On the day of the final, total chaos broke out backstage.
The organizers pulled me aside at the last minute and told me someone had sent an anonymous tip claiming my work had stolen the creative concept of a famous international master.
"We need you to switch your theme."
The event coordinator had a clearly awkward expression.
This was old hat to me at this point.
Ever since I quit my old job to open my own shop, I've gotten one baseless, false accusation after another.
It was just bored netizens looking for something to latch onto, nothing more.
There were only five hours left until the live broadcast of the competition.
I turned off my phone and locked myself alone in the hotel kitchen.
I sifted flour, cracked and whisked eggs, melted glossy dark chocolate.
Once. Twice. Three t
