Lucy had never eaten takoyaki before.
Of course, she'd read about it — she'd read about everything. As a netrunner, data was her daily bread. She could recite half the archived encyclopedia of world cuisine from memory, yet her knowledge was purely theoretical.
Takoyaki: street food from old Japan.
A dish born in chaos and shared on the run — quick, hot, round little spheres of batter filled with octopus, brushed with sweet sauce and mayo, topped with dried bonito that danced in the heat.
A food made for crowds and nights under neon lights. For laughter in the rain. For moments that never lasted long.
That, Lucy thought, was so very Night City.
…
The stall they'd found in Neo-Kabukichō was nothing like the sterile eateries she was used to.
No AR menus or drone waiters buzzing overhead.
Just a small wooden counter, red paper lanterns fluttering in the wind, and a middle-aged man flipping the takoyaki balls on an old cast-iron grill with practiced grace.
The smell was unreal — rich, savory, smoky, a little sweet.
People leaned against the counter, chatting, laughing, their voices lost beneath the hum of the city. Behind them, holographic cherry blossoms drifted lazily down from an unseen projector.
It felt almost… alive.
Lucy brushed her fingers against the paper tray the vendor handed her. The surface was warm, slightly greasy. How long had it been since she last touched something real?
…
Across from her, Neo blew on one of the piping-hot takoyaki balls, steam rising between them.
"Careful," he warned, "first bite's a trap. Lava inside."
Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Lava? It's just food."
Neo gave her a knowing smirk. "Go ahead, find out."
She did.
And promptly hissed, "Ah—damn it, that's hot as molten metal!"
Neo laughed softly. "Told you."
Lucy glared at him but couldn't help laughing too. "You set me up."
"Maybe," he said, teasingly. "But that's the rule. First-timers always burn their tongue. It's tradition."
"Tradition sounds painful."
"That's how you know it's real."
…
The vendor slid another batch onto the grill, the scent of soy and katsuobushi rising like incense. Lucy watched as Neo took his time — eating each piece carefully, almost reverently.
He didn't rush. Didn't look around for threats. For once, he was just there.
"You really like this stuff," she said, softly.
Neo nodded. "Street food's honest. No chrome. No pretense. Just skill, heat, and flavor. You can't fake it."
Lucy tilted her head, smiling faintly. "You talk about food like it's a religion."
"Over here?" He smirked. "It kind of is."
She looked around — at the glowing kanji signs, the echo of laughter, the steam rising from other stalls down the narrow lane.
Maybe he was right. Maybe this place was sacred — in its own, gritty way.
…
When she took her next bite — slower this time — she finally understood.
The crisp shell broke open to reveal soft batter, chewy octopus, and that impossible mix of sauce, mayo, and umami. Her senses exploded. Her neural link almost overloaded trying to label the flavor.
Lucy let out a small, involuntary sigh. "It's… incredible."
Neo smiled faintly. "That's the beauty of it. It's imperfect, but real."
He gestured toward the city beyond the lanterns. "Night City's full of fakes. Synthetic flavor, synthetic people. But this?"
He held up another takoyaki ball, steam curling upward.
"This is what's left of what we used to be."
Lucy studied him — the merc who could kill without blinking, now talking like a philosopher over fried octopus. And somehow, that contrast made him feel even more human.
…
They stood there for a while, just eating in companionable silence. The rain began to fall — light, silver, barely more than mist. The neon reflections bled across the wet pavement, painting everything in shades of violet and gold.
Lucy leaned slightly against the counter, eyes half-closed, the warmth of the food lingering on her tongue.
"I think," she said quietly, "I get it now."
"Get what?"
"Why you like flavor so much."
She met his gaze, her expression soft, playful.
"I've got one too."
He raised an eyebrow. "A flavor?"
She grinned. "You."
…
Meanwhile…
Across town, near Arasaka Academy, trouble was brewing.
David Martinez had just been cornered by three students in a narrow back alley — one of them, Katsuo Tanaka, the golden boy of Arasaka's elite program.
Son of privilege. Born in chrome. Dripping arrogance.
Tanaka grinned, cracking his knuckles. "Well, if it isn't the gutter rat himself. David Martinez."
David sighed. He'd just wanted to go home.
"Long time no see, Tanaka," he said flatly. "Listen, I'm not in the mood. Why don't you and your bodyguards take your daddy's money and go buy yourselves some personality upgrades?"
Tanaka's smirk faltered, replaced by a sneer.
"You think you're special because you got into my academy? Because some pity scholarship let you walk our halls?"
He stepped closer.
"Let me remind you, Martinez — no matter how much chrome you jam into that street-trash body, you'll never be one of us."
David met his gaze, calm and unshaken.
"Good."
He took a step forward, eyes hardening.
"Because the last thing I'd ever want… is to be you."
-------------------------
Patreon Advance Chapters: patreon .com / ElvenKing20