By 8 p.m., Vincent's apartment was dark, the curtains half-drawn against the neon glow of the city. Only his phone lit the room, the screen flooding his tired face with cold light. He had barely collapsed onto the couch, muscles screaming, when the storm began.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
His notifications stacked so fast he couldn't read them all. Mentions, reposts, shares—his name was everywhere. His thumb scrolled numbly, eyes darting from one glowing line to the next.
"The Park Chef is the real deal!"
"I came all the way from the next district—worth every second in line."
"Forget the truffle burger. That hibiscus iced tea? A masterpiece."
"Where's he setting up tomorrow? Someone drop the location!"
Video after video filled his feed—clips of his hands working the grill, of steam rising as he plated bowls, of customers taking the first bite and their eyes going wide. The shaky phone angles made everything look raw and electric, like some underground phenomenon.
He froze when he saw the headline on the Metro Local News page:
"The Park Chef: City's Hidden Culinary Star?"
The clip from the interview played automatically—his nervous smile, the sweat on his brow, the moment he promised, "I'll make it happen. Soon."
The comment section below was a battlefield of hype:
"Park Chef Nation rise!"
"Bro didn't even flinch—straight up said he's opening a restaurant."
"If he opens one, I'm quitting my diet on the spot."
His phone buzzed again, harder this time—DMs flooding in. Some from strangers, others from old acquaintances who had ignored him for years. Suddenly everyone wanted to know him.
Vincent scrolled, dazed. His name wasn't even trending as Vincent. They weren't calling him by name at all. He was simply The Park Chef. The mysterious cook serving food out of a truck. And judging from the number of reposts, videos and shaky Livestream, tonight's news feature had spread like wild fire.
The next morning proved it.
When his food truck rolled into the park, his headlights cut across a sight that made his stomach twist.
The crowd waiting for him was twice as large as the day before. Tents dotted the grass where people had camped overnight. Folding chairs, blankets, thermoses—the park looked less like a picnic ground and more like a festival.
But there was no time to think. As soon as he parked, customers rushed forward to help him set up, eager and smiling. And then the work began.
A cheer erupted the second he pulled in.
"HE'S HERE!"
"PARK CHEF! PARK CHEF!"
Phones lit up like stars, capturing his arrival. Some kids darted forward with cardboard signs painted in messy marker: #1 Fan of Park Chef. Others had brought selfie sticks, already livestreaming.
Vincent gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Are you serious? How am I supposed to serve all these people…"
No time to think. No way to escape.
The crowd surged closer as he parked, eager to help him set up. Some snapped open his folding tables, set down stools, and stacked napkins for him, grinning like volunteers at a charity drive.
"Anything to get our food faster, Chef!" one man laughed.
"Please, don't run out before I get mine!" a woman added, clasping her hands like a prayer.
Vincent gave a stiff nod. "…Thanks."
And then the storm began.
He cooked faster than ever before. The system's stat boosts sharpened him like a blade and for hours he served non-stop. His knife blurred through onions, his ladle spun through sizzling pans, his hands moved with machine-like precision.
But the demand was endless.
"Two truffle burgers!"
"Rice bowl, extra egg!"
"Five lemonades!"
His ears rang with overlapping orders, his back scorched by the grill's heat, the smell of sizzling meat clinging to his shirt. Steam clouded his vision, grease popped against his skin, and the roar of voices pressed in from all sides.
Every time he thought the line might thin, more people appeared. Influencers posed with his dishes for the camera. Kids squealed when handed drinks bigger than their faces. A man bit Into a burger and immediately shouted, "Best I've ever had!" sending ripples of approval through the crowd.
The system's voice flickered at the edges of his vision:
[Stamina reduced: –8]
[Speed Boost active: +15% efficiency]
But it wasn't enough. No matter how sharp he moved, no matter how many trays he pushed through the window, he sold out long before the last person in line reached him.
The faces of those left behind twisted with disappointment. Some groaned. Others begged, "Chef, please—anything left?"
But his stock was gone. His fridge was empty. And despite the disappointment, the crowd never thinned.
The next day was the same. And the day after that.
Three days blurred into one endless cycle—Vincent cooking until his arms screamed, selling out, apologizing to the disappointed, then dragging himself home to collapse.
The crowd only grew. The park swelled with people camping from dawn, news crews circling, online streamers shouting into their mics. Vincent's world shrank to fire, knives, and endless voices demanding more.
