Morning arrived at the Oasis docks—according to the ship’s internal clock, at least.
To me, it was "New Year’s Day" on the calendar of my soul.
Last night’s New Year’s Eve soba had satisfied the crew's stomachs and lifted their spirits.
But my Japanese DNA was screaming that something was still missing.
—Mochi.
The New Year simply couldn't truly begin until I ate those stretchy rice cakes.
"...But I don't have any, do I? No glutinous rice."
I slumped over the kitchen table and groaned.
In this world, not only was there no wheat, but there was no real rice either. All that existed was a granular synthetic starch called "Synthetic Carbohydrate: Rice-type."
The stuff had no stickiness. Needless to say, wishing for high-viscosity glutinous rice was a pipe dream.
And yet, I couldn't give up.
I wanted zouni. I wanted grilled mochi. I missed that dense stickiness that felt like it might get stuck in my throat.
My gaze drifted toward the "spoils" piled in the corner of the table.
It was a mountain of instant foods from all over the galaxy that I had scavenged and collected throughout my journey. For now, they were being treated as emergency rations.
Among them was a package I recognized.
"Space Curry (with Rice)," manufactured by Oriental Flavor Co.
It was a bit of a luxury item in this world, bearing a striking resemblance to the retort curry pouches from my previous life.
"...Wait a second."
I picked up the package.
Inside was a retort pouch containing curry sauce and a block of dried, pre-gelatinized rice.
My contract with "The Spider" was for the "recreation of genuine curry."
That meant the curry sauce portion had to be strictly preserved for ingredient analysis and flavor comparisons.
But what about the rice that came with it?
The accompanying dried rice wasn't essential for curry research. If anything, it could be replaced with "Synthetic Carbohydrate: Rice-type," which actually tasted better.
"...In other words, this is a 'surplus part'."
My hands trembled as I opened the package.
The concern that I might be wasting precious ingredients clashed with my desperate craving for mochi.
However, the Professor had always said that cooking requires a bit of sacrifice and a broad interpretation of the requirements.
To hell with it!
I tossed the dried rice block into a bowl and reconstituted it with boiling water.
A few minutes later, what emerged from the steam was a white, glistening... gel-like aggregate.
The rice-style carbohydrate gel from the curry had an unnatural, squishy elasticity.
The texture felt devoid of any biological warmth, as if someone had finely minced and boiled a soft vinyl figure.
The stickiness was low. Pounding this alone would never result in mochi.
"That's where this comes in."
I took out the "Black Powder" I had obtained yesterday.
Buckwheat flour had viscosity. I had proven that last night.
If I fused the starch of this synthetic rice with the stickiness of the buckwheat flour and forced them to integrate through mochi-pounding...
"There's a good chance it'll turn into something like mochi."
I dumped the buckwheat flour into the bowl and gripped the end of the Rolling Pin <Metal Pipe> I had used yesterday.
From here on, it was a battle of raw power.
Thud! Squish! Thwack!
Dull, heavy sounds echoed through the kitchen.
With my enhanced physical strength, I pounded and kneaded the dough as if I were avenging a blood feud.
The white and black blended together, gradually transforming into a slate-gray mass.
"...Alright, the stickiness is starting to show."
Sweat beaded on my forehead as I finally set down the Pestle <Metal Pipe>.
Sitting in the bowl was a slimy, glistening, dark gray object.
To be honest... it didn't look very appetizing. It reminded me of those lumps I used to make by kneading eraser shavings back in my student days.
But the important parts were the flavor and the texture.
I tore off a bite-sized piece, rolled it into a ball, and tried searing it in a frying pan.
Sizzle...
A savory aroma wafted up. The scent of buckwheat and the smell of charred starch. Not bad.
Once the surface was browned, I drizzled on a little soy sauce.
Something resembling "Isobeyaki" was finally complete.
"Now, for the taste test."
I tossed the piping hot piece into my mouth.
"...Mgh."
I chewed.
...It was hard.
And then, an unpleasant stickiness clung to my teeth.
It wasn't the "chewiness" or "stretch" unique to mochi. While the synthetic starch provided a slight tackiness, the rubber-like elasticity and the crumbly texture of the buckwheat flour were essentially having a fistfight inside my mouth.
The taste wasn't terrible. The aroma of soy sauce and buckwheat made it edible.
But this wasn't mochi. It was an "extremely heavy, adhesive dumpling."
"...No good."
I forced myself to swallow (it nearly got stuck in my throat) and stared up at the ceiling.
A total failure. My pride as a chef wouldn't allow me to serve this as "mochi."
Moreover, it wasn't something I could feed to the crew, especially now that they knew the taste of "genuine soba."
"Master? I heard a lot of noise coming from here..."
Lucia peeked her head in through the doorway.
Behind her, Mina appeared with messy bedhead, followed by the Professor, who was stifling a yawn.
"Something smells good! Did you make something else?"
"...No."
I hid the "gray dumpling" behind my back.
"Just a little experiment. ...It was a failure."
"An experiment? Involving cooking?"
The Professor raised an interested eyebrow.
"Yeah. But the quality is way too low. It's not at a level where I can serve it to anyone."
I gracefully admitted defeat.
I would have to take responsibility for disposing of—meaning, eating—this "Mock Buckwheat Mochi" myself. At least it seemed like it would be filling.
"I see. ...Then, shall breakfast be as usual?"
"Yeah. I'll have it ready in a bit. ...How about I use the leftover dashi from yesterday to make zousui? I'll use up the eggs, too."
"I'm in! That dashi was really delicious!"
Mina wagged her rat ears happily.
That innocent smile healed the wounds in my heart just a little.
I couldn't have my mochi, but that was okay.
I had a warm meal and companions waiting for it.
That alone made for a more than good enough New Year.
I quietly moved the hidden "gray object" toward the dust chute... no, I moved it to the edge of my own plate, and gripped my kitchen knife once more.
It looked like it was going to be another busy year.
Mochi is impossible... sorry.
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