“On it,” he responds, jogging toward the pantry. He returns a few moments later,

and we swap places.

“Make sure to turn the duck and sear it evenly,” I call out as I begin to mix the

ingredients together to make the dough. “Use the red wine for moisture. Yeah,

just like that, perfect…”

When the buzzer blares, signaling the end of the round, I step back and take a

look at my dish.

It’s beautiful—each element perfectly executed, just like I rehearsed a million

times in my head. The plate practically glows under the stage lights, and I can’t

Enter title…

a surge of pride course through

way around, forks poised,

they reach Daniel’s station. He stands

taste her creation. My heart pounds in my

echoing my mounting anxiety.

they come

say, pushing my plate forward.

croûte. I incorporated a hint of black

which I believe adds a savory kick

takes a bite and nods approvingly,

communication of respect. The second

Logan—the Logan—chef extraordinaire and owner of

the world. His gaze is

takes a bite of my

stretch out like hours as he chews

a small grimace.

says, setting down his fork. “And you could

The black pepper

the gut.

haze, my throat collapsing in on itself. This is only the first

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