Zeke had a plan.
It was simple: Tank the next round of Galactic Grub: Celebrity Edition, get eliminated, and go back to being a nobody with a knack for starting revolutions by accident.
"Sabotage my own dish," he told himself. "Easy. No way this backfires."
Bitty blinked skeptically.
Tess just handed him a fire extinguisher. "I'll have this ready. Just in case your dish achieves sentience again."
Zeke scoffed. "Again? That was one time and technically the muffin declared war first."
...
Round Two's theme:
"Create a dish that embodies the soul of creation."
Zeke rolled his eyes so hard it might've caused a minor gravitational distortion.
He picked the dumbest ingredients he could find:
A tin of expired cosmic anchovies
A lump of semi-feral dough
A spice packet labeled "Warning: Chrono-reactive"
And, for flair, a cheese that screamed when grated
Into a pan it all went.
Then he blinked.
And so did the lasagna.
Literally.
...
It started breathing.
Then it began singing.
In perfect harmony.
With itself.
Multiple voices.
Bitty stared at it, scanned it, and beeped, "This dish has achieved Level-4 consciousness. It's forming a belief system."
Tess choked on her protein bar. "Zeke… what did you put in that cheese?!"
"I DON'T KNOW, IT WAS IN THE CRYOGENIC BARGAIN BIN!"
...
The lasagna floated upward, glowing, its pasta layers rearranging into fractal spirals. Saucy runes etched themselves into space-time.
A Judge dropped their fork and fell to their knees. "It… it's beautiful."
Another judge wept uncontrollably. "I saw my ancestors in the mozzarella."
The assassin droid whispered, "I… feel love."
...
Zeke raised his hand. "So… am I disqualified?"
The host Flambérax-7 trembled. "You… have created a new life form… and a new culinary category. Transcendental Cuisine."
Tess muttered, "Of course you did."
The lasagna blinked its basil-scented eyes and spoke, "Father."
Zeke screamed.
...
Later, backstage, he sat on a crate, head in hands.
"I just wanted to lose…"
Bitty floated beside him. "Your child wishes to speak with you."
The lasagna hovered into view.
"I wish to open a restaurant… and conquer the void with flavor."
Zeke stared into its marinara soul.
"…Can I at least name you something normal?"
The lasagna shimmered. "I wish to be called... Greg."