Daniel’s POV
The day of the contest arrived before I was ever ready.
I stood in the quiet corner of the preparation hall, my fingers curled tightly around the edge of the table, forcing myself to breathe.
The air smelled of spices, smoke, and tension. Everywhere I looked, there were chefs—dozens of them—each dressed in fine robes that marked their noble houses.
They looked confident.
Well Trained.
And Untouchable.
Many of them had cooked their whole lives under famous masters. Some had family names that carried weight heavier than gold. Their tools were polished, their ingredients looked rare and expensive.
And then there was me.
A “boy” from nowhere.
A chef with no background not worth mentioning.
A problem the palace wanted solved.
I lifted my eyes.
The arena beyond the hal
