Sweet Dreams
People dream all sorts of dreams. Nightmares they desperately want to escape, sweet dreams they never want to wake from...
Someone once said dreams are the manifestation of the conscious and unconscious mind. Another claimed they're just the brain half-waking during shallow sleep, fumbling through half-formed events. Dreams are highly volatile. That's why good ones have always been traded like rare treasures since ancient times.
"A dream crafted with a luxury feather pillow, a lightly warmed and cozy blanket, a cup of warm milk, and just the right touch of sugar."
"...Huh."
The kind of description you'd expect from a high-end restaurant.
"Pure, sugary romance. But with that bittersweet pang of loneliness right before waking, realizing it's all a dream. Savor that refined aftertaste as you enjoy it."
"...I see. So that's the flavor."
Dreams evaporate so quickly that more than half vanish the moment you wake. That's why a dream this vivid—intense yet sweet and fluffy, a complete dream that transcends all others—commands such a premium price. Especially one like this, utterly free of nightmares, brimming only with pure happiness and longing. Its value skyrockets dozens, hundreds of times over.
The chance to savor such a dream. Is it really okay to indulge in something this extravagant?
"...Did he fall asleep peacefully?"
"Good heavens. You even noticed that? You're no ordinary gourmet...!"
The staff, dignified as befits a luxury establishment, startles in admiration.
This dream comes from someone who loved only one person their entire life. Someone who lost their beloved first and spent the rest of their days in longing. Their final dream, no less—drifting off happily in the arms of family.
Too sweet for a mere dream... maybe a dreamlike reality? Or a flavor overflowing with ethereal bliss?
"To think you can taste something like this at this price..."
"It'd be a solid proposition for System Industry too."
"Do you have steady supply?"
"If we position it as premium line, we could manage..."
"Makes sense. Can't sell a material like this cheap and in bulk."
The reason I came to this high-end restaurant today—to taste the Sweet Dream—was for business.
Forest of Dreams. A place pursuing natural flavors in dreams, free from contrived, overstimulating nonsense. Of course, dreams as ingredients are inherently inconsistent in taste, always dogged by stability issues. That's kept it famous but shut out from the world's top rankings.
For a place like that to deliver such consistent quality, with reliable volume to boot...
"This quality at this price. Not bad, right?"
The staff beams with pride. Clearly thrilled to be part of this restaurant. And rightly so. Refining dreams like this to this price point—and making them home-ready—is no small feat.
"I'll bring the contract tomorrow. Today, I'm here as a customer, not a business contact."
"Really? Understood! I'll let the chef know."
The staff fades away like mist in a dream, dissolving into the ether. They've entered the dreamscape.
This restaurant's cooks must dwell in dreams by nature of their craft. Chefs especially—confined to the dream world entirely. Any hint of the real world risks triggering lucid dreaming in the sleeper. Profound stuff, the world of dream cuisine.
"...Truly an unexpected flavor."
Sweet Dream. Incredibly sweet. But not the sweetness of chocolate, cookies, or sugar-laden meringue. Not fruit, roasted pears or onions, chemical sweeteners, or metallic tang from copper. It's simply the tooth-aching sweetness of a dream's essence.
"Definitely dreamlike. I can already barely remember what it tasted like."
A happy flavor that leaves you hollow upon waking—but its joy lingers all day. You can't recall the specifics, yet the aftertaste endures... The finer the dream, the sweeter, the stronger this effect.
"That price for a dream like this. Not bad at all."
But that's precisely why distributing good dreams is so tricky. They fade more than halfway on waking, leaving scant remnants after a little time passes. Eating a fully intact one from start to finish, like today? A dream in itself.
Intact dreams in stable supply at a fair price.
"New technique or not, the world's come a long way."
Like buckwheat noodles made from pure buckwheat. Back in the day, 100% buckwheat soba was a luxury only found at specialty shops. Buckwheat lacks stickiness, making pure dough a nightmare without wheat flour.
Then suddenly, pure buckwheat noodles flooded the market. Some genius process unlocked the stickiness from buckwheat alone.
Come to think of it, the desire to savor sweet dreams forever dates back beyond antiquity—to prehistoric times, maybe further. If anything, developing tech to preserve them intact feels overdue.
"Damn it! This isn't a dream! What kind of dream is this refined crap? Expensive for nothing...!"
"Hm?"
Lost in the sweet reverie, I hear grumbling nearby.
Cowboy hat, white lab coat... and an e-cig? What combo is that? Her face flushes as red as her twin braids. Freckles frame a flicker of disdain.
She spits toward the restaurant, unleashing a tirade. Who the hell is she?
"Hey, mister. You just ate a dream over there, right?"
"Ah, yeah."
"Feel anything?"
"...Pardon?"
Whoa. She's got some fire. I'm no pushover myself, but this one's... yeah. Top predator vibes. Like facing a dragon or divine beast—pure intimidation.
"The dream's too clean and pretty! That ain't a dream!"
"What do you mean..."
"Dreams are supposed to be a chaotic mess! Real dreams are the ones where you wake up regretting, 'Damn, if I'd known it was a dream, I'd have gone wild!' That's the genuine article!"
...What? No, I get it. Dreams are usually like that. Fragmented, logic shredded to bits, realism out the window—but you roll with it anyway.
"Haha! Finally, someone who gets it! Been ages since I met a true dream connoisseur!"
Oh no. Did I mutter that out loud? Deep thoughts always spill over like this...
"Name's Lucy McBaku. I run a modest sauna and hotel business."
Sauna and hotel... McBaku... Wait.
"You don't mean... from the McBaku Group?"
"That's right. Lucy McBaku of McBaku Group, at your service."
McBaku Group. De facto rulers of the southern McBaku dimension cluster. Dream-eaters extraordinaire.
"Heard my rival cooked up a new dream, so I came. Felt like a total insult. Processed pretty dreams like that? An outrage to dreams themselves!"
She called it "modest," but McBaku Group ain't no corner shop. One full dimension's a hotel, the next a sauna, half of another a spa, the rest R&D. A hyperdimensional empire spanning seven worlds!
Sure, peanuts next to System Industry—but always in the interdimensional top 100. And one's standing right here. Sweat's beading up for no reason.
"You strike me as a serious foodie."
Lucy pulls a blade of grass from somewhere and chews it.
"Perfect timing. We're recruiting external testers for our new product."
"New product testing...?"
"Can't lose to the competition. Gotta show 'em what real, natural dream flavor's about—way better than artificial junk."
Real natural dreams...?
"Not pricey, long-haul dreams. Everyday ones anyone can have. Chaotic, all-over-the-place, ordinary madness. Cheap-ass mutt dreams!"
...Mutt dreams? Kinda puts a weird spin on it.
"A perfect canned dream for anyone, anytime—light and easy. Interested?"
"Hmm. That kind of dream..."
Frankly, Lucy McBaku's exhausting one-on-one. But business? Different story. Target market, price, hooks—all spot-on. If the taste delivers, I could score a haul of new ingredients. Hell, harness that fiery rivalry carefully...
"What's the testing schedule?"
"Can start now. Like I said, aiming for 'dreams anywhere, anytime.'"
"Ah."
"Can't exactly eat it fork-in-hand on the street, though... This way. Got a McBaku cafe nearby. Sample it there."
...Lucy moves like a dream sequence—unpredictable, yet following some clear inner logic.
Who'd have thought I'd rub shoulders with McBaku Group's powerhouse in a place like this? If that's not a dreamlike twist, what is?