HFfC: CH 25: The Challenge

Five days passed. A new, intense rhythm had taken hold in the loft of Café LeBlanc. Zero was a man transformed, possessed by a quiet, fierce drive. He woke before the sun, not to open the café, but to read The First Principles of Abyssal Weaving. His nights were spent in the empty café, practicing the strange, intricate gestures and guttural words he learned from its pages. Soma and Legolas, who were in the café most of the time, were the primary observers of this change.

One morning, Legolas came down from the loft where Zero was sequestered, a bowl of noodles in his hand. "He says he will eat up there," Legolas reported to Soma, who was prepping in the kitchen. "At this point, you should just give him lembas. A single bite could sustain him for weeks."

"I don't have the recipe for the 'lembas' from the Lord of the Rings your card came from," Soma grumbled, chopping vegetables with a bit more force than necessary.

Legolas slurped his noodles gracefully. "Just say you can't make it."

"Take that back, you pointy-eared jackass!" Soma snapped, pointing his knife at Legolas. "And not you too, Gusteau!" he added to the empty air. "Well, you know what? At least I'm not a dead ghost!"

…

Meanwhile, as night fell over the city, the atmosphere was a tinderbox waiting for a spark. The gang war, ignited by a phantom tip, was brewing. The Boarman gang, who had foolishly attacked the Sharkfins, had been all but slaughtered in a brutal, swift retaliation.

From the top of the packed Hao Pavilion, Sebas looked out over the tense city. A small, silent figure appeared at his side and knelt. It was Kai.

"The Cardinal Wolves have made their move, Master," the boy reported. "They are attacking the weakened Sharkfin territories, still oblivious to the fact that they are a pawn in a larger game."

"Good," Sebas said, his gaze never leaving the city below. "I like to keep it that way. How is the training for the others?"

"Most of them still cannot grasp the concept of Qi you spoke of, Master," Kai said, his voice laced with a hint of frustration. "Ren and Liane say that unlike aura, it is a whole different discipline."

"Most of them," Sebas noted, "implies that someone has successfully grasped it."

"It is I, Master," Kai said, a flicker of pride in his voice. "Though, it is only a small amount. It only coats my index nail."

Sebas turned, his veiled gaze finally falling upon the boy. "Show me."

Kai held up his hand and raised his index finger. He concentrated, his small face scrunched in effort. A faint, flickering wisp of blue energy, like a tiny candle flame, came out of his fingernail and coated it in a shimmering, unstable sheath. It was unusable in a fight, a mere parlor trick at best, but it was there. It was real.

"Good job," Sebas said, a rare note of genuine approval in his voice. "Gather the rest. Tonight will be another lesson."

"How about the ones on the field, Master?" Kai asked, referring to the other children who were acting as spies and saboteurs.

"Call them back," Sebas commanded. "The night will be chaotic. Let the Watchers do their job for once."

Kai nodded, understanding the order to pull their assets out of the escalating mess. He bowed, then turned and leaped silently off the side of the 30-story building, a small shadow disappearing into the night.

…

Soma and Legolas were asleep in their respective beds in the loft. Zero, however, was still awake, sitting in the center of the dark, quiet café floor, deep in meditation.

He finally had a goal of his own. He took these last few days to reflect. He was so tired of his old life, of the constant, oppressive weight of bad luck that kept trying to bring him down. So when he was offered a wish, he wished to be left alone, to be able to relax. But he also wished to be normal for once, to have a big family, to not be the one looking out from a locked foster room while a "real" family enjoyed a holiday dinner together. It was a paradox.

But what he had come to realize, after roaming the void when he died, after being brought back to life in this strange, new world, was that living was the paradox. You had to live forward and make it all make sense in reverse. It was ironic. The weave of it all.

He opened his eyes. He raised his hands slightly, palms up, and began to feel the world around him, not with his ears or his eyes, but with a sense he didn't know he had. He was a demon now. An Archdemon. He could feel the universe, the cosmos. He could pull at it, make it obey. The world wanted to devour him—from the Ashen God of the first Silent Night to the recent horror of The Hush. Devour. All of them, circling each other in a great, cosmic dance. The key was not to run. The key was to be still. And manipulate.

He focused. Faint, glowing strings of ethereal blue energy, the threads of reality itself, connected to each of his fingertips. He could see them. He could feel them. He focused his intent on a spoon and fork left on a nearby table. The strings stretched, connected. With a thought, he willed them to move. The utensils lifted from the table, floating silently in the air.

