While Buhara was satisfied with any volume of roast pork, Menchi rejected every dish for lack of flavor and presentation.
A shockwave of pure pressure erupted from the swing, a blade of wind that missed the mountain man’s nose by a millimeter. It shaved the tips of his eyelashes, parting his hair with the force of a gale, and struck the steel railing behind him. The reinforced metal groaned, a deep, gouged scar appearing in the iron as if bitten by an invisible beast. hunter hunter menchi
"You're all sweating," Menchi said, her voice light, almost sing-song. She didn't turn around. She didn't need to. She could hear the shift in their stances—the grit of boots on metal, the heavy intake of breath from the examinees behind her. "Is it the altitude? Or is it the realization that you’re about to fail?" While Buhara was satisfied with any volume of
The search for Menchi had only just begun, and Kilua was ready to risk it all to taste the legendary dish for herself." The reinforced metal groaned, a deep, gouged scar