“I believe the differences are likely influenced by the different staple foods in each area.” Apparently northern India relied mainly on wheat as its main food source, while the southern area largely ate rice instead.

  “Does that mean naan is from northern India?” Miyoshi asked.

  “Yes, that’s right. So is chapati. Both are easier to eat with a thicker curry.” Conversely, the cooked rice from southern India didn’t mix in easily unless the curry was smooth and liquid.

  “You mix them?”

  “Of course! Traditionally, Indian food is eaten with the hands.” She went on to tell us that in South India, people would pour runny curry onto relatively dry rice, then mix the two together with their hands as they ate it. If the curry was too thick, not only would it be difficult to mix, but it would take forever to cool off as well.

  “Wow, I see...”

  ***

  Wheeze.

  Huff.

  Pant.

  Gasp.

  “Kaygo? Azusa? Are you all right?”

  “What kind of question is that? Did this stuff”—I wheezed again—“not affect you at all, Asha?” I asked as I pointed at the curry with my spoon, tears streaming down my face.

  “It was rather spicy, but I thought it was delicious!”

  Miyoshi and I, our lips swollen from the heat, could no longer taste anything at all. By the time we had reached the third bite or so, with its spicy fragrance and the terrifying bursts of sensory shock that followed, our bodies had broken out into sweat, and our taste buds had completely overloaded. Our instincts kicked in and we tried to flush out the aftertaste with water, but the spice simply would not flow.

  “At this rate, we’re gonna get full on water before we get through any more curry,” I grumbled while panting.

  “Kei, a small part of the heat in curry comes from 4-hydroxybenzyl isothiocyanate”—Miyoshi wheezed—“but the bulk is from capsaicin and dihydrocapsaicin.”

  “I have no idea what the first thing you said was”—I was interrupted by a huff—“but the other two definitely come from chili peppers.”

  “Yup-yup,” she gasped. “The first one is from mustard seed. Apparently it’s used as a curry ingredient in southern India.” Huff.

  “Ah. Anyway, you were saying?” Another wheeze slipped out.

  “Well, cold water doesn’t work very well for washing off capsaicin, so drinking water won’t help us at all.”

  My only response was an eloquent wheeze.

  “We’d have to drink either alcohol”—she huffed—“or something oily.”

  “Huh. Well we can’t just start”—huff—“chugging liquor all of a sudden.”

  “And the little nubs of butter that come with the potato sides”—wheeze—“are way too small.” Wheeze.

  “Welp, guess I’ll die.” Pant.

  “The LD50 of capsaicin is about forty-seven milligrams per kilogram, so you’d probably have to consume about”—pant—“3.1 grams of it for a lethal dose,” she wheezed.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t really understand what you’re saying...” Asha interrupted, tilting her head in confusion.

  “Long story short, the curry was too damn karai!” I managed to quip.

  Asha merely blinked.

  “Excuse me?”

  Miyoshi sighed.

  “Kei, that pun kinda falls flat unless you know Japanese...”

  ***

  “Whew, that sure was an ordeal right off the bat!” Miyoshi said, exhaling heavily.

  “Japanese people’s sense of taste seems rather delicate. Come to think of it, your cuisine is also delicate,” Asha observed.

  “It’s not really a matter of delicacy—we just aren’t accustomed to intense levels of spice like that,” I offered in explanation.

  Once we had managed to catch our breath, we finished collecting ourselves and stood up.

  “All right, from here we start heading counterclockwise around Akiba!”

  Asha and I responded to Miyoshi’s plan with a unified, enthusiastic cheer.

  “Let’s go!”

  Heading back to the ticket gate area, we went out the Electric Town South exit, then turned at the Akihabara Minami intersection, heading away from Manseibashi.

  “That reminds me, Miyoshi. When it comes to Indian curry that’s safe for practicing Hindus, I hear Govinda’s in Funabori is supposed to be pretty top-notch, right?”

  “For the longest time I thought it was pronounced ‘Gobinda’s,’ you know.”

  “Why? Considering it’s spelled with a ‘v’ right there on its sign, it’s almost guaranteed to be pronounced Govinda’s.”

