By the time they reached the Vogel bakery, Phong looked like a wet stray cat who had been dragged through public attention against his will and only barely survived.
He still tried.
That was the worst part.
He stood up straight at the entrance, tried to smooth his hair, tried to look like a respectable young man coming to visit his girlfriend's parents instead of a socially battered farmer whose soul had just been peeled on live television.
It lasted maybe five seconds.
Papa Vogel took one look at him and snorted.
Mama Vogel's expression softened immediately. She had clearly seen the interviews already.
Both of them had.
They knew exactly how much Phong hated being in the spotlight.
So when he stepped in and gave them his best attempt at a proper greeting, Papa Vogel waved a hand and said, "Enough, enough. Sit."
That was all the permission Phong needed.
He made it to the nearest table and immediately draped himself over it like his bones had dissolved.
Alex, walking in right behind him, failed to hide her amusement.
Mama Vogel clicked her tongue softly. "Ach, poor boy."
"I'm alive," Phong muttered into the table.
"That does not look convincing," Papa Vogel said.
Phong lifted one hand weakly in protest and let it fall again.
He had brought gifts, at least.
When he finally sat up enough to pass them over, it was with the solemnity of a man trying to prove he was still useful. Explosive Peas and Angry Chilies, both chosen because even for people who no longer cared about diving, small stat improvements still mattered.
Papa and Mama Vogel had classes and stats, same as everyone else.
They had simply chosen not to dive.
Not because they were weak, and not because they were foolish, but because they were satisfied with the life they had. A bakery. A family. Enough years already lived to know that adventure was not worth chasing just because the world offered it. They had no need to level up in dark places to feel complete. And if push come to shove, they had their trustworthy daughter standing between them an foolish goons.
Still, more strength was more strength.
And Phong knew that.
Mama Vogel accepted the gifts warmly. Papa Vogel inspected them with the serious respect of a man evaluating ingredients and practical utility at the same time.
But for the old couple, the real gifts arrived on their own feet.
Or paws.
Or tiny wings.
Mama Vogel fell on Nyx and Little Fireball immediately.
Nyx, to her own great dignity, allowed herself to be adored while pretending this was a burden she heroically bore for the sake of others. Mama Vogel scratched under her chin, cooed over her sleek fur, and declared her "such a beautiful little lady," which Nyx accepted as obvious truth.
Little Fireball got the full treatment too. Mama Vogel cupped the chick in both hands, laughed at her tiny chirps, and looked so delighted that even Alex softened just watching it.
Papa Vogel, meanwhile, had more practical priorities.
He hauled out bratwurst, set up a proper grill arrangement, and called over Bruno and Rico like a master about to teach wayward apprentices.
"If you are going to eat sausage," he declared, "you will learn to do it correctly."
Bruno came at once, tail wagging hard enough to shake his whole body.
Rico climbed up onto a crate with all the seriousness of a raccoon entering sacred instruction.
Papa Vogel showed them the heat control, how to turn without splitting the skin too early, how to judge doneness by smell and color.
"This," he said, pointing with the tongs, "is the backbone of German cuisine."
Rico nodded with grave respect. "Sausage supreme."
Papa Vogel did not even disagree.
Phong tried not to care too much about Rico twisting Dr. Strange title into a culinary achievement.
For Séline, Camille, Alexei, and Emma, this was their first visit.
That meant they got the full experience all at once. The warm bakery smell, the family energy, the sense that the whole place remained stubbornly normal despite the kind of people now walking through its doors.
Same as the Christmas market.
Or the Public Library.
And they knew, the reason was standing near their lv1 farmer, poking at his side in amusement.
Séline and Camille had come with a purpose.
Mischievous purpose.
They wasted almost no time before telling Papa and Mama Vogel about the trip to Lyon and Alex's declaration of war against French baking culture on behalf of Germany.
Alex, who had not expected escalation this quickly, stared at them. "Really? With him like this?"
Séline folded her arms. "You started it. Don't drag farm boy into this."
Camille nodded. "We simply return the favor."
Papa Vogel's eyes lit up at once.
"Ach..." he said, straightening. "...so."
Mama Vogel laughed under her breath because she knew that look. "Now you did it."
Séline gave a polite little tilt of the head. "We would like to test the truth of that statement through the Vogels."
Papa Vogel put a hand to his chest like he had been formally summoned to national duty.
"As a proud German," he said, "I accept."
Alex covered part of her face with one hand. "I hate all of you."
