"You made this?"

Melford stared at the young kid in front of him, barely able to believe it.

The last time he tasted his cooking, it had been far from impressive—undercooked, lacking finesse. Yet today, for a moment, he almost thought it was Diego who had prepared the meal.

Had he improved this much in such a short time?

Melford’s lips pressed into a straight line as he started nitpicking. “This lion’s head meatball… you shaped it too perfectly round. It should be a little uneven on the surface for a better presentation, you know? And this yellow croaker—it’s supposed to be crispy on the outside and tender inside, but...