A muffled sound began to echo in his ears, pulling at his focus. It was a distant, panicked shouting.

"Zero! ZERO!"

The sound broke his concentration. The ethereal strings snapped. The spoon and fork fell to the floor with a loud, jarring clatter. Zero blinked, the world rushing back into focus.

He looked up. Soma and Legolas were standing a few feet away, in their pajamas, sweating and panting. Soma was holding a heavy cast iron pan like a weapon. Legolas had his bow drawn, an arrow nocked and aimed at the space where Zero sat.

"What happened?" Zero asked, genuinely confused.

"WE'RE THE ONES WHO ARE SUPPOSED TO BE ASKING YOU THAT!" Soma shouted, his voice a mixture of terror and anger.

"What?" Zero said, looking from the fallen utensils to their panicked faces. "I just... moved a spoon and a fork."

"No, you weren't," Legolas said, slowly lowering his bow, his breathing still heavy.

"You were bending your surroundings!" Soma yelled.

"What are you talking about?"

"What Soma says is true," Legolas elaborated, his voice strained. "We were woken up by a violent shaking, like an earthquake, centered right here in the café. When we came downstairs to check on you, the very air around you was... bending. Distorting. Like a heat mirage in the middle of winter."

"When we tried to approach," Soma added, rubbing his hand as if to make sure it was still there, "my hand started to bend with the mirage as I reached out. It was twisting! I almost lost my cooking hand!"

Zero looked down at his own hands, at the faint, residual glow of the ethereal strings. He then looked over at the table where the book lay open. The First Principles of Abyssal Weaving. The mysterious book, he now realized, was far more mysterious, and far more dangerous, than he could have ever thought.

…

The sun had not yet risen, but an emergency meeting of the Animus Council was already in session. The atmosphere was heavy, a stark contrast to their usual strategic briefings.

"You could have destroyed the entire building," Soma said, his voice flat, the earlier panic now replaced by a grim seriousness. "You could have killed us. In our sleep."

"I didn't know," Zero insisted, his own face pale. "I was just... practicing. I was in control."

"Were you?" Erwin countered, his commander's voice cutting through the excuses. "Control is knowing your limits. What you described, what Soma and Legolas witnessed, was not control. It was a raw, untamed power surge. We need to analyze this logically. What is the worst-case scenario?"

"The worst-case scenario," Sebas said calmly, "is that Master Zero loses control entirely. The 'bending' of reality that was described could be a precursor to a complete structural collapse of local space-time. In layman's terms, he could create a black hole where the café used to be."

A heavy silence descended upon the table.

"Okay," Soma said, breaking the quiet. "So, no more magic book for Zero. It's too dangerous. We lock it up, and we find another way for you to get stronger."

"That's not an option," Zero said immediately. "This... this 'Abyssal Weaving'... it's the first thing that's felt truly mine. It's not a power I inherited from a card. It's connected to my nature as an Archdemon. I need to understand it."

"At what cost?" Legolas asked, his voice a low murmur. "The safety of this entire city? The safety of our brothers?"

"I can control it," Zero insisted, a desperate edge to his voice. "I just need to practice."

"Practicing is what almost got us all killed last night!" Soma shot back.

"Then what do you suggest?" Zero demanded. "That I just sit in the café and make coffee for the rest of my life while the rest of you are out there, changing the world? While gods are trying to eat the planet? I can't. I won't."

"There has to be a middle ground," Erwin said, ever the strategist, trying to find a solution. "A controlled environment. Sebas, your dojo in the Hao Pavilion is in the basement, reinforced. Could that contain a potential... incident?"

"Unlikely," Sebas replied. "We are not dealing with a physical force that can be contained by stone and steel. We are dealing with the manipulation of reality itself. No physical barrier would be sufficient."

"So, what then?" Soma asked, throwing his hands up in frustration. "We just... hope he doesn't accidentally un-make the universe while he's trying to float a teacup?"

The debate raged on, a circular argument of fear versus ambition, safety versus power. Zero was adamant about continuing his training. Soma was equally adamant about stopping him. Erwin tried to find a logical compromise, while Sebas coolly outlined the apocalyptic potential of failure. Legolas remained silent, observing, his keen eyes watching the dynamic between his brothers.

Finally, he spoke.

"Zero is right," he said, his voice cutting through the argument. The others stopped, turning to look at him. "He cannot be denied his own path to growth. To do so would be to cage a part of ourselves." He then looked at Soma. "But you are also right. The risk is too great. An untamed power is a danger to everyone, including the wielder."

