42. Bread and Pastries
"Hmm..."
Pondering, pondering, more pondering. Sometimes you face a seemingly trivial yet profoundly important choice—one where regret is inevitable no matter which way you go.
"Rice or bread...!"
Like agonizing over what to have for lunch, for instance.
...I do have a driver's license, but I mostly rely on public transportation. Dimension Central has incredibly convenient transit options beyond imagination. Driving around would actually make getting places harder. And the maintenance costs are steep.
That said, it does mean I occasionally get caught up in unexpected situations.
"Sorry, the next batch of bread won't be out for another 40 minutes."
"Ah, damn."
There's this little bakery you run into when exiting the subway station. Through the glass window, you can see the dough and the ovens—clearly not some factory-stamped product; they bake it fresh right here. Being in a high-traffic spot, it does brisk business. I drop by myself when I'm rushing to work.
"40 minutes... Ugh. Got it."
But its popularity sometimes draws crowds too big for such a small shop to handle. I usually arrive early enough to beat the line, but today of all days, the subway was delayed by a few minutes...
"This smell drives people insane..."
The aroma of freshly baked bread has the power to paralyze the mind. Even in the heat of an argument, it makes you think, 'Smells delicious. Maybe eat some bread first and sort this out later?' That's its power.
But occasionally, that overwhelming, bewitching scent leaves you desperately craving more. Even after passing the bakery and walking a long stretch down the corridor, the nutty fragrance of hot bread lingers at the tip of my nose.
Subway tunnels are narrow. Ventilation is decent, but smells spread fast. Dozens of meters away... no, in bad cases, you can faintly catch it from over a hundred meters off. That scent clings to my nose like lingering regret, tormenting me.
Maybe that's why? Today, I'm strangely craving bread.
But there aren't any good bakeries nearby. Sure, there are mediocre ones, but nothing that surpasses that devilish aroma—not a single place.
Should I head to the subway station bakery for lunch? No, that's overkill. It gets mobbed at lunchtime just like breakfast. One wrong move, and I'll be stuck in line again with nothing to show for it.
So for now, I'll shelve the desire and think of something else...
...Nope. Failed. Nothing else comes to mind.
Freshly baked bread. I want freshly baked bread so bad...!
"...Maybe take a walk."
A stroll might clear my head. Or maybe it'll just deepen the obsession. Either way, let's head outside. I need to stop by the university lab this afternoon anyway. Going early isn't a bad idea...
...The area around the university is packed with restaurants and bars. College kids are always hungry. Plenty of cheap, filling options for empty pockets: stir-fried pork, soybean paste stew, and...
"...Bread?"
A bread scent wafts from somewhere. Nutty. Overpowering. The rich aroma of flour baking fills the open street. This rivals the subway bakery's smell.
I follow it like I'm entranced.
"...Whoa."
Before I know it, I'm standing in front of a bakery. Not a big place. Peeking inside, I see a decent variety of breads. One or two left on each tray.
Which means...
"...Perfect. This is it."
Right then, an elf baker in thick insulated gloves emerges with a tray of freshly baked bread. Without thinking, I push open the door and step inside.
Fresh bread has a demonic allure. A siren's call to passersby—not with song, but with scent.
"Uwwoo...!"
Inside, the nutty bread aroma hits even harder. Fresh loaves themselves don't smell as strong, but peering past the counter, I spot a bunch of ovens. Are they all baking at once? That would explain the intensity.
Sure enough, the wall lists baking times: 08:00, 12:00, 16:00. Right before mealtimes, huh. Makes sense—that's peak hours.
Glancing at my watch, it's just past noon. New batch time. Perfect timing. Really.
Korokke bread, pizza bread, red bean bread and cream bread, soboro bread and baguette, sliced bread and ciabatta... Good lord. Is this heaven?
I glance at the korokke bread for a second, and suddenly I'm trapped amid the fresh batch. Still piping hot. The insides must be impossibly soft.
"Thank you. Come again."
"...Huh."
