My wife name is Erina Nakiri

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Japan is a land rich in seafood culinary masters. Its coastal environment, long-standing tradition of eating sashimi, and the prevalence of fish in the diet mean that seafood is deeply intertwined with the lives of many people. The Nakiri family, having originated in the Japanese culinary world, were naturally experts in seafood.

Mana Nakiri's God's Tongue was arguably the strongest in terms of theoretical knowledge. However, compared to Erina's exceptional culinary talent, Mana Nakiri's own cooking skills were not as outstanding. She was a competent judge but not a top-tier chef. This, however, gave her an extremely sharp eye for culinary and ingredient discernment. She could immediately tell if a chef's execution was precise or if they had pushed their limits.

"You brat, you've got something," Mana Nakiri said, nodding in approval as she examined the filleted porcupinefish. "Acceptable." She delivered her judgment and moved on to the next station, unaware that the chef at station number 9 had preempted her. Knowing his porcupinefish was poorly prepared and that he would certainly be eliminated under such strict judging, he decided to act first. Rather than wait passively, he chose to stir up trouble and muddy the waters. Underground chefs often had low professional ethics, and one should never underestimate their depths.

"Why did he pass?" the chef at station 9 asked, even though he hadn't actually seen Renz's dish. But Mana Nakiri had made a crucial slip-up: she had used the phrase "you brat." This term was ambiguous. It could be seen as either approval for a junior or an expression of displeasure. In this context, Mana Nakiri's comment was a "compliment," an acknowledgment of a junior's skill. This provided a target for attack—a way to ignite the anger of others present. Cleverly, the chef only questioned why Renz had passed, intensifying others' suspicions about the fairness of the judging, without directly mentioning himself. His question wasn't overly aggressive; it simply sought an explanation and wanted to hear Mana Nakiri's assessment. If Renz's porcupinefish hadn't been skillfully filleted, even if it was better than average, Mana Nakiri would have faced significant backlash.

"You need to ask?" Mana Nakiri responded, looking incredulous. Seeing Renz's filleted porcupinefish, she immediately knew that Renz was simply on a different level than the others. Judging from the preceding contestants, Renz's handling was in a league of its own. Otherwise, Mana Nakiri wouldn't have given such a commendation.

The chef at station 9 was a fair distance from Renz's table and had no idea what the situation was like there. His attack was merely an attempt to incite others to question Mana Nakiri's impartiality. But as he moved closer, he knew he was completely finished.

"This filleting is at least the technique of a three-star chef. If you were a normal chef, you wouldn't fail to understand the skill involved, would you?" Mana Nakiri didn't bother to explain every detail; it would take too long, and some people's culinary understanding wasn't worth her extensive explanation. If they didn't understand, their skill simply wasn't sufficient.

Naturally, Shinjii Takahashi brought the camera crew closer to capture such a controversial moment. In variety shows, conflict is a crucial selling point. While conflict isn't usually paramount in cooking shows, which prioritize culinary knowledge and education, a genuine conflict could inject vitality into the program.

The two judges, Yoshio Ono and Kaku Kanemoto, who had been waiting for their moment to shine, finally found an opportunity to showcase their extensive knowledge.

"This young man's knife skills are truly excellent, truly exquisite," Yoshio Ono praised. Sushi cuisine emphasized detail, sometimes requiring the slicing of raw fish, so knife skills were naturally a focus. Generally, the more outstanding the knife work, the easier it was to notice its excellence. A single shot could reveal the gap in skill. Renz's plating and classification alone were already visually appealing.

The cameraman seized the opportunity, filming Renz's meticulously filleted and dissected porcupinefish from every angle, delivering a world-class shot.

"First, take a look at these sliced fish fillets," Yoshio Ono said, picking up a pair of chopsticks from the station. With a gentle lift, the difference was apparent. The fish fillets were sliced as thin as cicada wings.

Fish fillets, when thicker, are harder to eat and have a poor mouthfeel. While one might still enjoy the taste, the enjoyment is secondary. The key is to be both delicious and enjoyable. The quality of a fish fillet depends on its thickness. Generally, the thinner the fillet, the better the mouthfeel, as it allows diners to quickly absorb the flavor and experience the taste of fish and seafood. Thin, cicada-wing-like fillets also allow the sauce's flavor to be maximized.

