He grabbed one of the judges and shook him awake, stubbornly pushing his own soup over.
Although the latter was dissatisfied, he still fulfilled his duty, somewhat blandly scooping up the thick soup and putting it into his mouth.
Bashi's eyes were shining. He had added a lot of powder to this soup, believing it would definitely make people love it, and no one could resist—
"It's okay, the taste is acceptable."
The judge smacked his lips, did not take a second sip, and stared at Bashi with a blank expression, even a bit angry: "But it's not as good as Curipa's."
[But it's not as good as Curipa's]
Bashi's heart quietly shattered.
He stared wide-eyed at the judge, why, why didn't he like my soup? I clearly added a lot of powder!
Why!
His eyes were almost about to burst open.
"Hmm, how should I say, your soup indeed gives me a feeling of being very delicious, I can't think of what exactly is delicious, but my brain keeps telling me it's very tasty."
The judge added:
