Chapter 437: A Food War Against the Villain
"You bastard... you mutt... how dare you speak to me like that!!!" Pablo seemed to have been touched on a sore spot. His large face turned a deep shade of red, and his nostrils flared as if they were about to spew fire and ignite his thick beard.
"It seems you still don't understand," Shirou said calmly while prying the man's hand outward. Although he had retired from his dream of being a "Hero of Justice," when faced with a villain right in front of him, he still couldn't help but want to teach him a lesson personally.
"It hurts! It hurts! Stop! Stop it!!!" Pablo slumped over, shouting in pain.
"I know, I apologize. Let go first, young man; there is no need to make everyone unhappy because of a momentary impulse," the French chef Pablo said, rolling his eyes as he looked at the red-masked man in front of him, trying to change the subject.
Meanwhile, his other hand reached into a hidden pocket. A dagger was concealed there, and his hand gripped it, ready to show this person who offended him what was coming.
He was very calculating. As long as he didn't injure the opponent to the point of being unable to compete, he knew that the organizers—who had gone to such great lengths to hold this event—would not want any problems to arise in this tournament that had captured global attention. Whether it was due to an aging population, the apathy of the younger generation, or low-consumption desires, this island nation had been in a state of economic recession and stagnation for a long time. The organizers had already invested a massive amount of resources, manpower, and finances—an amount that even a large developed nation would find strenuous—and they simply could not afford to let the event end in a fiasco.
Pablo was confident that with his connections to the European media, he could certainly apply pressure. As long as the masked man wasn't hospitalized with a serious injury, he knew exactly how to inflict pain without leaving a major trail; he was very experienced in this.
Pablo's eyes glinted with malice as his other hand grabbed the hidden dagger.
"Both of you, stop right there!! Don't forget, this is Japan!" At that moment, Nakiri Senzaemon walked over and shouted sternly.
"Yes, yes, as you say, sir." Shirou released Pablo's wrist. Just a moment ago, if the man had made a move, Shirou had been prepared to break that wrist.
"Hmph!! You're lucky!" Pablo glared viciously at Shirou, clutching his painful, trembling hand, and said in a low voice, "Kid! I'll remember you! Watch out for that hand of yours."
"Pablo! This isn't the European underworld; this isn't a place where you can run wild!" Nakiri Senzaemon roared. He wasn't the type to watch his granddaughter being bullied and do nothing.
The famous French chef chuckled with a strange, rattling sound and stepped back two paces. He looked at the old man and said, "I'll give you some face this time, Nakiri. But you really are
meddlesome. You're an old man with one foot in the grave; don't die here. Otherwise, I'll just take over your influence in this island nation for you, including your family members. Hehehehehehehehe-hehehe."
Regarding this old man who was already past his prime—whose influence was primarily limited to Japan and Northern Europe—Pablo wasn't afraid of a dying old wolf.
"You! You unrepentant..." Erina cried out in anger.
Just then, with a creak, the door to the break room at the very front of the corridor opened. Out walked the tall, sturdy, mountain-like old man with a heavy white beard and a red turban. The surroundings suddenly went quiet, and everyone turned to look in that direction.
"Master Liu," Erina gasped.
"Brother Liu!" Nakiri Senzaemon also clasped his hands in a salute. Although the media assumed they were peers, in fact, Nakiri had already heard the great name of this "Chef God" when he was just finishing his apprenticeship.
"I am sorry for disturbing you," Shirou also apologized.
"I'm sorry, Senior Liu! It's like this!" Erina tried to explain.
"No need to say more. Your argument was so loud that with my hearing, I heard every word clearly." The elderly Liu stopped Erina, scanned everyone, and continued, "Pablo, I only have one thing to say to you."
This time, the arrogant underground emperor, Pablo, put away his insolent face and respectfully lowered his head. "Yes, please speak."
The elderly Liu opened his eyes, which were sharp like a dragon's or a falcon's. For a moment, he felt like an unsheathed, peerless sword. The sharpness was so intense that just by catching the light reflected from his gaze, one felt a cold chill as if being pierced through.
The elderly Liu said, enunciating each word, "This is the venue for a cooking competition. Regardless of what grievances you have, resolve them through your cooking. As for other matters, do as you please."
After saying this, the elderly Liu placed his hands behind his back, nodded slightly to Shirou, Erina, and the others, and walked away.
"Yes, as you wish." Pablo bowed behind the old man, hands down, performing a gentleman's salute. He was an underground emperor who had developed influence beyond what ordinary people could imagine through his status as a chef. He wasn't a reckless fool; he simply chose to be humble only to those stronger and of higher status than himself.
If an international chef treated heads of state or royalty the same way they treated commoners, the bigwigs would feel uncomfortable. Even if a street food vendor treated you
the same way they treated a beggar digging through trash, you as a customer would feel uncomfortable.
When he stood back up, he regained his cold, arrogant gaze, locking onto Shirou. "Then let's do it your way! A Food War! You sneaky, country-bumpkin brat! I'll bet your hand! If I win, I will cut off the hand you used to hurt me!"
"Famous French chef Pablo, underground emperor of Europe—your reputation in the industry is terrible. People say you are overbearing; now it seems you are nothing but a dictator," Shirou said, refusing to back down and looking at him firmly.
"Hmph, you hidden-faced coward, talking so much! Then let's add your tongue to the bet!" Pablo threatened.
Shirou replied, "Is that so? Well, if I win, I will investigate all the crimes you have committed, publish them, and see that you face the judgment of the law."
Pablo sneered. "Crimes? Are you talking about the time I helped the Queen of England entertain presidents and congressmen at a private banquet, getting them to agree to let the little princes pose on the battlefield—the crime of how they used weapons to 'cleanse' the Middle East and plunder oil? Or the crime of cooking a delicious banquet dinner for those private arms dealers discussing business?"
