The sliding door creaked open, and a young boy stepped into the kitchen. He was the image of a miniature samurai—posture straight as an arrow, wearing a dark blue *jinbei*, his eyes sharp and focused. But the sight before him caused his disciplined composure to vanish instantly.
Umi was currently standing over Agung, her finger poking his round, squishy "Panda" belly as she argued with him.
"Agung!" Umi hissed. "You cannot simply introduce a foreign dish with such a strong aroma at four in the morning! Their stomachs are accustomed to traditional Japanese breakfast! What is this 'Bubur Ayam' anyway? It sounds like a spell!"
"It's not a spell, Umi-chan, it's a lifestyle!" Agung countered, his round face jiggling slightly as he laughed, stirring the savory yellow gravy. "It's soft, it's warm, and it's a thousand times better for a growing boy than just plain rice. It's the Pekalongan way!"
Aoi stood frozen, his mouth slightly agape. He looked at the man—the face was unmistakably the one from the framed photograph on their mantle, but the *vibe* was completely different. The father in the photo looked like a distant, brooding shadow. This man looked like a friendly, overstuffed pillow with a spatula.
"Mother?" Aoi's voice was steady but filled with confusion. "Why... why does that man resemble the father who vanished? And what is that strange word he is saying?"
Umi froze, her face turning pink as she realized her son was watching her "bicker" with a man she'd spent three years mourning. She cleared her throat, trying to regain her dignity. "Aoi... this is... well..."
Hime, still clutching her crystal rose and her mug of ginger tea, skipped over to her older brother's side. She tugged on his sleeve, her eyes shining with excitement.
"Aoi-nii! Don't be scared," Hime whispered loudly. "He's not the ghost-papa. He's the **Magician-Papa**! He made a piano appear out of the air, and he made this flower that never dies! And now he's making 'Bubu-Ayam'—it's magic porridge!"
Aoi looked from his little sister to the "plump and squishy" man at the stove. He saw the steam rising from the pot, the fragrant scent of lemongrass hitting his nose, and the gentle, tired smile on Agung's face.
"Aoi-kun, right?" Agung said, his voice soft as he turned down the flame. "I heard you're a practitioner of the sword. I'm sorry I wasn't here to see your progress. I'm a bit... rounder than the guy you remember, but that's because I've been eating too much good food while waiting to find my way back to you."
He scooped a small bowl of the creamy porridge, topped it with golden chicken and crispy *cakwe*, and set it on the counter.
"I can't bring back the years I missed," Agung said, looking the young boy in the eye, "but I can start by making sure you're the strongest swordsman in Numazu. Try the Bubur. If you don't like it, I'll manifest the best traditional breakfast you've ever had. Deal?"
Aoi looked at the bowl, then at his mother, who gave a small, hesitant nod. The "Discipline Master" of the household took a slow step forward, his eyes never leaving the mysterious Magician-Papa.
Aoi's Inner Thought: He is very squishy... but the food smells like a victory.