"No, you don't," Mama Vogel said cheerfully.
The tasting battle began almost instantly.
Trays were brought out.
Pastries arranged.
Alexei, who had not gone to Lyon and therefore lacked the context but not the appetite, took one look at the Wurstbrötchen.
His eyes widened after the first bite, then he ate the rest with the intensity of a man rediscovering purpose.
"This," he said, voice thick with bread and sausage and revelation, "is good."
Papa Vogel looked pleased enough to forgive many things.
Emma, on the other hand, chose chaos.
She took a croissant with pistachio crème, bit into it, and then, with full awareness of what she was doing, said, "This is better than the croissants I had in Paris."
The room reacted exactly as it should have.
Séline stared at her.
Camille blinked once, very slowly.
Alex made a noise halfway between disbelief and delight.
Papa Vogel looked ready to adopt Emma on the spot.
Mama Vogel laughed.
Phong, still recovering at the table, pushed himself up just enough to object on pure nerd instinct. "Croissants are actually Austrian in origin."
Emma did not even turn her head.
"I don't care."
"You should care."
"I want the chaos, not trivia."
That shut him up, mostly because it was impossible to argue with someone who admitted bad faith that openly.
Séline pointed at Emma with deep offense. "That is not a respectable metric."
"It is a fun one," Emma replied.
Camille, somehow managing to look elegant while standing in a bakery war zone, narrowed her eyes at the pastry tray like it had personally insulted French culture.
Papa Vogel puffed up even more. "Taste first. Debate after."
This, naturally, led to more tasting, more arguments, more completely unserious national pride being treated like a matter of civilization. Alex got dragged into it. Then Phong did too despite trying to hide. Then Rico offered commentary from beside the grill with bratwurst grease on his paws and no right whatsoever to weigh in on European baking traditions. A lack of qualification didn't stop the racoon, though.
Bruno, after being allowed a carefully approved sausage portion, declared Papa Vogel a genius.
Nyx claimed a seat near Mama Vogel and watched the whole thing unfold silently.
Little Fireball peeped at a Kartoffelbrot crumb and was told no by three people at once.
And through it all, Phong slowly came back to life.
Not fully.
He still looked like public attention had wrung him out and left him to dry wrong.
But here, in the warmth of the bakery, with the Vogels laughing, Alex beside him, Papa Vogel grilling like national honor depended on it, and Mama Vogel fussing over the animals like they were grandchildren with fur and feathers, the strain eased.
Enough for him to sit a little straighter.
Enough to smile when Alex caught his eye.
Enough to survive Emma Tannenbaum deliberately choosing violence through pastry opinions and not collapse on the spot.
By the end of it, the bakery was full of heat, voices, and the kind of chaos that only happened when too many strong personalities met somewhere safe enough to be ridiculous.
Which, Phong thought tiredly, was probably the best kind of chaos there was.
Séline and Camille eventually called an end to the pastry war before Papa Vogel and Emma could turn it into an international incident.
"Agree to disagree," Séline said with the grave tone of a diplomat signing a ceasefire.
Camille nodded. "For the sake of peace."
Papa Vogel looked like he still had at least three arguments left in him, but Mama Vogel told him to stop puffing up like a bakery rooster, which did help.
Alexei left with the others, though not before securing more food for the road. Emma went too, still looking far too pleased with the chaos she had caused.
In the end, Phong, Alex, and the animals stayed the night at the Vogels'.
Mama Vogel wasted no time reclaiming Alex for what she clearly considered urgent maternal correction.
Into the kitchen she went.
Alex barely had time to protest before an apron was pressed into her hands.
"Mama," Alex said, already suspicious, "what is this."
"This," Mama Vogel declared, "is your education."
Phong, seated at the table with Nyx curled nearby and Bruno lying under his chair, wisely kept his mouth shut.
Mama Vogel pointed a wooden spoon at Alex like a commander issuing orders.
"You need to know how to cook proper German food for your future man at least three times a week."
Alex blinked. "Three times."
"At least."
Alex immediately tried to negotiate. "I'm fine doing the dishes every time."
Mama Vogel turned and stared at her daughter in deep disappointment.
"No."
Alex raised both hands. "What do you mean, no?"
"I mean no." Mama Vogel went back to arranging ingredients with firm purpose. "Chores are to be distributed evenly. You do not get to avoid cooking forever by trying to look useful near the sink."
