[Manila — Earth — 1:34 p.m.]
The smell of charcoal, calamansi, and chaos filled the narrow street.
Jeepneys honked, vendors shouted, and one idiot stood on a plastic chair.
That idiot was Arin Sol, holding a skewer like it was a holy relic.
"Behold!" he declared, voice cracking but confident. "The most romantic dish ever conceived by humankind— Octopus Kebab à la Heartburn Inferno!"
A car alarm answered him. A baby cried. Somewhere, a dog coughed.
Behind the stall, Lira Vale crossed her arms. "Arin, stop naming the food like it's a breakup playlist."
"But drama sells!" Arin grinned, fanning smoke away with a paper plate. "People love passion. And danger. And possibly mild food poisoning."
"You flirt with everything, including the grill."
"It flirts back!" he said proudly.
The grill hissed.
Then blinked.
THE RECRUITER
A tall man in a pristine chef's hat appeared beside the stall — not walked up, but appeared, like he was printed into existence.
He carried a glowing cutting board that buzzed faintly, like a tablet possessed by a recipe app.
"Earth's finalists located," he said in a deadpan voice. "Congratulations, small primates."
Arin blinked. "Whoa. Nice cosplay, kuya."
"You are hereby invited to compete in the Cosmic Chef Circuit. Attendance is mandatory."
"Cosmic what now?" Lira asked.
Arin grinned. "Ooooh, Michelin Stars but, like, literally in the sky?"
The man tapped the board. "Extraction in three… two…"
"Wait, what's extrac—"
The sky folded in half like a tortilla and swallowed them whole.
THE BROADCAST
When the spinning stopped, Arin and Lira stood on a colossal floating platform made entirely of stainless steel and stars.
Above them shimmered billions of spectators — holographic lifeforms flickering between shapes: humans, beasts, and things that looked suspiciously like sentient soups.
"WELCOME TO THE FLAVOR NETWORK,"
boomed a cosmic announcer.
"Today's surprise contestants: Planet Earth — unregistered species, still using forks."
Arin blinked. "Wait—forks are illegal?"
Lira jabbed his ribs. "Shut up and look dignified."
He turned toward the nearest camera and struck a smoldering pose that would've embarrassed a statue.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and sentient vapor clusters… prepare your taste buds for love."
Half the multiverse recoiled. Ratings spiked.
THE FIRST CHALLENGE
A bronze gong echoed across the void.
ROUND ONE:
Cook the legendary Crimson Deep-Octopus of Nereid-9.
Arin squinted. "That sounds… alive."
"It is alive," Lira said, pointing at a newly materialized tank.
Inside floated a scarlet octopus the size of a tricycle, glaring through the glass.
"Bro," Arin whispered, "we cool, right?"
The octopus slapped the tank with a tentacle shaped like a middle finger.
"Cool, cool," Arin muttered. "Love the energy."
THE PALATE OF ECHOES
Arin grabbed a knife — one that hummed like a tuning fork — and sliced a tentacle.
A surge of energy jolted through him. Suddenly he was underwater, seeing coral reefs and tiny octopuses playing tag.
He gasped.
"Oh no. It has… feelings."
Lira groaned. "Not again."
"I can taste its childhood!" Arin cried, trembling. "It dreamed of being a coral artist!"
The audience gasped.
One alien leaned over. "He's tasting its backstory. Primitive, yet poetic."
THE TASTE EXPLOSION
Ten seconds later, the flavor hit.
Arin convulsed like a man possessed by garlic and destiny.
"AYOS! THIS IS SO GOOD IT HURTS!"
He flew backward, flipping through the air as sparks and soy sauce erupted from his hands.
Judges wept. One turned into glitter. Another proposed marriage to the kebab.
Lira, drenched in tears and sesame oil, quietly plated the dish.
"I hate my life," she whispered, "but at least it's well-seasoned."
BACK ON EARTH
Meanwhile, at a sleepy TV station in Quezon City, a technician frowned at a strange new feed.
"Uh, boss? Channel 45's showing… some guy screaming over an alien octopus."
The boss shrugged. "Looks like one of those prank shows. Leave it."
Seconds later, every screen on Earth lit up with Arin's face, eyes wide, screaming to the heavens:
"THIS ONE'S FOR YOU, EARTH!"
The world collectively paused.
Then, from Manila to Milan, people asked the same question:
"Wait… who the hell is that guy?"
END OF CHAPTER 1