  “That’s the thing, Kei. The katakana on the restaurant’s menu actually read ‘Gobinda’s.’”

  “Oh, I get it. So you thought it was Govinda’s, then noticed ‘Gobinda’s’ on the menu when you actually went there and figured for a second you learned something new, but in the end it really was Govinda’s all along, huh?”

  “The world is indeed full of mysteries,” Miyoshi declared, nodding sagely to herself as we continued on.

  You probably shouldn’t close your eyes while you’re walking, girl.

  “Besides,” she added, “it may be a straight shot on the Shinjuku Line from Iwamotocho to Funabori, but we can’t forget that the theme for today’s adventure is ‘sightseeing in Akiba.’”

  “Aren’t we kind of heading in the opposite direction from Akiba ground zero, though?”

  After we had gone under the overpass and walked for a while longer, a distinctive yellow sign came into view. It was Ugo Ugo Curry’s first Akihabara location.

  “Awww...”

  Asha looked up at the sign dejectedly, but we weren’t going to let her sway us. Self-preservation, et cetera.

  “If you really want to try it out, you should take your Papa Bear there next time,” Miyoshi insisted.

  “Okay...”

  “But seriously, Miyoshi, how far away is this next place, anyhow?”

  After crossing under the Metropolitan Expressway, we ended up in front of Ikebe Music, a store on the Kanda riverfront that specialized in drum and percussion instruments. Pointing upward, Miyoshi informed us that our destination was in the building next door to Ikebe.

  ***

  Two men watched as the trio ascended the narrow stairs.

  “Whoa, are we gonna follow them right into the Indian restaurant, or what?”

  “Man, these three are awesome! They really are on an Akiba Curry Pilgrimage!”

  When the men had seen Yoshimura and the others in front of the station, they had suddenly gotten super invested in the whole scenario, even going so far as to create a message board thread titled “A Wild Akiba Curry Pilgrimage Trio Appears!” They had been tracking the pilgrims and posting about their progress to the internet at large.

  ***

  The moment the white entrance doors creaked open, I froze, suddenly feeling very out of place.

  “M-Miyoshi...”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t you think it might be bad to eat here?”

  “But you haven’t even tried the food yet!”

  “That’s not what I meant. I just get this feeling our ‘Akiba vibe’ isn’t gonna help us much in a place like this...”

  We were in a regular Indian restaurant. There wasn’t a single ounce of Akihabara spirit among the restaurant workers either. In fact, we might as well have been across the river in Iwamotocho.

  “Let me put it this way: Do you have the mental fortitude to keep up the Curry Daiou schtick and ask if the three of us can split a single plate? In this atmosphere?”

  Miyoshi balked.

  “Bleh...”

  While the two of us stood there awkwardly, sticking out like sore thumbs, Asha was talking to some of the workers in a mysterious language, turning back and forth to show off her shirt and hoodie.

  “Rich girls sure have their own way of doing things,” Miyoshi murmured.

  “What is she even talking to them about?” I wondered out loud.

  “I guess she’s speaking Marathi, but I don’t know a word.”

  “Yeah, I know exactly one, myself: ‘pita,’ meaning ‘papa.’”

  Strangely, though, things were starting to feel awfully promising.

  “They said everything will be fine, Kaygo! They wished us good luck!”

  “Rich girls sure have great communication skills too.”

  “Maybe your communication skills are just lacking, Kei.”

  “And who, pray tell, has been standing awkwardly right here next to me the whole time?”

  Miyoshi stuck out her tongue.

  “Tee hee.”

  We ordered the B set, which came with two small servings of curry, some naan, a small plate of saffron rice, and a small salad. They had another set, named after the restaurant itself, which came with three servings of curry, but it came with tandoori chicken as well, which would’ve been detrimental to the rest of the day’s battles.

  For our two servings of curry, we ordered one vegetable and one chicken.

  “Hey, so why is vegetable curry always so spicy, anyway?” For some reason it felt to me that out of the different types of Indian curries, bean and vegetable curries tended to be the spiciest.

