Chapter Text
“So? What are you waiting for? Open it!”
“I can’t! If I die, who will run my restaurant?”
Kaveh held a red envelope in his hands, the emblem of the program he had dreamed of joining for years embossed on the front: Teyvat Culinary Wars.
His two best friends, Cyno and Tighnari, who had already been selected as participants, stared at him anxiously.
Kaveh took a deep breath, summoning his courage.
Being chosen would change everything.
Not only would he learn new techniques, meet the most famous chefs in Teyvat, and try expensive ingredients he had never had access to. Not only would he have the honor of being judged by Chef Zhongli and Chef Neuvillette: the chefs with the most Michelin Primogems in all of Teyvat.
He would also gain fame, recognition, and a little Mora to keep his beloved restaurant open, which was currently running on a very tight budget.
It would be a dream come true… or a nightmare if he wasn’t selected.
He tried to open the envelope neatly, but failed miserably, tearing along the edges.
With a frustrated huff, he finally opened it.
Kaveh immediately caught his breath.
There it was: the symbol of a chef’s hat.
His friends’ excited shouts reached him before he could even form a reaction.
“KAVEH! YOU GOT IN! YOU GOT IN! YOU’RE COMPETING WITH US!”
Tighnari engulfed him in a hug while Kaveh, eyes wide and mouth agape, read the bold white letters against the black background.
“Dear Candidate,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected as a participant for the Teyvat Culinary Wars program as a Black Spoon. On the back of this letter, you will find all the necessary information for registration and participation.
We look forward to seeing you!
Sincerely,
Chef Zhongli, Chef Neuvillette.”
Kaveh was so happy he could barely breathe. After everything that had happened in the past few years, after his father’s death, the huge mess with Alhaitham, and the debts, this was a new opportunity.
“So… we’ll be competitors… don’t be too mean!” Kaveh exclaimed to his friends.
“We’ll be ruthless instead. As good as pineapple on pizza,” Cyno joked, ever ready to tease despite his serious tone.
Tighnari made a disgusted noise. “Don’t even get me started! They’d disqualify you just for saying something like that.”
“I like pineapple on pizza!” Kaveh countered, already expecting the horrified expressions from his friends.
“Well, nothing less from the Culinary Architect! Always unconventional. But pineapple pizza aside, this is a good thing. You’ll do great in the program with your creativity,” Cyno commented with a hint of pride, referencing the nickname Kaveh was known by in the culinary world. He had watched Kaveh’s long journey before he became the owner of a beautiful restaurant in the city of Sumeru.
Despite the teasing, Kaveh knew his friends had his back, just as he had theirs. It would be tough to compete against them, especially after having studied together at the culinary academy.
“Come on, then! What are we waiting for? Where’s the wine for a big occasion?” Tighnari asked with a smile.
“Coming, coming!” Kaveh replied cheerfully.
After everything that had happened in recent months, it was the first time the restaurant felt magical again, like when it had just opened, when Alhaitham was still around, and it was still debt-free.
He looked around with a sense of pride: the restaurant might be struggling, but in a way, it was still home.
It perfectly reflected his architectural genius, the same genius he applied to cooking: sandalwood flying buttresses, stained glass windows casting amber light on the tables, and an indoor waterfall cascading gently among lush plants. It was a place that smelled of saffron, fresh yeast, and hope. On the walls, architectural sketches had been repurposed as makeshift frames, all drawn by Kaveh’s own hand.
Not everything had gone smoothly, but there were still a few loyal customers. And now, with the program, he had the chance to gain recognition and earn some money to pay off his debts.
Kaveh pulled a bottle from under the counter: not expensive, but chosen with care, and lifted it like a trophy. “Here’s to Teyvat Culinary Wars! Good luck to us all!”
He poured the wine into glasses, but before Tighnari and Cyno could drink, Kaveh noticed the worried look they exchanged. He raised an eyebrow, eyeing them suspiciously.
“Kaveh,” Tighnari said cautiously, “there’s… something we need to tell you.”
Kaveh took a quick sip, trying to appear nonchalant. “Hm? You’re making me nervous. What is it?”
“There’s… also Alhaitham,” Cyno said bluntly, like a lightning strike. “As a participant and a White Spoon.”