In other words, what is the core purpose of preparing ingredients? It is to facilitate cooking, to maximize the delicious potential of the dish one intends to make. Renz's preparation was exceptionally good. If Yoshio Ono had to choose whose fish fillets to use for sushi, he wouldn't hesitate; he would undoubtedly choose Renz's.

"Now, look at this cut, and this here," Yoshio Ono continued, pointing and explaining with his chopsticks. The differences in detail were evident in many places. Some people failed on a single detail, but Renz's porcupinefish dissection was full of meticulous details. The separated ingredients were also the best raw materials for cooking. Achieving this level of precision in one minute could not even be described as merely "great."

"Truly well done," Yoshio Ono said, nodding. "By the way, do we have a recording of the cutting process? I'd like to see the replay."

The production team certainly had replays. The entire process was being recorded, with a camera in front of each person, specifically to record the preparation process of excellent chefs for inclusion in the highlights of the first episode. On a large LCD screen nearby, the camera from table 7 immediately replayed the entire process.

The crowd, who had initially been swayed and felt unfairly treated, now had their discontent dissipated after the judges' patient and responsible explanations. And now, another replay. All attention shifted to the replay.

On screen, Renz's movements were remarkably steady. A 60-second timer ticked in the lower right corner. Beneath the seemingly stable knife work lay a delicate trajectory, fluid cuts, and unhurried processing. Although everyone felt Renz's actions were somewhat slow, when matched against the timer, it was precisely 60 seconds. Why did it appear slow? Because Renz's preparation involved too many details, too much content, and too many techniques. To the observers, it seemed like Renz spent a lot of time and did many things, hence the perception of slowness. Yet, the actual time taken did not exceed 60 seconds. The reason was simple: while the details in each of Renz's procedures were numerous, they were not cluttered or jumbled. Instead, they were processed methodically and rhythmically. In short, he performed all effective operations within the limited time, without any overlap or conflict, perfectly timing every second.

This replay sent a wave of pressure through all the contestants. This time, the pressure wasn't from the judges, but from the consistently smiling chef at number 7. Renz's smile, in their eyes, had transformed into that of a cold-blooded assassin. It was somewhat terrifying. Was this even a battle of the same caliber? Perhaps even three-star chefs didn't possess such delicate techniques as Renz.

"Actually, you've missed another point," Mana Nakiri said after some thought. "I wonder if you noticed, he first cut the external fish meat that could be processed before opening the cavity."

Her mother-in-law's observational skills were truly astounding. This detail about Renz's technique, besides Renz himself, seemed to have gone unnoticed by others. No wonder she was the former world's number one judge; her discerning eye was truly exceptional.

"Is there any significance to that detail?" a chef nearby couldn't help but ask. Many still hadn't grasped this point. Mana Nakiri sighed. This was precisely why some underground chefs were considered crude.

"The most outstanding chefs know how to minimize losses. In many world-class cooking competitions I've judged, it's not uncommon for contestants to make accidental mistakes due to oversight."

"Once an accidental mistake occurs, elimination is almost 100% certain. In a competition of this caliber, any mistake can determine the outcome of the entire match."

"Therefore, loss mitigation has slowly become something top chefs pay attention to. They'll prepare a fallback in places where mistakes might occur. If a mistake happens, they can immediately abandon that part, saving time to work on other dishes."

"Replay it again," Mana Nakiri instructed. The production team brought up the second replay.

"Did you see clearly? Renz realized that he might make a mistake. He first separated any parts that could be preserved, then proceeded to open the cavity. In such a scenario, even if he accidentally pierced the gallbladder, a portion of the sashimi could still be used for cooking."

Mana Nakiri rarely smiled, but she did now. This technique of loss mitigation, she had only seen in veterans who had been in the industry for over thirty years. This robot-like precision, yet maintained with human finesse. This single skill alone could teach everyone present a valuable lesson.

"If Renz doesn't pass here, then no one else deserves to pass. I can't imagine a more logical way to handle this than Renz's," Mana Nakiri said, giving an extremely high evaluation.

While his mother-in-law might have her quirks, when it came to judging, she was impeccable. She exhibited the necessary firmness and analytical prowess, performing at her best. Renz, however, didn't quite realize what kind of storm Mana Nakiri's evaluation would cause. True, in the future, the world's number one judge would be Erina, but for now, the undisputed strongest culinary judge in the world was Mana Nakiri. An evaluation from Erina could determine a chef's career. An evaluation from Mana Nakiri, at this moment, could determine the fate of a three-star restaurant.

