The round table was ant to seat about twenty people.
Its large surface was packed with plates of colorful, aromatic dishes.
The sweet scent of roasted at wafted through the ss hall, making it clear—this wasn’t just any breakfast. Anyone seeing it would know that at a glance.
Chef Zavier rushed out with a proud grin, ready to unveil the secrets behind his culinary masterpieces.
"Gentlen, allow to introduce—" he began, moving toward his signature dish with flair.
But Shelby and Zane weren’t interested in introductions or flowery words.
Their noses twitched in agreent with their appetites.
Without hesitation, they each grabbed a large chunk of roasted at and took greedy bites.
Chef Zavier could only smile wryly. "Bon appétit, sirs," he said with a bow.
The two dug in like wolves, chewing noisily.
The room fell into an awkward silence, save for the sound of aggressive chewing.
The rest of the custors—raised in well-to-do households—watched with disbelief.
No one they knew ate like that.
Chef Zavier quickly noticed the uncomfortable air.
Frowning, he snapped, "Mind your own business! Stop staring like fools. Real class ans minding your manners—especially in silence!"
The patrons didn’t speak, but their looks of displeasure said everything.
What’s wrong with this guy? Is he lecturing us now?
But Zavier wasn’t done. He glared at the idlers crowding the ss hall.
"If you’re not here to eat, get out of my house!" he thundered.
The gawkers quickly scattered.
Not even five minutes had passed, and Shelby and Zane had already cleared their plates—leaving behind nothing but neat piles of white bones.
Zavier snapped his fingers. His junior chefs appeared imdiately, carrying in another wave of dishes.
The two gluttons resud their feast. Most of the new dishes were at-based, which suited them just fine.
Then, Zavier noticed sothing: the woman seated at the table hadn’t touched a single dish.
Erlin was too busy watching the boys eat.
Her gaze lingered on them with amused fascination.
"Ma’am, is there sothing wrong with the food?" Zavier asked politely.
Erlin chuckled. "No, I’m just enjoying the show. Watching my husband eat is oddly satisfying."
Her voice had a playful ring. "Honestly, I’m getting full just watching him devour all that."
"Anything you’d like to eat?" Zavier insisted.
"Hmmm, if you insist," Erlin mused. "Don’t lump in with those two gluttons. I like chicken, but not after watching them tear into it like that. Make sothing sweet, soft, aromatic—sothing that cools down."
Zavier noticed the slight blush on her cheeks.
"I know just the thing," he grinned. "Give a few minutes."
He rushed back into the kitchen with his chefs trailing behind.
anwhile, staff mbers kept replacing empty plates with new dishes.
And still, the two weren’t done.
On one particular plate sat a golden-roasted leg of a mutated lamb.
Both Zane and Shelby reached for it at the sa ti, grabbing opposite ends.
Their eyes locked.
"It’s mine. Let go," Zane growled.
"No, no, no, boy. I spotted it first. Clearly mine," Shelby countered.
They began trading childish insults and squabbling over the at.
"Stop it, guys," Erlin sighed. "Can’t you settle this like adults?"
"Fine."
"Whatever."
Then Shelby raised a finger and declared, "Let’s settle this with a competition. Whoever eats the most plates gets the golden leg!"
"Deal," Zane agreed imdiately.
Erlin considered intervening and slicing the leg in half.
But watching their stupidly serious expressions, she gave up.
"Whatever. Let them handle it their own way," she muttered.
And so, the competition began—two gluttons locked in a silent, furious race to devour the most at.
Plate after plate vanished as the battle raged on.
Chef Zavier erged from the kitchen with his staff, carrying a covered plate.
He walked up to Erlin and placed it gently before her.
"Perhaps this is to your liking," he said with a hopeful smile, then nodded for the staff to lift the linen.
The cloth was pulled away, revealing a beautifully designed frozen dessert under a transparent glass casing.
It shimred with vibrant colors, sculpted into the shape of a majestic monunt.
One of the matrons nearby gasped in delight. "It’s a cake!"
The hall quieted. Everyone turned to look.
Indeed, it was a cake—an intricately detailed replica of the Taj Mahal.
Zavier, still smiling, watched Erlin expectantly, but her blank expression made his heart skip.
She just stared at the masterpiece, not even knowing what it was.
As he opened his mouth to suggest preparing sothing else, Erlin picked up a spoon, scooped a bit, and brought it to her lips.
Then ca the reaction Zavier had hoped for.
Her eyes widened, a soft smile appeared, and she moaned in delight.
The cold sweetness blood in her mouth like spring after winter.
"Mmm... this is good. So this is a cake," she whispered, clearly impressed.
Just then, Zane and Shelby reached out with greasy fingers to steal a piece.
Without hesitation, Erlin slapped their hands away with her spoon and pouted.
"Don’t even dream of it. It’s mine."
Zavier bead at the sight, satisfied and proud.
anwhile, Zane and Shelby resud their absurd contest, the pile of plates around them growing until only one remained:
a roasted golden leg of lamb, glistening temptingly.
They counted.
Shelby had devoured two plates more than Zane.
"Yes-yes, I did it!" he cheered, raising his fists in victory.
He lunged for the final prize—
—but soone else was quicker.
"It’s mine," Erlin declared proudly, already taking a bite of the juicy at.
"Nooo!" Shelby wailed in betrayal.
For once, he knew no amount of arguing would work with her.
Zane burst out laughing.
Shelby pointed accusingly. "You’re totally doing this in favor of your husband! If Zane had won, you wouldn’t have taken it!"
Zane only laughed harder.
Erlin glared at Shelby and scoffed, "Stop acting like a kid. You’re supposed to be the adult here, yet both of you are stuffing yourselves like maniacs. One bite less isn’t going to kill you."
Zane elbowed Shelby and added, "Ignore her. You should be smiling, Shel. Out of all the dishes, this is the first one she actually claid for herself."
Then he gagged, overstuffed.
Shelby sighed and joined the laughter. Looking at Zavier, he bood, "What’s the hold-up, Chef? Can’t you see the table’s empty again?"
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