"...Oh, they're done with the installation."
On the way back from the supermarket, I had detoured to the district handling daily necessities. I picked up a few basic tools and some tableware, including a Generic Heating Plate—essentially an induction cooktop. By the time I returned to the ship with a mountain of retort-pouch meals, feeling like I was finally starting a proper life here, something had changed in the corner of the bridge.
Against the wall where there had once been nothing but bare metal, a brand-new stainless steel sink unit now took pride of place.
It seemed the contractors had finished up and left nothing but a completion report. Well, it was a new life, in a sense.
"Let's see here..."
I set my bags down and tapped the sink’s console.
It was a simple touch panel with controls for water supply, drainage, and temperature. As I slid the temperature bar, the numbers climbed: 40, 60, 80... then finally, "100°C."
"Heh. Boiling water straight from the faucet, huh?"
The concept was new to me, but I liked it. It reminded me of a friend from my previous life who used to brag about his water server subscription, claiming he could make cup noodles in seconds because he didn't have to wait for a kettle. It was like a high-tech version of the old water heaters you’d find in a grandmother’s kitchen.
I tried dispensing a cup’s worth as a test. The water blasted out of the faucet, sending up a thick plume of steam.
"...It’s civilization."
I practically trembled with emotion.
With this, I no longer had to risk electrocution using my jury-rigged kettle. I didn't even have to worry about my sodium levels if I wanted to dump out the soup from my noodles. Because now, I could actually pour it down a drain.
Above all, I now had access to hot meals and warm drinks whenever I wanted. I hadn't looked for them this time, but I should definitely stock up on luxury items like coffee or tea soon.
"Now then, time to try the curry."
From the mountain of food I’d purchased, I pulled out a package of Oriental Flavor Co. Space Curry (with Rice).
I checked the back of the box. It supported several heating methods: three minutes at 600W in a microwave, or fifteen minutes in a boiling water bath. The curry was the type where you heated the entire pouch as-is, much like the ready-made udon or hot pots they sell back home.
I probably could have just soaked it in the sink's hot water, but if the temperature dipped, the heat would be uneven. To ensure the best possible meal, I refused to compromise.
"...Sorry, sink," I said, patting the newly installed unit. "Your hot water feature is great, but the star of the show today is this guy."
I set the Tabletop Heating Plate I’d just bought onto the console with a heavy thud. I filled a pot with water and flipped the switch.
"Curry comes first. There will be plenty of other chances to use the faucet, so just bear with me for a minute."
While apologizing to the plumbing, I waited for the water to boil. Once it reached a rolling boil, I submerged the retort package. The pouch was similar to those used for frozen pasta—opaque, sealed tight with a thin layer of metal.
"...Fifteen minutes have elapsed. Heating is complete."
Right on Lucia's cue, I pulled the pouch out.
"Hot, hot, hot..." I muttered, pinching the edge with my fingertips.
Wait... it was only a little warm. Normally, it would be hot enough to leave a burn, yet I only felt a mild heat on my skin. Was some kind of Environmental Damage Mitigation perk taking effect? It was a subtle benefit, but certainly a handy one for cooking.
"Open."
I tore the seal at the notch. Instantly, a spicy aroma filled the bridge.
"...Oh."
It passed the smell test.
It was a junk-food, chemical scent—a mix of synthetic fragrances mimicking cumin, coriander, and turmeric, blended with that sharp, pungent sting unique to preservatives. But compared to the sterile, inorganic atmosphere of the supermarket, it smelled like real curry.
As expected, curry never betrays you. It seemed that even as humanity ventured into the stars, this specific aroma had been preserved.
The pouch was partitioned at the two-thirds mark, with the rice section ready to go. The problem, however, was the rice itself.
"............"
I stared at the "white thing" in silence.
It was square. A perfect cuboid.
The "flat" look on the package's photo hadn't been a marketing trick. There were no grains. Not a single one. It was just a white, glossy, quivering, soap-like lump.
"...Lucia. What is this?"
"According to the label, it is rice."
"The rice I know doesn't look like a block of tofu."
