement lived in her eyes, full-bodied and radiant. Having met a ton of people in London who'd seen the appalling videos of Andre emptying a glass of water over my head or random clips of me going about my own business was a stark contrast to the harmless, innocent reception I was experiencing at present. All the recent drama and social media buzz nearly had me forgetting about my otherwise ice-cold reputation; untouched and untainted.

"W-well. Thank you. I, um. I don't know what to say. That is very heartwarming. And kind of your friend to. Although I... don't quite know if any of those videos featuring me would be of any help—I speak rather quickly a-and sometimes use unnecessarily long and complicated words, without reason. Ugh. Like so."

Madam Nora seemed to have understood what I was trying to convey but waited for the interpreter to finish before adding on.

"No, you very good. My friend she show your video to us adult. Older. The children like..." she turned to the interpreter all of a sudden, speaking in Bahasa rather excitably and pointing in the general direction the fishing boat had set off in. She tapped her shoulders. Raised her hand in a way that seemed to indicate height.

"Nora says that her friend shows videos of someone else to the children in her village. He'd just left on the fishing boat with the contestants. Someone with broad shoulders and is very tall. And handsome."

"... Leroy?"

Madam Nora lit up as I spoke his name. "Yes! Him. When he young... many videos. And very funny. But now no more."

How strange. Leroy's always stayed clear of the media having developed a distaste for cameras and culinary showbiz at a young age; videos of him cooking or doing anything at all should never exist, let alone be readily available on the internet. Unless...

"Your friend. Is her name... Nabila?"

"Yes! Nabi. So it's true! You know her and she know you," Madam Nora seemed extremely satisfied. "She tell us story of when you and her, young together. In school."

I hadn't spoken to Nabi in a very long time, not since she graduated from culinary school. She'd been Leroy's pick at the cross-year event in Brazil, where I enjoyed my first SOY experience with him and his friends. Also the last. With him and his friends.

"How is she? She's a teacher now?" I asked, a myriad of emotions stirring within. Apart from Raul, Si Yin and Violet, who'd remained within my circle of close friends after graduation, I hadn't heard very much about others. Nabi was and Leroy were course-mates in the same year, I believe.

"Sometimes," said Madam Nora. "She used to come to the village every Saturday. Now, no more. She teach English, safety, and offer jobs if we want to work in city."

"She's not a chef?"

"No," Madam Nora smiled sadly, shaking her head. "Not cooking. But she is still good. One time, she cook with me for Lebaran. Everyone say nice. But no, she is not cooking. No chef. Teacher, yes."

Ah. I faltered at once, mind reeling back to the past and lingering on those who'd decided to take a different path. So they shared something in common.

Though I was never really close enough to Nabi to understand her true passion for the culinary arts, I did see in her brimming potential that could've very well translated into something more. Her knowledge of chilies and herbs out in the wild was instrumental to our success in the cross-year segment and beyond that, I'd seen her speak to Si Yin and give advice over at Cayenne lodge while the latter was nose-deep in her culinary assignments. She'd always had a patient, nurturing streak despite a fiery surface.

It did not take very long for the fishing boat to return with one of the chefs on board, pale-faced and seemingly exhausted after their first thirty minutes out in the reef. That person no one other than Chef Andre, who climbed back on board the yacht and swapped places with one of the geared-up fishermen ready to do.

The camera crew on deck scrambled for a shot from different angles.

"Chef Andre," Amelia rose from her seat with a beach towel in hand, walking up to him and handing it over with a look of concern. "Are you alright? You look terr—not so good. Did something happen?"

"Those damned fishes scared the living hell out of me. And none of them would stay still; they're way too fast," he snorted, removing his black skirted mask and wiping his face with the towel. "You people have it easy sitting around here on the deck."

Amelia and I exchanged a look. Everything he'd listed consisted of pure common sense. All instructors and fishermen, including us judges, had warned of the challenges that came with spearfishing beforehand.

"Well um... that's unfortunate. I'm sorry to hear that," said Amelia dryly. "Why don't you rest for a bit before trying again? There's still time."

"Nah I'm done for the day," Chef Andre dismissed with a sweep of his hand, heading to the post-activity film corner for a short interview as per the director's instructions. "I'll just cook tomorrow. No big deal."

"Ah yes, cooking without a fish, your supposed main ingredient. What a brilliant idea! I simply cannot wait to taste a dish of such nature." I said to my counterpart as soon as we were out of earshot. Amelia laughed, shaking her head.

"Whatever floats his boat. Fishing by hand is no easy task. Chefs should always respect the source of the ingredients they cook with and part of the reason I agreed to come on the show in the first place was Siegfried Cox's emphasis on field lessons like these," she shared with a sigh, gaze fixed on the horizon. "We'll see if these chefs have what it takes."

