Max yawned wide enough to swallow a cloud as he shuffled into the kitchen in his fluffy socks, hair looking like it fought a tornado and lost.
"No client meetings. No emails. No deadlines. Just me, my kid, and... wait, what the heck is that smell—oh right, life."
He opened the fridge. Half a cabbage, a single lonely egg, and some sauce packets from fast food orders. He scratched his head and muttered, "We might just survive."
In the living room, Kota was rolling back and forth on the floor like a bored seal, the TV blasting Mario Kart. The boy had his tongue out in concentration as he drove Baby Peach straight into a banana peel.
Max peeked around the corner. "You losing to a banana again?"
"I LET THE BANANA WIN," Kota yelled.
Max snorted and headed back to the kitchen. As he pulled out a cutting board, he paused for a second—his hand hovering over the stove knob. His eyes fell on the pan and then to the counter where he used to cook for one.
He exhaled.
It used to be just me. I was ready to give up.
Then this noisy, clingy, cereal-eating gremlin showed up. And somehow... I stayed.
I almost didn't believe it until Koji confirmed it...
He shook his head and smiled faintly to himself.
Still can't believe I'm somebody's dad.
"DAD!" Kota's voice shattered the peace. "Are you making soup or just having an emotional breakdown in front of the stove again?!"
Max blinked. "It's called cooking with feelings, you gremlin."
Kota stood by the doorway, arms crossed. "You better not burn the house down. If I die, I'm haunting you and messing up your emails."
Max rolled his eyes. "Oh, scary. A ghost who can't reach the keyboard."
Kota stuck his tongue out and slumped over to help. "What are we even making?"
"Dinner. Real dinner. Not pizza. Not nuggets. Actual, human food."
"Ew. Sounds suspicious."
They started gathering what little they had. Max tried cutting the cabbage with the confidence of a pro chef—but his technique looked more like a guy slicing a dragon.
"Dad," Kota deadpanned. "Are you defusing a bomb or making salad?"
"Both. If this cabbage explodes, I blame you."
Kota picked up the soy sauce and inspected it. "This thing expired last year."
"Expiration dates are just suggestions."
"Like your parenting style?"
Max flung a dish towel at him. Kota screamed like he was attacked by a flying jellyfish.
As Max stirred something that vaguely resembled sauce, Kota hovered near the stove with a spoon.
"Back off, Little Goblin."
"I just wanna taste—"
"BACK. OFF."
Kota smirked and dipped his pinky in.
"HOT!! HOT!! MY TONGUE IS DEAD!! CALL AN AMBULANCE!!"
Max snorted, nearly dropping the pan. "Instant karma."
Still fanning his tongue, Kota leaned against the counter and looked at Max cooking. For a moment, he was quiet.
"...You know," he said, "you're not bad at this."
Max raised a brow. "Cooking?"
"No. Being a dad."
Max stopped stirring.
"...You tryna get something outta me?"
Kota grinned. "A new Switch game. Duh."
"I knew it."
They both burst out laughing.
Midway through, Kota tried to cut tofu and ended up launching it halfway across the room.
"IT'S ALIVE!!"
Max screamed and ducked. "I'VE BEEN HIT—TOFU DOWN!"
They found the tofu behind the trash can.
"...Still good?" Kota asked.
Max looked him dead in the eye. "Three-second rule."
"THAT WAS LIKE THIRTY SECONDS—"
"Don't question me, I'm a chef."
Eventually, they plated the food: two bowls of something that looked weird but smelled amazing. They sat at the table, arms aching, shirts stained, faces sweaty—but proud.
Kota took one bite and nodded slowly. "I give this... a solid 7.5 out of 10."
Max stared. "Just 7.5?!"
"You lose points for the emotional breakdown at the stove."
Max tossed a napkin at him.
They both laughed again, clinking their chopsticks like swords before digging in.
In that messy kitchen with th
e wonky stir-fry, they shared something more than dinner—something warm, goofy, and quietly perfect.
To be continued...