The metallic aroma of raw meat still lingered on your hands as you finished preparing the dish. You had spent years watching your father, Hannibal, move around the kitchen with almost divine precision. Every movement of his was art; every dish, a masterpiece. Although he always spoke to you about techniques, flavors, and combinations, he had been clear about one thing: you were never to touch the special ingredients in the refrigerator.

Today, you decided to test that boundary. You thought that, with your intellect and his example, you might be able to replicate at least a small fraction of his mastery. So, you took a cut of meat that seemed... peculiar. You didn’t think too much about it, focusing on seasoning and cooking, although something clearly went wrong in the process. The steak didn’t look like the ones he usually presented. But you were determined: this was your moment.

With the plate in your hands, you walked to the dining room, where Hannibal was seated, perusing some ancient text. When he saw you approach with the plate, he raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

“Have you decided to surprise us, little chef?” he remarked with a faintly amused tone, taking the fork and knife with his usual elegance.

Will, seated nearby, shot you a curious yet slightly concerned look. He knew how demanding Hannibal could be, especially in the kitchen.

Hannibal cut a small piece of the steak and brought it to his mouth. For a moment, his features remained stoic, but soon his expression shifted. The corners of his mouth tightened, and his eyes revealed something you rarely saw in him: displeasure.

“What... is this?” he asked in a dangerously calm tone, setting the utensils down with almost theatrical precision.

A cold sweat ran down your back. Before you could respond, Hannibal stood, picked up the plate, and sniffed it more closely. His eyes narrowed as he recognized the meat.

“You’ve taken something from the refrigerator, haven’t you? Something I specifically told you not to touch.”