Our escort led us to the observatory restaurant located in the Management Sector on the top layer of Oasis.
Below us, a city of scrap metal forged from trash and desire glittered like a jewel box. At the far end of the room, a lone man waited at a massive round table.
"Welcome. I am 'The Spider.' ...Haha, please, don't read too much into the name. It simply happens to be my favorite thing."
The man was tall and slender, dressed in a well-tailored black suit. His smooth green skin gave off a faint, scaly shimmer under the lights. His golden eyes, slit with vertical pupils, clouded over for a fleeting second as his nictitating membranes flickered before returning to a sharp, piercing stare. The coldness inherent to a race evolved from reptiles and his long, spindly fingers left a striking impression.
Once Lucia, Professor Stein, and I took our seats, the man snapped his fingers soundlessly.
"First, we eat. I have ordered the finest dish this city can provide—one worthy of your 'military exploits.'"
A serving drone glided over, carrying a large white plate. In the center sat a square-folded crepe drizzled with a golden sauce.
An intense aroma of spices wafted from the dish. It reminded me of cumin, coriander, and turmeric, but something was off. It was sharper, a wilder scent that jabbed directly at the nostrils.
"...Ho. You've used some rare aromatic woods here," the professor remarked, his nose twitching with interest.
"It is the 'Golden Galette.' Come, please enjoy it before it cools."
As prompted, I pressed my knife into the dish. The dough was crisp and fragrant. Inside, a mixture of what seemed to be minced meat and vegetables was wrapped tightly. I coated a piece generously with the golden sauce and took a bite.
"............"
The moment it hit my tongue, a stinging heat flared up. Then, a bizarrely complex aroma exploded in my mouth. It was certainly spicy, but that was where it ended. There was no foundation of umami to support it; the spice was just a superficial irritation.
"...Your evaluation?" The Spider asked, his gaze searching.
Before I could speak, the professor wiped his mouth with a napkin and spoke with icy bluntness.
"It’s vulgar."
The air in the room froze. Unfazed, the professor continued.
"I can tell you’ve thrown a multitude of rare spices at this, but it lacks harmony. It’s nothing more than a cocktail of irritants. It stimulates the pain receptors of the tongue, but provides no 'pleasure' to the brain. ...If I were to score this, I would call it a desecration of the ingredients."
I clenched my fist under the table, focusing my mind so I could unleash a psionic shockwave at a moment's notice. I'm not great at fine-tuning my output, so if I cut loose here, I’d probably blow the whole restaurant away, but I had to be ready for the worst.
Pick a fight with the man in charge? This old guy had way too much guts.
However, The Spider’s reaction was unexpected.
"...So, it is as I feared."
Far from being angry, he slumped his shoulders in profound disappointment.
"I knew it myself. Something was missing. Something was decisively wrong."
The Spider stood up and pointed to a shelf against the wall. There, I saw a bizarre collection. Packages of "curry-flavored" instant foods and junk food gathered from across the galaxy were displayed in glass cases. Among them were products I’d relied on myself, like Oriental Flavor Co.’s 'Space Curry (with Rice)' and the 'High-Nutritional Combat Ration Type-S (Super Spicy Seafood Curry).'
"I am enchanted by the lost concept known as 'Curry,'" The Spider began, his voice taking on a passionate heat. "According to the literature, there once existed a 'Genuine Curry' that Earth Humanity was obsessed with. They say it was a magical dish—one bite would make you sweat, flood your brain with endorphins, and fill you with the vitality to live. ...I have dedicated my life to its recreation."
He lined up several small glass vials on the table, containing various colored powders and dried plants.
"Look. This is 'Zan Gala,' harvested from the Red Desert of Planet Belenus. This is 'Sil Mana,' which crystallized in the heart of a gas nebula. While they aren't the exact spices Earth Humanity consumed, I have sourced ingredients from every corner of the galaxy with similar molecular structures."
He gripped the edge of the table.
"...But no matter how I blend them, I cannot reach that 'standard of perfection' found in those instant foods!"
He was worshipping mass-produced recreations—items optimized to the limit with artificial flavors and chemical enhancers—as if they were holy scriptures. He was lost, trying to reach a destination he’d never seen using inconsistent natural spices. It was the ultimate tragedy of a wealthy, powerful otaku.
Still, as a chef, I had to respect that mad passion and the pure obsession to eat something truly delicious.
"...I see. I understand your struggle."
I sighed and looked down at the remains on my plate. The sauce was a failure. It lacked body, and the balance of sweet and sour was non-existent. They’d probably skipped the basic step of caramelizing onions entirely.
But.
What caught my eye wasn't the sauce—it was the dough. I cut off a piece of the edge that hadn't been touched by the sauce and chewed it carefully.
It was crisp. Then, a unique, rustic aroma filled my nose. This wasn't the uniform taste of synthetic starch. It had the simple, robust flavor of a grain that carried the essence of the earth.
It wasn't... exactly the same as the grain in my memory. But it was damn close.
"...Hey, Spider. This galette dough... what's it made of?"
"The dough? Oh, that’s made by grinding the seeds of a weed that grows in the cracks of the Waste Plant in the Lower Sector. The paupers call it 'Black Powder' and roll it into mud balls to eat. I thought the strong aroma would make it a good vessel for the spices."
"A weed... you say?"
My hands started to tremble.
You idiot. This isn't a weed. It grows in poor soil, survives the cold, and above all, it's the soul food no Japanese person can do without on New Year’s Eve.
"Soba...!! It’s Buckwheat Flour!!"
In this vast universe where I didn't even know where to find wheat, Soba had somehow survived. It might have mutated over the eons, but there was no mistaking that flavor.
And they were treating it like garbage!
"...Master? You seem very excited. Is something wrong?" Lucia asked, tilting her head.
I leaned forward aggressively and stared The Spider down.
"Let's make a deal, Spider. That 'Genuine Curry' you’re looking for... I’ll make it for you."
"Wh— Really!? You know the 'Golden Ratio'!?"
"Yeah. As a chef, I’ve got those ratios memorized. From how to sauté the onions to the tempering of the spices, I’ll teach you the basics from the ground up. ...But in exchange."
I pointed at the galette.
"The source of this dough... give me the acquisition route for that 'Black Powder' and every bit of stock you have. I'll pay for it. I'll dump every credit I made from the scrap metal sale into it if I have to."
"...Huh?" The Spider blinked, stunned.
The professor shrugged, looking exasperated. "Good grief. Getting aroused by flour... your fetishes truly are bottomless."
"Shut it, Professor. This is a life-long ambition of mine."
Curry was great, but for me, this Black Powder was the real treasure. If I had this, I could make that. That supreme noodle dish that you slurped down with a loud, satisfying sound.
Akito and The Spider. In that moment, the interests of two men obsessed with food aligned in the strangest possible way.