9. Mountaineering-Style Delicacy
When Shizuku and I raised both hands as if hoisting a white flag, a strange silence dominated the shop.
It was not merely an absence of sound.
It was a tension as if not even a single speck of dust was allowed to dance, as if space itself had frozen.
Even the driving hum of the air conditioning seemed to hold its breath, intimidated by the pressure.
In that volatile atmosphere, as we cowered—
Suddenly, the graduates moved in unison.
They held high their diplomas—the ones they ultimately hadn't been able to pass on to their juniors.
From the bottom of those tubes, strings looking like fuses hung down like tails. Grabbing them, they pulled them tight with vigor, like party poppers set off after blowing out candles on a birthday cake.
"Happy Graduation!"
*Pop!*
With that bursting sound, they began to explosively bless us, using their own diplomas as gunpowder.
From every corner of the shop, words of blessing—"Congratulations!"—or perhaps screams resembling shrieks, flew about as soap bubbles.
It seemed gunpowder was sealed within those psychedelic bubbles; every time one popped, an explosion roared.
The narrow shop was instantly enveloped in gunpowder smoke and the light of fireworks, turning into a melting pot of festivity akin to a battlefield.
Cutting through the hanging smoke like stage-effect dry ice, they appeared.
Boy-type maid drones appeared, pushing a massive cart.
Sitting atop it was a colossal cake that seemed to pierce the heavens.
A light blue like a refreshing ice pop.
Pastel-toned vanilla-colored steam was billowing up from it. It had the exact shape of a rugged high mountain on a distant planet, carved out by nature over hundreds of millions of years.
Looking closely, countless micro-sized humanoids were clinging to the surface of the sheer cliffs, enjoying their ascent.
In any case, sweets for us had been served.
"W-wait a minute."
I hurriedly called out to a maid.
"We didn't order this."
"It's on the house."
Hearing those words, I fell silent. Looking up, the summit of the cake reached the ceiling, forming its own atmospheric zone. Faced with the spectacle of syrup rain dripping from generated clouds and causing sweet avalanches on the mountainside, a commonsensical complaint like "we can't eat all this" would be nothing but boorish.
"Wow, it looks delicious!"
Shizuku said happily.
So I, too, fully engaged the gratitude system I had just installed moments ago and verbalized it.
"...Thank you. We humbly partake."
It was the moment Shizuku and I picked up our forks.
With the movements of gladiators, the maids drew a pair of "chopsticks" each from sheaths at their waists.
A hard, metallic *clack* resonated.
With the sharpness of Kendo masters, our forks were intercepted and their paths blocked.
"Apologies for the late explanation."
A maid with pale blue eyes announced solemnly.
"At our establishment, the rule is to consume sweets 'Indian style'."
"...Indian style?"
As I stood dumbfounded, Shizuku across from me interpreted on my behalf.
"So, you mean eat with our bare hands?"
"Precisely."
I raised my voice in immediate protest.
"That's unsanitary. I can't do that."
"What on earth is unsanitary about it?"
This time, a maid with emerald eyes retorted.
"Most dishes are prepared by chefs with their bare hands. Even with sushi, do not the artisans mold it with bare hands right in front of the customers?"
"That's..."
I was stuck for words for a split second, but immediately rebuilt my logic.
"Before cooking, they wash and disinfect their hands thoroughly at the level of a surgeon preparing for an operation, and sometimes even wear gloves, right? But our hands are contaminated. We don't have the leeway to execute such a sterilization process now, we're hungry, and above all, if there are forks, why not use them?"
"When climbing a mountain," the maid turned a deaf ear, "there are no humanoids who summit using a fork."
"Look," I sighed deeply. "We didn't come here to mountain climb. We just want to ingest sugar and recharge..."
While I was lining up my grumbling complaints, Shizuku had moved.
For her, the maid's words "eat with your hands" were processed as irresistible nutrients—that is, a "command (prompt)." She obediently reached her defenseless fingertips toward the cake.
"Don't! It's dirty!"
My germaphobe sensors blared a warning, and I reflexively reached out and grabbed her wrist.
In that instant.
An intense electric shock, like a bolt from the blue, raced from the point of contact and pierced through my entire body.
Come to think of it.
This was my first time engaging in physical contact with Shizuku.
My whole body went numb from the intense electric shock, and my consciousness whited out.
In that process, a fatal phenomenon was occurring.
This was not mere electrocution.
It was an "Energy Drain."
Like a vampire, or a psychic stealing another's life force, I had unintentionally absorbed Shizuku's meager remaining battery.
Her remaining charge, which was a mere 0.0017% to begin with, was rapidly converging to zero.
I saw the numerical value displayed in the corner of my vision going 0.00000..., increasing its digits like the endless continuation of Pi, heading toward extinguishment.
To prevent this, I had no luxury to choose my methods.
This was no time to be talking about germaphobia.
Without hesitation, while still holding her hand, I reached out toward the foot of the giant cake—the "mountain"—before us.
And I immediately executed the energy-saving protocol.
In our current macro humanoid forms, energy consumption is too intense. In that case, I just need to compress our mass itself.
"Resize!"
Success.
Dragging Shizuku into it as well, we shrank down to micro size.
Ideally, I wanted to compress us to nano-size, but this is an emergency; I have to compromise with micro-size.
Thus, we became little people, and from the foot of the cake mountain towering before us, we began the climb known as "eating."