  “Oh, I suppose it is, isn’t it? Perhaps because the spiciness makes it seem more authentic,” Asha suggested.

  After the B set came out, Asha had the first taste, and as soon as I picked up my spoon, I heard voices coming from another table across the restaurant.

  “Whoa! The Curry Daiou picked up his spoon!”

  “What? I thought proper etiquette for maharajas was to only eat with their right hands!”

  Miyoshi blinked.

  “They’re saying some weird things about you, Kei.”

  We were only at our second stop, but apparently we already had some people following us around and reporting on us. Everybody loves a good celebration, I guess.

  “What a couple of idiots. Haven’t they ever heard ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do’? It’s called cultural accommodation.”

  “But we’re in an Indian restaurant...” Miyoshi pointed out.

  “We’re in Japan, dammit!” Even Asha is eating her curry and saffron rice mixture with a spoon. Not to mention...

  “Besides, it’s not like anyone can tear off a piece of naan using only their right hand—”

  Right as I was making that assertion, though, Asha held her naan down with her ring finger and little finger, pinched a portion between her thumb and index finger, then used her middle finger to deftly sever a chunk—all using only her right hand.

  Noticing me staring, she looked up.

  “Hmm?”

  “Okay, maybe there are occasionally some people who can do that. But it’s about as rare as finding a non-Japanese person who knows how to use chop—”

  —sticks, I was about to finish, when Asha deftly grabbed a chunk of salad with her chopsticks. I knew she wasn’t going to use her bare hands, considering how slathered in dressing Japanese salad typically is, but I was really banking on her using a fork that time...

  “I can feel my Daiou identity drifting away from me...”

  “Pardon?”

  “Oh, I figured I should warn you, that salad dressing has a lot of sugar in it, so unless you want to get full early, you should probably go easy on it,” I cautioned her.

  “Wow, thanks! I’ll be careful.”

  ***

  “Okay, the vegetable curry might’ve been a little spicy...” Miyoshi admitted.

  “But it was small potatoes now that we’ve experienced spice level 70,” I added.

  Snickering defiantly in our newfound overconfidence, we headed north on Showa-dori. After passing underneath the Sobu Line and walking just a bit further, we soon noticed a yellow sign immediately to our right: the GoGo Ichibanya at JR Akihabara station’s Showa-dori exit.

  “GoGoIchi’s curry is typically pork-based, isn’t it?” I looked to Miyoshi for confirmation.

  “Sure is,” came her response. “They do have some beef sauce too.”

  “Oh no!” Asha exclaimed dejectedly. “GoGoIchi is nearly as famous as UgoUgo! Do we have to skip it as well?”

  “We actually don’t,” Miyoshi replied. “I’ve got to hand it to the place—they actually have their own special vegan curry that uses something called ‘GoGoIchi Veggie Sauce.’ Not every location carries it, but this one does.”

  “Wooo!” Asha squealed.

  “GoGoIchi even has a special halal location right here in Akihabara, which we’ll check out later!”

  “I can’t wait!”

  When we entered the restaurant, Asha excitedly showed off the back of her hoodie to one of the employees, but it didn’t faze him whatsoever, only eliciting a slight smile. That’s some well-trained staff.

  “First off, we need to decide how much rice we want.”

  A normal serving of rice at GoGoIchi was three hundred grams. Under their pricing structure, for every hundred grams beyond that, they would charge an extra 110 yen. Why, then, was a two hundred gram serving of rice only 52 yen cheaper? You’d think they’d take off 110 yen—but whatever, no big deal. But wait, it got even stranger! If you went with a beef sauce, the rice was suddenly 137 yen per hundred grams. Maybe it was a different kind of rice? It was a mystery.

  “We’ve got to go with the two hundred gram bowl,” I suggested. “That’s almost seventy grams per person.”

  “Yay!” Asha cheered.

  “A photograph of a dead person,” I said in Japanese without missing a beat.

  “Iei!” Miyoshi exuberantly shouted out a similar-sounding Japanese word that matched the definition I’d just given.

