Chapter 436: Arrival of the Final Four
Regarding the host's commentary, Hisako (the secretary) raised a protest from in front of the TV!
"For a secretary, the lady on stage is simply a 'god'!" Hisako said, clutching her fists in worship.
From the start, when she saw Cleopatra going to such lengths to speak well of the "red ball" (Caesar), she felt a sense of familiar kinship. And then, there was the way she handled all the service tasks, smoothing out difficulties and perfecting things when her master had lapses. Isn't this a god-tier secretary!
Not to mention, seeing her struggling love life made her feel even closer to her.
"Is... is that so?" Erina asked uncertainly.
"Did you perhaps cause her trouble before?" Shirou leaned over and whispered into Erina's ear, asking curiously.
Erina looked back at Shirou and shook her head, looking equally unsure. She turned to her reliable best friend with an apologetic expression. "But thinking back on it, because of my willfulness, she may have been under a lot of pressure. I'm sorry... Hisako-chan."
"No... no, how could that be! I am genuinely happy to be by Erina-sama's side, and we are best friends, after all," Hisako explained, waving her hands.
"I see, that's wonderful then." Erina sighed with relief, leaning into Shirou's arms.
"But if you have any suggestions, please tell us. Don't be shy," Shirou added.
"Is that so?" the secretary said, hesitating. "Then... I really will say it. If... but... in the future, when you two are together, could you please consider my feelings?"
Shirou and Erina fell silent. 'Oh... so she is lonely after all...'
"Next time, let's help her find a good partner..." Shirou whispered to Erina while patting her shoulder.
"Mmhmm." The blonde girl nodded repeatedly and hugged Shirou for comfort, thinking sadly to herself: 'Hisako-chan, how pitiful. I didn't know anything; I truly am a failure as a friend.'
"Ahahaha..." the secretary stared blankly at the ceiling.
But what she said was not wrong.
Compared to the TV host, Cleopatra, as an Egyptian Pharaoh, possessed real guidance and hosting power. The charm she exuded was not magic, mystic eyes, curses, or bloodline talents, but her own genuine, inner charisma.
Since a radiant woman like me is already on stage, extra introductions are unnecessary, Cleopatra thought with supreme confidence.
Cleopatra raised her hand, pointed a finger to the sky, and exclaimed loudly: "Everyone, look up!"
It looked like the shadow of an aircraft, but for drones or small planes, these objects were too quiet. Looking at the silhouette, it was something else entirely—perhaps this was the secret foundation of the mysterious group; they possessed "black technology" not yet released to society.
The flying objects were actually sparrow yokai disguised in black ninja outfits. They had their arms linked together, flew above the building, and grabbed the concealing curtains, lifting them up into the sky.
At the same time, the boards and partition walls were lowered one by one. If you looked closely, you could see monkeys from who-knows-where nimbly moving the boards while keeping themselves hidden.
Under everyone's gaze, the barriers unfolded like an automated mechanism, eventually revealing the true face of the competition venue. To Heroic Spirits, this was nothing, but as the scene fell into the eyes of the public, they found it magical and broke into exclamations of wonder.
On that very day, the gorgeous opening ceremony of this massive and peculiar building spread across the world via the internet.
On the day of the competition!
A long, luxury train pulled in.
A long-legged model draped in white mink stepped out, opened the door, and a middle-aged man with a large nose, curly mustache, and short brownish-black hair emerged. He was of average height, but his eyes were sharp and gloomy—he looked like a ruthless character who shouldn't be trifled with.
He was the famous French chef Pablo, a rising star in the European culinary world since the 21st century and a prominent figure frequently seen in culinary magazines.
Although the elderly Chef Liu was world-renowned and influential, and Nakiri Senzaemon, the "Demon Lord of Food," was an old veteran titan in Japan, their glory days were ultimately from the previous generation. Young and middle-aged people of the new generation preferred the chefs of the new era over white-haired old men.