Kaveh went pale instantly.
His glass clinked against the table.
For a moment that felt endless, Kaveh froze, fingers still gripping the stem of the glass, as if letting go would mean admitting that what he had just heard was real.
Alhaitham.
Alhaitham would compete as a White Spoon: an experienced Michelin-level chef. Unlike Kaveh, who would compete as a Black Spoon, a title given to chefs without official accolades, specializing in street food and the like.
The wine he had just sipped suddenly tasted too sharp, too strong. He swallowed with difficulty.
Alhaitham was more than just a name.
More than a face that memory returned uninvited.
He was an entire constellation of memories: tiny gestures and monumental ones, shared everyday moments that had become indispensable.
“Ah,” he finally said, with a laugh that didn’t even convince himself. “Well… what a coincidence.”
Tighnari was staring at him with that all-too-attentive gaze, as usual. Cyno, on the other hand, was as still as a statue, probably trying not to say something wildly inappropriate. He squeezed his partner’s hand, lips pressed tight.
“Yeah,” Kaveh continued, setting the glass down on the counter with more force than necessary. “I mean, Teyvat Culinary Wars is the most famous cooking show in the world. Running into… old friends there is… normal.”
Old friends.
Sure. Of course.
What he had with Alhaitham had been more of a situationship, as Cyno had called it.
It had been a long time since they had stopped talking. Not just a little.
Kaveh had thrown himself headfirst into work, into cooking, into the restaurant, just to stop thinking about it. He had rebuilt himself piece by piece, like a collapsed building patched together with whatever materials were at hand. He had stopped waiting, hoping, wondering what he would do if Alhaitham came back, what had really been between them, and a hundred other foolish questions.
Alhaitham had been his best friend for years.
And then… that undefined, awkward thing, never really resolved.
A complicated situation, you could call it: how else could he describe the massive crush he still had on him? Not to mention the few times they had ended up sleeping together. Or the feelings they had never discussed while studying at the same academy and living together. And most of all, Alhaitham leaving, and Kaveh managing the restaurant without him.
Kaveh hated how much it still burned. Hated missing him. Hated having to hide all his CelestiaGram stories just to avoid discovering whether, during his move to Fontaine, Alhaitham had found someone to date.
But it wasn’t his right to be angry, right? They weren’t together. They were nothing, unfortunately. It didn’t matter that Kaveh had liked him since they were fourteen, that they had grown up together, lived together for years, and that now, without him, the apartment felt cold and empty, despite the fact that he definitely didn't miss his annoying towers of books, stacked everywhere in the living room.
A hollow ache gnawed at his stomach as memories surged unbidden into his mind.
The late-night study sessions for the Culinary Academy, their dishes at three in the morning using whatever was left in the pantry, experimenting together. Endless debates about theory and practice, what was good to eat and what was beautiful to see on a plate.
Kaveh had fallen in love without even realizing it, while Alhaitham had remained an enigma until the very end.
And then he left.
Alhaitham had become a starred chef in Fontaine, and they hadn’t spoken in nearly two years, aside from occasional greetings or formalities. Unfortunately, Kaveh couldn’t avoid seeing his stupidly beautiful face on TV whenever a cooking show aired, but somehow, he had managed to avoid him in person. They had avoided each other.
But now… they couldn’t anymore. They would have to compete together.
Cyno and Tighnari had remained friends with Alhaitham, but they knew perfectly well how angry Kaveh was at him.
“Kaveh,” Tighnari said gently. “You’re shaking. Do you want to talk about it? Have you heard from him since? I know you and Alhaitham…”
Kaveh cleared his throat and straightened his back with almost excessive dignity.
“Oh, come on! No need to worry,” he exclaimed, laughing with a hint of hysteria. “It’s been so long! No way he still affects me. If I have to compete against him, I’ll finally kick his ass. Anyway… I haven’t heard from him.”
Tighnari and Cyno fell silent, knowing full well that Kaveh’s coldness would last about as long as an ice cube in the Sumeru desert.
“Hey, just so you know, even if your feelings bubble up, it’s normal. It happens to broths too,” Cyno commented seriously, attempting to console him.
