We were thirty minutes away from the debris belt at the Battlefield Site.
It was our final window for rest before we plunged into the chaos of combat and salvage operations. The crew was gathered in the dining area—which doubled as a break space—right next to the bridge.
"An army marches on its stomach. We’d better load up on calories while we still can."
"...Agreed. I’m so nervous I’m actually starving," Mina said, looking up from her maintenance manual with a nod.
I reached into the kitchen cabinet and pulled out a specific brand of cup yakisoba. The packaging was covered in bold claims: Ultra-Efficient! No-Drain, Umami-Retaining Water-Absorbing Noodles!
"So, it’s this one..." I muttered, grimacing slightly at the labels.
On paper, it sounded like a miracle of convenience. You didn't have to waste precious water by draining it, and it cut down on the prep steps. For life in deep space, it was perfectly logical.
In practice, however, it was a culinary abomination. To achieve the "no-drain" feature, the noodles were designed to absorb every drop of hot water, turning them into a bloated, mushy mass of dough. The sauce’s flavor usually got buried under the heavy starch, leaving you with the sensation of eating a bowl of sticky, savory mud. I couldn't believe someone had actually green-lit the design.
"Fortunately, I have a secret weapon this time."
I opened the makeshift refrigerator Mina and I had rigged together—think of the tiny ones you find in budget hotels—and pulled out a handful of "bean sprouts." Or, to be more accurate, the "Heat-resistant Ivy Sprouts" I’d harvested and washed earlier.
I also grabbed one more thing: a suspicious-looking tube I’d found at a grocery store back on Junk Street.
"Is that... mayonnaise?" Mina asked, looking skeptical.
"Something like that."
The label read: All-Purpose Seasoning Oil (Mayo Type).
A quick glance at the ingredients confirmed my fears: no egg yolks, no vinegar. It was nothing more than "viscous flavored oil" stabilized with emulsifiers, acidulants, and artificial flavorings. Since it was high in calories and had a massive shelf life, the package suggested it could be sucked straight from the tube as emergency rations. Utterly insane.
"On its own, this stuff is a one-way ticket to heartburn. But if we combine it with the right ingredients, it should transform into something incredible."
I started cooking.
First, I poured hot water into the cup yakisoba. The required amount was minimal, intended to be fully absorbed by the noodles. While the lid was sealed, I fired up the High-Power Stove.
Whoosh!
Blue flames licked the sides of the wok. I added a splash of oil and tossed in the ivy sprouts, stir-frying them over high heat to sear them quickly. I wanted to evaporate the excess moisture while keeping them crisp. A little salt and pepper was all they needed.
"Alright, the noodles are ready."
I peeled back the lid. As expected, the noodles had swollen to twice their original size, having sucked up every last drop of water. I stirred in the included powder sauce. The chopsticks felt heavy in my hand; the viscosity was through the roof.
Without hesitation, I piled the mountain of stir-fried ivy on top and squeezed a generous "Mayo Beam" of the seasoned oil over the whole thing. After a vigorous mixing, the dish was complete.
The Cup Yakisoba: Extra Ivy Mayo Beam.
"...The visual impact is certainly something," Mina remarked.
"Just try it. It’ll blow your mind."
We dug our forks in, twisting the noodles and ivy together before taking a bite.
"...Mnh!" Mina’s eyes widened.
The first thing to hit was the sheer, violent richness and acidity of the "mayo." It slammed into the spiciness of the powdered sauce, creating a heavy, junk-food flavor profile that sent a jolt straight to the brain.
Then came the texture. The mushy, unreliable texture of the noodles was completely saved by the "Snap! Crunch!" of the stir-fried ivy. In fact, the soft noodles acted like a sponge for the sauce, harmonizing perfectly with the juicy crispness of the sprouts.
"It’s good! Usually, these noodles feel so heavy, but the vegetables are so crunchy that I can’t stop eating!"
"Right? The oil-mayo acts as a binder, and the stir-fry oil helps the whole thing slide down."
It was a concentrated mass of calories. With every mouthful, I could feel my internal battery recharging. We were basically washing down pure carbohydrates with flavored emergency oil. It didn't have a shred of elegance, but for a body about to enter a war zone, this "fuel" was exactly what we needed.
"Component analysis complete. Warning: Excessive intake of carbohydrates and lipids detected... however, I shall prioritize the projected increase in combat efficiency due to psychological uplift," Lucia chimed in. Even she seemed to be giving us a pass, albeit an exasperated one.
We wolfed down the rest of the meal and chased it with a long drink of water. Strength surged from the pit of my stomach.
"Phew... I'm stuffed."
"Yeah. Tank's full," Mina said, patting her stomach with a satisfied grin.
Just then, the bridge alert blared.
"We will reach the destination coordinates shortly. Five minutes until entry into the debris belt."
Lucia’s voice shifted back into her professional operator tone. Our expressions sharpened instantly.
The meal was over. Now, it was time to work.
"Alright, let's move! We aren't expecting a fight, but stay on your toes!"
"Acknowledged! Generator output stable!"
"All armaments online. Deploying shields."
I vaulted into the captain’s seat. On the main screen, the "Graveyard of Iron" appeared—a vast expanse of drifting wreckage and silent hulls.
Let the treasure hunt begin.
Wait, Akito's dish name and the chapter title are different? Huh...
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