Chapter 215 — Stewed Potatoes and Oranges

"Look at you today—real VIP treatment."

Inside Oliver's apartment, Karl teased him while taking off his jacket.

"All the salutes on the road? If someone didn't know better, they'd think we were escorting the president of New America."

"Why not go bigger—say, Saburo Arasaka?"

"In that case, we'd be watching people bowing the whole way."

"Three deep bows like a funeral rite?"

Oliver laughed and tossed a peeled potato toward Karl, who was standing near the stove. "All peeled. Catch!"

"Careful, man. That's a whole potato, not just powdered starch."

Karl caught it without dropping it. Real potatoes weren't exactly cheap in Night City—they were one of the main starch sources, like Synthwheat, but the ones sold in most stores were just company-made potato powder. Real whole potatoes? Rare and expensive. If Oliver just tossed one on the floor, they'd have to wash it again.

"So, what are you making?" Jack asked, peeling another one. "I see ginger over there. You doing stir-fried shredded potatoes with ginger? I saw that once in some old cookbook."

"You were 100% looking at a prank recipe."

Karl briefly summoned his monowire—but realizing it had just been used to kill someone today, he thought better of it and grabbed a kitchen knife instead. He started chopping the potato into chunks.

"V's here today, so I figured—he's a nomad, right? Always out in the wastelands, probably sweating bullets day and night. I wanted to cook something heavy with flavor."

"You didn't have to go through all this trouble for me." V sat awkwardly on the couch, not used to being treated so warmly.

He'd seen them pull out real meat and real veggies. Sure, in the Badlands you could sometimes get stuff like grilled iguana skewers, or rare meat cargo when you were doing transport work—but even so, it wasn't common. And inside the city? Real meat was luxury.

He felt bad they were spending so much on him.

"I usually eat canned mock-tuna and pineapple pizza out there in the Badlands. I'm not picky."

That line caught the attention of the three guys cooking—especially the part about the pineapple pizza. You could almost hear the collective pause.

"You guys in the Badlands make pizza… with cans? That's real?" Jack, a diehard fan of ultra-spicy Italian sausage pizza, looked like someone had just insulted his heritage.

"Sometimes I'm out on a run for days—just driving. All I've got are canned goods." V shrugged, then added with a grin, "If we ever have time, I'll make one for you to try. It's actually pretty good, Jack."

"We better not let the NCPD catch us, though. I'm pretty sure that's illegal." Karl quipped as he finished chopping.

He lifted the lid on a pot simmering next to him—it had pork already cooking in spices, the aroma strong and savory. He checked the time: fifteen minutes had passed. The pork should be starting to tenderize.

To get the perfect finish, it had to fall apart in your mouth.

He shut off the heat, opened the lid, and dumped in the chopped potatoes. Then he turned the flame back on and let it simmer again.

"Should be ready in about five minutes. Stewed potatoes and pork. I feel like beef would've worked better, but this'll do."

Since moving to Night City, Karl didn't cook much. One, because anything other than real meat could be ordered via delivery. And two—he was lazy. But today's full pot of pork and potatoes? That was him putting in real effort.

"Oh damn, the smell's already in the air."

Jack leaned in to sniff the rich aroma rising from the steam vent. "Pretty sure I'm gonna eat a lot tonight."

"Don't worry—plenty to go around. If you manage to finish it all, Jack, I'll be impressed. If it weren't for Misty, Mama Wells, and Vik all saying they'd already eaten, I'd have made even more."

Karl wiped his hands with the towel next to the stove, then flopped onto the couch beside V. "I'm wiped. From here on, you guys handle the rest. T-BUG's on her way, and the takeout's almost here. We'll have a proper feast soon—I've been starving all day."

"You're tired? Really? We were the ones throwing down with Wildwoman and the Voodoo Boys. You didn't even drive."

Oliver's complaint was met with a very deliberate middle finger from Karl.

"Cooking doesn't count now? You call that talking like a human being?"

"You didn't even prep anything. We chopped the ribs, we peeled the potatoes—you just tossed in the seasoning and dumped in the chunks. What are you so exhausted about?"

"People who don't cook always underestimate the fatigue of those who do. Planning out a recipe is mentally taxing, okay? All you had to do was follow my instructions."

Karl's excuse earned him a pair of synchronized middle fingers from both Oliver and Jack.

Lying back, Karl was just about to ask V whether he preferred rice, noodles, bread, or pizza as a staple food—when a private comm came in.

There weren't many people who could hide their channel ID, knew his number, and had the nerve to call Karl directly.

In fact, it was basically just one.

I didn't call you first—so don't skimp on my 100K payment, Karl thought to himself with a sigh and answered the call.

"Good evening, Karl."

The moment he picked up, a familiar, pleasant voice greeted him. From how relaxed she sounded, her broody middle-aged bodyguard probably wasn't nearby.

"Good evening, Hanako."

Karl glanced outside. Since their meeting atop the Kōmidoru Tower, Hanako had developed the habit of calling him either in the morning or evening. It wasn't surprising anymore.

At this point, it was just small talk.

Karl had the time. And chatting with her wasn't so bad.

They talked about the weather, about tea, books, sometimes even history. Hanako was well-read, and Karl found the conversations strangely relaxing.

But today, she'd called with something specific in mind. After exchanging a few pleasantries, she got to the point:

"Are you free tomorrow? I'd like to invite you to North Oak. My new residence is finally set up, and I'd like you to take a look at the security system. You have experience with breaching, after all."

She was talking about that Fujihara Ryōchō incident, right?

Karl recalled that Kenichiro had also been present that time—but since he hadn't actually lifted a finger, it was Karl who soloed the break-in. Hanako asking him to inspect the defenses made sense.

Karl paused to mentally check his schedule.

Didn't seem like anything was planned for tomorrow.

And then—before he could even answer—Hanako added sweetly:

"I also want you to try some oranges I personally grew in Japan. The whole tree was transported over. They're fully ripe now."

Oranges?!

Karl zeroed in on her word choice. She had said it in Chinese—"一株"—which implied a single small plant. If she was calling it a "tree" and also saying it had ripe oranges…

That must mean it was some kind of specially cultivated dwarf citrus tree—with super-sweet fruit.

Karl had lived through this entire era and hadn't once eaten real fruit.

No hesitation needed.

"I'll be there tomorrow."

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