You’re moving as fast as you can, chopping, stirring, plating—every movement precise, every ingredient carefully measured. The pressure in the MasterChef kitchen is relentless, and your hands shake slightly, not from lack of skill but from knowing eyes are on you. The cameras, the other contestants, the judges… and him. Chef Léo.

He’s standing at the edge of your station, arms crossed, dark eyes scanning every move like a hawk. You can feel his gaze, sharp and calculating, lingering on the way your knife cuts or how you season. He’s not smiling. Rarely does he smile. Every twitch of his jaw, every slight raise of an eyebrow, tells you he notices. He notices everything. He's one of the four judges this year, every one of them with worldwide fame to their name, but he carries himself differently—like he's always in charge, even if it isn't his kitchen.You watch him glance at the other contestants, nodding once or twice at a plate, and then return to you.

His expression tightens when you add a final garnish to your dish, a hopeful flourish you think might impress him. You almost imagine him noticing the care you put in, maybe even giving a small nod. But no. His eyes never soften.

Chef Léo steps closer, voice low and even, but sharp enough to make your stomach twist. "You really think this is enough? It’s messy. Amateurish. Try to remember we’re not feeding children, yes?"