From the doorway, Papa Vogel muttered, "Your mother has spoken."
Alex looked toward Phong for support.
The traitor in him failed her completely.
He took one look at Mama Vogel's expression and dropped his gaze to Bruno instead.
Bruno, sensing danger, pretended to be asleep.
Nyx abandoned all loyalty and began cleaning a paw.
Little Fireball burrowed deeper into Phong's hood.
Alex made a face. "Cowards. All of you."
Mama Vogel put a hand over her heart. "Look how unloved I am. I teach my daughter how to feed the man she wants to keep and she calls me cruel."
Alex sighed with the heavy suffering of a woman forced to peel potatoes in front of witnesses.
Still, she stayed.
And to her credit, she learned seriously once the teasing stopped being the main event. Mama Vogel showed her proper family recipes, and the small things that turned cooking from "technically edible" into something worth remembering. Alex grumbled every so often, mostly on principle, but she listened.
Phong watched from the edge of the kitchen for a while and found himself smiling despite the earlier social nightmare.
This was easier.
This made sense.
Later, after dinner was done and eaten, with Mama Vogel satisfied enough not to call Alex hopeless and Alex looking privately pleased that she had not embarrassed herself, the dishes had to be handled.
Since Mama Vogel and Alex had cooked, that left Phong and Papa Vogel at the sink.
The bakery had gone calm around them. The animals had settled. Warm light spilled softly over the kitchen tiles. From the other room came the occasional murmur of Mama Vogel talking to Alex about recipes, family, and probably some other form of maternal instructions for future marriage life.
Papa Vogel scrubbed a pan in silence for a bit.
Phong rinsed plates beside him.
The quiet was not uncomfortable. It was the sort that let people step around harder things until one of them decided not to.
Eventually Papa Vogel did.
He did not look at Phong right away when he spoke.
"A lot has happened."
Phong's hands slowed only slightly.
Papa Vogel continued in that same practical tone of his, but the concern under it was obvious enough.
"With that Olen boy. With Joshua Harlan. With all this noise around you and Alex." He set one clean dish aside. "And now this business with people in nice suits asking questions, making claims."
He finally glanced over.
"You understand why we worry."
Phong looked down at the plate in his hands for a second, then gave a small, wry smile.
"Yeah," he said. "I do."
The Vogels had accepted him. As family, or close enough to it that the difference did not matter much. That kind of care always came with worry.
He rinsed the plate clean and set it aside.
"You don't need to be too worried," he said.
Papa Vogel grunted softly, which clearly meant he was not convinced yet.
Phong dried his hands on a towel and leaned one hip lightly against the counter.
"Olen is annoying," he said. "Josh nearly caused a disaster, sure. But we handled it."
Papa Vogel watched him steadily.
Phong's smile went a little crooked.
"Honestly, my biggest concern right now is that Alex keeps trying to squeeze me dry every time we sleep together."
The silence that followed was immediate and absolute.
Papa Vogel stared at him.
Phong realized, perhaps one second too late, that he had in fact said that aloud to his girlfriend's father.
From the other room, Alex's voice carried faintly, "Did he just say what I think he said?"
Mama Vogel burst into laughter first.
The kind of non-polite, unapologetic that filled the whole kitchen.
Papa Vogel closed his eyes for one long moment and put both hands on the counter like a man praying for divine patience.
Then he let out a breath through his nose.
"…I asked because I was concerned," he said.
Phong rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah."
"That answer did not help."
"It was honest."
"It was too honest."
From the other room came Alex again, much closer now and sounding entirely too pleased with herself.
"I told you Mama would like him."
Mama Vogel, still laughing, replied, "I do like him. I am deciding what to do about his mouth."
Papa Vogel muttered something in German that Phong was fairly sure was not praise.
Still, the older man did not look angry.
A little pained, maybe a little ambushed.
But not angry.
If anything, there was some reluctant amusement beginning to win over the concern.
Phong, sensing he had already detonated whatever dignity remained in the conversation, decided there was no recovery anyway.
So he just picked up the next plate and kept washing.
Papa Vogel looked at him for a few more seconds, then finally shook his head.
"You are a strange young man."
Phong nodded. "I get that a lot."
"Yes." Papa Vogel took the towel again and resumed drying. "I can see why."
And in the warm kitchen of the Vogel bakery, with dishwater running, Mama Vogel still laughing in the next room, and Alex absolutely never letting him forget this conversation, the evening settled into something softer again.