The room we were shown into was a far cry from the earlier chaos, quiet and still.
It was too rugged to be called a VIP room, but it was a secluded space nonetheless, shielded by thick soundproof walls that completely blocked out the mechanical thrum and the salty sea breeze from outside—a sanctuary reserved for special guests.
In the center sat a heavy wooden table, its surface worn to a dull luster by decades of use. At the Coordinator’s invitation, we took our seats around it.
"…Master. This area has exceptionally low ambient noise. It is an ideal environment for isolating the true aroma of ingredients," Lucia observed quietly.
"It’s a bit different from the luxury suites at the resort… It feels like the kind of place where the local heavyweights gather, doesn't it-u?" Emma added.
As they surveyed the room, my attention was pulled toward a single object on the table.
It was an ordinary glass condiment dispenser. In the world I used to know, you could find them anywhere.
The action was a reflex, a habit so deeply etched into my muscle memory that I didn't even have to think.
Before I realized what I was doing, I was moving with fluid, practiced ease, lining up small dishes for everyone. My right hand reached out instinctively, grasping the container and tilting it. Without a moment’s hesitation, as if guided by an invisible force, I poured the liquid into the first dish—
"…Huh?"
Glug, glug. Thick, black droplets fell.
In that instant, a scent brushed against my nostrils. It was closer to the "correct answer" than anything else I had encountered in this entire galaxy.
No, wait. Calm down.
I closed my eyes and took a long, steady breath.
But the more I inhaled, the more my senses were flooded with that "correct" aroma etched into my very soul.
Compared to the genuine article brewed from soybeans, the scent was a little more reserved, perhaps a bit fainter. But there wasn't a trace of the sharp, chemical sting found in synthetic substitutes. This was the result of years of fermentation—that mellow, heavy, nostalgically savory fragrance.
"…It’s soy sauce. This is soy sauce!!!"
I found myself shouting.
Mina and Emulgand nearly jumped out of their skins, while the Coordinator let a small, impressed smirk touch his lips.
"…Hoh. You actually know the name. That’s a masterpiece our ancestors spent generations perfecting on this sea. Getting your hands on real beans costs a fortune, you see. So, they spent a staggering amount of time on trial and error, combining deep-sea seaweed with specific microorganisms until they created this: Seaweed Soy Sauce."
The man’s explanation barely registered.
My fingers were trembling. The sheer obsession of the craftsmen who had managed to get this close to the "correct answer" using only seaweed—without a single bean—was condensed into every drop.
I couldn't help myself. I dipped a finger into the dish and licked it.
"—!"
A torrent of umami surged over my tongue. Layers of complex amino acids bloomed across my palate. It wasn't just salty; the long aging process had rounded off the edges, leaving a soft, mellow depth that slid smoothly down my throat.
The savory aftertaste that rose into my nose was, without question, the flavor and scent of the Soy Sauce I remembered.
"…It’s real. It’s genuine Soy Sauce, born from the sea…"
Memories of Earth flashed through my mind in a blur.
Before I knew it, tears were tracing paths down my cheeks. It wasn't out of sadness. It was simply a profound sense of relief—the relief that this single drop had returned to me something I thought I had left behind forever in a place I could never return to.
"…Master. You’ve finally found one of the 'correct answers' you were looking for, haven't you?"
Lucia spoke softly, her voice carrying a warmth that felt like a gentle embrace.
"Yeah… Sorry. I lost my cool for a second."
I wiped my face with my sleeve and gave a sheepish laugh. Mina peered at me, her expression a mix of worry and joy.
"Akito, is it really that amazing? This 'Seaweed Soy Sauce' stuff… I’ve never seen you cry because something was so delicious."
"It is. With this, any fish will become a feast fit for a king. …Are you ready, Mina? Emma?"
I sat up straight, my resolve renewed. The Coordinator gave a sharp signal toward the kitchen in the back.
"Right, enough with the pleasantries. …I’m bringing it out now. The best catch this area has seen all day. If you know your soy sauce, you already know what’s coming next."
As he spoke, I sensed a massive tray being carried toward us from the back, preceded by a sudden, icy chill.
Genuine Soy Sauce—and soon, Genuine Fish.
Our hearts pounded with anticipation for the "authentic taste" yet to come as we waited for the reveal.