The round moved faster than Eve expected. The cameras caught every bead of sweat, every twitch of panic, every frantic glance at the clock.
A contestant began to cry while whisking egg whites, shoulders trembling. They tried to hide it, turning their face away from the camera, but tears slipped anyway.
The audience murmured, hungry.
Eve’s fingers tightened together.
The contestant kept going. They didn’t stop whisking. They just cried and worked.
Eve felt something sharp and strange in her chest.
Respect.
When time was called, the room exploded into frantic last movements, plating, wiping rims, dressing herbs like tiny prayers.
“Hands up!” the MC shouted. “Hands up, chefs! Step away!”
Some contestants stepped away like prisoners. Others leaned on their stations, breathing hard.
T
