Chapter 134

In order to keep the server safe from any foreign substances splashing, we had gathered in a corner and sat down, glaring at our own exquisite bowls.

The bowls, with their glossy black bases intricately adorned with patterns of tawny clouds and flower motifs, were so beautiful that they seemed as though they had been directly imported from some distant era into the 21st century, stimulating my emotions.

It wasn’t just the bowls, though. When I opened the lids of nearby bento boxes or something resembling a dish cover, neatly arranged side dishes were revealed.

There was the white garlic chives, the red pickled ginger, brown burdock strips, and radish with faint soy sauce undertones preserving their natural texture. And quietly tucked in a corner, like it intended to embrace all the other flavors, was the yellow egg roll.

Even for someone like me, who as an obligate carnivore couldn’t comprehend the appeal of liking greens more than meat, this was an unmistakably primal allure simply from the vibrant colors.

In terms of taste alone, the cartridge wheat I usually depended on might be sweeter, saltier, and more stimulating—but after so long, seeing natural ingredients stirred something within me. It was like a feast of vegetarian Zen food?

Even though craving meat is instinctual, so too was this pull. I was ready to humbly accept it, but…

Unfortunately, the main star of the full course, the king of this set menu, awaited my gaze. I couldn’t dare to bypass the order and nibble on the vegetables first.

“Mm…! Huff…”

Not the greasy smell but the subtle ‘fragrance’ emanating from the golden fried coating, along with glimpses of the adorable crimson flesh inside when cut, made me instinctively bow my head.

This wasn’t like the thin slice soaked in sauce; its thickness was another dimension altogether, and it was clear at a glance that it was packed with meaty juices. It was nothing short of perfection.

Not all violence involves fists or tools. With a world that defined loud floor noise as violence, I was faced with this embodiment of violence that challenged all five senses, leaving me no choice but to fight.

First, let’s offer our overwhelming gratitude. It’s the minimum courtesy a predator should show toward a powerful adversary…

“…Darling? What’s your beef with the food? You’re glaring at it way too aggressively…”

“She ate a hamburger like this yesterday too… Perhaps she believes in the Mandala teaching that one should put earnestness into every meal…”

“…These…”

I shot a fierce glare at the two in the outfield rambling on about their full stomachs, silencing them.

These bourgeois hackers, how well must they eat and earn if they feel less gratitude at a company credit card dinner?

I should aim to earn steadily and reinvest in profitable ventures once I settle into my position.

Crack… Crunch!

The schnitzel played a heavenly melody just by being picked up with chopsticks as I took a big bite.

When Marina mentioned Japanese cuisine, going all-in on trying it out proved to be a wise decision. After all, if the recipes for more niche Korean dishes like kimchi stew or fried rice are still solid, naturally the popular menus would be present as well.

Looking forward, I must remember that there are also consumable items that don’t exist as expendable resources. While leisure and cultural activities overflow with options at the touch of a finger, I consider meals to be crucially important.

“- …Ahsa.”-

“…What!”

When I questioned Zero, who seemed anxious and somewhat shy calling me, they couldn’t continue.

…Even if you get an android body with a digestive system later, I will never buy you schnitzel. Just prepare yourself for that.

Speaking of which, thanks to my wise choice flaunting my knowledge of Japanese cuisine, Marina also ordered the same ‘pork cutlet set.’ Unlike me, who succumbed to the charm of frying, Ken opted thoroughly for practicality with an expensive grilled eel rice.

There was no need to point it out, so I let it be.

Gradually, he might realize it’s strange to mimic someone other than the Japanese team member while he spoons the dishes, enjoying them as if they’re simply flavorful. While watching her, I thought, “I should push an extra server rack in the afternoon…”

Suddenly, a young one, not thinking too deeply, brought up an issue.

“Um… Ah… Older sisters? Or maybe Elder sisters?”

“…”

Apparently, they were experiencing a great internal conflict over the lack of a clearly established title.

“Uh… Since we will be here together for a while, I thought it would be good to know each other briefly… Not that I don’t trust either of you, but…”

Ah, their reasoning was rather reasonable and justified.

Although each of us is given private rooms during rest hours, we’re in a semi-cohabitation state for a long-term project after barely knowing each other. Normally, we’d go for some ice-breaking activities, but our unpredictable and often explosive team leader makes me content enough with the current situation.

Considering etiquette, I might understand why such ambiguous relationships are somewhat inconvenient as we continue the work. But then…

“Hmm… I see.”

“…I don’t really have anything… respectable… to share.”

“Eh… Really!?”

With such unexpected uncooperativeness from others, the endeavor seemed futile. Realizing it was uncharacteristically heartless, Ken’s chopsticks slipped from his hand, clattering onto the bowl.