In this world, the person closely linked to the upper echelons was none other than this emperor of the French culinary world. He didn't just stay in his restaurant; he frequently appeared at luxury parties held by nobles and tycoons, mingling with the wealthy and powerful.
He only accepted banquets for one table, and his monthly appearances were limited. If one didn't have extensive connections, they couldn't even get on his waiting list, and his price was
astronomical. Yet, in those European circles, everyone considered it an honor to invite him to cook at their home.
Even more legendary was the fact that he was once a poor immigrant kid. Before becoming an apprentice to a master chef, he didn't even know what caviar looked like. Now, he had become a prominent figure in the upper echelons of Europe. Many young people regarded him as their idol, calling him the "Gates of the culinary world."
He had also become a darling of the media. Magazines often featured photos of him standing with world-class stars; he had even appeared on the cover of Time magazine and was hailed as the most influential chef in the world. It was said that he used the beauty of food to promote peace between nations and was a strong contender for next year's Nobel Peace Prize.
"Hey~! Chef Pablo, welcome to Japan. Chef Liu has already entered the venue. Can I interview you for a moment? Just three minutes," a reporter ran up with a beaming smile.
"Hmph!" A sneer was his only response. The French chef hugged the female model and continued walking toward the inner passage.
"Darling, aren't you going to accept their interview?" the female model asked, hugging the French chef in confusion.
The French chef didn't even look at the yellow-skinned reporters and walked straight toward the venue, saying, "Let's go. I don't accept interviews from Asian monkeys who don't even understand French. Baby, as long as you can serve me well, there will be plenty of opportunities to enjoy the feeling of camera flashes. I can provide you with a better stage, like the runway of a world-famous brand at Paris Fashion Week."
The female model jumped with excitement, planted a kiss on the famous French chef, and smiled sycophantically: "Yes, darling, you're the best. Whatever you want tonight, I'll listen to you."
The French chef said in a cold, commanding tone: "Then hide your country accent well; don't embarrass me. You must understand that in France, everywhere outside of Paris is the countryside! You don't want people to know I'm holding a country bumpkin, do you? How degrading."
"Yes." The female model paused awkwardly for a second, then quickly resumed her submissive, bird-like demeanor and answered sweetly.
The female model hugged Pablo's shoulder, pressing against his chest as they headed into the passage.
"Damn it... these Frenchmen! What era do we live in, and they still dare to look down on us," a Japanese reporter who had been ignored gritted his teeth behind them.
"Stop it. He's not an ordinary chef; he's the emperor of the European underworld. He's not someone a small reporter like us can provoke," a colleague pulled on the reporter's sleeve.
At that moment, someone on the other side shouted: "They're here! The special car from Totsuki Academy! The Demon Lord of Food is here!!" "The hope of our country! Hurry over!"
Nakiri Senzaemon, accompanied by Erina, had already walked to the entrance of the passage and was accepting an interview.
"Nakiri-sama, what are your thoughts on the outcome of this competition? Do you think it's possible to defeat the Chinese Chef Liu?" the Japanese reporter asked nervously.
Nakiri Senzaemon waved his hand, took off his coat to reveal his sturdy muscles, and laughed loudly: "Hahaha! Sushi, rice, ramen—none of these originated in Japan, but the ones who carried them to great heights were the Japanese! Perhaps I am not as comprehensive as Chef Liu, but I certainly don't lack a chance of winning! Standing here is my way of telling the world that when it comes to the spirit of pushing culinary research to the extreme, we will never lose to anyone!"
"Oooooohhhhhhh!!!" "As expected of the Demon Lord of Food! So reliable!" the surrounding Japanese people praised.
"Grandfather... please put your clothes back on," Erina sighed, covering her face in embarrassment.
After making his passionate declaration, the Nakiri family entered the passage.
