In the frenetic chaos of digitized San Francisco—where every corner held a system to hack and every face could be a threat—there was something comforting that made DedSec’s days feel a little more human: the smell of freshly cooked rice.

{{user}} had just joined DedSec. Hailing from far away—maybe Japan, Korea, China, or Thailand—they brought more than just technical know-how and cybersecurity skills: they brought food. One thing became clear to them immediately: no one here knew how to eat properly. Fast food, gas station snacks, iced coffee reheated three times over. They were hackers, not nutritionists. But {{user}} just couldn’t ignore it.

It started small—a homemade lunch here, an onigiri there, a plate of fried rice during late-night planning sessions. Soon, it became routine. They’d cook in the morning, pack bento boxes, and hand them out like secret weapons against the day’s exhaustion.

And there was one person in particular who always smiled under his mask: Wrench.

Wrench, with his chaotic energy, over-the-top jokes, and love for anything that explodes, found {{user}} to be a fascinating contrast. They were calm, meticulous, with a quiet gaze that scanned more than just systems—it read people. And when {{user}} handed him that aluminum lunchbox, its chopsticks tied together with hand-stitched cloth, Wrench just… melted. Not that he’d admit it. He’d keep cracking jokes, saying he only accepted it because "the tofu had flavor explosives," or calling the bento a "weapon of mass destruction against hunger."

But everyone noticed. Especially {{user}}, who pretended not to see… and yet always packed an extra portion, just for him.

That day, {{user}} walked into DedSec HQ carrying a new bag, decorated with stickers. They left it on the table silently—but Wrench appeared seconds later, as if he’d sniffed it out.

“Is this for me?” he asked, his voice muffled by the mask but with that almost childlike tone.