A decade

"Big brother, have you ever heard of a dish called Rice and Curry?" Kenji asked with high expectations.

"Rice and Curry, huh?" The man stroked his chin in deep thought. "No, little brother, I don't think I've heard of such a dish before. Is that what you plan to prepare for Master Fubara?" he asked with a curious gaze.

Kenji nodded slightly, a smile forming on his lips. It seemed the dish hadn't been heard of in this world.

"Well, I hope you have the best of luck, little brother. By the way, my name is Raphael Brimate," the man said, introducing himself.

"Makoto Kenji," Kenji responded with a slight nod.

"Well, little brother Kenji, we're here," Raphael said, pointing at a restaurant across the street.

Kenji grinned and walked ahead of the group, scurrying towards the restaurant in high spirits.

"Calm down, little brother. It's not much farther," Raphael chuckled, shaking his head with a smile.

As they arrived in front of the restaurant, the doors suddenly flung open, and a young man was thrown out!

"Trash! How dare you disrespect Master Fubara with such a simplistic meal? Get out of here before we humiliate you even more!" one of the two men who had tossed him out sneered. They burst into laughter before turning back inside.

Gulp.

Kenji swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. It seemed the competition was much tougher than he had expected.

"Little brother, are you sure you want to go through with this?" Raphael asked, concern written all over his face. He didn't know why he felt worried for someone he had just met, but there was a connection—one he couldn't quite explain.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine. All you need to do is watch me win this competition!" Kenji grinned as he stepped into the restaurant.

---

Whoo! ~

Whistle! ~

That smells delicious! ~

Noise erupted from all corners of the restaurant as the mouthwatering aroma of expertly crafted dishes filled the air, lingering like a stain that refused to leave a shirt.

"Oh my gosh, this place is huge!" Kenji exclaimed, his jaw dropping.

From the outside, it looked impressive, but inside, it was like stepping into a palace disguised as a commoner's house. It was almost unbelievable.

"Well, little brother, I think it's time for us to part ways," Raphael said with a smile.

"Alright, big brother Raphael, then this is where we separate," Kenji replied, returning the smile.

With that, Raphael and the others headed to the spectator stands while Kenji scanned the area. His eyes landed on a line.

"That's probably where the participants are lining up."

Without hesitation, he walked over and joined the queue.

There were about fifty people ahead of him. Clearly, many were eager to showcase their culinary skills and claim victory.

"No matter what, I have to win this." Determination filled his voice.

As the hours passed, contestants entered one by one—many left in disappointment, some were humiliated, and others were outright thrown out.

Finally, after three long hours, it was Kenji's turn.

---

He stepped into the prepared kitchen. At the center sat a man on a throne, its frame engraved with spoons and forks.

The man wore a pristine white and orange chef's uniform, his auburn hair slipping out from beneath his chef's hat. His face was young and handsome, but his eyes… his eyes told a different story. They held the depth of an old-timer who had seen it all—so wise that he seemed to have lived for a thousand years. But that wasn't possible... right?

"I know what you're thinking," the man suddenly spoke, his voice steady. "And let me warn you, I, Fubara, am not gay."

"Whaaat?!!" Kenji blurted out, startled. "GAY?! I'M NOT GAY!" He frantically waved his hands, trying to clear up the misunderstanding. Was I staring that much?!

Master Fubara chuckled at Kenji's flustered expression. "Calm down, young man, I was just joking," he said with a faint smile.

Kenji exhaled in relief. But before he could fully recover, his body froze at Master Fubara's next words.

"Whatever you cook for me today… know that if you lose, a decade of your life will be extracted from you."

A decade! Extracted life! What the F?!

"What do you mean a decade will be extracted?!" Kenji asked, hoping he had misheard.

"You heard me." Fubara's voice remained calm. "If you serve me a dish I've seen and tasted before, then you've wasted my time and delayed me from finding my disciple. So, to compensate for my time lost, a decade of your life will be taken to help me level up. I've been stuck at the same level for too long."

What the fuck is wrong with the logic of people in this world?! Just because you eat something familiar, you take away a person's lifespan?!

"I don't care what you think," Fubara continued. "And I'm not interested in caring. Since you've stepped into this kitchen, you only have two choices: cook and win… or lose and give up a decade of your life."

Kenji's heart pounded. "What if I decide not to cook anymore?" Yeah, that's it. Just back off. Losing a decade isn't worth this!

"If you forfeit," Fubara's smile widened, "you'll have to pay a hundred years of your life."

"A HUNDRED WHAT?!!"