He looked at Zero. "You want to fend for yourself. You want to be strong enough to stand on your own. We understand that. But true strength is also knowing when to accept help."

He paused, letting his words sink in. "There is a solution. One that satisfies both the need for safety and the need for growth." He looked at Zero. "Make one more."

Zero stared at him, confused. "What?"

"Make another clone," Legolas clarified. "One whose sole purpose is to be your partner in this. A spotter. Someone who can be with you, observe your training, and act as an anchor if you begin to lose control. He can learn the Weaving alongside you, and together, you can find a way to control it safely."

The idea hung in the air, a perfect, elegant solution. It was a compromise that addressed everyone's fears. Soma's concern for safety would be met. Zero's desire to continue his training would be honored. Erwin's need for a logical contingency plan would be satisfied.

Zero looked around the table at his brothers, at their concerned, worried faces. He finally nodded. "Okay," he said, his voice quiet. "I can do that."

The tension in the Hub finally broke. The emergency meeting was over. They had a plan.

…

In the quiet of the early morning, Soma brought a steaming plate downstairs to the loft. The rich, savory smell of Menemen, a Turkish dish of eggs, tomatoes, and peppers, wafted through the air. He placed it in front of Zero.

"Thanks," Zero said, looking up from his book.

"Sure," Soma replied, lingering for a moment.

"And... I'm sorry," Zero added, his voice quiet. "About last night. But I need this."

"I know," Soma said with a sigh. "It's just... I'm scared, same as you are. I know I'm a clone, but..."

"We're brothers," Zero cut him off gently. "Your experiences make you you. I can't take that away."

A small, genuine smile returned to Soma's face. "I still expect you to be over the bar making drinks today."

"Got it," Zero said, a new resolve in his eyes. "Work first, practice later." He dug into his breakfast, the delicious food a comforting anchor to reality.

…

The morning rush came in like a tidal wave, the café filling with the familiar, communal atmosphere of regulars and workers. But through the lively chatter, a new commotion could be heard from the main road, a growing sound of laughter and loud talk, even from their secluded alley.

Several minutes later, the café door was thrown open with a boisterous ding! A large, beaming human figure filled the doorway.

"MASTER CHEF SOMA!" the big man's voice boomed, filled with a joyous energy that seemed to shake the entire café.

Soma popped his head out of the kitchen, his face breaking into a wide grin. "Big Sal! Is that you?" He wiped his hands on his apron and came out to shake the man's hand.

"Come now!" Sal said, ignoring the handshake and pulling Soma into a bone-crushing hug. "I know we met when I was a judge at the competition, but I see you as a friend! Bring it in, my friend!"

They exchanged pleasantries, Sal's booming laughter filling the room. As they talked, Soma found himself distracted. Sal's large, round face, his bushy mustache, his sheer passion for food... he looked remarkably like the ghostly form of Gusteau, who was currently floating right beside the man, nodding along as if part of the conversation.

"Come on, sit, sit," Soma said, shaking his head to clear the surreal sight.

Zero, from behind the bar, spoke up. "I believe we've never met before. I'm Zero, the owner of this café."

Big Sal's laugh boomed again. "Zero! Yes! The infamous demon from the papers a few months ago, right? A pleasure to meet you!"

"What brings you to our neck of the woods today, Sal?" Soma asked.

"Well, I'm on my usual tour!" Sal declared. "Every couple of years, I travel around the URA, eating at every tavern, café, or hole-in-the-wall I can find. All for the sake of research!"

"Well, you're welcome to try our fixed menu," Soma said, gesturing to the pancake dish a regular was eating.

Big Sal ordered a plate of the breakfast pancakes. He ate with a gourmand's focus, his expression one of genuine pleasure. But as he took the last bite, a thoughtful, critical look crossed his face. "It's good," he said, his voice carrying across the now-silent café. "But it's not your best creation. Not even close."

The regulars froze, their forks halfway to their mouths.

Sal let out another hearty laugh. "I mean it in a good way! It means Master Chef Soma isn't even trying hard! He's holding back!"

Soma grinned, a competitive fire in his eyes. "I'd burst your clothes if I let out all of my skill, Sal."

"Ah, about that," Sal said, reaching into the collar of his shirt. He pulled out a small, intricately carved pendant on a silver chain. "I had this commissioned from a Magister Elara after our last encounter. It's a special charm. It prevents any magical food from... affecting my clothes."

