I've finally caught up to the Kakuyomu release with this chapter...
Silence filled the Sperm Whale as it pushed deeper into the Vol Ga Do Reef Sector, a stillness so profound it made the recent battle feel like a fever dream.
Outside the viewports, a magnetic storm raged with violent intensity. Yet, within the eye of that storm, the ship remained an island of tranquility.
While Lucia maintained control over normal navigation, she was currently occupied with a large-scale "reorganization" of her internal system architecture. During the previous engagement, her processing had been marred by a noticeable lag caused by "emotional noise." To resolve this, simply deleting the emotional data would be self-defeating. Instead, she was implementing a mode-switching protocol. When linked to the fire-control system, the priority of her "sensory processing driver" would automatically drop to a minimum.
"...Phew. Finally, things have settled down."
I made my way to the break area.
There, Emulgand—his face still a sickly shade of pale—sat trembling, his hands wrapped tightly around a cup of hot, dark coffee. Professor Stein sat opposite him, his legs elegantly crossed.
"...I still can't believe it," Emulgand muttered like a man in a daze. "Taking on a fleet like that without a single escort..."
"A transport ship is supposed to be... well, it’s supposed to sneak along safe routes, hidden away behind a protective escort fleet, isn't it?"
"Hmm. Indeed, that would be the case for an ordinary transport vessel," the Professor replied, sipping his tea with an air of scholarly wisdom. "But you see, Emulgand-kun, hiring an escort is a massive expense in its own right. If you utilize a Regular Army escort, your profits become negligible, depending on the cargo. On the other hand, if you hire from a cheap Private Military Company or the Mercenary Guild, you risk them being in league with pirates, or simply fleeing the moment the tide turns against them."
"That is why transport ships usually travel in large convoys to share the burden of protection."
"Exactly! That's why this ship makes no sense!"
"Then there is the issue of cargo capacity," Stein continued. "Back when I was a novice, I once packed so many precious samples into a ship that the captain begged me in tears. He said, 'Professor, if we load anything else, the generator output will be entirely consumed by the engines! We won't be able to hold the shields! If pirates find us, we'll be vaporized instantly!'"
The Professor narrowed his eyes, looking nostalgic.
"A transport ship is, by nature, a fragile creature defined by the trade-off between cargo capacity and defensive power. But this ship is an anomaly." He gestured vaguely toward the deck, acknowledging the massive generator humming deep within the hull. "Excessive power output, shields and armaments on par with a military cruiser... all at the cost of the cargo space that should be his livelihood. The master of this ship is a man who values freedom, his life, and his dining table above all else. He is a rational madman."
Stein paused, scanning the room. "...Having said that, the ship's thrust remains exceptionally stable, and the cargo blocks don't seem nearly as cramped as they should be. I haven't heard of spatial expansion technology becoming practical yet, but... truly, this vessel defies all common sense."
"Doesn't sound much like a compliment to me," I grunted.
Ignoring the Professor’s lecture, I moved to the kitchenette and began preparing a midnight snack. Emulgand’s exhausted stomach needed the comfort of a warm soup more than it needed logic.
I reached for a "baguette-like thing" I’d bought when I first met the Professor. It had been sitting in storage, nearly forgotten. It had a lovely, golden-brown crust, but it was currently as hard as a brick. Bread in this era was primarily made from synthetic starch derived from alternative grains. It was fine when fresh, but once it cooled, it deteriorated rapidly, turning into a rock within hours.
I had plenty of fresh bread and produce in the "Class 3 Freshness Preservation Freezer" the Professor had brought aboard, perfectly preserved in their freshly baked state. Using those would have been easier, but I decided to deal with this "stale stock" instead. Even rock-hard bread can be transformed if you know how to treat it.
Still, that freezer was a godsend. I really did owe the Professor for that one.
I sliced the stone-like bread into thick rounds, slathered them with butter, and toasted them. Meanwhile, in a pot, I slowly sautéed some sliced "Pseudo-Onions" until they turned a deep, translucent amber. They were a native plant from some frontier world; the fibers were a bit tough, but aside from their astronomical price, they were practically identical to real onions. When heated, they released a wonderful sweetness.
Next, I added "Instant Consommé"—another high-end luxury item—blended with synthetic meat extracts and aromatic herb powders. I seasoned it with salt and pepper to taste. Real bouillon was worth more than its weight in gold in this corner of the universe, so a chef had to make do with what was available.
