Apocalypse Forecast

The texture of the noodles became increasingly unbearable, nauseating, completely inedible! Yet, he couldn’t vomit them out.

It was as if an invisible force was compelling him, forcing him to eat, to finish it, no matter how disgusting. Otherwise, he wouldn’t survive. He would starve to death.

The sourness and bitterness rapidly spread. Swallowed with the slimy paste, it slid into his throat, bringing a sharp, stinging pain that made him take a deep breath. It was mustard. The mustard choked him, and his eyes reddened.

Gasping frantically, he turned his head and let out a huge sneeze, nearly tearing up.

How many years had it been since he had been in such a sorry state?

This familiar bitterness and sourness, along with the pain in his chest... Every mouthful was like eating mud and stones. His body and throat resisted.

But he had to eat... He must eat it! Otherwise, it would all be over.

In a daze, a voice full of mockery resounded once again.

”What’s wrong, Enrico? All that big talk, and this is all you can do?” the old man jeered coldly, impatiently shooing him away. ”If you can’t take it, then please leave my kitchen. Don’t die in this sacred place; I have no need for such trash here!”

”No, not yet,” Enrico gritted his teeth, holding back tears. He struggled to his feet. Painfully, he lifted his head to look at the now blurry figure of the old man. ”Please don’t stop. I can continue eating! I can keep going!”

”Then continue,” the old man’s voice echoed in his memory. So he continued to consume the bitter medicine and hellish cuisine, filled with humiliation and agony, until he was beyond saving.

But can effort and will alone bring results? Can they herald a glorious Future? Or rectify a shameful past? Those disdainful glances, the indifference from loved ones?

Amid the dry and icy texture, he bowed his head, eating the cold noodles on his plate, mouthful after mouthful.

He recalled the scars left by that person he was once closest to.

”Trash! How could I have such a disgraceful son! You ruined even a simple appetizer. What on earth are you thinking... Get out of my kitchen!”

Then fine, I’ll get lost. I’ll go as far away as possible.

Studying laboriously, enduring countless days and nights of torment and effort, without recognition, without hope. Instead, he was pushed deeper into the Abyss of despair, time and again.

Father, what must I do to satisfy you? Defeat you? I’ve done it already. I’ve defeated countless others, relying on the one thing I was able to do through effort. But why won’t you even glance my way? Not even a single look?

In the struggle to swallow, that coldness spread, engulfing his body, seizing his consciousness, even freezing his Soul.

As if it sought to steal all warmth.

This was cold somen, specially made by drawing upon an eternity of past suffering and pain.

The hopelessness, the numb movement, the wandering fear—these sensations spread with each chew, entangling themselves deep within Enrico.

This was not poison nor a Curse, but just... despair, personally experienced!

The despair belonging to the seventeen-year-old boy, Huai Shi.

No end in sight, no boundary, no way out, no salvation from above... Enrico was lost in this bitter and sour coldness, unable to extricate himself.

Gasping violently, he couldn’t stop trembling.

The breath he exhaled turned into white mist, devoid of warmth.

The mocking voices, the disdainful looks, the hostile expressions surrounded him, like straws being continuously piled upon a camel’s back.

The more he remembered, the more he felt the bitterness and despair penetrating deep into his marrow.

Looking back on a career spanning forty years, what remained were not moments of joy, but countless scars and an endless ugly struggle.

To live, to grow, to become stronger, he kept giving up.

Giving up everything.

Even though he had become the Chef Demon, even though he had achieved victory, his now thoroughly chilled heart couldn’t find any satisfaction. No matter how exquisite the miracles or Disasters, not a trace of warmth could be gleaned from them.

Unable to find any happiness.

In that moment, awakening from his Sorrow, he lowered his head, gazed at the reflection in the dipping sauce—his own bruised, livid face—and murmured to himself, ”Look, happiness belongs to others, and I have nothing...”

”Indeed,” Huai Shi nodded.

”...Why is it like this?” Enrico looked up bewilderedly at his opponent, ”Why must I suffer so excruciatingly?”

”I don’t know either.”

Huai Shi watched him with pity, as if looking at that boy from the past. He thought for a moment, then said seriously, ”Perhaps it’s just fate.”

CRACK.

The chopsticks in Enrico’s hand were crushed, splintering into several pieces with such formidable strength it seemed he might break his own fingers.

From within the bone-chilling cold, indescribable fury burst forth.

Because of the look in Huai Shi’s eyes, because of the pitying glances from the spectators.

That was why the pain felt even more unbearable.

Utterly, irrepressibly furious.