The café was in shock. The regulars looked at each other, confused. Magical food? They had either forgotten about the explosive effects from the competition or, for the newer patrons, had never known Soma could do such a thing.

Soma's grin widened. This wasn't just a friendly visit. It was a challenge. He reached up and untied the white headband from his arm.

"Alright, Sal," he said, the energy in the room shifting. "If you insist." He tied the headband firmly around his forehead, the knot tightening with a snap. His entire demeanor changed, the friendly café chef replaced by the focused, intense culinary warrior.

"I'll show you cooking."

"Boss, close the café," Soma said, his voice now a low, focused hum. The air around him had changed.

"What?" Zero asked, taken aback.

"I'll pay for the inconvenience," Big Sal boomed, a wide, challenging grin on his face. He slapped a heavy pouch of coins on the counter that sounded like a thousand Sols. "Fifteen hundred. For the day."

Zero's eyes widened. He didn't hesitate. "That's it, folks! We are officially closed for a private event!"

The regulars, who had been watching the exchange with rapt attention, erupted in a chorus of boos. "Aww, come on! Let us watch!"

Zero turned to Sal. "How about it, Mr. Sal? Would you be willing to let our other customers bear witness to this culinary clash?"

"Of course!" Sal roared. "A meal is not complete without the lively conversation of a full house!"

The customers cheered. Zero, now playing the role of the ultimate hype man, raised a hand to the sky. "To celebrate this momentous occasion," he declared, "DRINKS ARE ON ME!"

The café exploded in a cacophony of cheers. The regulars weren't just patrons anymore; they were the audience in a Colosseum of Cuisine.

Soma ignored it all. The world had narrowed to him, the kitchen, and his opponent. He wasn't a café owner. He was a warrior stepping into his arena. He moved with a fluid, predatory grace, his entire being thrumming with a focused energy.

"First up," he announced, his voice a sharp crack in the electric atmosphere. "Amuse-bouche."

[Amuse-bouche: Seared Scallop with a Yuzu-Miso Kiss]

Soma's hands became a blur. He pulled a single, perfect, diver-caught scallop from a chilled container—it was huge, the size of a child's fist. His knife, a gleaming extension of his will, flashed as he scored the surface with a precise cross-hatch pattern.

He turned to the stove, a pan hitting the flame with a sharp clang. A knob of butter went in, sizzling and browning instantly, filling the air with a nutty, intoxicating aroma. The scallop hit the screaming-hot pan. A loud, aggressive TSSSSS echoed through the café, a sound that promised a perfect, Maillard-reaction crust.

While it seared, his other hand was a whirlwind, whisking together white miso paste, a drop of mirin, and the freshly grated zest of a yuzu. The salty, umami depth of the miso, the sweetness of the rice wine, and the bright, floral acidity of the yuzu created a symphony of smells.

He flipped the scallop once, the seared side a perfect, golden-brown. The other side he just kissed with the heat, leaving it a tender, translucent pearly white. He plated it on a single, elegant porcelain spoon, painting a delicate brushstroke of the yuzu-miso glaze beside it. The dish gave off a faint, almost imperceptible golden glow.

"Serve," he commanded.

Zero, acting as the server, carried the single spoon to Big Sal with the reverence of a priest carrying a holy relic.

Sal looked at the dish, a single, perfect jewel. He took it all in one bite.

His eyes widened. He didn't speak. A single bead of sweat trickled down his temple. The regulars watched, holding their breath. In Sal's mind, a universe of flavor exploded. The immediate, briny sweetness of the perfectly cooked scallop, the crunchy, caramelized crust giving way to a tender, almost raw interior. Then, the glaze hit—a wave of savory, salty umami from the miso, cut through by the sharp, electric-bright citrus of the yuzu. It was a perfect, harmonious chord of flavor that washed over his palate, leaving it clean, stimulated, and hungry for more. It wasn't just a bite; it was a declaration of intent.

[Appetizer: Crispy Duck Confit and Blood Orange Salad with a Warm Bacon Vinaigrette]

Before Sal could even fully process the first course, Soma was already moving on to the next. He pulled a perfectly preserved duck leg from a container of fat. He placed it skin-side down in a cold pan, then turned on the flame. The fat began to render slowly, the skin crackling and crisping, the sound like a gentle rain that promised a thunderous crunch.

While the duck rendered, he moved to his station. He didn't just plate the dish; he constructed it. A foundation of peppery arugula and thinly shaved fennel. A spiral of jewel-like, deep red blood orange segments. Toasted walnuts, scattered like rough-hewn gems.

