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49: Mango Mousse vs. Mango Tiramisu

"Why don't we make this interesting?"

Once settled into their stations, the crowd's chitchat settling to white noise, Ryoma flashed an uppity smirk in Hayate's direction.

"Redhead."

"Are you referring to me?" Mr. Oto gestured to himself. "It's me, isn't it?"

"Who else would it be?" He rolled his eyes. "Choose our main ingredient."

"Ingredient, as in...?"

He scrambled to understand the novel request, glancing at the audience then the judges for emphasis.

"The same main ingredient of a dish can differ drastically depending on how the chef decides to utilize it," one judge spoke out. "Are you suggesting this to even the playing fields?"

"Unless I give a loser like him an advantage like this, he'll be crushed beyond repair." He shrugged. "Consider this an act of kindness, crybaby. That's only if you can stop trembling long enough to pick up a utensil to bake."

"Um, technically I'm the one running the show," Mr. Oto coughed. "We can't have you changing up the rules whenever you see fit. But, in the spirit of friendly competition, if Participant Inoue gives consent, there should be no harm in proceeding."

Regardless of his taunt, Hayate trembled like a harp full strung. He gripped the counter for dear life, knuckles whitened as if it was the sole thread keeping him on his feet. The piercing stares and whispers of onlookers and staff, Ryoma's spiteful remarks; all gazes were locked on him, awaiting his response.

"This puts Hayate at a disadvantage!" I curled my fingers into fists on my lap. "It's taking him everything to stand up there in the limelight, but now—"

"Go... ahead." Hayate inhaled and exhaled deep breaths, his faint whisper successfully reaching those in his vicinity. Despite his vibrating limbs, his gaze smouldered with indomitable resolve. "This 'kind' handicap of yours... w-will be your downfall."

Ryoma's lips haughtily quirked upward, as if amused. "Say that after you give results."

Mr. Oto set the main ingredient as mangoes. His favourite fruit; and one in abundant supply for this competition. Ryoma's precision and delicacy contrasted his steel-hearted and rough demeanour. His nimble fingers took care to dice mangoes into small, perfect shapes before simmering them in a sauce pan with sugar and water. After transferring it to a bowl and adding lemon juice, he placed it to cool in the refrigerator. The instant he combined mascarpone, sour cream and vanilla sugar in a mixing bowl, my suspicions were confirmed. He was making tiramisu.

Hayate didn't lose heart. He'd swallowed back his nerves and carefully and succinctly gathered his ingredients to start on his work. There were inevitable slip-ups, him dropping bowls or utensils and sending loud clatters to every ear in the room—all of which Mr. Oto so-very-nicely pointed attention to every time. But, the determination rolling off of him, his bravery, helped him to repeatedly get back up and continue.

"Guys, I need a favour."

I recalled the scene from earlier today, back in our private room before the competition began.

"When it's my turn to bake, I'll be a mess. My dessert will taste horrible or I'll mess up on its design. I may even drop it on the ground with no time to remake it. As we speak, I-I don't want to go out there. I'd rather flunk out of school than be under the scrutiny of so many strangers. So... so, to keep me standing, to ensure I don't cave under the pressure and flee, please..."

"Hayate! Don't forget!" Koyuki shouted from my left, loud enough for everyone in the surrounding vicinity to hear. "If you lose this, you're taking the first trip to the barbershop and going bald. That includes shaving off your eyebrows, too."