...I started to worry about what my diet would look like once I finally dropped the Professor off.
I poured the soup into heat-resistant cocotte dishes and floated the toasted bread on top. Finally, I added a mountain of grated cheese and slid them into the oven.
A few minutes later, the air was filled with the savory aroma of melting fat and toasted crust.
"Sorry to keep you waiting. It’s a bit early for a meal, but let's call it a midnight snack."
I placed the piping hot dishes on the table. Inside, the amber soup bubbled around the thick rounds of bread, now topped with a blanket of gooey, golden-brown cheese.
"...What is this?"
"Onion gratin soup. It’s easy on the stomach and good for warming the bones."
I dipped a spoon in, scooping up a piece of the bread—now soft and saturated with broth—along with a string of melted cheese. "Careful, it’s hot."
Emulgand took a timid bite. "...Hafuh! It's... h-hot...! Mmm..."
There was no need to even chew. The bread, once so hard it could have been a weapon, had soaked up the soup like a sponge, releasing a burst of savory flavor the moment it hit his tongue. The concentrated sweetness of the Pseudo-Onions merged with the salty richness of the cheese and the deep, slightly "junk food" umami of the consommé. It slid down his throat, a wave of heat that felt like it was healing him from the inside out.
The dryness and hardness were gone. In their place was a gentle, powerful sense of satisfaction.
"...It’s so good. And so warm..."
Tears began to well up in Emulgand’s eyes. The tension that had kept his body rigid with fear finally began to bleed away, and the color returned to his cheeks. A warm meal has a unique way of affirming one's will to survive.
"Hmm. I was momentarily appalled to see bread kept outside of the freshness field," the Professor remarked, blowing on a spoonful of soup, "but to think a lump of synthetic starch could be transformed into such a delicacy... truly fascinating."
I placed another dish onto a small serving drone.
"Lucia, take this down to the cargo room. Mina vanished the second the spoils were brought aboard."
"Understood, Master. Given her nature, she has likely already begun her analysis of the Interdictor’s wreckage."
Knowledge over hunger, I suppose. It was the mark of a true engineer, but I still wished she’d eat the damn thing before it got cold. I could already see her rat ears twitching as she dug into the hot soup.
Finally, I held out the last dish to Lucia.
"This one’s yours."
"...For me?"
"I treated you like a piece of hardware during the battle, but this is break time. You got those sensors so you could enjoy food, didn't you?"
Lucia blinked, then reached out to take the dish with careful, polite fingers. She scooped up a piece of the soaked bread. Steam rose from the spoon, brushing against her pale skin. She took a bite.
"..."
She froze. The bread, which had been cold and hard, was now a warm, flavorful mass that melted in her mouth. Her new circuits "affirmed" the sensation.
"...It is warm," she whispered. "The true nature of the 'heat' that clouded my judgment during combat... When it is not aggressive energy, but rather thermal volume taken into the body like this... it is quite pleasant."
"Isn't it? That’s what it means to be alive."
I started on my own portion. It lacked the delicate nuances of real wheat or fresh vegetables, but the warmth and the sweetness I’d coaxed out of the ingredients were real. On a journey through the freezing void of space, a bowl like this reminded us that we were still human.
Then, Lucia looked up from her soup.
"Master. I have confirmed a break in the magnetic storm ahead. Our destination is now visible."
Her tone was calm as ever, yet there was a faint, bright resonance to her voice.
We looked out the viewport. Beyond the raging purple clouds of the storm, a pocket of silence had opened up like the eye of a typhoon.
Floating there was a massive, jagged silhouette—a gargantuan hunk of steel born from the chaotic fusion of countless shipwrecks, discarded station modules, and hollowed-out asteroids. It was a space-age Kowloon Walled City, its surface a maze of additions and renovations, with light spilling out from a thousand mismatched windows.
The Neutral Station Oasis.
A lawless sanctuary that welcomed criminals, fugitives, and gourmets alike—as long as they had the credits to pay.
"...We’re here."
I finished the last of my soup and stood up.
"Alright, break’s over. Prepare for docking. The good fish is waiting for us just past this pit stop."
Onion gratin soup always feels like a Christmas menu item to me. If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider leaving a '★'! It might just help Akito's next dinner get a little upgrade. Thank you for reading!