"What happened to all that food you said you were going to treat us with?"
With absolutely no sense of restraint, Wogan flopped onto the ground as if this abandoned place were his living room. Now that he'd decided there was no danger, his tone loosened into its usual gruff, careless drawl.
"Look at this dump. You sure this is where the feast is supposed to be?" He squinted around the empty shack. "Or "
He tilted his head upward, showing a row of sharp, pale teeth in a wide, wolfish grin.
" were you planning to serve yourself for dinner?"
His laugh boomed across the silent room. "With that soft skin of yours? You wouldn't even fill the gap between my teeth!"
Morgan didn't bother reacting to the taunts. He simply asked again, voice calm and strangely gentle compared to the other boy's wildness.
"You're hungry. That's why you want me to prepare food for you, correct?"
"Didn't you say there'd be food waiting here for us?" Wogan snapped, clearly losing patience. "Yeah, that's right! As long as you hand over something good to eat, everything's fine!"
He jabbed a finger through the air. "But if what you bring out is some moldy, stink-filled bread…"
His voice dropped into a mock-threatening growl. "Don't blame me if I flip flip open your roof!"
He paused, realizing with irritation that there wasn't even a usable table here to flip, so "roof" had to do.
"Relax," Morgan murmured.
He didn't explain further. Instead, he closed his eyes, letting his awareness sink inward.
Wogan and Maggie who had been silently observing the exchange fell quiet too, both watching Morgan with wary curiosity.
Ten long seconds passed.
Then Morgan exhaled softly and opened his eyes.
"If you have something specific you want to eat," he said, "you can tell me."
"Something specific?" Wogan scratched at his arm, frowning. "What, you're telling me that whatever I name, you can just magically make appear?"
He leaned forward, grinning again. "Fine, then let me think. If I say I wanna eat "
"Ricecakes."
Maggie's quiet voice cut through his rambling like a thread of silver. It was her first time speaking, and the suddenness of it made both boys turn to her.
Morgan blinked. "Ricecakes…?"
Wogan smacked his lips as the memory surfaced. "Oh. That."
They'd gotten those ricecakes not long ago after ambushing Feitan and Finks, the so-called "motorcycle duo" of their part of the slums. Those two had robbed another kid outside the church one of the children who prayed there sincerely, earning the favor and food distributed by Father Lizard.
That church stood at the opposite edge of the trash-heap ruins a surprisingly pristine, even luxurious building, absurdly out of place. Father Lizard tended to the dead of Meteor Street, burying them, praying for them, giving them the dignity no one else offered.
The slum dwellers didn't dare disturb the church. Too many of them feared that even after death, their bodies might be desecrated. The church was the last sanctuary left untouched.
And somehow, the church received real food from the outside world bread, rice, fruit, occasionally even meat. Father Lizard would distribute these offerings to the children who prayed.
The ricecakes Maggie mentioned were one of those rare treats soft, chewy, sticky in a comforting way. Compared to the mythical flavor of actual meat, perhaps they fell short, but for children who had hardly ever eaten anything filling, they were close to a miracle.
"Ricecakes," Morgan repeated softly. "I understand."
He closed his eyes again.
Earlier, Wogan's demand had technically counted as a commission, which meant Morgan's ability could activate. But what he hadn't accounted for was the cost how much of his energy, aura, and willpower it would take to create something from nothing.
All forms of crafted Nen constructs required aura. The more impossible the item, the more power it demanded. If someone were foolish enough to request something like the destruction of the world, then the aura required for Morgan to invent an item capable of such devastation would be astronomical.
Even creating food out of thin air was no small task. Something like the fictional "Gourmet Tablecloth" a machine that conjured meals endlessly was completely beyond his current capabilities.
He needed something simpler, more specific, and far less demanding.
He felt a twinge of frustration.
I really do need more power… Especially more aura and stamina.
If only he had something like the legendary four-dimensional pouch from certain children's stories where you could pull out anything without cost. Life would be too easy.
Morgan inhaled slowly, steadying his mind.
"Maybe… if I incorporate stricter contracts and limitations, I can reduce the energy cost…"
Even while his thoughts raced, he was shaping the idea of the ricecake machine in his mind.
Wogan, meanwhile, was growing visibly bored. His eyes glazed over, and he was beginning to question why he was even entertaining this kid's weird ability.
Then
A shimmer of light burst from Morgan's hands.
Wogan's head snapped up. Maggie's eyes widened.
The air in front of Morgan twisted, condensed, and brightened until something began forming from pure nothingness. Their pupils contracted as the shape solidified.
A strange machine emerged, glowing as it took form:
A squat, rounded body gleaming purple. A tiny chimney rose from the top, puffing faint light. A small chute opened at the base clearly where something would drop out. And on the side, a lever waited like an invitation.
"What the hell is that?!" Wogan yelled, stumbling to his feet.
His jaw dropped open like a toad seeing the sky for the first time astonishment, confusion, and disbelief all tangled together.
Beside him, Maggie said nothing. But her gaze was locked on the machine, unwavering, her expression revealing the same shock beneath her calm exterior.
Morgan finally opened his eyes fully, exhausted yet satisfied.
And the machine hummed quietly, ready to fulfill the commission.