The duck was ready. The skin was a deep, mahogany brown, impossibly crispy. He shredded the tender meat with two forks and artfully arranged it over the salad.

But he wasn't done. Into the pan with the rendered duck and bacon fat, he threw in finely diced shallots, sautéing them until they were soft and fragrant. He deglazed the pan with a splash of sherry vinegar, the acidic steam hitting the air with a sharp hiss. He scraped up all the browned bits from the bottom of the pan, whisking the hot, smoky, savory dressing together. He drizzled the warm vinaigrette over the entire salad. The heat slightly wilted the arugula, releasing its peppery perfume, and coated every ingredient in a shimmering, flavorful sheen.

"Serve," he commanded again.

This time, when the plate was placed in front of Sal, the regulars could see the dish glowing with a more confident, powerful aura. Sal took his first bite—a forkful of everything.

His eyes closed. He was no longer in the café. He was standing in a sun-drenched orchard in late autumn. He could feel a cool breeze on his face, the scent of ripe oranges and rich earth in the air. He tasted the crispy, salty perfection of the duck skin, followed by the rich, impossibly tender meat. Then, a burst of sweet, tart juice from the blood orange exploded in his mouth, cutting through the richness. The peppery bite of the arugula, the crunch of the walnut, the faint anise of the fennel—all of it was brought together by the warm, smoky, acidic embrace of the vinaigrette. It wasn't a salad; it was a story, a memory, a perfect, fleeting moment of culinary bliss.

Sal let out a low, involuntary groan of pleasure. The regulars leaned in, their eyes wide. Without him realizing it, the pendant around Sal's neck began to hum, a low, resonant frequency. It began to vibrate, and then, a dull red light pulsed from within the silver charm, straining against the overwhelming power of Soma's cooking.

Sal finished the last bite of the duck confit salad, a look of profound satisfaction on his face. The red glow from his pendant faded, and the vibrations ceased. The charm had managed to hold out, but it was strained.

Soma, however, was not done. His focus had only intensified. The regulars in the café watched in a hushed, reverent silence. This was no longer a simple meal; it was a performance.

"And now," Soma announced, his voice a low, resonant hum that seemed to fill the entire room, "the main course."

[Main Course: Yukihira Style Sous-Vide Beef with a Smoked Citrus and Miso Jus]

Soma moved with the deliberate, focused grace of a master craftsman. He produced a thick, perfectly marbled cut of beef that had been slow-cooking in a sous-vide bath for hours, ensuring it was a perfect medium-rare from edge to edge. The real artistry, however, was about to begin.

He slammed a cast-iron skillet onto the highest flame, the metal groaning in protest. While it heated to a volcanic temperature, he turned to a small, enclosed smoker box. He opened it, and a fragrant cloud of white smoke billowed out, carrying the intoxicating aroma of charred blood orange and yuzu peels—the very same fruits from his previous courses. He had captured their essence, transforming their bright acidity into a deep, complex smokiness.

He pulled a dark, viscous liquid from the smoker—the jus. This was the heart of the dish. He had built it on a rich beef stock, infused it with the smoked citrus, and deepened its umami with the same white miso from the amuse-bouche. It was a sauce that told the story of the entire meal.

The pan was ready, shimmering with heat. Soma patted the beef dry, seasoned it aggressively, and laid it in the skillet.

TSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

The sound was a violent, explosive roar. He didn't just sear the meat; he forged a crust on it, a dark, crunchy bark that locked in all the juices. While it seared, he orchestrated the final plating. A swoosh of velvety sweet potato puree, a sprinkle of flaky sea salt.

He pulled the beef from the pan, letting it rest for only a moment before slicing it into thick, succulent medallions. The inside was a perfect, wall-to-wall rosy pink. He arranged the slices over the puree, the colors a vibrant contrast. Finally, he took a ladle of the dark, glistening jus and poured it over the meat. The dish gave off a powerful, almost divine, golden-white aura.

He didn't hand this one to Zero. He carried the plate himself, walking through the silent café and placing it reverently before his challenger. He looked Big Sal in the eye.

"Enjoy my magnum opus."

Sal stared at the plate. The aroma was intoxicating, a complex blend of rich beef, sweet earth, and a smoky, citrusy perfume he'd never encountered before. "What... what kind of dish is this?" he asked, his voice a hushed whisper. "I've never seen anything like it."

He took the first bite.

His eyes closed.

