Cyberpunk: 2075

What should a Japanese restaurant's signature dish be?

Sashimi? Sushi? Tempura?

In 2075, while these traditional Japanese foods could still be artificially synthesized from all sorts of weird ingredients, they had changed so much from their original form that they were no longer the main attractions on the menu.

Nowadays, the most popular dish in Night City's Japanese restaurants was yakitori—grilled chicken skewers.

Made from synthetic meat, this so-called "chicken" looked closer to meatballs than skewers. Jackie ordered twenty the moment they sat down and strongly recommended Carl and Oliver try them.

Carl hesitated, wondering what exactly this "chicken" was made of and if it was even safe to eat.

Meanwhile, Oliver had already grabbed a skewer, biting into the meatballs without hesitation.

One bite. Then another. He was loving it.

Seeing how much Oliver enjoyed it, Carl figured he might as well get used to eating bugs sooner or later.

So, he picked up a skewer and took a bite.

And immediately spat it out.

He wasn't trying to waste food, but the shock was too much.

The moment it entered his mouth, his teeth and tongue protested, his stomach clenched, and his body instinctively rejected it.

Like a defense mechanism, his first reaction was to spit it out immediately.

What the fuck was that taste?!

If Carl had to describe it in two words, he'd say: disgusting.

In three words: absolutely fucking disgusting.

In four words: the worst shit ever.

And if he really let loose?

"This shit tastes like absolute fucking garbage!"

It reminded him of those cheap, awful hot dogs from his childhood—

The kind that were 99% starch, the ones even stray dogs wouldn't eat.

But worse.

Imagine a rotten, sawdust-filled hot dog.

Drenched in soy sauce, vinegar, and chili flakes.

Like chewing on a soggy, over-seasoned paper towel—but somehow even more revolting.

Oliver and Jackie were mid-bite, enjoying their skewers.

Then they saw Carl's disgusted face, his furrowed brows, and his half-chewed meatball on the table.

Both of them froze.

Their first thought?

Was it poisoned?!

Both immediately stopped eating, their faces tensing with suspicion.

But then Carl finally spoke—

"This shit is just way too nasty!"

"Nasty?"

Jackie and Oliver exchanged a confused glance.

They looked at Carl's skewer—same as theirs.

Looked back at each other—both thinking the same thing.

Was there something wrong with his skewer?

To test it out, Jackie picked up Carl's rejected skewer and took a bite.

After chewing for a moment, his face twisted in confusion.

"Wait… this isn't bad at all."

Carl snapped back:

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

Now even Oliver was curious.

He took the last meatball off the skewer and ate it too.

A few chews later—his face looked just like Jackie's.

"Yeah… this isn't bad."

Seeing their genuine confusion, Carl finally understood—

These two were so used to eating shitty synthetic food that they didn't even realize how awful it was anymore.

There was no way to explain just how terrible this was to them.

So he just sighed and muttered:

"Compared to real chicken skewers, this synthetic crap is straight-up dogshit."

"Real chicken skewers?"

Oliver laughed, assuming Carl was joking about the restaurant's quality.

"Dude, you know real chicken is banned in Night City, right? Ever since that big bird flu outbreak, they outlawed all poultry. If you actually want to try the real stuff, we'd have to hit the black market. And it ain't cheap."

Jackie, however, was staring at Carl with a different expression.

His eyes widened in disbelief.

"Wait, Carl… are you telling me… you've actually eaten real chicken before?"

"Of course, I've eaten real chicken skewers before. That's why I can say this synthetic crap is garbage."

Carl shook his head. "I'm done with these so-called 'chicken' skewers. Give me something else. Eating this is just straight-up torture."

Oliver, now convinced that Carl had actually eaten real chicken before, started recalling something—

Back when they had their first meal together, Carl had only wanted to eat vegetarian.

A suspicion crossed his mind.

"Wait… You're not some corpo rich kid, are you?"

Carl scoffed. "Yeah, right. You ever seen a corpo kid carrying around a fucking Lexington?"

Waving over a waitress, he ordered something else to eat.

Then, in front of both Oliver and Jackie—like some kind of food review livestream—

Carl would take one bite, then immediately push the dish aside in disgust.

And just like that, plate after plate piled up in front of Jackie and Oliver.

By the time they noticed, their side of the table had turned into a small mountain of leftovers.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa—Carl, chill the fuck out."

Realizing that if Carl kept going, their stomachs were gonna fucking explode, Oliver put a stop to this madness before Carl ordered the entire menu.

Holding his aching belly, Oliver sighed.

"Let's see… You've ordered tonkatsu, sushi, sashimi, Japanese curry, and a bunch of other shit."

He stared at Carl, exasperated.

"Sir. Dear sir. You have literally eaten your way through almost the entire fucking menu. And yet, you haven't found one thing you like?!"

"This is not my fault!"

Carl protested. "I swear, not a single fucking thing here is edible. I'm just glad I spent the past two days eating Chinese cold noodles. Otherwise, I might've starved to death by now."

Jackie rubbed his stomach, which was now round as a damn balloon, and looked at Carl with growing curiosity.

"Damn, mano… Not just chicken, huh? You've had real pork, beef, and fish too? What the hell kind of place did you live in before?"

Carl sighed. "A place where real meat wasn't a luxury."

For his final attempt, he turned to the last dish on the table—ochazuke (Japanese tea rice).

Finally.

Finally, he found something edible.

As he slowly ate, a dark realization crept into his mind.

After all this time… the only thing he could eat was a fucking vegetarian dish.

At this rate…

Was he destined to become a vegetarian for life?