Time passed. More and more contestants returned to the yacht at a steady pace, completely spent physically and mentally—having returned empty-handed with their egos crushed. This was further magnified by the local fishermen who (mind you, swam back to the yacht directly without the assistance of the fishing boat) returned with catch after catch of varying species. These included exemplar red snappers, large-sized groupers and even a giant trevally.

Madam Nora's role turned out to be something of a mentor herself. She'd volunteered, as chief instructor Rashid's sister-in-law, to prepare the caught fishes for dinner—Balinese style. This was also her chance to demonstrate the traditional preparation method should the contestants wish to learn and adopt in tomorrow's challenge.

As the evening neared and the afternoon summer heat began to cool, the first of the chefs to return triumphant with a catch of any size was Chef Garland, who attributed part of her success to Layla. Apparently, the two had spent most of their time scouting the reefs before patiently waiting in a certain spot for a wandering catch and it had paid off. They returned with decent-sized grouper.

With the two of them being the tenth and eleventh contestant to return to the yacht, my nerves were at their limit waiting for the twelfth.

"The last one swimming," Pao said under his breath, hands over his head on the lookout for a boat in the horizon. "Who is it?"

"Cox, I believe." I revealed a little too quickly. "Quite the stubborn one, knowing him."

"I can't tell if you're complimenting him, Banilla. You should be more honest with yourself sometimes."

"I—nh... I am being honest. It's getting late. He should return soon, empty-handed or not... what if it gets too dark under the surface? That idiot."

A stellar trait of the idiot in mind was the steel-worthy determination that he'd somehow nurtured over the years of... oh thank goodness there he was.

He'd taken the liberty to swim the entire way back to the yacht with a local fisherman and had with him not one but two beautiful red snappers to show. Needless to say, it wasn't nearly as big as the giant trevally catch made by the other experts on board but pitted against the rest of the contestants, Leroy undoubtedly wore the crown.

Heavens, if he'd done all that just to prove me wrong and also to take Pao up the silly offer of deciding my outfit for tomorrow...

"We have a winner," instructor Rashid announced over the barbecue grills that the fishermen had begun to set up out on the deck. Leroy had dropped his catch into an icebox before hanging back to give his personal guide a grateful clap on the back. "A natural! He has talent for spearfishing."

A round of applause ensued and the stubborn idiot was at once called to the post-activity interview corner as soon as he'd removed his carbon-fiber fins and mask. Amelia shoved a beach towel into my arms before nodding his way. I did not have the energy to protest.

"Leroy." I called and he turned at once, crossing the deck barefooted and unzipping an inch of his wetsuit to loosen up the neck area. Pao whistled and Amelia laughed on cue. I held out the towel and he received it with a criminal smile, purposefully reaching up to unzip his wetsuit even further. Past his collarbone.

"Thanks."

"Thanks." I remained surprisingly kalm until I realized I'd practically said the wrong word aloud and quite frankly shriveled up in a corner soon after, hiding my face behind yet another glass of blue lagoon. Chicken paid me some company while his owner busied himself with the interview. Thank goodness Leo was safe and away from the temptations of fish in my room.

The start of the evening saw the fishermen gathering around the several chargrills that had been set up over the past hour, prepping the fish for cooking. It was customary for the villagers to pray before the act and everything after was fast and efficient; gutting, scoring, seasoning, and then preparing several special sauces and spices for each separate catch.

Leroy hovered by, standing out of the way but close enough to observe his red snapper being prepared Balinese style by Madam Nora—covered in sambal matah and glazed with a special sauce whilst on the grill. The other serving of his was wrapped in banana leaf with a mix of herbs and spices packed in it and secured with a stem.

He was invited by one of the fishermen to use the mortar and pestle they'd brought along to make the fiery sambal bajak paste for the biggest catch of the day—a combination of chilies, spring onions, garlic, galangal, ginger, kaffir lime juice and salt, ground to perfection. They showed him something in secret that I'd failed to properly catch. A mere glimpse of yellow and brown was all I got.

Leroy had laughed and reached a finger into the secret ingredient for a taste before altogether pausing with eyes wide. The local appeared to share further tips and they shared yet another laugh after a day's worth of hard work.

For all intents and purposes, the man I loved was the happiest I'd ever seen him. I say this without a streak of ill-intent or jealousy—Leroy was in his element. And because I'd seen him express a similar feeling with the crew members of station twelve, I knew this had little to do with cooking despite it being the evident matter at hand.

Leroy could enjoy cooking.

He could love it.

But what he truly enjoyed was his place in the natural world as is; a love for all things cultural, different, and human. He enjoyed the company of animals as much as he did around those who cared for the wellbeing of all things living—adored the adrenaline of the wild as much as he did for any other challenge presented before him. And though he'd very much deny this till the very ends of the world, he, above all, had a very special place in a kitchen that was more like a home than a restaurant.