The Sperm Whale entered the gravitational well of the industrial system, Hephaestus. Beyond the viewport stretched a sooty, ash-gray planet, its orbit choked by a sprawling network of massive factory plants.
Calling it beautiful would have been a lie. Yet, the exhaust heat and gases belching from the chimneys, coupled with the swarms of transport ships buzzing to and fro, gave the system a sense of raw, industrial power.
"Environmental scan complete. Atmospheric pollution levels exceed warning thresholds. Dust concentration: extremely high. Residential recommendation: Rank D-minus," Lucia reported, her evaluation as flat as it was scathing.
"...And we’re down," I muttered, initiating the landing sequence for the dock.
Unlike the polished, sophisticated airlocks of the Transaction Hub, the docks here were caked in soot, with oil stains clinging to every surface like stubborn shadows. The air felt a bit gritty, but I didn't mind. It was the smell of iron and hard labor. The diner where I used to work had been a paradise for laborers, after all.
"Now then, time for unloading and some business..."
I glanced at the monitor in the cargo room. On the screen, the three salvaged pirate ships were being swarmed by maintenance drones. At the center of the chaos, a small figure stood directing the work.
"...Uh, Mina?" I called out tentatively over the intercom.
Mina, her fingers flying across a terminal at high speed, whipped around to face the camera. Her eyes were bloodshot.
『...What? I’m recalculating the energy distribution for the second ship's generator right now. Don’t talk to me.』
An intimidating, almost ghastly aura seemed to radiate from her back. No matter how much of a genius engineer she was, there was no way she could fully repair three ships that were little more than scrap metal during a few hours of transit. This wasn't her primary job; I’d intended to hire a local contractor and just eat the fee, but...
"No, I was just thinking I should call for some help if it's too much—"
『Don’t you dare touch them! This wiring is my art! If anyone else sticks their hands in there, the balance will be ruined! I’ll have them flight-ready in half a day, so just stay out of my way!』
Click. The connection cut out. ...Yeah, I should probably leave her be. Stepping into a craftsman’s sanctuary was a good way to get killed. Still, if we made a decent profit, I’d look into buying her some high-spec maintenance support drones.
Leaving Mina to her work, Lucia and I headed into the city. First, we delivered our primary contract—the 'Precision Equipment Parts'—and then we made our way through the streets to sell the 'Alcohol, Tobacco, and Entertainment Data' ourselves.
"Whoa! Is this that brand exclusive to the Transaction Hub?!"
"I’ve been waiting for this! The synthetic swill they sell around here tastes like literal fuel!"
As expected, the laborers welcomed us with open arms. The entertainment data chips, in particular, sold like wildfire. For men engaged in such grueling physical labor, the glamorous sights and sounds of other star systems were clearly the ultimate form of escapancy.
Thanks to Lucia’s flawless market analysis, we managed to sell our stock at twenty percent above market price—and for certain items, even thirty percent.
Combined with the official reward from the transport request, we had cleared a profit of nearly four million credits on this one-way trip alone. The six million we made on Ignis had been an outlier, and while this might have seemed small compared to our final goal, it was still a massive sum of money.
"...That was a piece of cake."
"It was a legitimate commercial transaction based on the appropriate matching of supply and demand," Lucia corrected.
With my pockets heavy with credits and my work done, a comfortable fatigue settled over my shoulders. That meant there was only one thing left to do.
"Alright, let's find some food."
I turned into the back alleys of the port district. I found the place I was looking for almost immediately. Instead of traditional red lanterns, a grimy storefront featured flickering red neon tubes. The sign read: Kurogane Diner – Original Industrial District Black.
"...Ramen...!"
I stopped in my tracks. Ramen. It wasn't just a bowl of noodles in soup.
It was the multi-layered umami of the broth, the sharp bite of the seasoning, the richness of the fats, the hydration and cook of the noodles, and the delicate balance of the toppings. It was a dish that only truly succeeded when every element harmonized within the microcosm of a bowl—it was, in truth, an incredibly complex and delicate cuisine.
Could some old man in a rough shop caked in oil and soot actually pull off that kind of work? Or would I be served salty mud water? A bad bowl of ramen is a tragedy. I felt a genuine surge of anxiety.
But... the scent of boiling fat and garlic, mixed with the aroma of scorched soy sauce tickling my nose, crushed my logic. I wanted it. I wanted ramen!
I ducked through the noren with a burst of hunger. Inside, steam, heat, and an even more intense smell punched me in the face. The customers were all brawny men in grease-stained work clothes, every one of them wordlessly shoveling food into their mouths.
"Welcome! What can I get ya!"
"I'll take your most popular dish."
I gave my order to the stubborn-looking old man and claimed a stool at the corner of the counter. A few minutes later, with a heavy thud, the bowl was set before me.
"...Ohh."
