Jude clapped his hands once.
"Good. That makes this simpler." He held up his phone. "You know how to use one of these?"
Kimiko nodded.
He turned the screen toward her. The interface showed a Japanese keyboard, an open draft message window, and a blinking cursor. "Can you type?"
She didn't nod this time. She reached out and took the phone. Her thumbs moved across the keys, pausing between each tap. She found the characters one by one. After a few seconds, she turned the screen around.
Japanese text filled the draft field. An English machine translation sat underneath.
My name is Kimiko.
"Kimiko." Jude nodded. "Good."
He stepped back, clearing the sightline for Frenchie, and walked toward the kitchen.
Behind him, Frenchie started talking.
Frenchie had been ready to try sign language. Neither he nor Kimiko knew it. It would have been a well-intentioned, completely useless gesture. He just hadn't considered that she didn't need charity. She just needed infrastructure.
Jude had been thinking about food since they left the basement.
Not because he was hungry. He had seen Kimiko's face when she grabbed Sherry's sleeve in the hallway. Her eyes tracked every movement, calculating whether the next action would make things better or worse. Changing locations didn't turn that off. She was still watching.
You can tell someone they are safe, and they will go right back to watching the exits. Or you can cook something good.
He pulled the Cornucopia from his pocket. The small system item sat in his palm, shaped like a compressed horn. He tilted it over a pot.
White rice grains streamed out. They piled into the basin with a low, steady hiss.
M.M. put his phone away and walked over. He stopped at the counter.
"Where did that come from?" M.M. asked.
"I'm cooking."
"I can see that. Where did the rice come from?"
"The same place rice generally comes from." Jude tilted the Cornucopia toward the cutting board. Three small potatoes rolled out.
M.M. stared at the potatoes.
"Where did those—"
A large winter melon appeared in Jude's other hand. It was far too large to have been concealed anywhere on his person.
M.M. opened his mouth. He didn't say anything.
Footsteps approached the kitchen doorway. By the time Jude looked up, five people stood in a rough semicircle, all staring at the winter melon.
"That is not magic," Frenchie said. "Magic is stagecraft. What you are doing is sorcery."
"The research program at Tokyo University," Butcher said. "Investigating superhumans. Seeing it in person, yes, that tracks."
Sherry leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed. "Can it do gold?"
The phone in Kimiko's hand chimed softly. She held up the screen.
I want to eat meat.
Jude looked at her.
"Do you want tempura? Or sushi?"
Kimiko stopped moving. She stared at the Cornucopia. She looked at the fresh shrimp and fish that now sat on the cutting board beside it. She swallowed.
The phone chimed again.
I have never eaten it.
Jude read the translation, then read it again. Family circumstances. He filed the thought away.
"Then we'll make it properly." He set the Cornucopia down and looked at Frenchie. "You're on Kimiko duty. Keep the conversation going. I'll pay you in stew."
"What kind of stew?"
"Whatever I feel like making. You interested or not?"
"I'm interested."
"M.M., you'll eat whatever they're having. There'll be enough."
"That's fine," M.M. said.
"I'm going out," Butcher said from the doorway. "I have to meet someone first."
Jude didn't turn around. His hands moved over the prep station, his Master-level culinary skill taking over. "At least wait until after the Samaritan's Embrace event tomorrow. Is what we have now enough for a preliminary conversation?"
"Do you know who I'm going to meet?"
"I noticed this morning that one of the eight vials is unaccounted for."
The kitchen went quiet.
"It's preliminary," Butcher said. "I'm not asking for anything concrete yet."
"Then one piece of advice." Jude picked up a knife. "Don't walk in with unrealistic conditions. They won't move against Homelander specifically unless they are completely certain of the outcome. If you ask for that at this stage, they'll close the door."
A longer stretch of silence followed. Butcher stood in the doorway, carrying the same name and face he had carried for eight years, knowing he couldn't put them on the table yet.
"I understand," Butcher said.
He walked out.
Jude set the knife down and started on the rice.
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