Perry walked toward the tent he had visited earlier, but his mind was clouded with questions: why hadn't the system issued any new tasks yet? He had interacted with so many things today, but there wasn't even the slightest hint. This silence was beginning to irritate him.
He looked up at the system, which hovered in the air, lazily spiraling. Unable to hold back his frustration, he muttered, "Why hasn't there been a task notification yet? I've come into contact with so many ingredients today, even that rare crystal fruit, but there's no response at all."
The system paused briefly before responding in its usual cold, mechanical voice, though this time there was a hint of contemplation. [Data analysis indicates that the current conditions are insufficient to trigger a task. It's possible that the host needs to establish a deeper connection with the ingredients through processing, cooking, or ... eating.]
" Eating?" Perry raised an eyebrow, his tone tinged with disbelief. "You're saying eating something could make a difference? You've never mentioned that as a condition before."
[System detection records show...]the system continued, [that task triggers have frequently coincided with consumption-related behaviors. It is recommended to try this approach to increase the probability of triggering a task.]
Perry paused for a moment, then glanced down and rubbed his stomach. Only after the system's reminder did he realize a faint sense of hunger. It was already past five in the afternoon, and aside from a cup of coffee earlier, he hadn't eaten all day. The realization hit him——it might be time to refuel his body.
"Maybe that's it," he murmured with a sigh. "But first, I need to deliver this contact bead to Mr. Mars. Then I can find something to eat. I just can't focus with this task hanging over me."
Quickening his pace, Perry headed toward the tent. However, the bustling market was far busier than he had anticipated. This was the most hectic time of day, with vendors calling out their wares, street performers putting on lively shows, and the sheer number of people clogging the main street to the point of being impassable.
Frowning, he tried to take a side street to avoid the crowd, but each path was equally packed with activity. Resigned, he steeled himself and began weaving his way through the throng.
"Excuse me, coming through! Thank you!" Perry maneuvered carefully, dodging shoulders and quickening his steps. He sidestepped an elderly farmer carrying a basket brimming with fruit and slipped past a merchant holding a banner high, loudly promoting his goods.
As he turned a corner, someone rushing from the opposite direction nearly collided with him. Perry reacted instinctively, pushing off with his toes to narrowly avoid the impact. The other person waved apologetically, and Perry gave a slight nod to show he wasn't upset before continuing on his way.
Finally, he arrived at the tent. The familiar sight eased his tension slightly. Outside stood the same receptionist, Ray, diligently sorting through a thick stack of documents. His slender fingers flipped through the pages swiftly, his expression focused and serious. When Perry's shadow fell over the desk, Ray looked up, a faint trace of surprise crossing his face.
"You again?" Ray raised an eyebrow, his tone carrying a hint of astonishment but no further inquiry. Clearly, he remembered the young man who had visited just a few hours earlier.
Perry was about to explain his purpose, but Ray waved a hand to interrupt him. "No need to say more this time. I know what you're here for. Same rules as before, hand out your palm."
Perry paused for a moment, slightly taken aback, but quickly complied, extending his hand obediently. Ray skillfully pulled out a stamp and pressed it lightly onto the back of Perry's hand.
"All right, you're good to go," Ray said curtly, lifting the tent's flap to create an opening. His movements were crisp and practiced, a clear indication of how familiar he was with this routine.
"Thank you," Perry said with a small nod of gratitude before stepping over the threshold into the tent.
The interior of the tent was just as he remembered, though there were some noticeable changes. A soft light streamed down from above, casting a warm glow over every detail. The air carried a faint scent of herbs, creating an unexpectedly calming atmosphere.
Perry slowed his pace and took a moment to survey his surroundings. He noticed that the arrangement of the tent had been altered; the stalls and decorations were in different places compared to his last visit. While there were still several people browsing inside, the overall ambiance was quieter and more subdued than before.
After a brief glance around, Perry refocused his attention. This wasn't the time to get distracted. He had a clear goal: find Mr. Mars, deliver the contact bead, and then find something to eat.
Relying on his memory, Perry navigated past a few rows of stalls and quickly located Mr. Mars' booth. To his surprise, the area around the stall was completely empty, giving it an oddly desolate feel.
Mr. Mars was busy tidying up his booth and didn't notice Perry approaching. Standing in front of the stall, Perry took a deep breath to steady himself, then stepped forward and reached into his small satchel. He pulled out the contact bead.