Tighnari brought a hand to his forehead with a crooked smile. “Honey. No. Please…”
Kaveh even managed to laugh at that terrible joke, a clumsy attempt to comfort him, before running a hand through his blonde hair, ruffling it. His heart was racing, but he didn’t want, couldn’t ruin this moment. He had spent his whole life fighting to be recognized as a great chef.
“Well, listen…” he finally said, raising his glass. “Whatever’s happened between Alhaitham and me, in the end, we’re all about to go to a cooking competition. I’m a professional chef. So, I’ll keep everything under control, right?”
He gave a tight, forced smile.
Cyno tilted his head slightly, studying him closely. He stayed silent for a moment, then lifted his glass.
“Of course. You’ll do it, Kaveh,” he encouraged, nodding, sensing that maybe that was exactly what Kaveh needed to hear.
“Let’s focus on the important things,” Kaveh continued with conviction. “The fact that we’re all here celebrating this milestone. The Teyvat Culinary Wars. And that… whatever comes up, I’ll handle it!”
Tighnari and Cyno exchanged a quick glance. They didn’t look entirely convinced, but they smiled anyway.
And they toasted with him.
“To the Teyvat Culinary Wars!”
***
Kaveh had packed his bags as carefully as he could, checking them at least three times, hoping he hadn’t forgotten anything. Or, more realistically, hoping he’d only forgotten something minor. He had brought several chef uniforms and some of his precious utensils, though he was certain the program would provide plenty more. Then, he had packed a few nice, elegant outfits: as much as he loved cooking, he hoped he wouldn’t be locked up in the program’s headquarters all the time and might get a couple of evenings off to go out in the city.
He boarded the ship with Cyno and Tighnari in the late afternoon. With them were other friends who had also been selected for the program in different roles. Nilou, their former classmate, radiant as always, had been chosen as a renowned pastry chef, and then there was Dehya, who would become the program’s official makeup artist.
Candace, on the other hand, had been hired as the head of security and backstage management: checking passes, supervising technical corridors, and, as she put it herself, “making sure no contestant stabs anyone with a kitchen whip before the live broadcast.”
“This is amazing! A free trip! I still can’t believe it,” Dehya said cheerfully, stretching in her seat and plopping down her luggage with a thud. “Even if we have to work hard, it’s going to be fun!”
“I can’t wait to try the macarons in Fontaine,” Nilou said dreamily. “And to see all those famous chefs!”
Kaveh smiled at the thought of the macarons, and a little less at the thought of the famous chefs. He was definitely looking forward to seeing chefs like Xiangling, the famous cook from Liyue, but much less so to seeing Alhaitham again.
“Do you think Judge Neuvillette is really as intimidating as he seems?” Tighnari asked thoughtfully. “Or is it all just for show?”
“I think it’s all show. With those water-based recipes you made, you’ll win him over for sure,” Candace suggested encouragingly.
“And what about Judge Zhongli? Have you heard that rumor that he didn’t pay his taxes last year?” Cyno joined the conversation. “From someone so elegant, I never would have expected it!”
“He said he just forgot to pay. Who knows if it’s true!” Kaveh couldn’t help laughing. “They say he comes up with that excuse all the time.”
“Let’s gossip while we can, alright,” Tighnari said, amused. “Better not get ourselves disqualified right away.”
“Exactly! We black spoons already have a hard enough time getting past the first episode. We’re not like those super-chefs with Michelin Primogems!” Kaveh added, leaning against the ship’s railing, watching the scenery glide past as the vessel cut through the water.
He tried to ignore that anxious thought, at least for the journey. He already knew the first challenge would be tough, and that he, Nilou, Tighnari, and Cyno were at a disadvantage compared to the White Spoons, who were automatically admitted to the first round. The thought that Alhaitham wouldn’t have to earn his spot in the first phase, and would just be watching him struggle, made Kaveh bite the inside of his cheeks in frustration.
He watched the lush vegetation of Sumeru fade slowly, dissolving into increasingly bluish tones.
Everything felt so strange.
He was leaving his city after so long, and for the first time, he had entrusted the restaurant entirely to someone else: Faruzan, his loyal, tireless friend, who had agreed to run it in his absence, and to whom Kaveh had, of course, promised a large share of the profits.
