The air in the kitchen could've been sliced with a butter knife. And you can see the tension on every individual's face, as they are not even letting out a breath.
Even the fans spinning overhead seemed to hold their breath. Spoons clinked. Steam hissed. Oil popped in the pan. But no one spoke.
A row of young cooks stood stiff as soldiers, eyes glued to the far end of the kitchen where a tall man in a black chef coat leaned over a plate.
It was Lee Ji-Hoon. His sleeves were rolled up; his forearms dusted with flour and sugar. His fingers worked like he wasn't nervous at all, carefully adding the last caramel threads over the dessert. A small gold leaf sat gently on top like a crown.
"Chef Lee," one of the younger cooks whispered. "The head waiter's on his way back—he just finished the fourth course."
Another cook elbowed him. "Shut it, he's plating!"
Ji-Hoon didn't react to the chaos behind him. Every station had gone silent as he adjusted the final layer of crisp puff pastry onto his creation: a Caramelized Chestnut Mille-Feuille, layered with vanilla bean pastry cream, roasted chestnut purée, and thin slices of poached pear.
The top was lacquered in a thin, amber glaze of burnt sugar caramel, shining like stained glass. A glimmering nest of spun sugar crowned it like a fragile crown, topped with a flake of edible gold leaf.
He gently placed the dessert on a silver tray and nodded once.
"Ready," he said.
The sous-chef quickly grabbed the tray and rushed toward the swinging kitchen doors just as they flung open from the other side.
In walked the head waiter, face as blank as a marble wall. His shoes tapped across the tile as everyone watched, holding their collective breath.
He stopped at the counter and looked at the dish. "Is this the last one?"
The sous-chef gave a shaky nod. "Yes, sir. Final course."
"...Then let's pray."
Without another word, the head waiter took the tray and turned.
The door slowly closed behind him.
The silence that followed was deafening.
"Do you think he'll spit it out again like that one time?" one cook whispered.
"I heard he only takes one bite if it's bad. Two if it's okay," another said, rubbing his hands on his apron.
"The old man's brutal. Like, let's just hope he takes another bite and not throw up like he did at Sky Glacier."
"That's not funny, this is a Michélin re-evaluation! If we lose a star, we're done."
"Chef Lee's not gonna mess up," a girl near the prep station muttered. "He never does."
"Still..." one of the guys leaned in. "This is his last day, right? You think he'll finally mess something up on purpose? You know, like a dramatic walkout?"
Everyone turned to look at Ji-Hoon.
He was cleaning his station with calm, quiet focus, as if the fate of the restaurant didn't hang in the balance. As if an elite world-class appraiser wasn't chewing through courses out there. As if he hadn't just made the hardest dessert on the entire menu from scratch.
As if he wasn't quitting tonight.
* * * * *
Out in the main hall, the lights had dimmed just enough for the dessert to sparkle under its spotlight. The room was elegant but not stuffy. Quiet chatter had died down the moment the man at the special table picked up his spoon.
Mr. Armand Lecroix, the three-star Michélin appraiser. Rumor was, he used to be a celebrity chef before becoming a critic. Now he barely spoke at all. The man looked to be in his late 50's, with neatly dyed white hair and posture that whispered experience.
He was here for one reason:
To decide whether Auberge Bleu would receive its final, coveted Third Michélin Star.
He took one look at the plate, then tapped the edge of the spoon against it. Softly. Once. Twice. Testing the firmness. Then he dug into the center and brought it to his mouth.
His face showed nothing at first. But then...
SWISHHHHHHH~!
His eyes narrowed as the cream melted in his mouth, the sweet flavor finally exploding with in his mouth. He tapped his spoon again and took another bite. Still no words.
The people watching from the shadows stiffened.
One bite. Two bites. That was normal.
But then he kept going.
Three.
By the third, people in the kitchen were already covering their mouths like they'd witnessed a miracle.
One of the younger cooks gasped watching from the kitchen, "H-He's eating more than two?"
"Shut up, idiot! That's three! THREE!"
Ji-Hoon stood still by the dish sink, not saying a word.
Four. Five.
He was eating it all.
The appraiser looked like he'd forgotten the rest of the world existed. The tension in his jaw had eased. His eyebrows weren't furrowed anymore. His lips curled slightly at the corners; not a smile, but something close to satisfied.
And then, when he finally scraped the last of the sauce from the dish, he looked up at the waiter beside him.
"Call the head chef," he said. "Now."
Back in the kitchen...
"The appraiser asked for you!" a server shouted, barging through the door. "Chef Lee, he wants to speak to you personally!"
"Whoa!" someone said. "He never does that!"
"Did he really finish the whole plate?" another cook asked.
"That's... unheard of."
Lee Ji-Hoon wiped his hands on a towel, looking more amused than anything.
He pulled off his apron and walked toward the dining hall.
"You think he'll offer him a job?" a junior cook whispered.
"Nah, he's probably just going to ask him to open a branch in Paris."
"SHH, HE'S GOING!"
Ji-Hoon walked calmly into the dining hall, the heavy door creaking behind him. The appraiser didn't rise. He simply turned his head and stared.
"You made this?" he asked, tapping the empty plate with the back of his spoon.
"Yes, sir," Ji-Hoon replied.
"This dessert," Armand said slowly, "Tell me kid. Where did you learn to make it?"
Ji-Hoon hesitated, then answered honestly.
"Someone taught me a while ago... " His face changed a little.
That made the appraiser pause. " Someone...? Well, they clearly are a skilled one."
Ji-Hoon nodded. "Yeah. They are the reason I became a chef myself."
The appraiser looked down at the plate for a moment. Then back at him.
"I'd give this six stars if I could," he muttered. "Too bad I can only give three."
He stood up and straightened his jacket. "Hope we meet again, Young man."
And just like that, he walked off.
Back in the kitchen, the news hit faster.
"Three stars confirmed!"
"He ate the whole thing!"
"He asked for you chef!"
"What did he say?! What did he say?!"
Ji-Hoon just shrugged.
"He liked it."
The Manager rushed up, red in the face. "Ji-Hoon, are you really quitting? After this?! Come on, I'll raise your salary—no, double it! You could run the place!"
Ji-Hoon smiled, not in mockery or pride. Just a small, tired smile. The kind you give when you've already made up your mind.
"Thank you, Manager Brielle. Really," he said, slipping his coat over his shoulder. "But I made a promise to someone."
She blinked, unsure what he meant.
He smiled faintly to himself, already turning the corner.
"Now it's time I kept it."