"...Gods...!"
"Thank you! Thank you so much...!"
Clutching the 'Compressed Food Blocks' distributed from the cargo containers, the elderly and children alike—all clad in tattered rags—broke into tears.
To them, these were surely sacred rations, a literal lifeline.
To me, however, they were something else entirely.
"...I have mixed feelings about this," I muttered, letting out a small sigh as I helped with the distribution.
In my previous life, I had been a member of the cooking staff at a small diner.
I wasn't the owner or the head chef—just a guy in the corner of the kitchen tossing pans and slinging orders. I rarely ever heard a word of gratitude directly from the customers.
Even so, the simple fact that I was providing "good food" had been my one small point of pride.
Now, I was providing food and being showered with thanks. I was even being treated like a hero.
But I couldn't just accept this. Those tasteless, solid blocks weren't food—they were nothing more than fodder.
"Master, your vital signs are unstable. You appear to be experiencing stress in response to the residents' expressions of gratitude."
"...Yeah. I just can't wrap my head around it."
I worked the console, remotely unlocking a compartment hidden deep within the cargo room.
"Lucia, let’s bring out that."
"By 'that,' do you mean...? All official relief supplies have already been unloaded."
"It's my personal property. Listen, did you really think I spent that entire one-million-credit down payment back at Asteria on nothing but miscellaneous jamming weapons and drones for picking up scrap?"
I let out a smirk.
In truth, I had poured the remainder—no, the vast majority—of that advance into buying one specific item.
The hatch hissed open, and along with a blast of frigid air, a single container slid forward.
It wasn't a food-grade unit. It was a rugged, industrial-style container meant for cooling heavy machinery.
High-end containers designed for fresh produce were exorbitantly expensive, but I could just barely afford one that only had the bare-minimum "cooling" function. I’d overclocked the output settings to their limit, forcibly rigging an industrial cooler to function as a freezer.
"The contents are... 'Cultured Muscle Fiber Blocks'?"
"Bingo. Dirt-cheap meat at a unit price of half a credit per kilogram. But right here, right now, this stuff is more valuable than diamonds."
I hauled the frozen mass of meat out of the container and surveyed our surroundings.
Among the mountains of rubble sat the wreckage of a half-destroyed armored vehicle. I deployed one of my recovery drones and used its laser cutter to slice a section of the armor plating into a reasonably sized sheet.
"Hey, you over there! Fire! Get a fire going!" I barked instructions at the stunned refugees.
They gathered pieces of rubble to burn and set the makeshift iron plate on top.
A primitive griddle was ready.
I greased the heated metal with a generous amount of 'Synthetic Cooking Oil' I’d brought along—another cheap bulk buy.
Sizzle!
The fat popped and hissed, and a plume of white smoke rose into the air. I laid out the sliced cultured meat with a flourish.
The only seasonings I had were salt and pepper. Simple is best—or rather, that was all I had to work with.
"Listen up! This stuff is tough! It's got the texture of a rubber boot! But!"
The scent of roasting meat wafted out.
The savory, mouth-watering aroma of charred fat began to drift through the camp, cutting through the omnipresent stench of death and gunpowder.
Children who had been gnawing on their compressed food blocks looked up. The adults collective swallowed hard, their throats bobbing.
"It’s hot, it’s greasy, and it sticks to your ribs! This is what food is supposed to be!"
I used a pair of workshop pliers as tongs, grabbing the seared meat and piling it onto the "plates"—more scraps of salvaged metal—offered up by the refugees.
"Neither of us is in a position to be picky today. Make do with this!"
A young boy timidly took a bite. His eyes practically bulged out of his head.
"...It's... it's hot...!"
"Meat... it tastes like real meat...!"
I couldn't help but let out a wry smile at that. This stuff is an industrial product grown in a vat, I wanted to say, but I kept the words to myself.
Cheers began to erupt all around us.
To be honest, the quality of the meat was bottom-tier. The fibers were stringy and tough, and the flavor profile was entirely carried by the seasoning.
But what these people needed right now wasn't a nutritionally balanced block. It was the calories, the heat, and the sense of satisfaction that made them feel glad to be alive.
"Master, I detect dilation of the pupils and a rise in body temperature. You and the residents alike... everyone has an expression of 'happiness' that defies quantification."
Lucia spoke with an air of exasperation, but her expression had softened, if only a little.
"Hah. I guess this is what they call the true reward of being the cooking staff."
I flipped more meat on the griddle.
Beyond the rising smoke, the people's smiles were radiant.
Yeah, this wasn't bad. If it was to see this, one million credits was a bargain.
And so, the Sperm Whale's daring raid on the Ignis System concluded with a massive barbecue.
In the end, cooking is only worth it when you can see the smiles. I finally managed to pull off a proper(?) "food porn" moment.
If you enjoyed this and want to see more, please hit that "★" button!
It might just help Akito’s dinner tomorrow get a little bit of an upgrade. Thanks for reading!