"So, that means I passed?" Renz, having passed, quietly asked, "Can I leave now?" He didn't want to stand there any longer. What was there to see in others' judging? There truly wasn't anything compelling. He had seen too many cooking competitions in the future, even peak showdowns of the world's top ten. After witnessing that level of culinary confrontation, the stark difference in raw skill here was too great.

Shinjii Takahashi was caught off guard by the question. You're not going to watch? You still have so many opponents. Do you think your opponents have no value as reference points? Do you think you're the God of War in the culinary world, with no weaknesses? Directly ignoring other opponents was simply too arrogant! However, to maintain his authority as director and host, Shinjii calmly nodded, "Review complete. Your departure is at your discretion."

Upon hearing this, Renz said nothing more, turned, and left. He left faster than anyone else, as if he were simply clocking out from work, leaving everyone else in a state of bewilderment. The other contestants still awaiting their turn felt utterly disrespected, completely ignored. They admitted that there was a significant gap in their porcupinefish handling compared to Renz's; they conceded that point. But that was just his knife skill advantage. Some people were strong only in knife skills, and when they cooked, the taste was terrible, leading to elimination anyway. Did he truly believe that the others remaining on the field had no competitive edge whatsoever?

Renz hadn't been gone long. Rindo Kobayashi, who was the first to pass the review, also quietly followed Renz out. Everyone's spirits took another hit. Is this the world of the strong?

In the spectator stands, Erina sat with her legs crossed, a faint smile on her face that she couldn't suppress. If no one else were nearby, Erina's smile would have been even more unrestrained. "This generation isn't quite up to par," Erina said, shaking her head.

Akemi Tenzaki coughed. "Just laugh if you want to, don't hold it in; it's not good for you. I know what you're thinking." You want to praise your boyfriend's might, just do it.

Akemi Tenzaki noticed her own resistance building. Two days of stress had given her a thick layer of "magic resistance"; at least she wouldn't be easily provoked anymore.

"Look at these details, look at this handling— isn't it top-tier?" Erina exclaimed, clicking her tongue.

I told you to praise him, but are you really going to just keep praising?

"Excessive praise isn't advisable, Young Miss!" Akemi Tenzaki, having lived with Erina for two days, had grown familiar with her and now addressed her as "Young Miss," after all, Erina was her boss's daughter.

"Didn't you hear my mother's comments?" Erina asked, surprised. "Could it be that you're still unconvinced about something? I can explain it to you."

"No, nothing of the sort. It's just that you've said that three times already, three times! A full three times!" Akemi Tenzaki felt tears welling up. The suffering of having a repeater nearby was unimaginable.

Akemi Tenzaki now just wanted to escape this ordeal. She desperately wanted the show to finish filming. Staying with this couple for any longer, she genuinely felt she would go mad.

"Ahem, when people get old, they tend to be a bit verbose," Erina explained slightly. The "repeater" phenomenon often occurred in senile states.

"But you're only seventeen!" Akemi Tenzaki retorted fiercely. "Is it really that amazing to have a boyfriend at seventeen? If I wanted a boyfriend, I could get one in minutes!" Driven to the brink, Akemi Tenzaki began to babble.

"No, usually people in their thirties who can't find a boyfriend either have very high standards or a bad personality. If this continues without lowering their standards or improving their personality, most of them will end up alone," Erina analyzed seriously.

"Silence!" Akemi Tenzaki's eyes welled up. She had been hit where it hurt. This was even more painful than being fed dog food!

"Erina, my competition is over." From a distance, Renz's slender figure appeared in the spectator stands. He held two bottles of lemon water. "Are you thirsty? I picked up your favorite drink on the way."

Akemi Tenzaki felt like an arrow had struck her gut. Blood gushed out. Fine, Erina, you can continue to poke at my sore spots. Being force-fed dog food seemed even more painful than having her pain points prodded.

"I can't open it. Can you open it for me?" Erina said in a soft, delicate voice.

"Stop acting. I know you're super strong," Renz rolled his eyes. He couldn't be bothered to open the bottle for Erina.

"Can't you just open the bottle cap for me, and show me some concern?" Erina showed her small fangs, shouting fiercely. The docile ragdoll cat, not getting what she wanted, had transformed into a raging demoness once again.

Renz's eyes watered. Was he the type who got "domestic abused" daily?

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