The private quarters Varna led us into were more sophisticated than I would have ever expected from a room tucked away in the back of a lab.
One wall was a floor-to-ceiling virtual window, projecting a stunning—albeit calculated—hologram of Techne Prime’s nightscape. The furniture appeared to be handmade, ergonomically designed pieces; the comfort was, quite frankly, sublime.
Meanwhile, Mina’s eyes were glued to a cutaway model of an old-fashioned engine in the adjacent experimental sector. After shouting a quick "I’m going to go check this out!" she hadn't looked back. I figured I could leave her to her own devices for a while.
"...You have good taste. Though it’s a bit clinical," I remarked with a hint of sarcasm.
Varna shrugged off her lab coat, tossing it aside to reveal a sleek bodysuit before sinking into a sofa. "A sense of 'home' is just noise. This is a place for thinking."
She languidly crossed her legs and snapped her fingers. An autonomous serving drone emerged from the corner of the room, arranging teacups on the table for everyone.
"Now then, let us start with a welcoming cup," Professor Stein said, picking up the pot and pouring with practiced, fluid movements.
Along with the steam, the gentle aroma of tea leaves drifted through the air.
"...Here."
At the Professor’s invitation, I took a cup and had a sip. It wasn't the high-end stuff he had served back at his place before we left. This was just run-of-the-mill black tea—the standard, synthetic-scented variety circulated throughout the galaxy. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't inspiring.
"I see. As I thought, this alone is a bore," the Professor noted, watching my reaction with a delighted chuckle. "Now, it is your turn. Show us something to fill that 'boredom.'"
I pulled a heat-resistant container from my pack. Inside were pink jewels submerged in golden oil: Star Tuna Confit. I also produced sliced bread, cheese, and a bottle of mayonnaise.
"I’ll need to borrow the kitchen—or at least a heating appliance."
"We have a particle acceleration heating plate," Varna replied. "It’s more efficient than a toaster."
"That helps. I brought my own pan, since I figured this wasn't exactly a place meant for cooking."
With Varna’s permission, I got to work. I spread a thin layer of mayonnaise on the bread and piled a generous amount of flaked tuna on top. I added a layer of cheese and sandwiched it with another slice, then set the whole thing in the pan over the heating plate.
Sizzle...
A pleasant sound filled the room as the savory scent of toasting bread began to waft. The mayonnaise on the outside of the bread melted into the heat, the oil seeping out to fry the surface into a perfect, golden crunch. Inside, the cheese turned gooey, mingling with the rich oil of the tuna.
"...That is an irresistible scent," Varna said, her nose twitching.
I sliced the finished sandwich in two and set the plate before them. "Tuna Melt Sandwich. Get it while it’s hot."
Molten cheese and tuna overflowed from the cross-section like a delicious avalanche. The two geniuses bit in without a second thought.
Crunch. Snap.
The sound was rhythmic and satisfying. A moment later, both of their eyes snapped wide.
"...!"
It was hot. It was greasy. And it was intensely, powerfully delicious. The texture of the bread—toasted to a snack-like crisp—clashed beautifully with the saltiness of the melted cheese and the overwhelming umami of the tuna that flooded the palate with every chew. It was a mass of chaotic, primal desire that shook the brain, standing in stark contrast to the bland tea.
"...I hate to admit it, but I’m utterly defeated," Varna said, licking a stray drop of oil from her finger. "It’s nice to taste something other than alcohol for a change."
"Isn't it? Now then, with our bellies full, let’s get down to business." The Professor washed down the grease with a sip of tea and turned a serious gaze toward me. "Akito-kun. A moment ago, you looked bored when you drank that tea. The current food situation in the galaxy is exactly like that."
He projected a hologram into the air, showing a greenhouse filled with rows of beautiful vegetables.
"The environmental simulators used by the elite might produce beautiful vegetables, but they’re hollow. They’re nothing more than sponges designed for texture, bloated on water. They lack soul." The Professor continued with a cynical smile. "Ironically, those lumps of stems on frontier planets you call onions, or the moss clinging to rock faces, possess far more flavor and energy as living organisms."