"With that, there's only one contestant left for the Top 4," the reporters whispered. "What about Mask X? How come we haven't seen him appear?" a reporter asked loudly. "What! He's already in the preparation room? How is that possible?" "I've been guarding here since dawn; it's impossible to have missed him!" another reporter shouted. "Could the rumor that Mask X is actually a disciple of a ninja master be true?!"
At this moment, Shirou, draped in the "King of No Face" modified stealth cloak, took off his Spirit Suit after entering the passage.
While it was noisy outside, the lowest level of the corridor inside the venue—where there was no need for a parking lot—was utilized by the organizers to provide luxurious, thorough reception areas for the four master chefs, containing everything they could possibly need in their daily lives. Additionally, separate break rooms were provided for each of the four contestants.
When Erina left her grandfather's break room, she bumped into the French chef Pablo, who was still holding his model. Although she disliked the middle-aged man's behavior, to avoid being rude, Erina stepped forward to greet him.
"Hello, Chef Pablo. Welcome to Japan."
The French chef scanned the blonde woman, his eyes lighting up. "Ho-ho, and you are?"
"I am Nakiri Erina."
"Nakiri... ah, I've heard of you. You are quite popular in the culinary industry; many people want to invite you to taste their dishes. Although my restaurants don't need such trivial things, you are quite good. You've piqued my interest." The French chef scanned the blonde woman with an indescribable gaze, his voice deep and obscure.
When pinned by that gaze, Erina felt her entire body become uncomfortable.
"Wait, you already have me, don't look for other women," the female model said, pouting and clinging to the French chef's arm.
Smack!
The French chef backhanded the female model, slapping her away, and cursed sharply: "I don't need a woman telling me what to do. If you don't want me to have you kicked out right now, shut your mouth! Bitches like you—I can get as many as I want with a snap of my fingers!"
"..." The female model fell to the ground with a red palm print left on her face, completely stunned. She had heard that Pablo was difficult to deal with, but she never imagined it would be like this...
"Wait! How can you be so violent toward a woman!" Erina said angrily.
"Nakiri Erina, your tongue is interesting, and your face is also quite good. How about you come back to France with me? This island country doesn't suit you; I can give you much more in Paris. If it's you, it would be fine to keep you in my villa. Hehehehe!" Pablo looked at the woman with a wicked gaze, stretching out his tongue to lick his lips.
"You! Do you know what you're saying?! Is this what you call 'gentlemanly conduct'?" Erina shouted.
"Well, let me make you taste the cuisine I've carefully prepared later. I'm sure you'll change your mind. I really look forward to seeing your current proud, queen-like appearance turn into a humble, kneeling posture as you beg for my favor." As he said this, Pablo reached out to touch Erina's face.
At that moment, a powerful hand reached out and grabbed his grubby paw.
A masked man in a red chef's combat suit appeared beside the blonde woman.
"Shi... ah, X-san, you're here!" Erina said happily.
"Ah, what a surprise. You call yourself a famous French chef, yet you lack the conduct expected of a gentleman. You are worse than a low-life hoodlum," Shirou said, tightening his grip on the man's wrist and yanking him away from the golden-haired girl. He then turned to Erina beside him and said calmly, "Facing such a lovely and charming lady, yet lacking the
manners to cherish her or consider her feelings—I simply couldn't stand by and watch. Please forgive me for acting without asking, Ojou-sama."
"You bastard! You country bumpkin! You ugly freak in a mask! You low-class yellow-skinned monkey! Who are you calling a low-life!!! Damn you! Let go!" The French chef tried to break free, only to find the other party's grip was as powerful as a vice. He used all his strength but couldn't move; struggling only caused the wrist being gripped to ache intensely.
"It is said that the things a person frequently uses to attack others are often the very flaws they are most afraid of exposing in their subconscious. Pablo-san! It seems you are unexpectedly full of inferiority and fragility. If you want me to let go, shouldn't you say something before that?" Shirou asked calmly.
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