The rush of adrenaline from the near-miss at Flavor Bloom Cafe lingered in Leo's veins for hours. Even safely back in his apartment, the casual accusation, "Could this be him?!" echoed in his ears. His palms still felt clammy. This wasn't just online speculation anymore; it was real people, real faces, and a real, terrifying threat to the quiet life he cherished.
Leo: (Muttering to himself, pacing his small living room) "This is getting out of hand. Completely out of hand."
Sam, sprawled on Leo's worn armchair, looked unusually serious. Sam: "Yeah, it is. Look, I don't know what you were thinking, showing up there. That was dumb, man. Super dumb."
Leo: (Stopping, turning to face Sam) "I know! I just... I needed to see. And she was challenging me."
Sam: "She was baiting you! And it worked. Good thing you have a genius best friend who can act like a buffoon on demand." He managed a weak grin, but his eyes were still worried. Sam: "You can't keep doing this, Leo. At some point, someone's going to get lucky. Or you're going to make a mistake."
Leo sank onto the sofa, burying his face in his hands. Leo: "What am I supposed to do? Stop? Just... abandon PalatePilot? After all that?"
Sam: "No, not stop. But maybe... change tactics? Lay low for a bit? Go back to reviewing, like, obscure condiment factories only you care about?"
Leo almost laughed, a strained sound. Leo: "I just helped Umi's. I found The Tea Leaf Corner. People are actually listening. How can I just stop?"
Meanwhile, across the city, Valeria reviewed the meager footage from "Taste Test Tuesday." No "PalatePilot." Just a lot of overly eager fans and one surprisingly loud young man dragging his friend away. A flicker of frustration crossed her face. The "Phantom Palate" had, once again, proven elusive. But this only sharpened her resolve. She clicked open a new document, the title stark against the white screen: "Operation: Unmask the Palate." Her next move would be more direct, less an invitation, more an investigation.
Leo spent the next few days in a self-imposed lockdown, venturing out only for necessities, and even then, with a heightened sense of paranoia. His notebook remained closed. The thought of writing felt distant, overshadowed by the constant hum of anxiety. He scrolled through social media, seeing the lingering buzz about "PalatePilot" and even a few posts wondering why the critic had been silent since the "Taste Test Tuesday" challenge. The pressure was suffocating.
One evening, staring out his window at the city lights, Leo felt a familiar ache in his chest, not from fear, but from a deeper, quieter yearning. He missed the simple joy of discovery, the thrill of translating taste into words. He missed that connection to the food, untainted by public scrutiny. His gaze fell upon a forgotten, half-eaten box of his favorite obscure chocolate bar on his desk. It wasn't gourmet. It wasn't viral. It was just... comfort.
A new kind of review, perhaps. Not for the public, not for a trending cafe. But for himself. A return to basics. A way to reclaim the quiet joy of being PalatePilot, even if just for a moment. The hunt was on, but maybe, just maybe, he could find solace in the very thing that made him famous.