MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 904: Ramen Cooking Procedure

The team traversed the Public Simmerium, their gazes darting toward every detail as they absorbed the environment in hushed reverence. It seemed as though every element within the Simmerium held profound significance; nothing existed devoid of reason, and no sound, motion, or presence occurred by mere coincidence. Even the atmosphere felt deliberate, saturated with an invisible order and unspoken regulations.

After allowing them time to observe, Broth-ben—whose tour was reaching its conclusion—resolved to demonstrate the true art of ramen preparation as it existed within the Ramen Singularity Timeline on Planet Nodara. It was already evident that the methods practiced here differed vastly from any techniques they had previously encountered. Presenting a few of these specialized processes would be more than enough to leave a permanent mark on their minds.

Guiding them forward with steady, rhythmic strides, Broth-ben led the group to a different wing of the Simmerium. There, a chef was visible, preparing to begin a culinary session. This individual was a member of the Noodle-Born race, a being whose very biology subtly mirrored their gastronomic nature. The chef wore a long, sleeveless outer garment that featured slits along both sides to ensure that movement remained completely uninhibited.

The color of this attire shifted almost imperceptibly, its shades fluctuating in response to the chef’s internal Savor balance, reacting to their focus, intent, and emotions. A heat-wrap sash was fastened tightly around the chef’s waist; this specialized band was designed to regulate internal temperature and suppress emotional outbursts during the cooking process, maintaining harmony and stability throughout.

An apron crafted from semi-translucent fabric protected the Noodle-Born chef, a material capable of effortlessly repelling broth and oil, which simply rolled off the surface without leaving a single mark. Fingerless gloves covered the chef’s hands, providing necessary protection while allowing for meticulous tactile sensitivity. On their feet were bowlstep sandals—flat-soled footwear engineered to maintain direct contact with the vibrations of the Simmerium’s floor. Through these sandals, the chef could detect minute fluctuations in energy, resonance, and movement beneath their feet.

Once the attire was adjusted and preparations were finalized, the chef commenced the cooking ritual. He moved between various bowls set nearby, picking each one up briefly and inspecting it as if he were listening to the vessel rather than looking at it. It appeared as though he were seeking a quality that remained invisible to the naked eye. Anthony and his companions stayed quiet, doing nothing but observing, while Broth-ben took the opportunity to describe the events unfolding before them.

“The initial stage of crafting ramen is known as Bowl Recognition,” Broth-ben explained in a calm voice. “It is the formal acknowledgment of which vessel you desire to contain your ramen once it is complete. However, the choice is not the chef's alone. The bowl must also grant its approval to the chef.”

As if acting on Broth-ben’s cue, the chef reached for a bowl of pristine white. Without a moment's doubt, he set it upon a unique stone pedestal located at the center of the station. He then simply waited, his stance relaxed, appearing to anticipate a judgment rather than performing a task.

A few seconds later, a subtle warmth radiated across the base of the vessel. Savory-Gold lines manifested briefly along the rim, glowing with a soft light before vanishing. The indication was clear: the bowl had accepted the chef, just as the chef had accepted the bowl.

“Should the bowl fail to choose the chef,” Broth-ben added, “then the chef is required to select a different one. This phenomenon is a mandatory requirement when preparing ramen. Without this mutual recognition, the ramen can never reach its final form.”

With practiced ease, the chef proceeded to the second stage, his motions fluid and certain, proving that he had performed these rites many times before. This phase was called the Water Awakening.

Lifting a hand, the chef summoned liquid from one of the Endless Broth Springs situated around the workstation. The fluid glided through the air with a slow grace, pouring into the pot below. As the liquid fell, the chef controlled his breathing, allowing Savor to bleed into the stream with delicate precision. Every breath had a purpose; every motion was calculated. The liquid took on a slightly darker tint as it settled, and thin, intentional ribbons of steam began to rise.

The chef transitioned into the third stage without a pause, yet every procedure was performed with visible love and affection. This step was titled Heat Alignment. On Planet Nodara, heat was rarely ever forced upon the food during the cooking process. Instead, one was required to negotiate with both the pot and the heat, similar to how the bowl had to choose the chef.

Approaching the pot, the chef rested a hand against its side. He closed his eyes and allowed his body to relax as his consciousness turned inward, as if he were communicating with a hidden presence. Moments later, warmth started to permeate the pot naturally—slow, consistent, and responding to his will. The chef then pulled back with a composed, gentle air.

“In this phase,” Broth-ben noted, “the heat reacts in direct response to the thoughts and intentions of the chef.” His voice held the confidence of a man who had tasted countless bowls and seen every existing technique with his own eyes.

The chef then moved to the fourth part of the ritual: the Bone & Depth Infusion. With steady hands, he placed bones, shells, and void fragments into the pot one by one. For a brief interval, they hovered on the surface of the broth, motionless. The chef watched with absolute focus, as if the entire universe had shrunk down to the pot and the process at hand. Then, individually, the ingredients began to sink beneath the liquid.

As they submerged, a sense of depth began to manifest. The broth transformed into a rich Umbral-Brown color, and the air grew heavier with every passing moment. Curiously, time within the pot appeared to decelerate slightly, as if the world of Nodara itself were evaluating the chef’s craftsmanship.

“During this specific method,” Broth-ben said loudly enough for everyone to hear, “the shells and bones must descend by their own accord. They cannot be pushed. If they are still floating after one minute, they must be discarded immediately. That indicates they have been rejected by either the broth or the pot.”

Anthony and the others nodded in silence, captivated by the spectacle. Every aspect of this culinary process demanded permission, care, love, and genuine respect. Without these elements, everything—the heat, the water, the pot, and the bowl—would reject the chef entirely.

Soon, a pale foam started to surface as the temperature climbed. The broth grew even deeper in color, and soft pulses of heat rippled through the pot. The chef raised his palm, allowing Savory energy to flow into his hand before guiding it into the broth with surgical precision. The pale foam drifted upward into the air, and the chef cleared most of it away, though he left a small portion behind.

“If he was going to clear the foam, why didn't he remove all of it?” Aura Nova asked, unable to suppress her inquisitiveness.

“I was just getting to that, Miss Aura Nova,” Broth-ben answered with a faint smile, having already identified her as the most curious and spirited member of the group.

“That pale foam is the result of excess intent,” he explained. “Ramen is brought into existence through intent. You have nothing without it. However, excess intent is not the same as an impurity. Leaving a small trace ensures the dish has character, whereas removing too much would result in a broth without a soul.”

As he spoke, Broth-ben looked toward the pot with a serene expression, as if he were tuning himself to the silent dialogue occurring between the chef and the broth.