"Mr. Mars, here's the contact bead you requested," he said, carefully placing the bead in the center of the booth with both hands.
Mr. Mars looked up, his deep-set eyes lingering on Perry's face for a moment before a faint, enigmatic smile spread across his lips. He didn't take the bead immediately but instead stared at Perry for a few seconds. Only then did he reach out and pick up the bead between his fingers.
"Hmm, good," he said in a low, slightly raspy voice that carried a commanding tone. "If there's any news, I'll let you know. But don't get your hopes up too high."
Perry nodded in understanding.
Mr Mars placed the contact bead into his pocket with an elegant, composed motion. He suddenly looked up at Perry, his smile deepening, and said slowly, "You've come at just the right time. There's going to be a small competition soon, and you might find it interesting."
"A competition? Cooking?" Perry asked, confused, his gaze following Mr Mars's direction. He then noticed that the crowd inside the tent was slowly gathering in the central area, as if everyone was watching something exciting.
"Of course, well, it about cooking but not a cooking competition," Mr Mars chuckled, his voice laced with a hint of excitement. "It's not an ordinary competition. It's more like a little fiasco between two young rivals."
"A fiasco?" Perry raised an eyebrow and asked, intrigued by Mars's words.
"Exactly, they're bitter rivals," Mr Mars squinted, as if he was about to tell an amusing story. "Not only do they despise each other, but their teachers are old enemies too. You've probably heard of the chefs Voda and Fwo, right? These two have been at odds for decades, and their rivalry is famous throughout the cooking world."
Perry blinked, slightly taken aback, and awkwardly rubbed his nose. "Uh… sorry, I don't think I've heard of them."
Mr Mars paused for a moment, taken aback. He gave Perry a strange look, as though trying to confirm whether the young man was joking. But when he saw Perry's genuinely earnest expression, he realized the man was serious.
"You've never heard of Voda and Fwo?" Mr Mars shook his head, a wry smile forming at the corner of his mouth. "Young man, you really are quite out of touch. These two are among the most influential chefs on the continent. Voda is famous for his impeccable knife skills and his extreme pursuit of the finest ingredients, while Fwo is known for his bold innovations and complex flavor profiles. Their styles are completely different, but they are the brightest stars in the culinary world."
"I see…" Perry nodded, realizing why Mr Mars had looked so surprised. It was clear he didn't know much about famous figures in the cooking world.
"But their rivalry isn't just about cooking," Mr Mars continued, his tone laced with an almost gleeful excitement. "Apparently, they've been at odds ever since their youth, ever since a particular competition. For decades, neither has been willing to admit defeat. They've sabotaged each other's work and frequently clashed at various cooking exhibitions. What's even more interesting is that their students have inherited this 'tradition,' and whenever they meet, sparks fly. So, scenes like today's are quite common."
Perry's gaze shifted back to the center of the tent, where, sure enough, he saw two young individuals standing face to face, their expressions tense and ready to snap. It seemed like they were on the verge of fighting.
"This competition is between their students?" Perry asked, now genuinely curious about what would happen next.
"Yep," Mr Mars nodded, gesturing toward the center of the crowd. "That tall guy over there, wearing the black apron, is Voda's student, named Kane. And the short-haired girl in the red apron facing him is Fwo's student, named Leah. They're both young, but they've already made a name for themselves in the culinary world. I'm not sure what they're arguing about today, but they've decided to settle it with a challenge."
Perry observed the two young, determined competitors at the center of the crowd and couldn't help but ask, "They're probably not official chefs, right? So, can they really compete? After all, a competition sounds like something for professional chefs."
Mr Mars chuckled lightly, clearly anticipating this question. He waved his hand dismissively, explaining in a relaxed tone, "That's true, usually cooking competitions are reserved for registered chefs. But these two have special circumstances—they're personally vouched for by their teachers. So don't worry, their culinary skills are top-notch."
"Oh…" Perry nodded slightly, understanding now, but still curious. "But since they're not official chefs, won't the other contestants be upset about it?"
Mars raised an eyebrow, seemingly finding the question unnecessary. "Other contestants? This is an impromptu competition, there are no formal judges, and no one else is participating! Besides, I told you already this isn't really a cooking competition. They're only competing on knife skills."
"Knife skills?" Perry blinked, repeating in confusion, "Just knife skills?"