Chương 177: Round Two, by One Point

The judging room was heavy. Two score sheets sat in front of the five judges. One for England, one for the United States.

"Colleagues." Benini cleared his throat.

"I think we have all been on an expedition today that none of us has taken before. Both teams have shown us readings of the future that are completely different and equally serious." Madame Dubois spoke first.

"England's performance, viewed technically, is perfect. Three dishes, rigorous logic, each building on the last, like a well-structured academic paper. I can't find a flaw in it." Emily Jones disagreed.

"I accept how strong England is. But their food is cold. It's like walking through a museum of the future. You admire it and you can't get close to it. The American food has a temperature. That Tide Pool made me feel something alive. That main course surprised me. And as for the dessert—" She glanced at the older judge.

"It moved me." He nodded.

"Yes. Moved. It reminded me that what makes us human is not that we can compute an optimal solution. It's that we can be brought to tears by a flavor and a memory." The discussion got hot. The table had clearly split into two camps. One admired the absolute rationality with which England had turned cooking into precise science. The other had been caught by the romanticism of Americans hunting a human light inside chaos.

"Enough." Benini raised a hand for quiet.

"It appears we won't agree. The future of cooking was never going to be a single thing. Let us state our positions in numbers." They picked up their scoring units. Out on the floor, Chris, Ethan and Kira stood shoulder to shoulder waiting for the verdict. Ethan's palms were soaked. Kira had taken hold of the hem of Chris's jacket without noticing she'd done it. Chris breathed in. He'd done everything he could do. The rest belonged to the table. England's scores came up first. Judge one: 18.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Judge two: 19. Judge three: 18. Judge four: 19. Judge five: 18. Total: 92. An unambiguously high number. Applause went around the hall. The English relaxed visibly; as far as they were concerned, that locked round two. Arthur's eyes crossed the arena to Chris. There was no challenge in them. Only a calm that said, there — that is the correct answer. Then the Americans.

Every heart in the building came up into every throat. The numbers lit one at a time. Judge one: 19. Madame Dubois, who had been shaken by The Tide Pool. She admired England's technique, but plainly, Kira's ocean had reached her. Judge two: 18. The same as England's. That one had stayed neutral. Judge three: 19. Emily Jones. No hesitation at all. The room began to feel strange. Three judges in, and the Americans were two points up. Judge four: 19. Another nineteen. The hall broke open.

If the last judge went 18 or better, the Americans took the round. Chris's heart was slamming. He could see the English competitors' smiles had gone. For the first time on a competition floor, Arthur's brow came down. Everything came down to the last score. The older judge. The one whose memory Chris's dessert had woken. The number flickered on the screen. Would it be 17, because the dessert was too conceptual? Or 18, a safe number that took no side? It stopped. 18. Total: 93. One point.

Team USA had taken it by one point.

"We won! We won!" Ethan lost the last of his control and grabbed Chris in both arms, roaring it. Kira covered her mouth, and her eyes went red instantly. After one short silence the building exploded into cheering. Nobody had predicted this. The dark horse had done it again. Chris breathed hard inside Ethan's bear hug with a grin he couldn't get off his face. He knew exactly where they'd won it: in the heart of an old man who had been touched by A Minimal Future.

The dessert he'd improvised on impulse in the last ten minutes, the one nobody had believed in, had turned out to be the thing that decided it.

"Round two goes to the United States!" the compère called.

"One round each. The teams are level at one to one!" Level. That result sent the hall insane. It meant tomorrow's last stand would be a true championship match, with nowhere for either side to retreat to. Chris's eyes found Arthur's again. This time there was no serene view-from-above in them. They were complicated: surprise, confusion, and even a trace of the shock of a man whose program has been interfered with. He watched Chris in silence for a moment, and the look was a question. Why?

Why has everything I calculated been beaten by something illogical and full of accident? Chris didn't look away. He simply looked back, and gave a small nod. An answer to the question, and an announcement too. Welcome to the uncertain world. Something extremely small changed in Arthur's face at that moment — a crack in the mask. He recovered his usual composure quickly, but Chris knew something in there had moved. The real war started now.