It had not been a decision he had taken lightly.
It was the first time he was really leaving his business behind.
“You’re quiet,” Tighnari remarked, approaching him and giving his shoulder a gentle tap.
“I’m trying not to faint,” Kaveh replied with a strained smile. “My head’s a mess.”
Cyno nodded seriously. “Fair enough.”
They arrived in Fontaine in the early evening.
The city unfolded before them like a dream illuminated by water. The canals reflected the warm glow of the street lamps, breaking the light into a thousand golden fragments that shimmered as boats passed. The pale facades of the buildings, adorned with stucco and elegant columns, seemed designed not just to be inhabited, but admired. Arched bridges connected the banks, while ocean waves gently lapped against the stone walls.
Kaveh was speechless.
As an architecture enthusiast as well as a chef, he couldn’t help but notice every detail: the balance of stone and glass, the way the water became an integral part of the urban structure.
“It’s… stunning,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Dehya smiled instantly. “Yes! It’s so elegant.”
Even the hotel hosting them for the competition looked like it had been plucked from a postcard: an imposing, elegant building of light marble and glass, with large windows overlooking the canals and balconies adorned with finely wrought railings.
When he knocked on the door, Kaveh noticed his hand was trembling.
“This place is worth at least three of my three emotional crises just to get into this program for five years,” Kaveh whispered, enchanted. “If only… if only there wasn’t…”
He was about to say Alhaitham’s name without thinking, but he had to stop.
An energetic, theatrical figure welcomed them with a sweeping gesture, opening the door wide.
“Welcome! A very warm welcome, dear contestants!” Furina announced, beaming. Kaveh jumped slightly: the woman with the white bob haircut was a famous actress, celebrated across Teyvat not just for her acting but also for her singing, and for the shows she toured. He was a huge fan of his work, and seeing her in person was an honor!
“I will be overseeing the direction of the program. Cinematic shots, dramatic framing, narrative tension… everything will be perfect,” Furina continued proudly.
“It’s an honor!” Kaveh exclaimed sincerely. The fatigue from the journey melted away instantly.
Behind Furina appeared two other very famous figures: Lumine and Aether, flawless, smiling, already in full TV-host mode.
“We’re happy to have you with us,” Lumine said. “Come on in!”
“Get ready to cook as if all of Teyvat is watching,” added Aether, laughing.
Kaveh felt his heart explode in his chest as he and the other Sumeru friends introduced themselves, shaking the twins’ hands and Furina’s.
It was all real. Too real. And it felt amazing to be welcomed with such joy.
He had been criticized so much over the years for choosing cooking as a career. He had never expected to feel so appreciated, even before the program had started.
As he entered the large hall reserved for contestants, his gaze was immediately drawn to the other participants who had already arrived, dressed in uniforms and chatting animatedly.
The White Spoons stood out like sacred symbols in their pale uniforms: there was Chef Xiangling, a very young, radiant, energetic girl, talking with Chef Xianyun, a much older, composed, almost ethereal woman, with her immense stature and perfect posture.
There was even the famous Escoffier, a living legend, and Alhaitham’s master. Kaveh ignored that thought, scanning the room for others, even spotting Chef Tartaglia with his unmistakable red hair, laughing heartily as he showed a questionable dish to Chef Diluc, a master of grilled meat.
Many contestants hadn’t arrived yet, including, thankfully, Alhaitham. Kaveh dreaded facing him but was relieved not to see him. He had probably already retreated to his room, knowing him.
Among the Black Spoons, Kaveh noticed many new faces: a boy with white hair and a red streak, calm and composed; another with red hair and a black headband, accompanied by the proud Kamisato nobles; a woman with a long purple braid he had never seen before; a man with a green braid; a scowling boy with a dark purple bob; and a blond young man talking about molecular gastronomy. There was even an oni who, with surprising seriousness, insisted on avoiding beans in any dish.
They were all lesser-known chefs, without titles, just like him.
Yet, as he observed them, Kaveh realized that none of them were there by accident. They were clearly determined competitors, each with their own culinary vision, ready to prove their worth. As much as he feared the competition, he also felt a sense of belonging. He was among his peers, he realized, and his chest swelled with excitement.