One evening, after staggering back to his apartment, he didn't even make it to the shower. He collapsed onto the couch, sweat soaking his shirt, his muscles trembling from overuse.
"Ughh…" The groan tore out of him, low and raw. His hands felt heavy as bricks, his wrists ached from hours of chopping. Even lifting his arms was a battle.
"Hey, System," he rasped, eyes half-closed. "Can you… increase my stats again? The crowd's gotten bigger. It's exhausting tending to them all."
For a second, silence. Then the familiar mechanical voice filled his skull:
[Requests for stat increases will only be granted as rewards for perseverance, growth, or mission achievements. Arbitrary increases are not permitted.]
Vincent clicked his tongue, the sound sharp in the quiet. "Never mind."
He rubbed his face, sinking deeper into the cushion. His body screamed for rest. Sleep tugged at his eyelids like chains. For once, he thought he might black out right there.
[Although your perseverance and hard work has passively increased some of your stats…]
The familiar blue glow shimmered into existence above him, the system's screen flickering to life like a cold lantern in the dark.
Status Window
Name: Vincent Locke
Level: 1
Core Stats:
Strength: 6
Speed: 8
Agility: 5
Intelligence: 4
Stamina: 10 / 35
Vitality: 8
Fatigue Resistance: 18
Recovery Speed: 4
Social Influence Stats:
Public support: 12
Credibility: 10
SEU balance: 0
[All you need to do is rest for a few minutes and your stamina pool will be refilled. Recovery effects will initiate automatically.]
Vincent let out a long, shaky breath, shoulders sagging. His head tilted back against the couch cushion as though gravity itself had doubled.
"At least," he muttered with a tired grin, "some stats don't need thirty days of grinding through missions to increase."
Just then—
Ping.
His phone lit up on the table beside him. The glow caught his eye.
A new email notification.
Vincent groaned, reaching lazily for it. He glanced at the subject line—then froze.
Invitation: Culinary Ascension Challenge
His fatigue slipped away like smoke. He sat up straight, heart thudding, and opened it.
The message was short, but every word punched harder than the last.
Subject: Invitation: Prestigious Culinary Ascension Challenge—Culinary Ascension
Congratulations, Chef. You have been officially selected to compete in this year's National Culinary Masters—Culinary Ascension Challenge, the region's most prestigious culinary event where renowned chefs from across the region will compete to determine the best. For over two decades, this competition has brought together the finest chefs, from celebrated restaurant owners to rising stars, each vying for the coveted title of Master of Flavors.
Over the course of one week, contestants will battle through a three-stage cook-off before a panel of renowned critics, industry veterans, and celebrity judges. The challenge is designed to push every limit—testing speed, creativity, and mastery under pressure—before a live audience of thousands and a broadcast reaching millions.
Stage One – Precision under Pressure (speed & skill)
Stage Two – Creative Reinvention (innovation & artistry)
Stage Three – The Grand Finale (signature dish & full presentation)
Prizes:
1st Place – $50,000 + Golden Seal of Culinary Excellence
2nd Place – $25,000
3rd Place – $10,000
Beyond the prize money, winners gain unmatched exposure, prestige, and the recognition to elevate their careers to new heights.
Date: 5 Days from Today
Location: The Grand Culinary Hall, Downtown District
We look forward to witnessing your skills on the grand stage.
May the best chef rise.
Vincent sat up straighter, his fatigue forgotten. His eyes widened at the prize list, lingering on the top figure.
It wasn't like he was starving for cash—his food truck profits had stacked high these past few days, nearly reaching that much. But all at once? In one swoop? That was life-changing. That was security. That was the seed money to finally lock down a restaurant space, renovate it, and silence the system's blade hovering over his throat.
He whispered the number again, as if repeating it would make it real. "…Fifty thousand."
And more than that—exposure. Prestige. Recognition. The kind that could skyrocket a career.
But the money wasn't the only lure.
This wasn't just about feeding hungry park-goers or pleasing livestream audiences. This was the arena of professionals—the stage where chefs with names, with legacies, competed. The chance to stand among them, to be judged not as a street cook but as a rival—that ignited something he hadn't felt in years.
Excitement.
Vincent stared at the glowing screen, thumb hovering over the reply button.
A slow smile tugged at his lips.
"Looks like it's time to show them what I've got."
And with that, he typed his answer.