I snap to, and my hand clutches a bag stuffed with bread. When did I even pay?
"No place to eat nearby, huh..."
Buying the bread was great, but there's nowhere suitable to sit.
...Alright. I've got bread, the weather's nice—might as well enjoy a little picnic.
The university has a plaza with a fountain. That spot should make for a decent meal with some ambiance.
...Near the university plaza rest area. Benches and wooden tables for lounging, plus a vending machine and trash bins.
I brush off the scattered leaves and dust from the table and sit.
Oh, right—something to drink. Conveniently, there's a vending machine next to it. Let's see... Yeah. Milk tea it is.
"Still warm... This'll be good."
Normally I'd take in the scenery, but right now I'm too hungry. The beast in my stomach growls, demanding bread now.
No helping it. When you're this starved, nothing else registers.
What to start with...
...Right. Korokke bread. Korokke bread it is.
"Hm?"
Korokke bread. Filled with ground meat, onions, glass noodles, scallions, and such, then deep-fried to perfection. Different from meat or potato korokke. The filling is... like dumplings, yeah. Now that I think about it, it feels like a fried dumpling. The skin isn't as thin as a real dumpling's, but there's an uncanny resemblance.
Bite into the fresh-fried surface for that crisp crunch, followed by the chewy, thick bread. The filling is substantial yet teasingly sparse—not packed full, just enough to leave you wanting more. Stuff it fuller, and the moisture from the ingredients would soak into the bread, turning it soggy. A delicate balance, really.
I devour the korokke bread right there, not even bothering with my drink. Delicious. The oily sheen on my fingers, the fried breadcrumbs clinging to it—all of it.
Good call starting with this. But one bread won't fill me up. It's sizable, sure, but I've been bread-starved since breakfast. I could down several more no problem.
Yeah. Bread's always best warm. A few more won't hurt.
I pull out the next from the bag. Pizza bread... Nah, put it back. Red bean bread... This too. Save it for last.
Fumbling through a few times, my hand lands on the biggest one at the bottom.
"...Sliced bread, huh."
Sliced bread. Milk bread. Hmm... Yeah. For a meal, it'll do. Milk bread's fine.
Not exactly ideal for leisurely outdoor munching on a rest area bench, but who cares? Like I said, right now I'm a bread fiend. Eating milk bread here feels totally natural!
"Oh."
Thought it was presliced, but it's a whole loaf. Kinda tricky to eat like this.
...No, wait. This is actually perfect for something.
Tear it apart by hand.
"Whoa..."
I grip the loaf with both hands and give a gentle pull. The crust tears slightly, revealing snowy white innards. Like well-cooked chicken breast splitting open, delicate fibers packed tight. The rich milk and bread scents, trapped in that firm crust, waft out like a sigh.
It's spring. Milk bread, but spring.
I shove a big chunk into my mouth.
...It melts!
The warm interior, those fluffy white strands protruding like downy fibers—they're insanely good! Rich milk flavor, dense like premium ice cream made from the creamiest milk. Beyond the milk's sweetness and nuttiness, the bread's own savoriness peeks through slyly.
Indeed. It's bread. Asserting its presence loud and clear. The milk dominates, but a fresh-baked loaf can outshine meat sometimes.
Maybe I ate too fast? My throat's clogged. Feels stuffed.
The soft white melts like cotton candy on the tongue, but the crusty edges linger stubbornly. Chewing thoroughly, it's surprisingly tough.
"Funny—people who eat a lot of fancy bread tend to hate this kind of thing."
I recall a food manga from my childhood that prized balance above all—especially ingredients sliding down your throat in perfect sync. By that metric, this milk bread's a mess.
The creamy, milk-rich center vanishes instantly on the tongue, while the overbaked, nutty crust—focused solely on holding it together—clings forever. The best part's gone in a flash; the less tasty bits overstay their welcome.
Cheaper loaves, by contrast, have crust and crumb melting at similar rates for better harmony. Funny how fancier foods can get pickier...