Dimensional Storekeeper

Little Sneak prodded it once.

Twice.

Sniffed it.

Then he pulled tab one straight down, pausing halfway to peek up and check if it was about to blow up in his face

Nothing.

He pulled the corner tabs next, slow and steady.

It worked.

He looked up, eyes wide with pride.

‘Mine listened.’

Kurome had no thumbs. And she refused to ask for help.

She stomped on the triangle with her front paws.

Then rolled over it.

Then bit the plastic.

‘Mmrrh – rude wrapper.’ Kurome mumbled with a mouthful of plastic.

Yoru and Tsuki were doing synchronized chaos beside her.

One succeeded with tab two but got wrapped up in tab three and ended up spinning around, a dizzy furball of confusion.

The other’s paw slipped, tearing from the wrong end and sending the seaweed fluttering behind her, as if she were declaring herself Onigiri Queen.

The table had become a battlefield, scattered with half-unwrapped rice triangles and fallen seaweed soldiers.

Hao just chuckled, reaching for the kittens to help.

“Alright, alright, let me help before someone eats the plastic.”

Mo Xixi quietly slid hers over too.

“…Me too, boss.”

“But only this once, got it?”

He smiled.

Somehow, this felt more satisfying than any cultivation breakthrough.

Hao carefully helped untangle their mess of wrappers, patiently guiding each of them to open the onigiri properly.

Finally, they all took a bite together – except for Little Sneak, who had already covertly shredded his and was devouring it with wild urgency, as if it was his last meal.

Mo Xixi’s eyes widened in surprise. The rice was soft and warm, each grain plump and tender, sticking together gently while dissolving slowly on her tongue, as if clouds melted into silk.

The creamy filling unfolded with a cool richness, smooth and slightly tangy, its subtle sweetness balanced by a gentle saltiness that teased the senses without overwhelming.

The flavor settled quietly, like a calm sea whispering secrets beneath a pale moon.

Kurome’s whiskers twitched in delight at the delicate fish-flavored paste, tender yet full of depth, carrying a faint hint of the ocean’s breath. It was fresh but carried a weight, as if tasting the quiet strength of water resting beneath stones.

Yoru and Tsuki blinked, their small mouths still moving, the taste working its way through unfamiliar instincts.

The crispness of the seaweed gave just enough resistance before giving way to a soft inner warmth, each bite a small ceremony of texture and discovery.

Their ears perked. They didn’t speak, but their tails flicked in approval.

Little Sneak had stopped chewing only to sigh through his nose, cheeks puffed from the next overfilled bite.

The savory filling had practically fused with the warm rice in his mouth, each chew unleashing a deeper note of satisfaction.

He didn’t know what this was. He didn’t care. He just knew it was divine.

Hao finally brought his own onigiri to his lips again. The moment his teeth sank in, everything else faded.

The rice greeted his tongue with that same softness that defied logic. Plusher than sushi rice, gentler than porridge.

But not the kind of mushy mess that tasted like sadness.

This wasn’t some BBC food clip where they drowned cooked rice into rinse water three times just to insult everyone’s ancestors.

No, this was artistry.

It didn’t just sit there. It melted, slowly and sweetly. Snow whipped into cream, kissed with honey.

Every grain held its own shape, but the moment he chewed, it released warmth. Steamed chestnut cream wrapped in morning mist.

Then came the fish.

It was the soul of the sea, not just its taste.

The flavor unfurled slowly. First, a rich, savory smoothness. Something like what top-grade Bluefin belly sashimi might taste like – Hao had never had one.

Then the buttery weight settled in. But not heavy. The kind of smooth depth that called halibut to mind, but cleaner. Balanced. Elegant.

Beneath the richness, a lingering sweetness. Not sugary, not cloying. The finish of a perfectly chilled oyster meeting glacier water.

And beneath that, a deeper note. Ancient and warm, the sensation of sitting on sun-heated rock beside a cold ocean cliff.

Mayo.

Creamy fell short of describing it.

It wrapped the fish, clinging with the weight of sauce slow-cooked over time.

The taste was toasty and rich. Miso butter simmered beside a fire, blended with toasted sesame milk and browned egg yolk.

A faint sweetness threaded through, subtle and comforting.

No harshness, no edge. Only warmth, the kind that settles across your shoulders when late sunlight returns after the rain.

Then came the lift.

Not sour. No vinegar sting.

It passed through gently, the breeze that rustles fruit trees when the sky turns indigo.

Soft and crisp. Sliced pear steeped in starlit dew. White tea carrying the memory of preserved plum.

It brightened everything around it without stepping into the spotlight.

The final seal. Seaweed wrap.

It crackled faintly beneath his teeth, then vanished.

What lingered was the flavor of damp stone after firelight, roasted pine leaf, and a slow wash of salt.

Not briny or sharp. Earth-warmed mineral spring water drawn through moss and root.

It anchored the layers. Wrapped them in quiet.

Beneath it all, the herbal salt whispered.

Sage smoke hanging in the distance. Wildflowers drying beneath the sun.

Not bold. Not loud.

But steady enough to remind the tongue this was no ordinary food.

Despite its slightly larger size compared to the ones Hao used to see at the convenience store he worked at, it took him just five bites to finish the tuna mayo onigiri.

“Not bad at all.” Hao muttered, wiping his mouth with a thumb.

The others finished theirs too, no hesitation, no second thoughts about what effects the onigiri might have. The price was steep – six crystals per piece – much more expensive than the Original Salted Potato Chips.

But when Hao thought about the prices back on Earth, it made sense. Onigiri should cost more than chips, right? The balance of quality and care in making these was obvious.

Little Sneak’s whiskers quivered as he licked his lips. ‘Worth every crystal.’

‘This on-one? one-onigiri passed my stomach’s inspection with flying colors. If I could buy a whole pile of these, human, I’d eat nothing else all day.’

Source: .com, updated by novlove.com