Sylvara's Rebirth A New Dawn for Abel novel Chapter 103

**Chapter 103: Hustling at Mealtime**

Aslan hastily set aside his fork, his eagerness palpable as he darted across the kitchen.

Sylvara, with a determined glint in her eye, ignited a new pan, pouring in a generous amount of oil. The sizzling sound filled the air, a prelude to the feast that was about to unfold.

Just three to five minutes later, she triumphantly scooped out the freshly made beef balls, their golden crust glistening in the light.

Two hefty slabs of beef had yielded a staggering hundred meatballs, and Aslan could hardly contain his excitement. The aroma wafting through the room was intoxicating, igniting his inner foodie with an insatiable hunger.

As the last batch was finished, Sylvara nimbly dodged around the kitchen, bowl in hand, and retrieved a lunchbox from her spatial button. She left a mere twenty meatballs in the basin, packing the rest into the container with swift, practiced movements.

Aslan’s heart sank as he froze, his hand still raised in anticipation. Turning to Malcolm, he protested, “Dean, look at this! You adore Sylvara, and now she’s hoarding all the good stuff!”

Malcolm shot him a sidelong glance, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. Sylvara, with a quick snap of the lid, approached Malcolm, extending the lunchbox toward him. “Mr. Knowles, please store these in your spatial button. Later, you can drop a few into soup, or simply enjoy them as they are.”

Malcolm’s white beard twitched with mirth. He diverted his gaze from Aslan, took the box, and slid it into his own spatial button. “The kid’s thoughtful. Unlike some, who freeload and can’t seem to keep their mouths shut.”

Aslan was left speechless, a wave of frustration washing over him. He hadn’t even had a single bite yet, but he was the target of endless complaints.

Sylvara returned, adjusting the heat on the pots containing BBQ stewed pork and braised brisket.

The oil from earlier was now half hot, bubbling invitingly. She brought over a bowl of pork paste and began frying the meatballs, the sound of sizzling filling the air.

The tantalizing scent of frying food drifted far and wide, wrapping around the Culinary Department like a warm embrace.

Several nearby programs were tortured by the mouthwatering aroma. One by one, their thoughts drifted. Wasn’t the Culinary Department supposed to be devoid of students? Had Mr. Knowles emerged personally to whip up a grand feast?

But that seemed unlikely. They had been trapped in this place for three long years without ever catching a whiff of anything like this.

Fried meatballs were ready to be devoured immediately.

Yet, Sylvara kept this information to herself.

Aslan stood there, watching with wide, hungry eyes, his stomach growling in protest.

Two pounds of pork belly produced even more fried meatballs than the beef had.

This time, Aslan decided to be clever. When Sylvara pulled out another lunchbox, he swiftly grabbed a plate, scooped out a generous serving, and stuffed it into his own spatial button before she could react.

Sylvara shot him a look of pure disgust, shaking her head. She divided the remaining meatballs into three portions: one for later, one for Malcolm, and one for herself, intended for her bargain-bin husband.

With the meatballs done, she still needed to prepare eight dishes. So, she set to work, cutting a few racks of ribs, washing them, marinating them, wrapping them in foil, and sliding them into the oven.

But before his hand could reach the ladle, Malcolm tapped it away with his fork. “Hold it. I need to take a picture first.”

With such delectable food right in front of him, he wanted to take photos instead of diving in?

When had Mr. Knowles become so difficult?

Sylvara, with a hint of amusement, withdrew her hand, set up her optical computer, and aimed it at the spread. She snapped a photo, added a witty caption, and sent it straight to Agares.

Malcolm took his time, capturing full 360-degree shots of all eight dishes, even zooming in on each one to ensure he didn’t miss a detail. Only after his photographic mission was complete did he finally allow Aslan to touch a fork.

Aslan picked up a beefball and popped it into his mouth. It was delightfully bouncy and springy, with a satisfying chew that revealed no hint of gaminess.

The flavors of scallion and ginger melded seamlessly into the meat, bursting forth with a rich, savory essence that danced on his palate.

As he chewed and swallowed, he lamented how he had missed out on such culinary delights for five long years, relying only on liquid supplements.

By the time he reached for a second meatball, he was dismayed to find that Malcolm had already swept through the dishes like a hungry whirlwind, leaving barely anything behind.

Aslan raised his fork, his voice tinged with misery. “I haven’t even had a chance to eat yet, Mr. Knowles!”

Malcolm, with a satisfied belch, set down his bowl and pulled out a toothpick, casually picking his teeth. “As they say, if you don’t hustle at mealtime, you’ll miss out on everything.”