  I cleared my throat loudly.

  “Anyway, next we choose the spice level. There’s no mild version of the Veggie Sauce, so it just goes from plain to ten—”

  “Ten!” Asha blurted out instantly with her hand raised, as if it were the obvious choice.

  “Slow down there, Asha. GoGoIchi doesn’t use a linear scale for their spice levels. Spice level 2 is twice as spicy as level 1, level 3 is four times as spicy, level 4 is six times as spicy, and weirdly enough, level 5 is twelve times as spicy as level one. I don’t really get the progression pattern, so I have no idea how spicy level 10 is supposed to be.” For whatever reason, the signage didn’t specify any of the multipliers after level 5.

  “It looks like the first five values are highly composite numbers,” Miyoshi pointed out.

  “Highly what, now?”

  “It’s a set of numbers that Srinivasa Ramanujan came up with. It’s made up of positive integers that have more divisors than all positive integers smaller than it.”

  “Are you suggesting they referenced the works of an Indian mathematician—because curry?!” I groused.

  That would be a bit extra, wouldn’t it? I mused. If whoever decided on this spice scale actually used that as their basis, they’d have to be some kind of scholarly genius.

  “Well, if I’m right, the next values in the sequence would be 24, 36, 48, and 60, and then level 10 would be 120 times the spice of level 1.”

  I paused for a moment at Miyoshi’s conjecture.

  “You know, that’s starting to sound more and more likely.”

  “Right?”

  “Either way, Asha, didn’t you come here specifically to check out Japanese-style curry?”

  “Huh, now that you mention it...”

  Slipped your mind, huh?! I grumbled internally.

  “Why not try out the standard Japanese curry experience, then? Maybe start with either plain or spice level 1?”

  “Okay! We can try that, then.”

  Hearing that, Miyoshi and I both breathed sighs of relief. If we had been forced to consume a plate of spice level 10 curry, we probably would’ve been breathing sighs of fire instead.

  ***

  “So this is what Japanese curry tastes like!” Asha said between mouthfuls of vegetable curry. We had gone with spice level 1, without any extra toppings.

  “Yeah, pretty much,” I confirmed. “So what do you think?”

  “If I compare it to traditional curry, it feels like it’s lacking something. But if I think of it as its own separate dish, it’s quite delicious. What a strange feeling!”

  I wonder if it’s anything like the feeling Japanese people get when we eat international variations of our own food, like California rolls? I guess I’ll never be able to compare the experience directly, though, considering I’m not from India.

  With that, we headed to our next destination.

  ***

  The two men who had been following the trio were already filled to the brim. If they didn’t do something soon, they were liable to start spewing curry any moment now. Thus, they turned to the message board thread they’d created for assistance.

  “Requesting backup! Our wallets are empty and our stomachs are full!”

  “We’ve followed the Akiba Curry Pilgrimage Trio to six restaurants so far. Next stop will be the seventh. After GoGoIchi, they went to Cororo, Cobara-Suita, then GoGoIchi Halal. All signs indicate their next stop will be Curry Nante Nomimono. Judging by their recent pattern, we can assume their goal here is red curry with chicken.”

  “This is gonna be their seventh bowl of curry! We are tapping out! Will any brave souls take up the cause in our stead...? We’re waiting for you, heroes! The password is ‘Akiba Curry Pilgrimage’!”

  “No joke, we are seriously stuffed. Help!”

  A large number of people with nothing better to do responded to the duo’s heartfelt plea.

  ***

  “This is Snake. The Curry Pilgrims have successfully completed their mission at Nomimono. Looks like they’ve made it to Kuramaebashi-dori.”

  “Pics or it didn’t happen.”

  “Here ya go.”

  The image uploaded was a wide-angle shot that captured the three curry pilgrims walking along Kuramaebashi-dori.

  “Huh. That one girl doesn’t look Japanese at all.”

  “She was speaking in English.”

  “Whoa! Do you think she’s literally a ‘princess who comes from the land of curry’?”

  “Gotta be. She looks Indian to me. She’s also a hottie.”