The foundation of Mog's ability relied on one crucial condition: he had to know the exact invention that matched the details of the Request or Commission he received. If he wanted to feed someone sticky rice cakes, then he needed to know that a Sticky Rice Cake Maker existed in the first place.
The same logic applied to everything else. If Wojin asked him for some other food, Mog had to know an invention that could reasonably produce it. Otherwise his ability would have nothing to work with.
Of course, there were broader categories of inventions too. For example, anything under the category of "food-producing inventions," such as the Gourmet Tablecloth, could theoretically fulfill almost any eating-related request. But even if Mog suppressed the required aura and Nen consumption as much as possible, items like those still demanded a substantial amount of energy.
Mog was perfectly aware of his limitations. He was not naïve enough to think that just because he possessed this ability, he could conjure up absolutely anything.
The rule remained the same. If someone asked him to fulfill a world-ending request, even if he knew that something like a World Destruction Bomb technically existed in some fictional series, bringing out such a thing was completely beyond him. He would never be able to control it.
Normal inventions were fine. But the outrageous ones were laughably out of reach.
Mog mentally sorted through all the inventors and gadgets he remembered from his past life's childhood: the endless inventions from Doraemon, the bizarre gadgets made by Wolfy and Mayor Slow-Goat in Pleasant Goat and Big Big Wolf, the unpredictable contraptions from Mr. Muddy in GG Bond, Dr. Agasa's detective gadgets in Detective Conan, Senbei Norimaki's creations in Dr. Slump, and even the high-tech devices made by Bulma and her father in Dragon Ball.
Thanks to all those years of watching cartoons, he had a treasure trove of inventions to draw from. They were now invaluable references that could help him respond to all sorts of troublesome requests and commissions.
Two priorities stood out clearly in his mind.
First, he needed to strengthen himself. His current aura quantity and Nen output were pathetic. To protect himself and support future inventions, he needed to increase both significantly.
Second, he needed to fix his living conditions.
Thinking about that second point made Mog sigh. His home was shockingly poor. He could not even find a proper cup for drinking water. Because of that, he had not been able to perform Water Divination, meaning he still had no idea what Nen category he belonged to.
There were six types: Enhancement, Emission, Manipulation, Transmutation, Conjuration, and Specialist. Mog suspected he was either a Conjurer or a Specialist.
But figuring that out could wait. Right now, his stomach was more urgent.
His newest hunger pangs made him rub his abdomen in frustration. What kind of transmigrator had such a miserable start? Most got cheats, fortunes, or at least a stable living situation. Meanwhile, he could not even settle basic survival needs.
Sticky rice cakes tasted good, but they were nowhere near filling. And most of them had ended up in Wojin's stomach anyway.
Well, knowing that guy, if he wanted more good food, he would definitely come back again.
Knock knock knock.
Right as Mog thought this, the battered front door was suddenly rapped from the outside.
"It's us."
Machi's calm voice drifted in.
Mog instantly relaxed. Her aura signature matched what he expected, and he sensed no outsiders lurking around. Only then did he get up to open the door.
She had said "us," which meant Wojin was with her as well. And sure enough…
"You two changed your minds… huh?"
Mog opened the door. The first thing he saw was Machi's dust-covered face. The next was Wojin, sitting on the ground behind her, his nose bruised, lips swollen, and face contorted in pain.
"We got into a fight," Machi said plainly, as if her appearance were nothing worth mentioning. "It happens often here in Meteor Street."
That much was true. Fighting was nothing unusual here. But Mog could not help noting how rough they both looked.
"Those two idiots didn't get off easy either!" Wojin added loudly, even though he was clearly in no condition to brag. "I knocked out several of Phinks's teeth!"
He grinned after saying that, revealing that one of his own teeth was missing.
Mog stared at him silently.
Sure, Phinks had lost teeth. But so had Wojin.
Still…
"Phinks, huh? And since you said 'those two,' the other one must be Feitan?"
Hearing those familiar names, Mog immediately connected the dots. No wonder Machi and Wojin looked like they had rolled in a demolition site. Only that troublesome duo could leave this kind of mess.
At the same time, Mog doubted Phinks and Feitan had walked away unscathed. Wojin looked battered, but he also looked proudly victorious. He had stormed off earlier in anger, but now he was glowing with satisfaction.
He had definitely come back to show off.
The message was clear: "See? Even without your inventions, I can still beat people up!"
"So, you two came to have me patch you up?" Mog said, examining their injuries. Thankfully, it was mostly superficial bruising.
"No need. This is nothing." Wojin puffed up his chest, pretending his face wasn't three shades of purple. "We're just hungry. We came to see what you've got to eat."
Mog silently closed his eyes for two seconds.
Of course. They weren't here for medical help.
They were here for food.