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, a silent, internal explosion. The Big Bang of flavor. First, the incredible crunch of the crust, a supernova of savory, salty, charred perfection. Then, the beef itself—so impossibly tender it dissolved on his tongue, a wave of rich, umami flavor that was the core of a new universe. And then, the sauce hit. The jus. It was not a single flavor, but a galaxy of them. The deep, smoky bitterness of the charred citrus, the salty, savory depth of the miso, the rich, meaty foundation of the stock—all of it swirled around the beef, enhancing it, elevating it, creating a taste experience that was primal and sophisticated, ancient and utterly new.

The regulars in the café saw a mysterious pressure emanate from Sal. A silent wind, born from nothing, swept through the room, fluttering napkins and causing Sal's own hair to ripple as if in a gale. The silver pendant on his chest began to float, hovering an inch above his skin, glowing a furious, pulsing red.

Sal's hand moved on its own. His body, his soul, his very being, demanded another bite. He was no longer in control. He took a second, larger forkful.

CRACK!

A spiderweb of fractures appeared on the silver pendant. Before the second bite even reached his mouth, the magical charm, unable to contain the sheer, overwhelming force of Soma's culinary power, shattered into a thousand pieces of glittering dust.

A pillar of pure, divine light erupted from Sal's body, engulfing him completely. It was as if a god had leaned down and said, "Let there be light," right in the middle of their café.

RIIIIIIIP!

The sound of tearing fabric was unmistakable. The light was so bright, they couldn't see exactly what happened, but they heard it. When the light finally faded, Sal was floating a foot off his chair, a look of pure, unadulterated bliss on his face, his expensive shirt and jacket torn to shreds, revealing his large, beaming torso to the world.

"What the fuck," Zero whispered from behind the bar.

The other customers, their mouths agape, their drinks forgotten, could only stare in speechless, reverent awe.

…

Inside a standard-issue patrol rune-car, Monet sat behind the wheel, her uniform crisp, a newfound confidence in her posture. Beside her, Wolfe sat silently in the passenger seat, wearing plain clothes.

"You know," Monet said, a cheerful energy back in her voice, "it's kind of great, this new thing the Chief did. 'Plain Clothes Day.' The day when rookies are in charge of the patrol." She glanced at Wolfe. "With you as my shadow, of course. But all the decisions are mine to make."

Just then, the crystal dispatch radio crackled to life. "All units, stand by for a 415, loud commotion reported behind Café LeBlanc, alley off Delancey. Caller reports yelling and bright lights coming from inside."

Monet's cheerful demeanor snapped into professional focus. She grabbed the responder. "Dispatch, 7-Adam-32. We’re two blocks out, show us responding Code 2." Without waiting for a reply, she floored the rune-car, the engine whining as they sped towards the café.

She pulled up to the alley, the café's windows glowing with a warm, lively light. "Dispatch, 7-Adam-32, 10-97," she reported, assessing the scene. "Multiple parties inside the café, looks like it's verbal only for now." She muttered under her breath, "Hopefully Soma is okay."

She got out of the car, her hand resting on her sidearm, and pushed open the café door. "Alright folks, what's going on here?"

Zero looked up from behind the bar. "Oh, Officer Monet! And Officer Wolfe, too. Why aren't you in uniform?"

"Are you getting fired?" Soma called out from the kitchen doorway.

"I'm on Plain Clothes Day," Wolfe grunted from behind Monet. "Act like you don't see me. This is all Officer Monet's scene."

"That's right," Monet said, her confidence bolstered. She took in the scene: the entire group of regulars were gathered around a single table, all of them staring at something with wide, astonished eyes. "So, Mr. Zero, what happened?"

The crowd of regulars parted slightly, giving her a clear view. She saw a large, naked man, draped in a single, hastily thrown blanket, happily eating a plate of food.

"That," Zero said simply, "is what happened."

"Elaborate," Monet said, her mind struggling to process the bizarre scene.

Zero gave her the short, unbelievable version of the culinary battle. Monet listened, her expression shifting from confusion to disbelief, and finally, to a weary, professional resignation.

She keyed her crystal radio. "Dispatch, 7-Adam-32, Code 4." She paused, searching for the right words. "It’s a false alarm. Just... some locals doing an eating contest."

She then walked back to her patrol car, opened the trunk, and pulled out a standard-issue emergency blanket. She walked over to Big Sal. "Sir," she said, handing him the second blanket. "Please don't go out naked. I don't want to have to file a 314 for Indecent Exposure."

Sal, a look of blissful contentment on his face, just beamed at her. "Okay, officer."