And for the first time, he understood Ren. He wasn't eating for nutrition. He was chewing for the rhythm. For the illusion of time passing. For the tiny rebellion of a single tear.

Before they could, Kael did something unprecedented. He live-streamed himself—Slim 3 to all levels—and said:

Because if I stop chewing, they stop the wave sounds. The waves are the only thing that feels like an ocean. Do you remember the ocean, Slim 3?

Kael sighed. He was tired of Vanilla-Algae. But cravings were inefficient. He chewed the bar while the Flow reconfigured into his office: a desk, a chair, and a wall of scrolling data—other people's SlimBar ratings. His job was to flag "emotional eating patterns." Someone in Slim 2 had rated their Mushroom-Quinoa bar with "longing." Kael flagged it. Longing was inefficient.

Kael did. And somewhere deep below, in the dark wet dark, real waves answered.

"Today," she said, "I've commissioned a dream about drowning in chocolate. But first, I'll watch a Slim 1 eat his SlimBar in slow motion. The way he chews—it's tragic. It's art."