They all sat down around the cafeteria tables, the earlier chaos of the raid completely forgotten in favor of the more immediate concern of food. Tòumíng's stomach was actively growling now, the sound embarrassingly loud in the relative quiet as everyone settled into their seats.
Polo emerged from the kitchen first, carrying multiple plates with practiced balance. He set down the first dish in front of Svetlana with a flourish.
An eighteen-ounce pork belly Grudinka, the Russian-style cured pork belly that looked like it had been slow-cooked to perfection, the fat rendered and glistening, the meat falling apart at the slightest touch. Svetlana's eyes literally lit up, her usual stoic expression breaking into genuine joy.
"You remember my favorite," she said, her voice warm. "You are good boy, Polo."
Next, Polo placed a can of Monster Energy in front of Think Tink The Tinkerer, who immediately cracked it open and started chugging like his life depended on the caffeine intake.
But the most impressive presentation was for Cfuar, a whole raw chicken, stuffed with quail eggs, arranged on a large plate like some kind of carnivorous centerpiece.
The lizard's head perked up immediately. It could smell the meat from across the table. Cfuar launched itself off Think Tink The Tinkerer's shoulders and ran, actually ran, its legs moving with surprising speed—directly at Polo.
The lizard climbed up Polo's leg and torso with sharp claws, reaching for the plate with desperate hunger, its tongue flicking out frantically.
"Oi! Bugger, calm down!"
Polo said, but there was no anger in his voice. Actually, he was smiling, a genuine, soft expression that suggested he had a real affection for the overeager reptile.
"You'll get your food, just give me a second to put it down properly, yeah?"
He set the plate on the floor, and Cfuar immediately pounced like a predator taking down prey. The lizard tore into the raw chicken with enthusiastic violence, ripping chunks of meat and swallowing them whole, occasionally crunching through a quail egg with obvious satisfaction.
Polo chuckled, watching the lizard feast, then dusted off his hands and stepped back.
Marco emerged from the kitchen at that moment, his own arms loaded with plates, his expression smug and competitive.
"Oh, you think THAT'S impressive?" he called out, setting down his offerings with equal flourish.
A WHOLE four-layer cake appeared in the center of the table, chocolate layers alternating with vanilla cream, covered in perfectly smooth buttercream frosting, decorated with intricate piped designs that looked almost too professional to be homemade. The kind of cake that belonged in a bakery window, not a makeshift cafeteria kitchen.
Ben's eyes went wide. "Is that for me?"
"For you AND Ghost Claw," Marco confirmed. "I know you both have monster sweet tooths."
Ghost Claw was already reaching for a knife to cut herself a slice, her usual stoic demeanor cracking with barely-contained excitement.
But Marco wasn't done. He set down an assortment of different fruit crème brûlées in front of Lucy, strawberry, mango, passion fruit, and raspberry, each one in its own individual ramekin with perfectly caramelized sugar tops that cracked under the slightest pressure.
Lucy picked up a spoon immediately, tapping the sugar crust experimentally, clearly impressed despite her usual dismissive attitude.
Polo scoffed from his position near the kitchen. "Preppy asshole. Of course you made fancy desserts. What's next, macarons? Soufflés?"
Marco shot back without missing a beat. "Primitive caveman. All you can do is grill meat like some kind of Stone Age barbarian."
Polo's grin turned predatory. "OH, YOU THOUGHT THAT WAS ALL I MADE?!"
He turned and ran back into the kitchen, disappearing for a moment before emerging with three massive plates.
The first was a giant platter of Char Siu—Chinese BBQ pork with that distinctive red glaze, sliced into perfect bite-sized pieces, the meat tender and caramelized, the smell absolutely intoxicating.
The second was a foot-long pulled pork sandwich, and Polo meant a FULL FOOT LONG. The bread was freshly baked, the pulled pork piled so high it defied structural integrity, coleslaw and BBQ sauce visible between the layers.
The third was smoke-style orange chicken, crispy fried chicken pieces coated in a thick, glossy orange sauce, garnished with sesame seeds and green onions, the aroma of citrus and savory spices filling the entire cafeteria.
Polo set all three dishes on the table with a triumphant expression. "How's THAT for caveman cooking, huh? Still think I can only grill?"
Marco's face went red. "You're still a caveman! Just a caveman who looked up recipes online! All you can cook is MEAT! Different preparations of the same primitive food group!"
"And you're a Gordon Ramsay knockoff who has to look at dessert recipes online because you can't innovate for shit! I bet you followed that cake recipe step-by-step like a fucking instruction manual!"
"AT LEAST MY DESSERTS REQUIRE TECHNIQUE! YOU JUST THROW MEAT IN A SMOKER AND WAIT!"
"BAKING IS JUST FOLLOWING DIRECTIONS! COOKING IS AN ART!"
They were in each other's faces again, the competitive energy that had been briefly united during the raid now refocusing entirely on culinary supremacy.
But nobody at the table cared about their argument.
Because the feast spread in front of them was absolutely FABULOUSSSSSSSSSS.
Tòumíng stared at the spread, the Char Siu, the pulled pork sandwich, the orange chicken, the four-layer cake, the crème brûlées, the Grudinka that Svetlana was already devouring with obvious pleasure.
His Potential Food skill activated automatically, overlaying caloric information on everything within his visual range.
The numbers were staggering. Thousands upon thousands of calories. More food than he could possibly eat in one sitting even with his supernatural appetite.
But damn if he wasn't going to try.
He reached for the Char Siu first, grabbing several pieces with his chopsticks, the meat practically melting in his mouth. The balance of sweet and savory was perfect, the texture tender without being mushy, the char on the edges adding a subtle bitterness that elevated the whole dish.
"This is incredible," he said around a mouthful of pork.
Lucy had already demolished one of her crème brûlées and was starting on the second, her usual scowl replaced with something approaching contentment.
Ben had cut himself a massive slice of cake and was eating it with the kind of focused intensity usually reserved for religious experiences.
Ghost Claw had done the same, her gas mask pulled aside just enough to allow cake consumption, her eyes closed in obvious bliss.
Svetlana was tearing through her Grudinka with the efficiency of someone who'd been starving for days, though Tòumíng knew she'd probably just eaten a full meal a few hours ago.
Think Tink The Tinkerer was mixing Monster Energy with what looked like raw sugar, creating some kind of caffeinated sludge that probably violated several health codes.
And Cfuar was still destroying the raw chicken, blood scattered around the plate in a circle of carnage.
Marco and Polo continued fighting in the background, their voices rising and falling with accusations about technique, creativity, and who was the better chef.
But their fight had become background noise. White noise. Just another part of the chaotic normal that defined this bizarre vigilante operation.
Tòumíng grabbed the foot-long pulled pork sandwich and took an enormous bite, BBQ sauce dripping down his chin, coleslaw crunching between his teeth.
This was good. This was really, really good.
Maybe joining this insane group wouldn't be the worst decision he'd ever made.