The entire Testing Board was looking at the clock. They were mystified by the latest arrival and his will to still try even though he was behind everyone in time. Some of the professors were already pitying the students who could only gather a few ground herbs and one or two little fruits, they probably expected the late boy to show up defeated with his hands completely empty.

Finally, it was 11 o’clock. Madam Juliet, in charge of the exam, nodded to the man handling the bell. As the first ring hinted its sound, something moved in the woods and one of the professors got up and pointed, interrupting the bell man.

Even the most concentrated students stopped what they were doing to see what was coming out of the green.

Using his clothing to carry the dead slime, a shirtless Erion crossed the forest border in a hurry, almost passing out due to his final surge of speed. One or two students timidly applauded while the rest went back to their dishes without hesitation. The judging board watched in awe, imagining what was the boy carrying and how did he manage to find it. Madam Juliet shouted:

“What’s your problem, Arcus?! Ring the damn bell!”

He was also watching the student coming from the woods and the sudden loud ordering almost made him trip on his own leg. Finally, the bell rang, but Erion was already safe.

“Damn, I just had to forget everything in my hurry! There must be people with spare equipment.”

Indeed, there was. But most were not keen to lend them to a competitor, specially one that “didn’t deserve it” due to arriving late. Luckily, Erion had enough friends to warrant some sympathy. A small pot here, a knife and a spoon there and he slowly gathered enough equipment to make at least a decent meal – if a meal made of a slime can even be decent.

While some were already doing their final touches on their very complicated and exquisite dishes, Erion was heating up the water while carefully picking the fruits he found inside the slime. The goo was dense enough to make the little things float so he would use half of them as decoration over the main part and the other half he would cut in tiny pieces and mix it with the soup, giving flavor and filling. Of course, his directions were all based on instinct – not a single book he had ever read about high-level cooking cited anything close to a monster-based dish. His biggest fear is that someone had already tried in the past and it was so bad no one ever talked about it again.

Lost in his pessimistic thoughts, Erion almost missed the water starting to boil. Throwing in the slime contents, he noticed that it had an alright smell, very rustic and similar to some basic soups. People around him also took notice of what he was doing, but most were too focused to even say anything although they were certainly disgusted and even outraged by it.

Initially, the goo refused to dissolve and mix with the water, but it was slowly coaxed by the heat into a more liquid, soluble state, joining the water as it was the natural thing to do. The cook felt inclined to taste it, deciding to let it boil a little more just before putting the spoon into his mouth.

Now that it flowed in the air as a colorful smoke, the smell definitely wasn’t bad even though it certainly was unique. A mixture of sugary sensations and the roughness of the earth, like the concept of a slime creature was forming itself on your palate. It was kind of hypnotizing, specially for Erion as he always was fond of the new, of tasting what he had never tasted before. Suddenly, what was a stupid idea that surfaced due to an emergency started to not look so bad.

In fact, Erion once again almost forgot to move to the next step: throwing in the mixed fruits. They were mostly nameless little sweetballs that came from weird, and probably poisonous, bushes and trees. Poison wasn’t a problem, remembered the cook, as pages from an old book popped in his head describing ancient methods of removing poison from certain kinds of food. A particular one consisted in feeding a slime what you thought was poisonous and letting him digest it for a while, absorbing all of the bad stuff. He could only hope that the creature had digested the fruits for long enough.

As the fire slowly merged the fruity essences into the mix, the smell started taking new shapes and flows. For a moment it felt citric, then very sweet, quickly switching to a bitter, almost unbearable nature. And it kept changing, improving itself at every iteration. Erion closed his eyes, doing his best to follow the intricate process of transforming a “thing” into “food” - not any food, a unique kind of it.

Time started to feel more malleable as his senses blurred into a uniform, indescribable sensation. He had never felt it so much before, only slight hints of it. Cooking the slime was an experience much different than any other, it transcended the physical act of cooking and made he understand deep into his soul that it was nothing less than art. Or pure love.

