# 5
"You know me?" Devandra asked, staring at the girl who now stood frozen with her head bowed. This was the first time Devandra had set foot in the hotel he had just officially acquired.
"I often see Mr. Devan on social media when he judges food," Renata replied, not daring to look directly into those sharp eyes.
Renata's heart pounded so hard that her chest felt tight. Until now, she had admired Devandra only through a screen. The man was a legendary figure in the culinary world, a world-class food critic whose every word was both feared and respected. Renata never imagined she would meet him in person in the hotel's backyard. She had even dreamed that one day she might cook a special dish, and that Devandra would taste and judge it himself.
"So you're one of my viewers," Devandra remarked flatly, without the slightest hint of being impressed. Devandra's sharp gaze shifted downward, landing on Renata's trembling fingers, which were still dripping fresh blood. "What happened to your finger?" Devandra asked.
Without waiting for an answer, Devandra reached into his suit pocket, pulled out a dark-gray silk handkerchief, and folded it into a neat little strip.
"Are you one of the chefs at this hotel restaurant?" Devandra asked again. Without asking permission, Devandra immediately took Renata's hand and deftly wrapped the handkerchief around her injured finger.
"I've read plenty of reviews about this hotel's restaurant. The food is pretty awful," Devandra said, his voice calm but cold as ice. "How can the food have good flavor and quality when the chef can't even take proper care of his own fingers?"
At first, Renata thought Devan had seemed kind and considerate because he bandaged her wound, but his cold words turned out to cut deep. Yes, Devandra was known as a brutally sharp food critic whose fame reached far beyond the country's borders. He never filtered his criticism. If Devandra judged a restaurant to be bad, the place had better prepare itself to teeter on the brink of bankruptcy.
Feeling utterly humiliated, Renata quickly pulled her hand from the man's grip. "I'm sorry. I'm only a sous-chef assistant. Thank you. If you'll excuse me." Renata wiped her face as she hurried back to the restaurant kitchen.
As soon as she stepped into the noisy, smoke-filled main kitchen, Fandi immediately looked at her with a furrowed brow. "What's wrong with you? Are you feeling sick? Just go home if you're not feeling well," Fandi said curtly when he saw Renata standing frozen near his station.
"No, Chef. I'll continue my work," Renata replied firmly.
"Fine. Plate the main course now."
"Yes, Chef."
Renata immediately washed her hands under running water until they were clean, dried them with sterile tissues, then put on transparent plastic gloves. She took a wide, flat white porcelain plate and prepared all the other plating tools, from a saucier spoon and food tweezers to a sterile wiping cloth for cleaning the edges of the plate.
With her fingers throbbing from the cut, Renata tried to focus. She scooped up truffle-flavored potato purée and spread it into a curved line across the plate. On top of it, she arranged the wagyu tenderloin Fandi had grilled, then added asparagus, baby carrots, and a drizzle of demi-glace sauce. But because her thoughts were such a mess, her hand trembled, causing some of the sauce to veer slightly off course, and the vegetables looked poorly balanced. Renata hurriedly wiped away the excess sauce along the edge of the plate, unaware that a faint smear of oil remained on the porcelain rim.
"Done! Take this to the private dining room for the VIP guest now!" Fandi shouted without checking the result, with the kitchen so incredibly busy.
Renata was still standing behind the kitchen's glass partition, her chest pounding, and could only watch from a distance as a waitress carried a silver tray bearing the wagyu tenderloin dish she had plated. The waitress smiled politely, dipped her head slightly, then slowly served the plate directly in front of Devandra, who was seated in the VIP room.
"Excuse me, sir. Here's your main course. Enjoy," the waitress said warmly before finally stepping back several paces.
Devandra did not immediately reach for his fork and knife. The man in the black suit leaned back against his chair, folded his arms across his chest, then cast a sharp look at the plate before him. It took the world-class food critic only three seconds to find the fatal mistake.