My Borderline Supervillain-Slash-Hero System
Chapter 90 Chef Zavier

Chapter 90: Chapter 90 Chef Zavier

More and more people began to pour into the mess hall.

Most of them were staff from different services, but a good number of guests had rushed in too, having been alerted by the hotel’s internal buzz. On the hotel’s main webpage, in the live chat room where both customers and staff could post, a thread had gone viral:

#Once Upon A Time In Sunflower Hotel#

#Three Bums Turn Up#

The post had already drawn a crowd, mostly out of sheer curiosity. After all, who orders that much food this early in the morning? Some users had jokingly labeled it an orgy-breakfast.

Shelby and Zane, however, didn’t care in the slightest. Their full attention was on the food.

Erlin was different.

She could feel the muttering, hear the whispers, and sense the stares directed at their table. Her face flushed red with embarrassment.

This is the last time I dine with you two in public, she swore to herself.

Most customers at Sunflower Hotel were high-class, and so many chose to ignore the scene and mind their own business. However, no world was ever short of arrogant fools.

A red-haired customer scoffed loudly, "I just want to enjoy my morning tea in peace. Why do they even allow these country bums to stay here?"

That one comment lit a chain reaction.

"Look at them—acting like they belong. If it were me, I’d have left already," sneered a lady.

"If they’re so hungry, why not eat at a place meant for them? A roadside stall would appreciate them more," mocked a man in a flamboyant suit. He flicked his fingers at them in mock dismissal. "Sho-sho, fly away."

"Maybe they’re blind and deaf," another woman chuckled cruelly.

Shelby? He didn’t even blink. Instead, he casually filled a glass from the jug, took a large mouthful of water—and then started rinsing his mouth with it.

Loud gurgling echoed across the room.

Eweh! The disgust was instant and unanimous.

"Someone call the cops! This is a public nuisance!" the flamboyant man gagged, wobbling his fingers in alarm. "Chef! Chef!" he bellowed.

The whole hall turned toward the commotion.

Everyone assumed something bad was finally coming for the trio. Some even smirked, thinking they deserved it—outsiders who should’ve never stepped foot in a place like this.

But Shelby remained indifferent.

Erlin glanced at him and realized: he genuinely didn’t care.

Then she turned to her husband. Zane was even calmer.

To him, this wasn’t new.

He’d grown up on the wrong side of society. People had always shunned him, cursed him, and bullied him. He was so used to toxicity that the chatter of these self-important aristocrats felt like children learning how to tease for the first time.

Erlin, however, wasn’t like either of them.

She had grown up a princess. The moment people began flinging insults and venom at them, her first instinct was to massacre the room. Her fists clenched tightly.

She expected a reaction—some retaliation—from the two men. But their calm mannerisms spoke volumes. They treated the insults like the chirping of morning birds, loud and bothersome, but ultimately harmless.

She took a deep breath and chose to calm herself too.

Shelby... she thought. He gives off that tough, macho vibe. A bit like my older brother. People like them don’t care what others think. Or rather, they’re built differently.

Then she looked at Zane.

But Zane... my Zane. He’s the type who’d kill his prey without blinking. So why is he so docile here? Is it something about this world’s culture?

Her thoughts spiraled.

Something didn’t add up.

Chef Zavier burst out of the kitchen, gripping a ladle, just as the stylized man began retching into his tissue. The man was middle-aged, well-built, with greenish tattoos winding across his muscular arms.

Zavier, the undisputed head of the kitchen, was a man whose presence demanded attention. Ten other chefs followed closely behind him, with twenty more staff members in tow.

"Who called for me?" he asked in a polite tone, his deep voice cutting through the tension.

A waiter stepped forward, leaned in, and whispered something into his ear, pointing discreetly at the man vomiting into tissues.

Zavier walked over with a professional smile and said, "Ah, Junior Duke Timothy Ruthann, isn’t it? Is there a problem with your order?"

His voice was so pleasant that if the other guests had heard it mid-meal, it would’ve only enhanced their appetite.

Timothy wiped his mouth, spat the last of the food into a tissue, and tossed it onto the tray beside him.

He spoke with an exaggerated flair, "Throw them out. They clearly don’t match the class of this hotel. And that man—" he gestured toward Shelby, "—he rinsed his mouth at the table. So unappetizing. Oh, my poor stomach..."

Even his anger was laced with performance.

When Zavier didn’t respond, Timothy raised his voice, "Chef, it’s your kitchen. Throw them out!"

Zavier’s smile vanished.

"You spoiled little brat," he snapped, voice hard as steel. "Get the hell out of my kitchen. No—don’t ever set foot in this hotel again."

Gasps rippled through the staff. Zavier was known for his calm and cultured demeanor. None had ever seen him lose composure, let alone raise his voice.

The same was true for the Junior Duke. As a frequent guest, Timothy had long treated the hotel as his personal estate. Even the hotel president showed him courtesy.

Now, wide-eyed and confused, Timothy pointed to himself. "Are you talking to me? Shouldn’t you be throwing them out?"

"I said get out! Why are you still here?" Zavier thundered.

Two large bodyguards in black suits entered and, without a word, lifted the Jr. Duke from his chair.

"They’re the ones! Why are you throwing me out?" Timothy screeched, struggling against their grip. "I’ll burn this hotel to the ground! Let me go!"

But it was too late. The doors closed behind him.

Silence fell over the mess hall, thick and unbroken.

Chef Zavier walked to Shelby’s table, bowed slightly, and said, "Please accept my deepest apologies for the disturbance. Such behavior will not be tolerated again under my watch."

Shelby leaned back and smiled. "Zavier, where’s our food? I’m very disappointed."

The chef stiffened. "Mr. Shelby, I assure you—"

Shelby cut in, "Are you talking about the annoying fly you just threw out? We don’t care about him. We came for food. Why are we still waiting?"

Zavier blinked, then bowed once more. "Of course. Forgive me."

He spun toward the kitchen, shouting, "Why are you all standing there? Get your asses back to the kitchen!"

Within moments, the staff returned bearing large platters piled high with steaming food—mostly meats—filling the room with rich, mouth-watering aromas.

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