The grand hall of the Zurich Culinary Expo was silent.
Not in the way of absence, but in the way of reverence. The audience—chefs, critics, culinary journalists, and chocolate devotees—stood before the finalists' displays like visitors in a sacred gallery. Judging day had arrived.
Mirae stood behind her table, dressed in a crisp white uniform embroidered simply with Kang Mirae – Baby Chocolat Paradise, Korea. No frills, no distractions—just her, her chocolate, and her truth.
Her trio—The Spark, The Storm, and The Bloom—was laid out on matte black slate, each piece spaced with deliberate symmetry. The chocolates shimmered under the soft lighting, minimal but magnetic.
She clutched the edge of the table, willing her hands to stay steady.
One by one, the judges approached. There were six of them—each from a different corner of the culinary world. The most intimidating was Chef Ingrid Weiss, a three-star Michelin chef from Berlin, known for her merciless standards and unflinching gaze. Then there was a young molecular gastronomy expert from New York, a pastry historian from Italy, and even a chocolatier monk from Belgium.
When they stopped in front of Mirae, her breath caught.
The lead judge, a man named Bastien Rousseau, spoke with calm authority. "Please, Ms. Kang. Tell us your story."
Mirae swallowed, then lifted her head.
"My collection is called Journey of the Heart," she began. "Each piece represents an emotion I've experienced while chasing this dream."
She pointed to the first piece. "The Spark—a dark chocolate shell with a yuzu-infused ganache, touched with Darjeeling tea. This is the beginning—of passion, inspiration, a moment that makes your heart race."
She gestured to the second. "The Storm—70% smoked cocoa, with Himalayan salt and a hint of chili. It represents confusion, fear, the bitter times when I almost gave up."
Then her fingers paused above the final piece. "The Bloom—white chocolate and lavender, blended with lychee and honey. This is growth. Forgiveness. The moment you learn to love yourself again."
The judges listened, silent but focused. Then, with a nod, they began the tasting.
One by one, they picked up the chocolates with silver tweezers. First the spark, eyes widening slightly at the brightness and smooth finish. Then the storm—some nods, one closed eye, a breath held. And then… the bloom.
When Ingrid Weiss tasted The Bloom, she froze.
Then she looked up and whispered something in German. Bastien smiled faintly.
"She said," Bastien translated gently, "this one is like remembering your mother's hug, years after she's gone."
Mirae felt her throat tighten.
The judges moved on, but Mirae couldn't move. Her hands were clenched at her sides, her heart pounding. Then she felt someone take her hand—Doekyom, standing just behind the rope barrier.
"You did it," he said, eyes shining.
"I don't know if I'll win," she whispered.
He shook his head. "You already have."
The announcement ceremony took place in the grand rotunda of the Zurich Culinary Center, its tall marble columns bathed in gold light. Mirae stood with the other finalists at the front of the stage, her hands clasped together tightly, fingertips cold. Each chocolatier wore a medal ribbon, blank for now—waiting for judgment.
The crowd behind them was filled with murmurs in a dozen languages. International press. Gourmet industry leaders. And nestled among them, Mirae saw her liaison Emilie, her hotel staff cheering quietly, and Doekyom—front row, camera in hand, eyes locked on her.
Bastien Rousseau returned to the stage with an envelope in his hand.
"In this year's Global Artisan Chocolate Expo," he began, his voice echoing through the grand hall, "we have seen innovation, bravery, and most importantly—honesty. Each finalist shared not only flavors, but pieces of their spirit. But tonight, one story stood out."
Mirae didn't breathe.
"The winner of the 2025 Rising Artisan Award is… Kang Mirae of South Korea."
For a moment, silence.
Then the hall erupted into applause.
She blinked once. Twice. Her name echoed again from the speakers, and suddenly Emilie was guiding her forward. She stepped into the spotlight, the world fading to the sound of her heartbeat. Bastien held out the gold-trimmed medal, placing it gently around her neck, followed by a glass trophy shaped like a blooming cocoa pod.
"Your chocolates reminded us," Bastien said softly, "that the sweetest flavors come from the hardest truths."
Mirae bowed deeply. When she looked up, she saw Doekyom smiling—no, glowing—his hands clapping above his head, pride and love pouring from his eyes.
A dozen reporters swarmed the stage after the ceremony, snapping photos and asking questions in fast-tumbling English.
"How did you come up with your flavor palette?"
"Will you open a shop in Europe?"
"Who inspired The Bloom?"
To that, Mirae simply turned toward the crowd and smiled.
"My inspiration?" she said, her eyes flicking toward Doekyom. "A promise I made—to never stop believing in myself. And in love."
Gasps. More flashes. A few murmurs in Korean from behind the press line.
Mirae descended from the stage with shaking hands. When she reached Doekyom, he pulled her into his arms without a word. She melted into him.
"You really flew all this way," she whispered, tears pricking her eyes.
"Of course I did," he said. "I never stopped believing in you."
She looked at him then—not as the boy she once loved, but as the man who had returned to her world when she'd finally found herself.
And in that moment, surrounded by strangers, chocolates, and gold light—Mirae knew she was home.