The food industry is an eternally fickle one.
Zhihao Cheng knew this, going into the culinary arts at a young age. Every dish he has made, every failure, every success, they have led him to this moment. This competition was not just one for glory. This wasn’t just for noterity. This was a test- was he worthy of staying in Paris? Will the culinary world respond well to him choosing to close his restaurant back in Shanghai to start anew in Paris? To be able to have his great niece and her family cheering by his side? Will the culinary world respond well to him opting for a global horizon? The only way he can communicate that is through his food, and he chose his famous Hulatang to demonstrate that. After all, the language barrier is still something he will have to work on. He, however, didn't think too much of the yellow dressed girl about Marinette’s age who had visited the kitchen, and that was his biggest mistake.
His grand-niece Lucy (to him, she’s always Li-hua) Cheng joined him in the back, taking a second look at the hulatang that was allegedly so horrid that it made the judges cough and gasp. They each take a spoonful. They equally coughed and hacked. It didn’t make sense. The chef had made the soup like he always had, why now is it so horrid? Did he do something wrong?….or was the designer bag left behind on the desk that indicates that there was more afoot?
Thinking back, it makes so much sense now. He didn’t understand why, but this girl, for some reason, took the opportunity to chew on his dreams and spit them out into the street. This little French princess who puts on a pretty face, halted it out of pettiness. But strong emotions are a dangerous feeling to have in Paris right now. Ire, especially, is dangerous. Monarch feeds off dreams of revenge especially. Despite Li-hua’s best efforts to calm him down, the metamorphosis reached him first. In this form, Zhihao Cheng has become “Dishaster Chef”.
As the ether engulfed him, Li-hua suddenly lurched forward trying to gasp for any sort of control of her body. She tries stumbling out of the kitchen for help and warning, only to be faced with most of the judges (Chloé being the only one unaffected, as well as having stepped out of sight). The audience stands confused about this sudden turn of events. What’s going on?! That doesn’t matter anymore to the victims, who have tried the tainted soup, are facing. They convulse, gripping their stomachs in agony, feeling all control of their body slip away. Until at last, it’s finally let out. Coughed, choked, and thrown up, black sludge escapes their mouths, trying to gasp for air in their last seconds of autonomy, only to jolt up. Washing over their eyes is an orange hue. Their standing goes limp. Panic. The metamorphosed victim responsible steps out with a confident demeanor, his blue-hued skin and hair contrasting against his cream-colored chef uniform, apron and hat, dripping with caramel and flame-print about. He grinned at this sight, speaking to the turned.
“Because you all ate my soup, you're now my faithful servants! And I have a special recipe I will need your help on!”
As Marinette and Adrien look on helplessly (for now) at the next scélérat they will have to face, the crowd around them panics and attempts to flee. The caramel dropping outside the hotel building will stop them from doing that. Dishaster Chef looks about looking for the brat who sabotaged his soup. Even if the culinary world is fickle, it’s imperative that one has to endure the digestion that it inflicts onto the world. This failure was not his, and he was willing to take down the very source of it, no matter what it takes. He turns back to the indoctrinated army who had consumed his soup.
“Grab that girl,” he orders, pointing at Chloé.
The group rise up in unison, the sludge still slightly dripping from their mouths. “YES, CHEF!” they shout, before crowding and abducting their new ingredient for the chef’s latest recipe. Now digest this, Ladybug and Chat Noir.
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