"Is this… the rice we grew?!"
Uvogin stared in disbelief, having witnessed the entire process—from planting to harvest—with his own eyes. A surge of exhilaration rose in his chest, even stronger than before.
This feeling is absolutely amazing!
Machi remained silent, but her tightly pressed lips and the faint glint in her eyes betrayed her quiet excitement.
"Alright," Mog said, "just one last step."
He tossed each of them a small sickle from the planting kit.
"Once you've cut the rice, just drop it into the top opening of this machine's chimney."
No further instructions were needed.
Uvogin rolled up his sleeves and charged back into the field, brimming with energy. Machi followed close behind. They gazed at the golden stalks—ripe and heavy—and their Adam's apples bobbed involuntarily.
After two hours of labor and anticipation, their already-empty stomachs felt even hungrier. The moment they saw the harvest, they could barely hold back. With sickles in hand, they lunged forward.
Click… click… click!
The only sound in the room was the steady rhythm of blades slicing through stalks.
Soon, piles of freshly cut rice lay heaped before Mog.
"Put the grains into the machine," he explained, "and it'll husk them, steam them, and shape them into sticky rice cakes automatically."
Without hesitation, Mog dumped the entire harvest into the chimney. The machine shuddered to life as he pulled the lever.
Then—
By the time Uvogin and Machi finished harvesting and crawled out of the field…
"This is…"
A square, fragrant rice cake—steaming and glistening—slid out from the bottom chute. Warmth radiated from it, instantly melting away their fatigue.
Their eyes locked onto the treat.
Tick-tock.
One by one, more freshly made sticky rice cakes tumbled out, piling up beneath the chute.
"Hmm…"
Mog plucked one off the stack and took a bite. The delicate aroma of glutinous rice filled his mouth, paired with a satisfyingly chewy texture.
"It tastes good~~~"
He smiled and nodded toward Uvogin and Machi.
Uvogin: "…!"
Machi: "~~~"
Clang!
They dropped their sickles and pounced like starved tigers.
Click-click-click!
Uvogin snatched three cakes in one hand and stuffed them into his mouth all at once. The sticky, refreshing scent rushed from his tongue to his nose and straight to his brain.
"Delicious~~~"
He barely mumbled the word before shoving in more. If it weren't for the slight stickiness slowing him down, he'd have devoured the entire batch in seconds. But as each new cake popped out, he was ready—shoveling them in as fast as his mouth could handle.
Machi ate with more restraint, but her cheeks were already full.
"This is even tastier than the sticky rice cakes at the church," she blurted out between bites.
It was only the second thing she'd said since meeting Mog.
"The taste is definitely different when you make it yourself," Mog replied, picking up another cake.
Hmm… good, but a bit dry. Could use a drink.
Neither Uvogin nor Machi answered—they were too busy eating.
Mog glanced at the display on the [Sticky Rice Cake Making Machine]. The top counter kept rising, while the bottom remained fixed at 219.
That meant their harvest could yield exactly 219 cakes. Originally, it should've been 259—but since Uvogin and Machi were inexperienced, some of the crop didn't thrive.
Still, 219 was more than enough. Split three ways, that was 73 each.
…Or it would be, if Mog hadn't already noticed Uvogin's intentions.
The big oaf wasn't sharing a single bite.
But it doesn't matter anyway~~~
The best food is yet to come.
In the end, all two hundred–plus rice cakes vanished in a flash—devoured almost entirely by Uvogin.
"Hiccup~"
Though not entirely full, he let out an obligatory burp.
"That felt so good… so incredibly good!"
He grinned, reaching for a stick to pick his teeth—then remembered they were in an empty room and gave up with a shrug.
Machi wiped the sticky residue from her face and turned her small, thoughtful eyes toward Mog.
Full bellies made the mind wander.
Who is this guy?
Why go through all this trouble to feed us?
And where did this "sticky rice cake machine"—and everything else—come from, anyway?
She could tell that, despite his boisterous exterior, Uvogin was already thinking along the same lines. Unlike her usual silence, he tended to speak his mind—directly and without hesitation.