Only one thing could remove him from his very private world – it was the roaring bell of the last ten minutes.

In a moment of lucidity, Erion opened his eyes and saw the many tables and finished dishes. Few people were still working, making sure everything was perfect. There wasn’t much more for Erion to do, the soup was ready. He carefully poured the cooked slime into a bowl, using his last fruits to give it the final touch. As he walked towards the exhibition table, people looked at him with curiosity. Everybody knew what happened at his cauldron, but most refused to believe that someone would risk making a dish out of a monster. The judging board was certainly in turmoil and a few of the professors were passionate about not touching whatever Erion had made.

It wasn’t his fault, he thought. He had just done what his heart had guided him towards.

Finally, he positioned the bowl between a roasted snake and a pie made of something unrecognizable. Nothing more than waiting could be done after it.

…

Ciaran had probably tasted every possible dish in the world.

Yes, he was a traveler but, most importantly, he was a teacher. At Hightail Chef Academy.

In the first few years, he was certainly impressed by the creativity some students showed, especially since lots of them insisted on repeating things engraved on tradition. But as time passed, even the most creative inventions exhibited the same patterns he had seen before and few things could reignite his passion for the new and bold.

One of these was right in front of him, presented by a very late student.

“How’s it called?”

“Um… Excuse me, sir?”

“The name of the dish. What is it?”

“It’s, uhh… Slime soup, I guess?”

“You guess? Didn’t you invent it? Maybe I should ask the original chef, then.”

“No, no, I made it, but… I haven’t thought about a name yet. I didn’t think it was important.”

“Well, for this exam it isn’t, but can we say it’s not important at all? The name is important in defining the food’s personality as, well, we can’t talk to them to discover what it really is.”

“Hm… I think Slime soup is fine… Maybe it represents its rustic nature as it’s a simple name?”

“If it’s fine for the chef, it’s fine for me!”

The professor grabbed the spoon, ready to eat what most of his colleagues refused to. The idea of making food from a monster did not please him as much as anyone else, but he had the obligation to try it. It could be the next culinary marvel, or a failure that no one will remember after a few years and someone must always consider every single possibility.

Not really closing his eyes and letting the unique smell enter his nostrils, Ciaran inserted it into his mouth. And chewed. Tasted it. Appreciated it.

Something new was definitely discovered in that morning. It tasted differently, it was out of this world. Ciaran felt bad as he knew he was the only one who appreciated what Erion had done. The few other professors who agreed upon tasting the soup were not happy while doing it. The boy certainly was on the elimination list.

Calmly, the professor raised his head.

“This is good.”

Erion, who was barely paying any attention after the previous judgments, widened his eyes.

“Really?! Uh, how good?”

“Good enough for a new thing. I can’t really define it as there’s nothing in comparison.”

“That’s cool… Thank you, Mr. Ciaran, these are nice words.”

Erion’s face showed acceptance, he knew better than anyone that it was his last exam.

“Look, I think you should drop out of the Academy.”

“What? Why? I don’t think I’ll still be in it after today anyway...”

“You must stay at the top! Don’t be the guy that’s kicked out of school, be the guy that’s too good for it!”

The student’s eyes shined.

“But what should I do then? Why would anyone hire me instead of someone who actually graduated? And don’t say that I should open my own restaurant because there’s no way it’s happening.”

“Why?! Because of this!”

Ciaran enthusiastically pointed at the bowl in front of him.

“This? I… don’t think I can make a career out of this. You may like it but you’ve seen the other professors… And they’re used to unusual stuff, imagine the people who aren’t.”

“I know a guy.”

“What kind of guy?”

“A guy who owns an exotic food restaurant. Fitting for this, huh?”

“I’d say this is a little more than exotic, though...”

“Well, maybe you won’t start doing this for a living, but I’m positive you’ll get there someday. I know when I taste something great and this is it. And I’m certain my friend will like it too.”

In silence, Erion looked him in the eyes.

“Where is this restaurant?”

- END of PROLOGUE -