Then, further ahead, he saw them, his throat tightening.
Neuvillette and Zhongli.
The judges.
They were unmistakable. Both striking, tall, elegant, with long hair in opposite shades, one light like sunlight dancing on water, the other dark and profound like the earth. Their posture was composed, authoritative.
They were the most experienced chefs in all of Teyvat, owning award-winning restaurants with Michelin Primogems spread across the nations, and had long served as judges for the program. Legends in their own right: Chef Neuvillette, master of refined and measured Fontaine cuisine; Chef Zhongli, guardian of Liyue’s rich and layered culinary traditions.
When they began to speak, silence fell immediately.
Zhongli spoke first. His voice was deep, yet surprisingly warm. “We thank you for being here, dear contestants,” he said, with a slight smile softening his austere features. “Being selected is already a testament to your talent. Starting tomorrow, you will embark on an unforgettable experience. I am confident that each of you will give your very best.”
Kaveh noticed his shoulders relaxing almost without realizing it.
He hadn’t expected it. There was kindness in those words. A genuine encouragement. Even Cyno, perhaps unconsciously, let out a relieved sigh.
“Wow! He’s less scary in person,” Tighnari whispered, perhaps a bit too loudly, making a couple of nearby Black Spoons chuckle. “I hope he lets us try his famous bamboo soup for free.”
Chef Neuvillette continued in a calm, unshakable tone. “Our role will be to assess your technique, your creativity, and your adaptability. We are not looking for perfection,” he said, surveying the room with a clear yet serious gaze. “We seek truth.”
Kaveh swallowed hard.
He hoped with all his heart that he would be up to the task. He admired both of them greatly.
One by one, the judges began handing out the access cards for the rooms. When it was his turn, Zhongli and Neuvillette looked at him attentively.
“Culinary Architect,” Neuvillette observed. “Your creations in the kitchen have a distinctly elegant form. We look forward to seeing them plated tomorrow.”
“Good luck,” Zhongli said, offering him the card. “I trust you will surprise us.”
Kaveh took the card as if it were a sacred object. “I will do my best!” he replied, bowing a little too deeply.
As he walked away toward the stairs, he caught a snippet of the judges’ conversation behind him.
“You won’t sneak half of my plate again this time, will you?” Neuvillette murmured.
“I would never do such a thing,” Zhongli replied, his usual calm undisturbed.
“Of course. Just as you would absolutely never favor anyone in particular, I imagine, dear friend.”
“Do I need to repeat myself, dear friend?” Zhongli responded serenely. “I would never do that.”
“Remind me when you pretend to love seafood for him again.”
Kaveh quickened his pace. He wasn’t eavesdropping. Absolutely not.
He had to laugh. He had no idea who the judges were talking about, but evidently, even they had some complicated situation on their hands.
“Kaveh! What floor are you on?” Dehya called, catching up with him and the others, interrupting him from obsessing over the judges’ affairs. Perhaps it was for the best: he didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping right upon arrival.
“Fifth,” he replied, checking his card.
“Seventh,” Dehya said.
“Third,” added Cyno and Tighnari.
They exchanged a quick greeting, promising to meet again later, and Kaveh climbed the stairs almost at a run. The competition would start the next day, but for now, he just wanted his room: to set down his bag, slip off his shoes, breathe.
The corridor on the fifth floor was quiet, lit by soft lights reflecting off the polished floor. The doors, all identical, lined up in neat sequence.
Finally, he arrived in front of the door and slid the card in.
Nothing happened.
Maybe he had inserted it wrong. He let out an irritated sound as the handle buzzed in response.
He pulled the card out and tried again a couple more times, persistently.
Still nothing.
“Come on,” he muttered, annoyed. “Stupid card…” he whispered, letting a half-curse slip out.
Then he looked more closely at the number on the card. He sighed. He had the wrong number. He’d gone to six instead of nine, inserting the card upside down. Understandable: he was very tired.
He turned to find the correct room, and just at that moment, the door behind him swung wide open.
“Who the fuck is...”
The sentence died in his throat.
Kaveh froze, his heart leaping into his throat, as he found himself staring, stunned, at Alhaitham’s equally shocked face.