"Nikujaga," Hanako repeated softly, saying the name aloud.
As she did, Chiyome stepped away from the door and walked over, kneeling beside her with perfect posture. She extended both hands and received the container from Karl.
When she opened it, the smell of warm stew rose up. The thermal container Karl had picked out was doing its job—his morning cooking was still hot.
Chiyome glanced at Karl, then turned back to Hanako.
"Please allow me to taste it first, Miss Hanako."
Poison check, huh.
Karl didn't mind.
Hanako didn't object either.
If Karl had wanted to poison her, he'd had plenty of chances. He could've slipped something into the orange while peeling it. No need to go through all the trouble of putting it in a lunchbox like some cartoon villain.
Hanako trusted him.
But for Chiyome, this was protocol. Duty. And for someone like her, duty wasn't optional.
The last time she thought someone had failed theirs, she stopped calling them "sensei" altogether. Now it was just "the negligent one."
Chiyome pulled out sanitized utensils—a spoon and chopsticks. Her optical implants lit up as she scanned the contents thoroughly. Once clear, she took a spoonful.
Soft potatoes. Fall-apart pork. Smelled good.
But her face didn't move—zero expression, like she was eating protein paste back in boot camp. Her lips moved slightly, and the implant suite kicked in, analyzing everything she'd just eaten.
After a few seconds, she turned to Karl and spoke with brutal honesty:
"The flavor is too strong. It may not suit Miss Hanako's palate. The pork is low quality—not lab-grown. The potatoes are a cheap variety. The seasoning is unbalanced. As food, it is… substandard."
"…Yeah."
Karl didn't argue. Because everything she said was true.
In Night City, the ingredients he'd used were top-shelf by normal standards—better than what 90% of the population could afford. But next to what Hanako Arasaka ate?
Yeah. Not even close.
Still, Chiyome didn't mention any toxins or tampering. Just quality. She followed up with her usual sense of duty:
"This likely won't suit Miss Hanako's tastes. If it's out of politeness that she accepts it, I am willing to finish the meal myself."
"Hm."
After listening to Chiyome's detailed breakdown, Hanako looked at the stew, then at Karl.
And then she said:
"Don't worry. I'll try the first bite."
One bite. Should be fine, right?
"If you can't finish it, don't force it," Karl said. "I get it. Once you're used to good food, bad food is hard to stomach. I've had synth meatballs that were tolerable. But one bite of synth steak with worm bits and insect mandibles? No thanks."
He paused, then added:
"You, I'm guessing, have never had to suffer that."
"This is a gesture of goodwill. One I can accept."
Hanako accepted a fresh spoon from Chiyome, scooped up a small bite, and tasted it.
Her brows tightened slightly at first—but after a few seconds, they relaxed.
"Not bad, huh?"
Karl smiled slightly.
"Guess my cooking's not that terrible."
Chiyome almost made him lose all confidence.
Watching Hanako quietly eat a few more spoonfuls, Karl was about to ask if she wanted some rice to go with it—it did get heavy fast—when Hanako set her spoon down.
"It's time."
She said it plainly. Karl had no idea what she meant, but Chiyome did.
She stood up and activated something with her optics. A section of the otherwise plain wall beside them lit up with soft color.
Karl blinked.
That wall, with nothing around it—no shelves, no decorations—was a screen.
A hidden TV?
Damn. Classy.
The screen powered on. The picture came a second later—but first came the voice:
"Buckle up!"
…What?
Karl stared at the man on screen: middle-aged, grinning from ear to ear, speaking straight into the camera.
"Who is this?"
"Hidetomo Hino. Midnight variety show host," Chiyome replied smoothly.
"Miss Hanako watches his program every night. His monologues are clever. He's popular for a reason."
"…Huh."
Karl watched Hanako casually pull another orange from... somewhere. Without looking at him, she handed it over to be peeled.
So the cold, untouchable Arasaka heiress liked late-night comedy?
Weird.
Then again… maybe not?
Watching Hanako—posture perfect, expression unreadable—staring at the screen while this guy on TV made ridiculous faces and exaggerated gestures...
Karl muttered:
"People really do have all kinds of tastes. Wouldn't have guessed this one."
"I don't like comedy," Hanako replied.
She accepted the peeled orange half he handed her and said:
"I watch because he resembles someone I respect deeply. A senior whose face and mannerisms are rarely seen. He's always so serious… So watching someone who looks like him behave this way—it's oddly amusing."
"…Yeah, that actually makes sense."
Karl nodded. He could relate.
Like if Ken'ichirou popped up in a brain dance, doing anime impressions and yelling "The power of the king…!" with one hand covering his eye.
He'd buy that. Premium tier. No hesitation.
With nothing else to do, he stayed and watched the show with her. Peeled some oranges. Ate some. Shared a few more.
And, honestly? The host was good. Sharp timing. Good rhythm. Funny stuff.
Before he knew it, he'd eaten ten oranges.
And Hanako had eaten the other half of each.
Then she remembered something.
"Oh, Karl. I may need you to serve as my temporary bodyguard in a few days."
"Temporary? Oh, like the 'special case' Ken'ichirou mentioned. Sure. What's the time and place?"
Another job meant another paycheck.
Hanako answered like it was nothing:
"Four days from now. The Arasaka Board's annual meeting at Night City Tower."
…The Board meeting?
In Night City?
As in—the Arasaka Board? The most powerful corpos in the American branch?
Karl quickly ran the dates through his head.
Two days from now—Christmas Eve. He had dinner plans with Blanca.
Next day—Christmas, drinks with Jack and the crew at The Wolf.
Four days from now…
The day after Christmas.
So Arasaka scheduled their most high-stakes corporate meeting right after the holiday.
Guess even they're trying to act Western now.
.
.
.
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