My bad premonition had solidified into a certainty. But the smell was still curry. Once it was mixed with the roux, it might transform into something better. I gripped my spoon tight.
"I-I'm digging in."
I licked a bit of the roux first.
...It was good. A little powdery, perhaps, but unmistakably curry. The spice hit was solid. The heavy chemical scent was a bit of a downer, but it tasted like a "stewed dish." Whether it had actually been stewed was a mystery I decided not to solve.
"Alright, the roux is fine. Now for the main event."
I thrust the tip of my spoon into the white cuboid.
Thump.
I felt resistance. It wasn't the light, airy sensation of scooping rice. It was a uniform, dense resistance, like cutting into firm pudding or freeze-dried tofu. The portion on my spoon didn't crumble; it just jiggled.
Bracing myself, I coated the lump in plenty of roux and shoved it into my mouth.
"...!"
The moment it hit my tongue, the curry flavor exploded. Delicious. But then the texture arrived, and my brain's processing started to glitch.
Squish. Chew.
"...What is this?"
It wasn't rice. It wasn't mochi, either. It was an unidentified elasticity, like high-density agar mixed with wet cardboard and compressed. When I tried to bite through it, it just squelched and slid away from my teeth. No matter how much I chewed, no sweetness of rice emerged. There was only the flavor of inorganic starch.
"...According to the manufacturer's data," Lucia read flatly, "that white block is 'Rice-style Carbohydrate Gel.' It is a compound of starch and dietary fiber, processed specifically for maximum digestion and absorption efficiency."
"...Gel, huh?"
I set the spoon down. An unpleasant, bouncy sensation lingered in my mouth.
But I could swallow it. Why? Because the curry was just that good. The sauce was a powerhouse; it forcibly overwhelmed the "badness" of the gel and escorted it down my throat.
"...Curry really is incredible," I muttered, caught between admiration and despair. "It can take a rubbery lump like this and make it pass as 'something curry-flavored.' Its inclusiveness is truly galaxy-class."
"You are being quite positive, Master."
"But you know..." I glared at the white cuboid. "This isn't 'curry rice.' This is 'an eraser covered in curry.'"
I finished the rest of the gel as if it were a chore, forcing it into my stomach. My belly was full. I had the calories. The taste (thanks to the sauce) wasn't half bad.
But there was still a hole in my heart that wouldn't be filled.
I wondered for a second if I should just buy the roux and put it on something else... but intentionally throwing away food went against my code. If it wasn't poison, I'd eat it. That was my pride.
Granted, whether this actually qualified as "food" was debatable, and if I hit my mental limit, I might have to reconsider. But I was okay for now. Besides, even if this store didn't have it, maybe someone else sold just the roux.
I put the rest of the supplies back into the container. It was too early to eat everything and fall into despair. I couldn't spend my life just eating and sleeping anyway.
"...Back to work, Lucia."
I stood up.
"This is just a frontier mining colony. Maybe cultural dining just hasn't reached this place yet."
In a universe this vast, there had to be systems with more variety. Planets near massive agricultural plants or resort worlds must have real ingredients—or at least more popular, delicious diners. I wasn't looking for a high-end "Adjuster" shop; I wanted a greasy spoon with some heat and character.
"In the next system, I'm going to find a place like that. Which means we need to get out of here."
"Understood. Shall I search for contracts involving long-range navigation?"
"Yeah, please. ...Actually, don't limit it to contracts."
The Sperm Whale was a transport ship with plenty of cargo space, and I finally had some capital. I didn't need to wait for someone to hire me. I could buy things that looked good or profitable and sell them elsewhere.
The classic "trading play."
When I was broke, the risk was too high, but with my current bank account, I could afford a few losses. Traveling the stars in search of good food while making some pocket change on the side... it wasn't a bad plan at all.
"Boot up the Trade Computer. Let's scrub the market data for neighboring systems and see what they're short on. ...Let's move, Lucia."
"Yes, Master. This is the perfect time to utilize my Trade Market Correction. My market forecasting is at your disposal."
We turned our focus toward the stars and the new routes waiting for us.