"The law?! Hmph!" Pablo sneered again and turned to walk in the opposite direction of the elderly Liu, waving his hand, looking frantic and furious.
"What is this! Despite having such a big reputation, I never expected him to be such a person," Erina said, hugging her arms in anger.
"Erina, don't provoke him. He's known as the underground emperor of the European culinary world. His hands are very dirty, and he is arrogant and ruthless, yet he has never been sanctioned. It seems he uses underhanded tactics; even now, many people in politics and business have their leverage held by him."
Nakiri Senzaemon's face was gloomy as he spoke with a heavy expression. But then, he burst into laughter. "Well, as long as we are on the land of Japan, as long as the Nakiri family wants to stop him, he won't be able to run wild. There's no need to worry, ahahahaha."
"That's true, Grandfather. I know, I will arrange for more security personnel," Erina said with a smile.
"Yes, then this old man will excuse himself." Nakiri Senzaemon crossed his arms and stood before the door of his break room. "I'm going back in to rest. Erina and Shirou... no, that Mask... anyway, be careful."
"Yes, I know, Grandfather," Erina said, blushing with embarrassment.
During the time the Nakiri family was talking, the female model who had been slapped away by Pablo was still sitting foolishly on the ground.
"Are you okay?" Shirou walked up and offered her his hand.
"Thank you." The model took Shirou's hand and was pulled up, but she still seemed dazed. She looked around vaguely, and finally, she looked toward the direction where the violent Pablo had left.
"What do you plan to do now? Are you going back? Or are you following Pablo?" Shirou asked flatly in French.
The model, clutching her aching face, looked at Shirou. Though grateful for his concern, she knew this was just a mask that wouldn't be peeled off for her. She lowered her head and hesitated, but she couldn't help looking in the direction Pablo had walked. She lifted her head, smiled awkwardly at Shirou, and ran after the famous French chef's angry retreating figure.
Under the mask, Shirou returned to his usual dead-fish eyes. This had nothing to do with him anymore. Regardless of the outcome, everything was the model's own choice...
At this moment, the blonde girl walked over and rested her hand on Shirou's shoulder.
"Well, at least my taste in men is much better than hers, don't you think?" Shirou took off his mask, tilted his head toward the beautiful blonde woman beside him, and asked with a light smile.
"Yes, though it still doesn't compare to how good my taste is!" Erina held Shirou's shoulder affectionately, saying proudly.
Elsewhere... Pablo arrived at the restroom, turned on the faucet, and let the water run, scrubbing his wrist. The spot where he had been gripped left a red mark.
For someone as proud as him, this was nothing short of a disgrace. It had been over a decade since he had been humiliated like this—ever since he stole his master's secret recipe and climbed to the top. He kicked a bathroom door open in a rage.
Pablo destroyed everything around him, but this wasn't enough to vent his anger. He needed a more thorough way to release the fire in his heart...
Just then, the female model walked over, stood in front of the bathroom door, and knocked.
Pablo looked back at her and said, "So you followed me after all. Fine, I suppose you still have some brains, woman."
"Darling, I love you," the model said as she walked into the restroom with a cat-like stride.
Public restrooms in Japan are famously clean, so the trend of "toilet meals" was quite prevalent there; one really didn't need to worry about smells or bacteria. Pablo simply unzipped his pants and sat directly on the toilet seat, ordering the model: "Come here."
The model, her face still bearing the red palm print, put on a standard, sweet, beauty-pageant smile and went to him.
"Wait!" Pablo stopped her coldly.
"Eh..." The model froze in place.
Pablo's cold eyes stared at her. "Get on your knees and crawl over!"
Before long, the sounds of rustling, clothes rubbing against the floor, and something like a large animal crawling could be heard in the restroom.
Pablo dialed a phone number. The name displayed on the screen was... Koyanskaya.
"Hello, it's me! I agree to the terms you proposed last time. Give me that colorless, odorless poison!"
He spoke in a low voice, grinding his teeth as if uttering a curse.
"Damn it! One after another, they dare to offend me! Just wait! Once I obtain the title of 'Chef God' and that sacred cauldron, none of you will be able to escape. I will overturn everything you take pride in, make you lose everything you own, and reduce you to slaves! Then I will buy you all; I'll cut off the men's tongues and hands and feed them to the fish, and I'll lock the women up to serve as slaves!"
Between his legs, the female model kneeling and serving him trembled in fear.
Meanwhile, in the magnificent hall—the top floor of the very building constructed for this event—the five judges were also resting there.
Just then, Pharaoh Cleopatra, who had been dealing with various matters outside, pushed open the doors and walked in.
"Oh, well then, everyone, the tournament is about to begin." Caesar stood up and clapped his hands.
"Ahahahaha, that is excellent. I have been looking forward to this for a long time," the King of Conquerors, Iskandar, laughed as he answered while using a home game console to play the Civilization series on the big screen.
"Yes, I have no problems. What about you, Lady Yu?" The red and black figures, Boudica, sitting on one side of the sofa, smiled kindly at the young True Ancestor.
"I have no objections either." Opposite her, Yu Meiren sat, feeling a bit uneasy at being stared at so affectionately. She was not good at dealing with humans, especially humans who held goodwill toward her.
If they were evil people with malicious intent, she would hate the killing, but when it was truly unavoidable, she could just kill them. But if they were kind humans, she couldn't bring herself to act. She could only feel a creeping sensation, like her skin was crawling. Fortunately, Boudica on the other side was a Servant; to some extent, she could accept that.
Read ahead (60 chapters) by supporting me on buymeacoffee com/varietl or ko-fi edwriting