With a flick of his finger, the image changed to a distorted, rugged plant growing in a desolate wasteland.
"We have the Tasty Cube—a general-purpose synthetic food with perfect aroma but zero substance. We have the imperfect but powerful regional cuisines of the frontier. And we have genuine food used as a status symbol. In the modern galaxy, our meals are completely segregated by social strata. They never mingle."
The Professor shrugged as if lamenting the state of the universe. "Food culture is supposed to evolve by allowing these elements to become an inseparable whole. But in this world, efficiency and disparity prevent that. The 'wrongness' you feel, Akito-kun, comes from that disconnect."
The Professor traced the rim of his cup, peering into my eyes. "Do you find it strange that I know what 'real' flavor is? Of course, there is technology to send signals directly to the brain to simulate that sensation. However, because it is so addictive and would destroy other industries, it is strictly regulated by Imperial Law—though someone of my standing can access it to an extent."
"Destroy other industries?"
"Yes. If satisfaction could be gained by simply zapping the brain, no one would pay for meals, travel, or entertainment. It is the ultimate efficiency, but a deadly poison for the economy."
"I see. So it’s treated like an electronic drug."
"Precisely. Regardless, a deception is ultimately meaningless. To create something 'real' that satisfies your palate, we must physically reproduce that 'noise' in reality, not as a digital ghost."
The Professor switched the image again, this time to a diagram of a muddy, primitive field.
"The data we obtained from the Gardener will allow us to design a Large-scale Farm Unit that reproduces a primitive soil environment, unlike any standard simulator. However..."
"The energy requirement is the problem, isn't it?" I interjected.
Varna nodded. "Exactly. Culturing soil bacteria, weather control, gravity adjustment... maintaining a 'real' environment takes a massive amount of power. A normal ship's generator can't handle it. You would need the output of an entire city."
It was a massive bottleneck. But the Professor just laughed, pulling up the blueprints for my ship, the Sperm Whale.
"That is where your ship comes in."
Three elements on the blueprint began to glow red: the Sperm Whale's non-standard generator, the Cyber Pumpkin's Bio-core, and the data for the Bio-fusion Reactor we had just acquired.
"By combining these three, we can construct an energy management system based on a completely new logic."
"A new logic?"
"Yes. First, your Bio-core. That is a singularity—a mutated plant capable of independent calculation. There are very few existences in this galaxy so adept at plant management that also possess an autonomous thought process. We would be fools not to use it."
He then pointed to the Bio-fusion Reactor data. "Then, the reactor. The manufacture or reactivation of these is strictly forbidden by Imperial Law. There was an incident in the past where one lost control and attempted to devour an entire planet’s crust."
That sounded incredibly dangerous.
"But," the Professor continued, "we aren't reactivating a reactor. Using the Bio-core as a hub, we will remodel the Bio-fusion Reactor data into a system specific to your ship."
He enlarged the core section of the hologram. "This will be a dedicated unit optimized solely for the Sperm Whale. Because the structure itself will be unique, it will bypass the detection logic used by monitoring systems to flag existing Bio-fusion Reactors. Furthermore, it will be virtually impossible to repurpose for any other vessel."
"Essentially, it’s a one-off custom job," Varna added with a boastful smirk. "That’s how we’ll sidestep the Empire’s technical regulations and output limits. The monitoring systems won’t recognize unknown biological reactions as illegal weaponry."
I let out a low groan. It was a brilliant, albeit terrifying, legal loophole.
"With this system, we can build a 'real field' inside your ship. We can grow vegetables that smell of mud and sun, just as you desire. What do you say, Akito-kun?"
The Professor offered an inviting smile—one that looked equal parts devilish and childlike.
Fresh tomatoes. Succulent cucumbers. Fragrant herbs. All real. All mine.
My stomach gave its answer long before my logic could even frame a warning.
"...Let’s do it. I’m in."
When I nodded, the witch and the sage raised their teacups in a silent, satisfied toast.
You can make a hot sandwich even without a hot sandwich maker.