The sound escaped my lips before I could stop it. The soup was pitch black. A jet-black void that could have been mistaken for waste oil. Piled on top was a mountain of boiled vegetables that looked like bean sprouts and thick, heavy slices of chashu. It was a violent heap of "black" and "bulk."
I scooped up some broth with the porcelain spoon and took a sip.
"...Guh—!"
A saltiness that felt like a physical blow struck me, followed by a unique, scorched soy sauce aroma.
However, this wasn't real brewed soy sauce. There was no way authentic soy sauce, made by fermenting soybeans and wheat, could be served at a price like this.
And yet, it wasn't just salt water. What was this complex umami and sweetness clinging to my tongue?
"Old man, what’s in this black soup? This isn't just regular soy sauce."
I couldn't help but ask.
"Oh, you noticed? That’s a special 'Soy Sauce-style Seasoning Liquid.' I take vegetable protein amino acids and dump in a secret blend of flavorings. I’m proud to say it’s cheaper and stronger than the real thing."
"The real thing, huh. Do you even know what genuine brewed soy sauce tastes like?"
Real soy sauce wasn't the kind of luxury an ordinary person ever encountered. When I asked with a bit of a smirk, the old man grinned and slapped his stockpot.
"Once, a long time ago. A smuggled barrel broke open, and I licked what spilled onto the floor. ...I'll never forget that scent."
I couldn't tell if he was joking, but his answer was strangely persuasive. This old man actually knew. If it was out there, it could be found. That was excellent news.
"I see, seasoning liquid..."
Under normal circumstances, it would have been cheap swill, unfit for consumption. But by adding massive amounts of back fat, garlic, and MSG, it had been transformed into a violent broth that directly stimulated the brain of a worker exhausted by labor. It was a brute-force deliciousness that spat in the face of delicacy.
Next, I turned to the chashu. The thick slices felt heavy as I lifted them with my chopsticks. I took a bite.
"...Right. I see."
The fibers came apart, but the texture was unnaturally uniform. This was a cultured meat block. The muscle fibers were too perfectly aligned, and the fatty sections were actually a gelatinous fat that had been injected afterward.
It lacked the complex elasticity and the natural sweetness of real meat. However, that was more than made up for by the way it had been simmered in that jet-black soy-style sauce.
As I chewed, the concentrated sauce and artificial fat seeped out from the meat fibers, and the intense salt and umami ran wild in my mouth. This wasn't a "meat dish." It was a "sponge meant for delivering sauce." But that was exactly what made the noodles so addictive.
It was a clever approach. Rather than trying to hide the flaws of the ingredients by pretending to be high-class, there was an honesty in embracing the junkiness and turning it into flavor.
I felt like I could learn more from a place like this than from the refined cuisine of a high-tech planet.
I slurped the noodles—thick strands stained brown by the soup. They were crumbly and lacked the scent of wheat—a pure mass of carbohydrates—but they were rugged enough to hold up against the rich soup and greasy chashu.
I devoured the meat. I devoured the noodles. And then, I reached the crunchy vegetables.
"Old man, one more question. These vegetables are great too. Where do you get them?"
They looked like bean sprouts, but they weren't watery; they had a powerful, earthy taste. In this heavy soup, they were the only thing providing a moment of clarity.
"Oh, those? They’re the sprouts of 'Heat-resistant Ivy' that grows around the factory exhaust pipes. They’re basically weeds, but they’re edible if you boil the hell out of 'em."
"Huh..."
The flora of an industrial system was certainly resilient. But that wild, rustic flavor was the perfect foil for the greasy soup. I wondered if I could get my hands on some.
Actually, I’d love to grow them myself... but doing that on the ship would require soil and specialized knowledge. I didn't have the expertise yet.
"Lucia, do you want some? ...No, I guess that’s impossible."
"With my current chassis configuration, it is impossible. However, if the optional 'Taste Sensor Unit' were implemented, the intake of organic matter and the analysis of taste data would be possible. ...Strictly speaking, it is merely a possibility."
Lucia looked from my face to the ramen and back, speaking with a certain weight to her words. ...I see. So that was how she begged for upgrades.
But a sensor unit wouldn't be enough. It would probably require an Organic Conversion Furnace to process the food, among other modifications.
Between agricultural production units and Lucia’s taste sensor, my list of expensive goals was getting longer.
"Phew... I feel alive again."
It wasn't a work of art. But for my body right now, it was better than anything else in the galaxy.
I finished the bowl with single-minded focus and downed the glass of cold water in one go. I paid the surprisingly small bill and stepped out of the shop.
The air outside was as sooty as ever, but even that felt pleasant now.
"Now then, I should get a souvenir for Mina."
She was probably still fighting with the ships. With a sweet synthetic canned coffee in hand, I began the walk back to the Sperm Whale.