…Marina, who was munching with a mouthful of food, now had crumbs of fried batter sprinkled on her chest. Would you please put on a proper shirt?

I don’t dislike them. We agreed to work together for the sake of the contract and acknowledged each other’s solid expertise in our respective fields. So, I trust them.

However, when it comes to discussing personal background or revealing information beyond names… I find it troublesome because I don’t have anything straightforward to disclose. Honestly.

Even if I polished a fabricated story with some truths to make a smooth narrative, could I honestly say, “I blew up a couple of covert Megacorp bases, worked as a cop for a while but it wasn’t my style, got scouted by an anti-corporate underground organization but ultimately declined, and ended up working here”?

“…This isn’t about digging into the past; if we at least know a bit about each other…”

“Come on, shy one?” “…What?”

Instead of responding, Marina suddenly intervened, disrupting Ken’s attempt to clarify, albeit in a tone I’d never heard from her before, which was eerily cold.

“Holts Colony’s prodigy teenage hacker, Takakura Ken—despite being a net hacker, has no qualms about accepting official consulting requests from corporations and provides outreach services. Carrying a portable computer with approximately 800 petaflops specifications and with the aid of linked cybernetic eyes as auxiliary terminals, he’s known to proficiently handle tasks even in less-than-ideal conditions.”

“Eh…?”

A surprised response escaped him. Although usually distinct from black-market mercenaries, Ken was undoubtedly a talented asset with legitimate experience in the open market, yet hearing about it so casually from someone else seemed odd.

Ching!!

“- …If you approach further, I shall respond in self-defense, Miss Marina.”

Despite the smile aimed at me, Zero’s sensors went up, emitting visible blades hinting at potential hostility, while the Android itself broadcasted subtle aggression. Marina, however, simply lifted her hands to indicate no intention to fight.

“Harvest Planet native Anastasia Valentine. That being said, considering her citizenship in the chaotic Paradise Metropolis—where it’s given out carelessly—her background is unclear. A roguish individual unafraid of action, regarded as an enigmatic renegade among both mercenaries and engineers…”

There, Marina paused, briefly sizing up the readiness of the blade nearby, as well as Zero beyond it.

“…Conclusively, the rumors that she repeatedly turned down love calls from Paradise HQ while frequently visiting and the bizarre tales about developing her own AI and embedding it into security robots. If even half of this is true, she must be an extraordinary skilled person, right?”

She wasn’t provoking anyone or attempting to intimidate; merely relaying known facts as if seeking approval. Gradually letting her hand down, she grabbed her spoon and plate, continuing to eat and speak simultaneously.

“And the slightly dimwitted me, who lacks memory and perceptiveness but makes up for it in spirit! Though I’m not into long stories or comparing misfortunes, ultimately we’re all here for the money, right?”

That’s technically correct.

Our employer sought the best talents from the underground world, and we, the recruited ants, were lured by the substantial remuneration.

“Ultimately, I bet on the most promising contender among individuals and, thanks to you two, secured a position. Going forward, where we might need to negotiate with corporations or markets, I’ll likely take the lead. And if you teach me the tricks of the trade, I’d be grateful to reciprocate the favor.”

“But! When we’re working together, it’s different. I’d rather not maintain ties beyond claiming compensation and risk getting entangled unexpectedly. …Believe me, plenty have gone down that route and perished already.”

“…”

“Uh… A…”

After her monologue—or rather, one-sided speech—only the clinking of spoons remained.

Ken appeared momentarily speechless, his thoughts likely interrupted by Marina’s unexpectedly bitter self-assessment and preemption of underlying motives.

Resentment for being exploited was minimal. Even with her self-deprecating tone, Marina showcased a nearly mechanical ability to respond within her predetermined protocols, proving her worth.

Had it been solely about continuous vault-breaking trials, wouldn’t she likely have claimed first place?

Of course, had that been the case, our official business contract might have ended in deadlock—or catastrophe—but still.

In other words, while the three months ahead should pass amicably without any complaints from her, now wasn’t the right moment.

Perhaps… the stubborn insistence on not addressing each other by name but by whimsical nicknames was Marina’s way of setting boundaries, evoking a sense of regret.

Behold: Proof of this. Whether her inner musings had relaxed after sharing or were triggered by past unpleasant memories or trauma, her visible tears near the edge of the bowl contrasted starkly with her usual cheer, even startling the normally unflappable Zero who immediately retracted his blade…

“Sniff…! Huff, this… It’s too spicy!”

“Hey!”

…Who told you to spoon-eat the garlic chives, young lady!