I'm Guilty, My Beauty[COMPLETED]

Beauty was unaware of the events that happened. She didn't even know that Clarence arrived. The latter, who was planning to surprise her, was instead nursing his sick cousin.

The event was scheduled after lunch. Beauty didn't leave her room since it was raining hard that morning, and the weather became colder than the usual. All the participants were wearing thick sweaters and socks as they moved toward the competition hall.

The hall was slightly foggy. The judges started to fire the burners, and the fog dissipated slowly. The show must go on whether the weather would agree with them or not—unless a storm would voluntarily interfere and cause a black-out.

There were eight separate make-shift kitchens in the hall right now, but only a stovetop was seen on each workstation. The ovens and other special types of equipment were placed at the side. All the eight semi-finalists stood in front of the judges. The rest of the participants were sitting in a place intended for them only.

"Thank goodness, we're almost done with the competition! But before that, you will have a face-off round." John started off the mechanics with a brief sigh of relief. "You will draw lots and face the person who gets the same number as yours. Let's start with Beauty as beautiful. Your parents must be really so into you—naming you 'Beauty.' " John chuckled as he passed a glass bowl with folded papers in it. The joke was meant to lighten up the heavy atmosphere.

"I guess so, Sir." She only nodded, not willing to be casual with the judge. Beauty picked from the bottom and got the number '2.' Then the person next to her followed suit.

"Okay, who got number '1?' " John called out as the eight finished, leaving him with an empty bowl. A girl and a boy took a step forward. He laughed lightly. "Elaine and Ernie—all E's! Who got number '2?' "

Beauty went to the front along with the girl named Nota. Then Rene was paired with Cathy. The last pair was Luisa and Renee.

"The face-off will be instant death, no chances left. But cheer up! You're all going to the nationals! Just give your best to get the prizes here." The first judge seemed to be working hard in dispersing the tension in the hall. "The theme will be three recipes for five ingredients. It means you need to produce three different kinds of recipes using these five as main ingredients: all-purpose cream, flour, fish, cheese, and apple. You'll be provided with the basic essentials like oil, eggs, sugar, salt, milk, and spices like onion, garlic, etc. All of it is now under your worktable.

"You can do anything you like—sweets, fried, salad, or baked goods. But we only have five ovens available so you will take turns in using them." He gradually grew serious in discussing the round. "The recipes must not repeat itself. You can also set a three-course meal. All five ingredients must be found in every recipe. What we're looking for are creative dishes and can be somewhat rare.

"Genuinely made recipes by you are totally welcome. So be imaginative. Your recipes and cooked dishes will be compared to your opponent's work. The food which will come out more creative and eye-catching to us will win." A small smile rose from his lips. "Of course, the taste matters greatly. So go now to your worktables. You have three hours to prepare us some good food.

"Timer starts … now."

Some started to work while some seemed trapped in a trance, thinking about their next move. Beauty belonged to the second type. Looking at the provided ingredients and the limited number of ovens, she decided not to bake. Creative, eye-catching and tasty? The only things that came to mind were her great grandma's recipes and her own experiments. She recalled every recipe she could remember.

Chicken Entangled to Fish Entangled? No sense of attractiveness at all. To see two fishes hugging each other seemed gross.

Fish in a pie? She thought she could improve that to become fried circular—or rectangular—empanada with steamed or partly fried fish, spices, cheese, and cream inside. More like a fried sandwich. She planned to puree the apple and add some chili to make it spicy. 'Hoho, nice. One down, three to go.' She was writing her plans on a piece of paper provided to them.

How about the No-Bake Cream Buns? 'Hmm, improve it to No-Bake Apple Buns. The fillings will be syrupy slices of apples. This time, only tidbits of fried fish and cream—instead of milk—will be mixed with the dough. How about the cheese? Hmm… I think… I'll just shred it and sprinkle it on top the bun. Yes, that's it! Two down, one to go!

'How to improve that? Hmm, I need to make the noodles. Dunno how to do that. I need to study how to make one later. How 'bout the bun or crust dough? I'll make them long and thin—resembling noodles—and fry them straight. It will become crunchy noodles!

'How to make it unique from the two? Hmm, I'll try mixing the leftovers of the two and add some ground spices to make it different from the rest. Haha, nice idea. The rest will be the white sauce and condiments.' Her chuckling was slightly loud, making everyone look her way. However, she didn't notice their gazes.

'Yes, all three recipes. Thank you, grand mommies, for your recipes.' She looked up above to the ceiling, remembering her Grand Mommy's face and the recipe book from her great grandma. Her smile was so brilliant with confidence embedded in it. The judges saw this and were filled with anticipation on what the outcome of this smile.

Beauty directly went to work. The judges watched and observed all eight of them. Sometimes, they would walk around, taking note of the techniques used by the participants—as well as how they tend to emphasize the difference of one dish to another. They soon gathered again and discussed their observations, trying to make conclusions as to what they would see on their tables later.

Even the spectators were really worked up, watching the eight. They wished they were there as well and fought with their ideas with all their might.

At Cathy's and Rene's workstations, the former was running here and there from the oven to her station. As she was cutting more fish, a loud ding was heard. She ran to the oven but forgot the mittens in haste. So she sprinted back and forth again to retrieve it. Before she could reach the oven, she accidentally collided with Rene who just stepped back, gaging his finished work with a knife at hand. The impact was so hard that both of them fell down to the floor.

The knife in Rene's hand slithered along his dominant arm like a violent snake. It soon fell to the floor with a loud clang, leaving a deep cut along his forearm near the wrist. Blood flowed right out, drenching him and the floor. People around them were shocked and were worried about the two.

Rene didn't panic but tried to stop the blood by tying his apron around the arm. Cathy was scared stiff for causing an accident with her rushed movements; her face was just as pale as the wounded man.

The medics came in a flash and patched the arm up to keep him from losing more blood. His hand was gloved to prevent the wound from being contaminated by the ingredient and vice versa.

"Can you still continue? Can you exert your strength properly?" The medic was checked up on him, knowing the wound was near his wrist joint on his dominant hand.

"I'm not sure; let me try first." Rene sucked in air before trying to cut an onion. His hand's rhythmic movement caused the wound to bleed more, soaking the bandage and the glove.

"I think… I can't continue." Rene reluctantly said with a sigh, grasping his arm.

John was near him all the time after the collision. He heard what Rene said. He understood what the man felt but also knew nothing could be done to reverse the situation.

"If so, then I think you don't need to trouble yourself more. Just rest with the others. Anyway, you have cemented your entry for the nationals. Cheer up! It's not totally over for you."

Rene felt bad for not winning the regionals. However, after what John said, he thought of the nationals with greater heights and expectations. His heart soon calmed down.

Cathy won by default and secured her place for the semi-finals. Yet, she was unhappy. She wanted to win with a true winning streak—not this way. However, complaining wouldn't be of any help at all. It was also her fault. She could only remain mum and discontented.