"This… is a sticky rice cake–making machine."
Mog clapped his hands, a quiet pride in his whisper:
"You said you wanted to eat sticky rice cakes, so I invented this."
Invention: Sticky Rice Cake Maker
Origin: Future Technology Co. (Doraemon World)
(Note: Most market-approved gadgets from Future Tech are designed within strict safety and energy parameters.)
Uvogin's eyes narrowed. He wasn't some idiot who'd never heard the word "invention"—but this?
A fully assembled machine just appearing out of nowhere? That wasn't inventing. That was… something else.
"Don't get hung up on the details," Mog waved a hand, unfazed. "What matters is we can make mochi now, right?"
Uvogin opened his mouth—then shut it. Against his better judgment, he nodded.
He glanced at Machi. Even she was staring at the device, arms crossed, lips parted just slightly. That alone made him uneasy.
But then Uvogin noticed something else: Mog's breathing was shallow, his posture less steady than before. The act of "inventing" this thing had clearly cost him.
"Alright," Uvogin rumbled, slapping the machine's metal casing. It gave a dull, hollow thunk. "How's it work?"
"With glutinous rice, obviously," Mog said, giving him a look like he'd asked if water was wet.
Uvogin snorted. "So it doesn't just spit out cakes outta thin air?" His interest plummeted. "Then what's the point? We don't even have rice in this dump—hell, we barely have clean water."
Wokin, leaning against the wall, nodded grimly. "Not even brown rice husks. Just concrete, rust, and blood."
Uvogin's eyes lit up. "But this metal? Looks like high-grade sheet steel. We could strip it, sell the parts…" He turned to Mog with sudden enthusiasm. "I'll give you a cut—"
He froze.
In Mog's hands now rested a slender green capsule.
"What the hell is that?"
"Rice seedlings. Pre-packaged."
"…You invented those too?"
"Well, yeah," Mog said, as if it were obvious. "You can't make mochi without rice. So you grow it first."
Grow it?
The word felt alien in Meteor City. Nothing grew here—not plants, not hope, not mercy. And even if it could, rice took months.
Before Uvogin could voice his disbelief, Mog tossed the capsule to him. It was lighter than expected.
"It's a rapid-growth seed pod," Mog explained. "Just plant it."
Then, from his coat, he pulled a small green tube.
He tugged the cord at its base.
Whoosh—
A crimson orb flared to life above them, bathing the room in warm, golden-red light. It hovered like a miniature sun—artificial, steady, radiating gentle heat.
"Indoor solar emitter," Mog said. "Accelerates photosynthesis."
Uvogin and Machi exchanged glances. Neither spoke.
Mog wasn't done.
Next came a glass bottle labeled "Cloud-in-a-Jar." He uncorked it. Mist spilled out, coiling into soft, pearly clouds that clung to the ceiling.
Then, with a flourish, he unrolled a damp, palm-sized scroll onto the cracked floor.
"Super-Miniature Rice Paddy Field—complete with pre-loaded fertilizer and irrigation."
The "field" shimmered faintly, already moist, already alive.
Mog exhaled, wiping his brow. "There. Initial setup complete."
He looked tired—drained, even. Inventing all this had clearly pushed him.
But why go through all this? Uvogin thought. If he can summon a sun and a paddy field… why not just make the damn mochi?
As if reading his mind, Mog murmured:
"Direct creation costs too much. Too unstable. But if the process requires human effort—planting, tending, harvesting—the energy load drops significantly."
He met Uvogin's eyes.
"Turns out, the more you do… the less I have to."
A pause.
"Still… the toll's high. I'll need to refine this. Maybe bind it with a Constraint or an Oath to cut the cost."
Uvogin just stared at the glowing sun above, the mist drifting like breath, the tiny field already sprouting faint green shoots.
In Meteor City—where nothing grew, nothing lasted, nothing was given—this felt like magic.
And maybe… just maybe… like hope.