After a cursory check of the Top Priority Trading Rights I’d secured through my deal with "The Spider," we wasted no time. We headed straight to the Oasis market to stock up on a massive quantity of "Black Fruit (Buckwheat Groats)" and the dried goods necessary for dashi.
I paid for it all using the reward I’d received for providing the curry recipe.
The total came to five hundred thousand Credits.
Was it a small amount? Hardly. In this world, that was a fortune equivalent to several years of income for an average citizen. It was just that the transaction scales for my transport ship or the dealings on Eden Prime were so skewed that they warped my perspective. Getting paid enough to buy a house just for sharing a curry recipe was, by any objective measure, a total game balance error.
The scary part was that, to the current me, it actually felt like "pocket change."
Our next destination: the Oasis Bottom Layer.
It was a sprawling slum, a place where the waste heat from the Waste Plant combined with the heavy, stagnant air of the depths.
Our reason for going there was simple.
I wanted to teach the people who lived on "Black Fruit" how to actually eat it.
I couldn't stand the thought of a precious ingredient being saddled with the dishonorable name of "Mud Dumplings," consumed as nothing more than flavorless fodder to keep one’s stomach from growling.
"Ugh... the air is so thin down here. Even with a mask on, my throat feels all scratchy..." Emulgand complained, her eyes welling with tears.
She had been drafted into service now that her work with Mina had reached a stopping point. More importantly, the task at hand required as many hands as possible.
"Endure it, Assistant. Once we’re done, I’ll whip up a delicious staff meal for you."
"...Really? Well then, I suppose I can manage!"
She was certainly easy to motivate when food was involved.
By the time we reached the plaza during the lunch hour, a large crowd of residents had already gathered. In their hands, they clutched dark, clay-like lumps. It was the "Mud"—a substance made by simply kneading Buckwheat Flour with water and applying a haphazard amount of heat.
"...I see. I suppose that’s a form of 'Sobagaki' in its own way," I muttered.
Sobagaki was a traditional dish made by kneading Buckwheat Flour with boiling water. With soy sauce and the right garnishes, it was a respectable accompaniment to sake. But what they were eating lacked any seasoning; it looked like nothing more than a mass of calories to be shoved into the gut for the sake of survival.
"Hey, you lot! This is our turf!"
"What’s in the bags? You here to steal our 'Mud'?"
Armed thugs and weary residents alike bristled with hostility the moment they saw the bags of Buckwheat Flour I was carrying. To them, this unpalatable powder was their literal lifeline.
"We aren't here to steal anything. We’re here to show you a better way to eat that."
I gave Mina a quick nod. "Deploy."
"Roger, President! Everyone, into position!"
Mina snapped her fingers, and dozens of autonomous drones that had been trailing us sprang into action. They carried containers, cooking utensils, and the components for Mina's Special Simple Stove.
The drones coordinated their movements in mid-air, assembling the materials with mechanical precision. In the blink of an eye, a fully functional "Outdoor Kitchen" stood in a corner of the plaza.
The thugs stood there, mouths agape, stunned by the instant construction of the workstation.
"Lucia, status on the flour?"
"Preparation complete. I have adjusted the hydration rate to forty-five percent to compensate for the local temperature and humidity."
I stepped up to the prep table and poured the Buckwheat Flour into a large bowl.
It was showtime.
I swirled the water in, my fingertips moving with practiced speed to incorporate the moisture. I gathered the small, loose grains into a singular mass, putting my entire body weight into the kneading process.
Bang! Bang!
The rhythmic sound of the dough being slammed against the table to drive out the air echoed through the now-silent plaza. Once finished, the kneaded dough possessed a lustrous sheen, looking for all the world like a polished black jewel.
Next, I took a rolling pin Mina had fashioned from salvaged junk parts and began to flatten the dough. I worked it from a circle into a square, ensuring the thickness was uniform, thin, and wide. Finally, I folded the dough and reached for my knife.
Ton, ton, ton, ton...
The rhythmic sound of the blade was soothing. As the substance that had once been a mere lump of "mud" transformed into long, delicate "Noodles," the residents stared, absolutely captivated.
"...What is that? The mud... it became thread?"
"Is it magic?"
As the murmurs rippled through the crowd, I tossed the trimmed noodles into a large pot. However, I didn't let them swim in a deep vat of boiling water—water was far too precious a commodity in the slums. Instead, I used a minimal amount to steam-cook them, locking in the noodles' firm texture and earthy aroma.
I lifted the steamed noodles into a colander, gave them a quick drain, and prepared for the final touch.
"Alright, plating! Emulgand, the bowls!"
"Y-Yes, sir!"
Emulgand scrambled to line up the disposable containers. I portioned the noodles into them and drizzled on my special sauce.
I wasn't making a soup dish like "Kake Soba" this time. Instead, I had opted for an "Abura Soba Style" approach. I used a rich base made from synthetic cooking oil—infused with the concentrated essence of "mysterious dried goods" I’d found for a pittance at the market—mixed with pseudo-soy sauce and synthetic vinegar.
This method ensured there was no leftover soup to waste, and it maximized the calorie density for the residents. For toppings, I used the only things I could get cheaply in Oasis: a handful of rehydrated dried vegetables. It would be enough for this demonstration.
"Alright, it’s ready! It’s on the house, so dig in! Just let me know what you think!"
At my call, a group of children who had been watching from the periphery approached cautiously, lured by the savory scent. One took a container, twirled the noodles around a fork, and took a bite.
"...!!"
The child’s eyes went wide.
"...It’s hot! It’s hot and it's so smooth! And wow, it smells amazing! It’s salty, and a little sweet... It’s—it's delicious!!"
That scream was the starting gun.
The adults surged forward like a breaking dam, everyone clamoring for a portion of the Soba.
"What is this?! It smells like the mud dumplings, but the texture is totally different!"
"It’s so slippery, it just slides down your throat! And this sauce... it’s so rich!"
The sound of slurping noodles soon filled the plaza. It wasn't just the sound of people eating; it was the sound of a cultural revolution. This was the moment they transitioned from consuming "fodder" to experiencing "cuisine."
"What you were eating before was close to a dish called 'Sobagaki.' That can be tasty too if you put a little work into it. But if you cut it thin like this, it’s easier to eat and you can pair it with all kinds of flavors," I explained, never stopping my work at the cutting board.
"Knead the flour with water. Roll it thin and cut it. With just that much effort, your mud dumplings turn into a feast."
The residents nodded, their eyes fixed on my hands with a newfound intensity. They weren't just accepting charity; they were trying to memorize the technique. They were trying to steal the knowledge.
That was fine by me. Technology only has value when it’s shared.
"Akito-san, this line is getting too long! We're running out of bowls!"
"President, I’m bringing out a backup rolling pin!"
"Currently processing data. We have surpassed two hundred servings. I am detecting increased biological activity in the residents. Confirmation of relaxed facial muscles and improved blood flow."
Emulgand dashed about, Mina adjusted the machinery, and Lucia managed the logistics.
From the shadows at the edge of the plaza, I felt a sharp gaze monitoring us. It was one of "The Spider's" agents.
I didn't acknowledge them. Let them watch.
Let them see exactly what kind of fervor a single bowl of noodles could ignite in this city.
Standing in that back alley, surrounded by rising steam and genuine smiles, I felt a profound sense of satisfaction.
This wasn't just a charity event. It was a small, but indelible "culinary footprint" on the surface of this world.
I’d love to visit a real soba shop that serves authentic sobagaki with a side of sake someday.