He grunts. "Adequate."
Korgan stiffens.
Borgat's mouth twitches. "Grandmother would approve the spice ratio. Bread is too soft, but..." He takes another bite. "Human digestion is weak. Acceptable compromise."
"That's a compliment," Korgan whispers.
"I know. I'm writing it down later."
The screen flashes:CHALLENGE ONE: PASSED
Challenge two is building something functional together. They give us materials—wood, nails, orc-style binding tools I don't recognize—and forty-five minutes to construct "something that represents your future."
Korgan immediately starts sketching plans.
I gaze at the pile of lumber. "I'm a baker, not a carpenter."
"You have steady hands and spatial reasoning. Same skills."
"Baking involvesdough?—"
"Hold this." He hands me a plank.
We build a table. Sort of. It's lopsided and wobbly, but structurally sound enough that Korgan declares it "functional."
"For what?" I ask.
"Eating. Working. Other activities." His expression is carefully neutral.
"Other activities."
"Tables are versatile."
The audienceloses it.
I bury my face in my hands, laughing despite myself. "You did that on purpose."
"Did I?"
"You absolute?—"
"Time!" Claudia calls.
The judges examine our disaster table. One of them sits on it experimentally. It creaks but holds.
"Structurally questionable," she says. "But it hasn't collapsed, which is more than I realized given the time limit and skill gap."
CHALLENGE TWO: PASSED
Challenge three: conflict resolution.
They present us with acommon couple problemas Korgan's hypothetical clan wants him to relocate for political reasons, but my bakery is rooted in my hometown.
"Discuss and reach a compromise," Claudia instructs. "You have fifteen minutes."
This one's dangerous. Real.
Korgan folds his arms. "If clan leadership required relocation, I would need to consider it."
