Beer and Chicken Skewers
Late afternoon at System Industry HQ in Dimension Central.
"Even so, if you're going to beat us down this hard... Alvenheim Company was offering double that, you know?"
"But only System Industry can properly handle that volume."
"Hmm... That's certainly true, but..."
"Only System Industry's logistics network can process planetary-scale foodstuffs on time."
"...Alright. Let's sign the contract that way."
I stamp today's contract. How long has it been since a proper win?
The tension drains away the moment it's done, leaving my body to slump bonelessly. The rather expensive chair catches me perfectly. Now that's a chair worth its price.
"Are they seriously trying to drag us all down with them? Competition's one thing, but..."
Alvenheim Company. Why the hell are they pushing such cutthroat rivalry? This month alone, three deals fell through. Ever since System Industry got hammered by the interdimensional monopoly laws, the upstarts have been baiting us into a price war. Sure, we're still ahead with our stable logistics across dimensions, but even a temporary dip in performance is enough to drive a guy insane.
Wrap this up and head home.
I swing by the pantry and grab two packets of instant coffee... no, dump both into one paper cup. The thick brew slides down like syrup, bitter at first, then a fierce sweetness hits. My head clears a bit.
But there's a problem—I've just loaded up on high-calorie sludge.
...Come to think of it, I barely ate lunch.
I'm starving. Like, seriously starving. Breakfast was a rushed convenience store sandwich on the way out, and lunch? A couple of snack packs swiped from the pantry. All day chasing contracts left no time for a real meal. My gut twists with a loud gurgle. Is my stomach contracting from the hunger? I can tough it out. Probably...?
"So— Hello, Section Chief!"
"Ah, hey."
Two young employees enter the pantry. One's a fledgling demon with red skin and a pair of small horns; the other's a young angel with a brilliantly clear halo and tiny wings. The new hires from last week.
The demon intern bows nearly 110 degrees in greeting, while the angel hesitates before giving a shy little nod. I return it casually, and they head to the water purifier in the corner. Filling tumblers with hot water, maybe?
"Where were we? Oh, right! You know, I saw this chicken skewer joint behind the hardware store the other day!"
"Chicken skewer place?"
"One cool beer and a crispy chicken skin skewer? Perfection—the ideal way to cap off the day. We should go together next time!"
"N-next time... Uh, y-yeah...!"
"...Chicken skewers?"
Oh, crap. Ruined.
My stomach, which had been rumbling steadily, hits full revolt. Groooowl. Groooowl. Groooowl. It's talking to me now. You gonna ignore this too? If I let it slide again, it won't stay quiet next time.
Ha. Busted. I'd only just calmed the hunger pangs.
No choice. It's dinnertime anyway—might as well grab a bite. The deal's sealed, and the report can wait till tomorrow. The boss who reviews them clocked out hours ago.
"Alright. Calling it here today."
I save all my open docs and start packing up. Tonight's menu: chicken skewers. No question.
...
Moments later, in the alley behind the hardware stores.
"Should be around here."
The hardware street behind System Industry is packed with shops, just as the name implies. A hub for buying and selling leftover hardware from every dimension. The go-to spot when you need duct tape in a pinch for a busted interdimensional plumbing line.
A bar in a place like this? Surprisingly promising... Ah.
Stomach's gone quiet. Found it.
This smell. Walking down the hardware alley, the aroma of grilling meat assaults my nose. Charcoal-roasted savoriness, sweet and appetite-whetting—that exact scent that surges energy through your whole body, even from a whiff alone. Among them, the clean, subtly sweet notes. Drawn by nuances too subtle for words, I follow my nose... and there it is, the chicken skewer shop.
Peeking inside, I see a charcoal grill setup at the counter. Looks like you order, and they hand skewers over one by one.
This one's locked in. No alternatives.
Hunger makes people prickly. Same for the stomach—and a half-starved one gets even pickier. You head for skewers drawn by the smell, only to suddenly crave pork cutlet; then en route to cutlets, you waffle on spicy pork stir-fry. The starvation demands something delicious, not just quick filler.
But sometimes, you hit the jackpot in one go. Like right now.
"Welcome! Party of how many?"
"Ah. One."
"Right this way!"
Nice—counter seat just opened up. Straight to eating.
I settle in and pour water from the pitcher the staff hands over. Ice-cold bottles at every spot. Glancing at the commercial fridge, it's stocked with dozens. Good sign. Means high turnover—life hack for instant service to customers.
"Hoo..."
And this hot towel with the water glass? Reusable, steamed fresh. Not thrilled about the multi-use part, but there's something oddly reassuring about a warm towel. It melts away even the impulse to judge tastes coldly. Haven't eaten a bite, but if I had a scorecard, it'd be at least 4 out of 5 already.
"Please order via the kiosk in front!"
"Ah, got it."
Even a mini kiosk per seat. Two skewers for 7 pt? Chicken skin skewer solo for 3 pt? Cheap! Ridiculously so! Convenience store bento runs 60 to 90 pt—this is a steal for bar snacks!
Beer's 25 pt for 500cc, 45 pt for 1,000cc. A couple rounds? No sweat.
"Let's see... 500cc beer to start..."
What skewers? Ah, combo salt-grilled set—50 pt for 10? Solid! Salt and seasoned flavors. Salt first. In a serious spot like this, it'll shine.
Order and pay done; kitchen kicks into gear. Two gizzards, two skins, five leg pieces, one cartilage. They spin and sizzle right before my eyes.
Ha. Even a visual treat? Perfect! Everything about this place hits just right!
The skewers aren't huge—about three finger widths each.
"Your 500cc beer and salt-grilled chicken skewer set. Enjoy!"
"...Insane."
A mountain of ten skewers. Next to it, 500cc draft beer gleaming golden, foam ratio straight out of an ad. Cold. Freezing cold on the table, dew just starting to bead. Poured into a perfectly chilled glass? I can tell it's delicious without a sip!
Fuu... This is...
One cool beer hits like revelation. It soaks in—the chill flowing down my throat, permeating my body. Washes away fatigue, that nutty depth of a quality brew, not some cheap swill.
Ha. Perfection. Should've gone 1,000cc.
"Now then..."
Do these skewers match the perfect beer?
"Oho."
Salty. Briny. And nutty!
Salt's a polarizing flavor. Too much and your tongue curls in disgust; too little, and off-notes or dryness creep in. But the right amount—the perfect balance—amplifies everything.
Prime bar snack.
Meal salt vs. snack salt: snacks demand more. Some say it makes the booze flow easier; others, that it counters dulled taste buds when buzzed. All theories aside, one absolute truth: booze and salty skewers are a match made in heaven!
"Grilled to perfection, too. Master craftsmanship."
Chicken can get gamey sometimes—that musty whiff from the fat, what folks call "chicken funk." Better meat helps, but even premium cuts can betray you. Not here, though—pure, clean flavor. Salt, umami, chicken's natural savoriness: ultimate booze companion.
This has me curious about the seasoned ones now... But nine skewers left. Add more after?