CHAPTER 594: ROUND ONE: CHAOS ON THE NET

It was now a vivid memory. But a certain adjutant turned ambushed instructor could only recall the battle that had earlier ensued.

"HAA-YA!"

He could have sworn it was an epic clash if not for the obvious sizzling in the background and the so-called learners counting down like this was some kind of military launch.

"Three!"

"Two!"

"One!"

"I did it!" screamed the giant teen, hauling the deep fryer basket up with triumphant glory just as the alarm rang.

No wonder his little mop insisted that everyone wear full-body gear.

Just in case.

Just in case those two ended up face-to-face with culinary dangers.

The entire time, both the eager giant and the supposedly mature streamer wanted to get closer, to lean right over the bubbling fryer, all because of that smell.

Yes. The nutty, golden, and far too inviting smell of freshly fried potato fries.

"..."

Maybe the ovens really were the safer path.

But then again... what about the other things?

Kyle felt torn, but when he saw the awe glowing in his little star’s eyes as he tried his best to teach them how to cook, he sighed and decided to see it through.

"Excuse me, Sir. You mean... like the drinks, I’m supposed to demonstrate these too?" Streamer Dylan asked cautiously, fiddling with the disguise ring on his finger.

They had all been outfitted with those disguise rings. Combined with non-disclosure agreements, it was the safest way to let Owen participate. After all, he was still a minor, and Luca insisted it would be unfair to bind him to a spiritual contract that could impact his future.

So instead, they had set up a secret studio in the capital where the two could work under the protection of both the Mylor and Kyros families.

"In a sense, yes," came the calm reply. "But considering everything, you might be better off pre-recording instructional videos, then premiering them during your streams."

Dylan exhaled in relief, clutching his hands together. Thank the stars. Doing all this live would have been a disaster.

He could already picture the barrage of questions:

Exactly what brand of fryer was he using? What angle should his hands be at? Which way should the oil be bubbling?

And worse, how many fries should go into each basket? How hot is hot enough? And could he demonstrate the precise moment a fry was fully cooked?

Knowing his viewers, someone would absolutely demand he count each fry, measure its length, and describe in full detail the emotional impact of watching it shrink in the oil.

He was almost certain another would ask to see the dial on the fryer.

Every. Single. Time.

And worst of all, he would have to answer these questions while the goods were cooking.

What if he didn’t make it through the live stream alive?

What if he couldn’t even find the words to describe the taste of something so far beyond him?

Because that was exactly how he felt when he saw today’s agenda. And again, when the golden strips were pulled up from the fryer, steaming and shining, smelling like they had descended from the heavens themselves.

When Kyle instructed him to season them, Dylan froze. His first thought? How many shakes exactly?

Only to be told that seasoning depended on the quantity. That there was no set rule.

"!!!"

The world tilted.

But then his new giant companion just winged it with reckless confidence, and Dylan—too far gone to resist—closed his eyes, prayed to every known deity, and copied him.

And what do you know.

It tasted like life itself.

The exact same feeling he had the first time he realized he’d found something that would prolong his existence. Only this time, he discovered there were countless ways to prepare it.

Countless ways to live.

"Whoa!" Dylan gasped, barely staying on his feet when the instructors pulled out the next set of ingredients.

"What?! All of those?!" he croaked, staring at an intimidating collection of items he couldn’t even identify.

Holy hell.

Sure enough, pre-recording was the only way they were going to survive this.

But maybe he should have released the video premiere before the marketing materials dropped.

Because his companion, who said he’d like to ironically be called Little O, ended up doing such a good job that he was sure a new cult for tomatoes had been born.

All over Star Net was an explosion of news like no other.

While it was common to argue about idols, the best and most popular mecha pilots, and even the top virtual games, never had they ever seen a fan war of this magnitude.

It was chaos.

A full-scale food war.

[Tomatoes are supreme! Have you ever seen anything that juicy? Look at how the seeds glisten in the video. It’s practically a spiritual awakening in red form!]

[You blind mole. Clearly, the potato is king. Did you not see the crunch when the knife cut through the golden crust? Then the soft, fluffy part inside? That was divine contrast!]

[Both of you are wrong. The eggs literally shone. I had to adjust my screen brightness because it was like staring into the sun. How can you beat that brilliance?]

[Brilliance, my foot! Did you not notice the lettuce?! Still basking in the morning dew, like nature herself delivered it straight from paradise!]

[Excuse me. Cucumber squad checking in. Refreshing. Hydrating. Perfect balance. Y’all fighting over there when we’ve already ascended.]

[Ha! Kale gang rise! The crunch is eternal. The crisp is unmatched. Bow before the true leafy king!]

[Who even eats kale?]

[WHAT EVEN IS KALE?!]

[WHO EVEN KNOWS WHAT ANY OF THESE TASTE LIKE, FOOL. NONE OF US HAVE TASTED ANY OF THIS.]

"..."

[+1]

[+1]

[+1]

And that was true. None of them, save for a select few who would occasionally drop +1s in their hearts, had even taken a single bite, yet here they were ready to throw hands over what they swore would be their life-long allegiance.

All because of Owen.

Even Ollie had stared at the finished marketing videos in disbelief, silently wondering if his brother had been abducted and replaced by some top-class professional.

The tomatoes looked like they were dripping with enough juice to quench thirst across the stars.

The potatoes crackled visually, their golden crust breaking open to reveal a soft cloud-like interior.

The eggs were shining with such brilliance that people half-joked they needed protective glasses. And the lettuce looked so fresh it was like it had just stepped out of a spa, dewy and radiant.

The campaign was far too successful.

So successful that even the elders were watching intently, not just as bystanders, but as judges.

"Round 1 goes to the Tomato cult for sheer charisma."

"No. Potato squad takes round 1. They were right to praise our Lord. The textural contrast of the fries is unmatched."

"But what about the eggs society? Good enough, but they haven’t gleaned enough about their idol egg to be able to point out its greatness."

"This fight cannot be decided," one elder muttered gravely. "What happens when the other food groups join the battlefield?"

"Indeed," another elder stroked his beard. "What happens when they learn of crispy bacon? Or pasta that isn’t like rope? Or... cheese with no giant beasts?"

The room went silent.

Cheese.

The very word made the air tense.

Because those were things the elders themselves had just discovered, thanks to Luca’s relentless experiments. And each time, productivity had gone through the roof, their elderly bodies suddenly buzzing with energy from the sheer excitement of every new dish.

If they were this shaken, what would happen to the rest of the Empire?

Just what would happen to everyone with this kind of situation?

One thing was clear.

This mess was no longer theirs to solve.

It would first be the problem of poor Streamer Dylan, who was next in line for the guillotine.