Chopper Bronson.
A name that once struck awe in culinary circles across the globe.
He wasn't just a celebrity chef—he was a global culinary mogul.
The former head of the Gastronomy Encyclopedia committee, the host of a famed TV show bankrolled by the Nakamura Corporation, and the proud owner of 14 elite restaurants scattered across Southeast Asia, Europe, China, North America, and Japan.
From Bangkok to Bordeaux, Wall Street to Hong Kong—each of his establishments glittered with accolades.
28 WGO stars in total. An average of 2 stars per restaurant.
That made Bronson the record holder for the highest WGO star count in the world.
And yet, tonight…
Tonight, under the warm golden lights of his Subway flagship restaurant, with jazz softly playing in the background and finely dressed diners sipping wine, a storm was quietly approaching.
Her name was Saji.
Sitting across from him at a minimalist table, the Midnight Chef wore her usual dark coat, her gloved fingers resting lightly on the rim of her water glass.
She took a small bite of the sandwich served before her.
Then she spoke—with the kind of casual confidence that sent a chill down Bronson's spine.
"The chef with the most WGO stars… working for an American corporation."
Her words weren't praise. They were a shot fired in a culinary war.
Bronson's brows twitched.
His normally calm, calculating eyes sharpened.
"You're one of them, aren't you?"
Saji smiled.
"Midnight Chef. You guessed right."
There was a moment of silence. No more words.
Only tension, thick as molten sugar before it sets.
Bronson's heart rate spiked. He knew exactly what this meant.
He'd heard rumors—Subway's expansion in America had ruffled feathers. The Midnight Chefs had taken offense before.
This wasn't just a surprise visit.
This was a declaration of war.
"State your business," Bronson said, jaw tight.
Saji rose from her chair. Her eyes were calm, but her presence was overwhelming—like standing beneath a guillotine made of knives.
"We destroy our enemies through food battles."
Bronson turned without another word.
He strode into the kitchen, not as a man retreating—but as a general preparing for battle.
Round 1: The Chainsaw Symphony
Back in her corner of the kitchen, Saji retrieved her tools.
She began prepping shrimp—shelling them with precise, practiced ease.
Then came something no one expected:
A chainsaw.
The diners gasped.
Even Bronson, watching through the kitchen pass, flinched.
"Is she mad?!"
The chainsaw revved—its high-speed rotation like a dragon roaring in a confined space. The blade gleamed as it met the shrimp meat.
But rather than destruction, the chainsaw cut perfect, even minces—fast and clean, with the shrimp retaining moisture, texture, and structure.
"What… she's actually mincing with that?!"
Bronson's hands curled into fists. In all his years, he'd never seen anything like it.
Saji didn't glance at him.
Instead, she murmured:
"If you think you can beat a Midnight Chef with conventional thinking… you're already doomed."
Dish: Fish Cake Focaccia
The focaccia came out of the oven, golden and simple in shape, rustic by design—but its scent was anything but.
It was filled with a fish cake mixture made of minced shrimp and sea bream, chainsaw-processed to lock in their briny sweetness and fine texture.
But it wasn't just seafood inside.
Saji had laced the filling with Camembert, the velvety French cheese that softened like butter, offering an earthy creaminess.
She added crackers for crunch, fig jam for sweetness, and garnished it with delicate Chinese toon sprouts, their herbal bitterness acting as contrast.
Then, she served it with a pot of flower tea, delicate and aromatic.
A complete seafood dessert.
A paradox turned masterpiece.
The first bite triggered silence.
Then—
"W-Wow!"
"It's so fresh! And sweet!"
"The shrimp's aroma hits first—but there's no fishiness. Only ocean sweetness, springy texture, and creamy depth."
"It's fatty—but not greasy!"
"The fig jam makes it floral and sweet, but the Camembert pulls everything together into this smooth richness…"
"How does this make sense?! It shouldn't—but it does!"
A diner burst out:
"It's like… a fairy tale where seafood and dessert fell in love!"
"Chainsaw cooking shouldn't work—but it sealed in the juices!"
"And that texture—from the focaccia's crust to the mousse-like interior—it's heavenly!"
Others moaned, gripping their seats.
"Ahhh! My soul! It's floating! The taste—it's splitting me open!"
Saji watched from the side, arms crossed.
She didn't need to speak.
Her food already had.
Round 2: The Chocolate Crab of Deception
Bronson entered with quiet confidence.
His dish?
A massive crab.
But wait—upon closer inspection…
It wasn't real.
The shell was chocolate, dyed red to mimic a roasted crab's hue.
The eyes were glossy chocolate spheres.
The legs were made from white pudding, dusted with red cocoa powder.
Inside?
A core of mango mousse, soft and creamy.
Coconut jelly that mimicked crab meat.
Mango-flavored tapioca pudding formed the "crab roe."
And the entire shape was sculpted to perfect anatomical accuracy.
Even diners who had seen everything were stunned.
"This is… a molecular gastronomy dessert?!"
Bronson nodded with a proud smile.
"Every part mimics real crab—but every bite is sweet."
The first diner took a bite.
His spoon cracked through the chocolate shell, revealing the silky mousse underneath.
The texture was cool, smooth, and disappeared on the tongue like a whisper.
"Mango mousse! Coconut pudding! Tapioca 'roe'! I—I can't stop!"
Bites turned to gasps.
Gasps turned to desperate scooping.
"The mousse isn't heavy—it's airy and bright!"
"The sweetness is refined. The coconut jelly provides chew, the mango mousse melts instantly…"
"It's all dessert—but it feels like crab. Visually confusing, but texturally satisfying!"
People stopped caring about appearances.
They just dug in—chopsticks and spoons colliding, chocolate claws cracking, mousse oozing.
"Even the crab roe… it flows like the real thing!"
Bronson watched, arms folded.
This was molecular artistry—deception turned delicacy.
The Verdict
The room was tense.
Both dishes had floored the audience.
Saji had created a revolutionary seafood dessert—simple in concept, wild in execution, grounded in flavor.
Bronson had conjured a crab-shaped illusion—technically stunning, playful, and artistically precise.
But while Bronson's dish amazed… it was a visual trick.
Saji's dish?
It was a revelation—uniting technique, flavor, and emotion into one unexpected, unforgettable bite.
Bronson stood still, lips tight.
He looked up at her.
"…You're no ordinary Midnight Chef."
Saji smirked.
"Of course not."