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... blinked at her, still chewing. His expression had gone from cautious to stunned in the span of two seconds.
"It’s just... potato," he said slowly. "Fried potato. How is it—"
"Salt," Elara interrupted. "Precise temperature control. Starch content. It’s not complicated."
Another administrator reached for the layered bun—hesitant, curious. She lifted the top carefully, examining the contents like she was inspecting a suspicious contract.
"What’s inside this?"
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