White-haired Cindy Laila cattle, rated below Level 1, are primarily bred in the high-grade farms of the Gourmet Captive World. While wild variants do exist, there's little difference in quality—some connoisseurs even argue that the farmed ones offer superior flavor due to controlled conditions.
These beasts are massive, averaging 3.5 meters in length, standing 1.8 meters tall, and weighing in at a solid 2.5 tons.
The cut Daiki had procured was pork belly. Ordinarily, pork belly doesn't hold a candle to premium beef cuts. But the belly of a white-haired Cindy Laila cow? That was a different story altogether.
Rich in collagen, this meat wasn't just delicious—it was said to have beauty-enhancing properties. Rumor had it that anyone who consumed this rare cut would enjoy skin as radiant as Cindy Laila herself. Unsurprisingly, it had gained cult-like status among women across the Gourmet Captive World.
But Daiki wasn't swayed by vanity. His obsession wasn't with beauty—it was with taste. The unparalleled flavor of this mythical meat consumed his thoughts.
Despite his hunger, Daiki held back. They were still at the Totsuki Resort, a high-stakes environment where nothing could be left to chance.
The white-haired Cindy Laila cattle didn't exist in this world. So, to avoid suspicion, Daiki decided to take a detour outside the resort grounds. There were plenty of bustling markets near the campus. That way, if anyone caught wind of the meat's unworldly aroma, he could simply say he'd picked it up at a local vendor.
It wasn't paranoia—it was strategy.
After all, Daiki understood the risks. The meat came from the Gourmet Captive World, and even though he hadn't eaten it before, he could already tell its aroma was otherworldly. It had a bold, domineering scent that could draw a crowd.
Since he couldn't completely suppress its fragrance, he relied on subterfuge instead. People didn't need to know the truth. If questions arose, he'd point them toward the market and let them chase shadows.
Back at Totsuki, he knew there'd be no issue cooking in Polaris Dormitory. Its remote location made it the perfect hideout for culinary experimentation.
Once back from the market run, Daiki accessed the dimensional storage space hidden in his possession and cut off nearly two kilograms of the prized belly meat. He returned to the dorm kitchen without delay. His anticipation had reached its boiling point—he needed to taste it.
Daiki had no intention of sticking to one dish. Two kilograms of divine meat deserved a creative spread.
Wielding his trusted Seven-Star Knife, he expertly portioned the beef. Some went into thick, uniform cubes—perfect for braising. The rest, he sliced thinly, setting it aside for a stir-fry inspired by a legendary battle dish from the world of Cooking Master Boy.
He recalled the iconic match between Liu Maoxing and Leopard Head Yakan, where Maoxing used the ancient techniques of the Yangquan Restaurant—specifically, the Essence of Pyrotechnics.
Of course, powerful culinary arts weren't exclusive to the dark cooking world. Techniques like the Pyrotechnics Essence were deeply rooted in tradition, handed down over generations, unlike Yakan's innate Explosive Flame, which was likely a rare and uninheritably fierce talent.
Daiki had never learned the Essence of Pyrotechnics—but he had mastered Explosive Flame. And whatever that ancestral fire could achieve, he was confident his flame could surpass it.
With his ingredients prepped, Daiki ignited the kitchen—literally.
This was his domain. The fire safety system had been deliberately disabled for moments like this. He summoned his Explosive Flame, the kitchen lighting up in a blaze of controlled fury, his eyes sharp with focus.
This wasn't just cooking.
This was culinary warfare.
There was no way around it.
Whenever Daiki cooked with Explosive Flame, the kitchen effectively became his and his alone. Other chefs couldn't handle the intense heat—not for long, anyway.
Sure, professional chefs had some resistance to high temperatures. Years in sweltering kitchens had forged a natural tolerance. But what Daiki unleashed went far beyond human limits. His flames weren't just hot—they roared with the ferocity of a living inferno.
So, by necessity, his kitchen was designated exclusively for his use. During his probationary internship, all the kitchen's fire-suppression systems were temporarily disabled. It was a calculated risk. No one else dared enter while he cooked.
As the crimson fire flared around him, the temperature surged. The air shimmered with heatwaves, and Daiki moved within it like a dancer in his element. Each precise movement of his blade, each turn of the wok, infused the meat with explosive flavor.
And just as he'd expected—the white-haired Cindy Laila beef was something else entirely.
As soon as it hit the wok, a wave of rich, meaty fragrance swept outward. It wasn't like any ordinary beef. The stir-fried twice-cooked pork and braised belly he prepared each had their own layered aromas—but together, they created a scent so potent, so tantalizing, it was impossible to ignore.
Within minutes, the scent had seeped through the dorm walls and out into the resort grounds.
People on walks, workers on break, guests in their rooms—everyone noticed.
"What is that smell? Dinner's long past… Is the Totsuki Resort testing a new specialty?"
Guests began murmuring, then moving. Curiosity turned to urgency as more and more people followed the aromatic trail.
"It's coming from over there! Hurry—let's check it out!"
Crowds began forming near the kitchen wing. But this was no open buffet. The kitchen in question was off-limits. Not just to the public—but even to staff. This was Daiki's private workspace, a fire-sealed culinary lab built to handle his volatile cooking technique.
As the crowd thickened and whispers grew louder, the staff had no choice but to escalate the situation. For the safety of everyone—and to prevent any culinary stampede—they contacted their superior.
And soon enough, Dojima Gin himself arrived on the scene.
The moment he stepped into the corridor, the aroma hit him like a gust of fire-kissed silk. It was intoxicating. Familiar, but… off. Not in a bad way—just unidentifiable.
It had the profile of premium beef, sure. But layered beneath it were complexities that defied his refined palate. Dojima's brows furrowed. He couldn't place it.
What the hell was Daiki cooking in there?
"Chef Dojima! Are you testing a new menu? Come on, give us a bite—just a small one!"
Some guests, overwhelmed by the scent, couldn't help themselves. If this had been any other resort, they might have forced their way in.
Dojima raised a hand to calm the crowd.
"Everyone, please—this isn't a new menu. The chef inside is an intern currently training here. The kitchen is private and not open to the public."
That explanation didn't satisfy them—but at least it made sense. Some guests groaned in disappointment but slowly began to back off.
"Well, if something is in the works, let us know the moment it's on the menu!"
"That smell should be illegal. Seriously."
Dojima smiled politely, offering vague reassurances as he watched the crowd disperse. Once they were far enough, his smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression.
He dismissed most of the staff, leaving only a few to keep an eye on the area—and then, without hesitation, stepped inside Daiki's inferno.
Because now, he had to know.
What kind of dish could make half the resort stop in its tracks?
And more importantly—
What the hell kind of beef was Daiki using?
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