If the customs officer had denied the money and then didn't allow the shipment, Shubman would've respected his work ethics and let him live.

But he didn't, unfortunately, for him and his assistant who had a fair amount paid too and was currently standing in front of a restaurant that said Shastri's House.

This person certainly wasn't very good at naming but that was the least of the assistant's worries.

He had been driven to this place that was two hours away from where he was held.

And in between all this, he was left alive and not as beaten up as the previous day.

Sir doesn't like his guests harmed, he heard one of the half a dozen men that drove him to his current location.

He was still trembling a little as he was pushed to walk forward and open the door.

The sound of a bell chiming was heard and there were people at the tables, all dressed similar to each other in professional attire.

Their gaze fell on him as he was suddenly attended by one of them and made to sit on the chair.

He said nothing. Just wishing he had at least done enough good in his life to put him out of his misery.

Everyone sitting around suddenly stood up and walked to a huge kitchen in front of him, one he hadn't noticed until now.

With an island, extravagant finishes but still a soft touch to it.

Then someone walked down the stairs to his left.

"Good morning, lovely people!" A voice greeted happily and a man appearing to be in his early sixties, dressed in a short suit. "Do we have a guest today?"

When he got down, he looked around chirpily and his eyes fell on the visibly shaking and only slightly bruised young man at one of the tables.

"Has Shubman finally sent me a guest?" He sighed. "I was wondering why he sent no one in a long while."

As he spoke, he walked forward and sat on the chair on the other side of the table.

"What should I call you?" He asked and the one ready for slaughter stayed silent for a long while before he was shoved from the back.

"Akash," he said quickly, earning an amused look.

"You're only the 26th Akash I've seen in my decades of expertise," the man said. "Had you come here two months back, we could've celebrated silver jubilee. The 25th Akash chose a cupcake."

A woman similar to Sabine Moreau from Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol, walked forward and handed a menu booklet to the former.

"Please take a look, Akash," the man in the short suit said as he leaned back. "And I'm Ravi Shastri, chef of this house but people call me Shaz."

Akash didn't know where they were going with this but he managed to flip through the pages.

There were appetizers, followed by the main course, the salad course, cocktails, desserts, everything from cuisines around the world.

"Now," Shastri broke the silence. "Tell me, dear. What is your favorite food?"

He said nothing again and there was another shove to his bruised back.

"Fried rice," he choked out, earning another smile.

"Perfect," the self-proclaimed chef said. "You see the kitchen behind me? If you make me a good plate of fried rice, I might let you live."

There was sudden hope in Akash's eyes but little did he know it wasn't going to be easy.

Wordlessly, he was escorted to the kitchen by a group of people.

"You have all the necessary ingredients, just start with your dish," Shastri said and shifted to a chair facing the kitchen. "You can start now."

The youngest's mind was blank for a moment until he realized this was probably his last card.

He had never worked so quickly and carefully in his life. He believed he'd be let go. This old guy seemed more empathetic.

So he went on with the process of making a good plate of food, as much as good was for him.

And when he was done, he was made to place the dish on the table for Shastri.

The older man ate a spoon of the rice, staying silent for a whole minute until Akash felt that he could cry.

"This is the worst dish I've ever had," Shastri said and the young man really started crying. He has tried and failed. "How did you prepare this?"

As that was being said, Akash was made to sit on a chair in front with tears in his eyes and one thought. He should've never accepted the money.

"I demand an answer," Shastri said as a guy placed a set of tools on the table beside, mostly cutlery. "What did you do first?"

"I peeled the onions," Akash said through his sobs while a tweezer was pulled out.

"You peeled the onions," he said in an unimpressed voice before holding the tweezer to his nail, peeling it off.

A loud scream was heard as blood covered the part of the finger where the nail was supposed to be.

It didn't stop there. He experienced the agony all over again with each of his nails.

"You see, that isn't quite right, dear," Shastri said. "Spring onions must be used because they taste milder and sweet with a tender texture."

He placed the tweezer away and picked up a butcher knife.

"They rarely taste extremely pungent and can be eaten raw. They don't spoil the taste of the fried rice," he added before placing the guest's hand on the table. "Spring onions must be chopped."

Another loud wail echoed through the restaurant as the butcher knife came down to cut a part of his finger apart.

Not much longer was taken before the butcher knife was placed away too.

"You boiled the rice without soaking it, didn't you?" Shastri said as he stood up. The younger man was made to stand up too, bleeding and still wailing.

He walked to an adjacent room and opened the door, holding Akash by his hand.

There was a pool just a feet away from where they were standing.

But it wasn't an ordinary pool. The water was boiling over as if it was lava. And the pool was big enough to fit a human or two.

Without another word, Shastri pushed Akash into the pool, watching as he could do nothing in the temperature of the water.

"The rice has to be cooked for five minutes," he said, checking his watch for the time. "Boys, make sure he doesn't drown himself. And soak him when time's up."

Shastri walked out of the room and at the same time, a barely alive person, covered in blood, was pulled out of a different room.

It was the guest Shubman had previously sent, over a month back.

"Robin, dear, he's alive enough to say a couple of words or two," Shastri said as the six people who came in earlier were walking out with another one of their captives. "But if he doesn't say anything, inform Shubman that I'll be glad to have him back at the restaurant."

He wiped the blood off his hands with a towel handed to him, briefly recalling the recipe for making fried rice.

They still had to chop the carrots, bell pepper, and French beans. Also finely chopped cabbage, green chilies and garlic.

Shastri handed the towel back before silently noting himself of the last step. "The ingredients must be fried."

And that is why cooking is a survival skill.

A/n

Let's just say that Akash will never be a nephew to Uncle Roger. And this chapter was a dream I had long back and I was cooking fried rice in it. I felt like it'd be good to add to the book.