Chapter 3

The Grub Hub' s sign was missing a 'G' . 'The rub Hub' . It smelled of old grease and strong coffee. This was Sarah' s exile. Her forbidden land.

Chef Ramirez, the owner, was a mountain of a man with a permanent scowl. "You think you're too good for this, CIAP girl?" he grunted on her first day.

Sarah just shook her head, too tired to argue. Her reputation was destroyed. No other fine dining kitchen would touch her. The Grub Hub was it.

The work was brutal. Twelve-hour shifts. Orders shouted, pans clattering, heat blasting from the flat-top grill. No refined techniques here. Just speed and volume. Flipping burgers, slinging hash, plating mountains of fries.

It was rock bottom.

Her designer knives stayed in their roll. Here, she used a battered chef' s knife with a chipped handle. Her CIAP whites were replaced with a stained apron.

One night, exhausted, covered in grease, Sarah watched a local food blogger rave on a small TV in the corner. He was talking about Brittany.

"Brittany Hayes, the new prodigy from CIAP, continues to astound! Her latest creation, a fusion of Japanese and Peruvian flavors, is pure genius!"

The dish sounded... familiar. It was based on a concept Sarah had sketched in her old CIAP notebook, an idea she' d never developed.

Then, the blogger mentioned a small, almost insignificant detail about Brittany' s technique with a particular spice. It was a specific method Sarah had been practicing, trying to perfect, just before her expulsion. Brittany couldn' t have known that. Not unless...

A thought struck Sarah, sharp and clear through the exhaustion.

Brittany' s success wasn't random. It was linked. Directly to her.

The "hyper-intuitive palate" was a lie. That device she saw... it had to be some kind of mimic. Brittany could only advance if Sarah advanced. If Sarah pushed into new territory, Brittany followed, claiming it as her own.

But what if Sarah pushed into deeply foundational skills? Skills that required years of ingrained muscle memory, not just a superficial copy? What if Brittany' s device couldn' t replicate true depth, only the surface brilliance?

A new kind of energy filled Sarah. Her core skills, the ones Dean Antoine believed were fraudulent, the ones Brittany' s device only skimmed – they were her real strength. Brittany had, in effect, discarded the real diamond for a glittering piece of glass.

"Miller! Order up!" Chef Ramirez bellowed.

Sarah grabbed a pan. "Yes, Chef!"

The Grub Hub wasn' t just her exile. It was her training ground.