It would still be a while before we reached Techne Prime.
I opened the Class 3 Freshness Preservation Freezer in the kitchen and let out a long sigh.
Inside, packed with zero gaps, were deep-crimson blocks of meat stacked so densely they resembled a Tetris game-over screen.
Star Tuna.
These were the fillets from the giant fish I’d acquired.
I thought I’d been selective, keeping "only what would fit," but even after processing them into manageable slabs, there was more than enough to fill the freezer to its limits. Thanks to the Class 3 preservation system, there wasn't a single speck of frost, and the meat retained its fresh-caught shimmer—which, honestly, I was starting to resent.
"It's a luxury problem to have, but I’ve reached my limit."
For the past few days, Star Tuna had been the permanent guest on our dining table.
Sashimi, tataki, zuke-don, carpaccio.
I had exhausted every variation I could think of, even using it as a base for curry or pairing it with soba dashi.
Everything had been exquisite. I had no complaints about the flavor itself.
But no matter how high-end or delicious an ingredient is, if you eat it every single day for every single meal, it becomes a routine. Your brain acclimates to the taste, and that initial spark of emotion you feel during the first bite begins to dull. To me, that was a desecration of food and a direct violation of my culinary policy.
"People get bored when they repeat the same flavor. And boredom kills the joy of eating."
I pulled a massive block from the freezer, my resolve hardening.
I needed to find a way to work through this massive inventory while injecting some variety back into our diet.
"…Alright. Time for some prep."
"Prep, Master?" Lucia asked, tilting her head.
"Yeah. Today, I’m going to use this to make 'tuna'."
"Tuna?" she repeated, looking skeptical.
"I don't have the machinery to can it, but I have storage containers. We’re going to slow-cook it in oil to lock in the umami."
I took the thawed Star Tuna fillets and rubbed them with a generous amount of salt.
The goal was to use osmosis to draw out excess moisture and any lingering fishy odors.
After thirty minutes, I used a kitchen-paper-like material to carefully pat away the moisture that had surfaced, then sliced the meat into uniform, chunky cubes. I packed them tightly into heat-resistant storage containers.
"Now for the aromatics."
I opened my spice pouches.
Dried garlic powder, whole black peppercorns, and several varieties of herbs.
I scattered them into the gaps between the meat and finally poured in a steady stream of synthetic cooking oil. With a pleasant, rhythmic glugging sound, the golden liquid slowly submerged the red flesh.
"It’s quite beautiful," Lucia whispered.
Looking through the side of the container, it looked less like food and more like a biological specimen—or perhaps a box of jewels.
"Now for the real work. We’re going to simmer it slowly at a low temperature. We aren't frying it; we're poaching it."
I placed the containers into a water bath, submerging them in water kept at a steady 80 degrees Celsius.
Confit. A preservation technique from old-world French cuisine.
High heat makes the meat dry and stringy, but heating it in oil at a low temperature for an extended period keeps it moist and tender while increasing its shelf life.
Given our freshness preservation field, shelf life wasn't a major concern, but more importantly, this process would transform the Star Tuna into a completely different ingredient.
With this, victory in the war against boredom was within my grasp.
An hour later, the kitchen was filled with a rich, heady aroma—a blend of garlic, herbs, and the savory rendered fat of the fish.
"Hmm. A most stimulating scent. It truly rouses the appetite."
I hadn't even heard Professor Stein walk in.
Behind him stood Emulgand and Mina, their noses twitching in anticipation.
"Professor, when did you get here?"
"Wherever there is the scent of fine cuisine, a researcher will manifest," he said.
A wine glass was already clutched firmly in his hand. The liquid inside was… undoubtedly alcoholic. He was far too prepared for this.
"You’re just in time. The homemade tuna is ready."
I lifted the storage containers out of the water bath.
Inside the oil, the Star Tuna had transformed into a delicate, pale pink. It was still steaming hot, but I couldn't resist. I had to taste it.
I poked a fork into the topmost chunk.
Flake.
The meat parted along the fibers without the slightest resistance. There was none of the rubbery pushback found in cheap synthetic meats. It fell away gently, as soft and beautiful as a petal.
"…!"
I popped it into my mouth.
I didn't even have to chew.
The fibers unraveled across my tongue, and the richness of the oil combined with the concentrated umami of the Star Tuna flooded my senses.
"It’s hot, but… damn, that’s good!"
The saltiness was spot on. The punch of the garlic and the cooling freshness of the herbs had completely neutralized the fish's gamey qualities, leaving only pure, unadulterated umami.
It was fish, yet it had the weight of meat and the decadence of high-grade fat.
"Oh? It looks like a simple lump of protein, but the way the fibers separate is intriguing," the professor noted, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses.
"Well then, let’s sample it properly. Lucia, fetch the crackers from storage. And the mayonnaise."
The dining table had been transformed into a spontaneous party.
I took the synthetic crackers—which were usually dry, bland, and soul-crushingly utilitarian—and topped them with the flaked tuna, a dollop of mayonnaise, and a crack of black pepper.
That was it. Simple.
But the synergy was explosive.
"Mnnnph~!"
Mina clutched her cheeks, practically swooning.
The way her rat ears were flapping wildly was the ultimate proof that the flavor had exceeded her sensory limits.
"This is incredible! These crackers usually suck all the spit out of my mouth, but they’ve soaked up the tuna oil and gotten so… so juicy!"
"…Not bad at all."
The professor elegantly brought a tuna-topped cracker to his lips, followed immediately by a long draught from his glass.
"The alcohol cuts through the richness of the fat, leaving the herbal notes to linger in the sinuses. A very calculated profile."
Next to the nodding, satisfied professor, Emulgand was chewing with teary eyes, whispering, "It's so good… it's so good."
"This is called a confit. It’s an old technique for making preserves, but the flavor is world-class."
I continued assembling crackers while glancing at Lucia.
She stared down at her portion with intense focus before carefully taking a bite.
Crunch.
A split second later, her ice-blue eyes flickered with emotion.
"Evaluation: The softening of the muscle fibers and the emulsification rate with the oil are both within optimal parameters. It is… extremely delicious."
She didn't say much else, but the way her fork immediately glided toward the next cracker spoke volumes.
"Alright, the rest goes into the containers. Tuna sandwiches, tuna pasta, tuna salad… I can see the future now."
Looking at those pale pink jewels submerged in golden oil, I knew I had the perfect staple for our journey.
…Though, at the rate these guys were eating, I had a feeling most of it would vanish into their stomachs before it ever saw the inside of the fridge.
Writing out the steps really makes me appreciate store-bought goods.
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