As the flame of the red candle flickered, an inexplicable force spread through the dining hall. Jerome's twin brother suddenly looked up, keenly sensing that something about Dr. Sohip had changed.
The head chef's gaze also deepened. He could see more than the others; the soul of the person before him was completely different. It was him, yet it was not him.
Was this his true face? Was he the owner of the head lying on the plate? And what would he do?
Amid the heavy atmosphere and everyone's astonished stares, Schiller sat down. His fingers moved deftly as he tied his napkin, picked up his knife and fork, and began tasting the food before him.
He ate with great elegance, without the slightest hint of haste, yet he was incredibly fast. Before anyone else had even reacted, he had finished the entire plate.
Then he gently wiped his mouth with the napkin and tapped the service bell with a finger.
Ding!
A sound identical to an elevator chime echoed through the dining hall.
The first waiter standing by the window immediately approached him with impeccable courtesy. Schiller spoke in a low, slow voice. "I'm not full. Please bring me another serving."
The waiter immediately nodded and headed toward the kitchen. Soon, another cold dish was brought out. Schiller finished it just as quickly as before, then rang the service bell again.
This time, the second waiter approached him in almost exactly the same manner as the first and asked the same question. Schiller gave the same answer.
Then came the third serving, the fourth, and the fifth.
Schiller's stomach seemed like a bottomless pit. No matter how many dishes were brought to him, they vanished into his mouth at the fastest speed, after which he would swiftly ring the