The rest of that day passed quietly. Our day-to-day clothes got delivered but other than that nothing eventful happened.

  With no immediate crises to deal with, everyone scattered into loose groups, and we drifted throughout the castle halls like curious tourists. Some groups explored the courtyards. Other groups lingered in common rooms, asking servants questions about items they saw or customs. Conversations overlapped and dissolved, replaced by new ones just as easily.

  Normal, in the strangest way. Some, at least two people though, didn’t break character.

  Reika, of course, had her own mission.

  She spent most of the afternoon, the entire day really, trying repeatedly and with increasing creativity—to convince my brother to let her feed him. Each attempt ended the same way, him growling and snapping back with increasingly colorful language, using one arm to ward her away.

  There was also Shizuku standing nearby with the air of someone supervising a wall. According to Arthur, for her, this was apparently quite normal so we left them to it. By nightfall, my brother still hadn’t caved.

  The next morning, it was clear my brother hadn’t improved. If anything, he looked worse—paler, more irritable, his movements even more guarded than before. According to him, it was because Reika kept pestering him all day. She simply smiled, uncaring of his remark.

  Still, that was enough for our mother to inform the relevant people and the king stepped in. Without much ceremony, he assigned Apothecary Donovan to oversee my brother’s condition personally.

  Apothecary Donovan turned out to be younger than we expected at thirty-four. He had sharp grey eyes, dark hair and had the kind of calm that came from having seen far worse than whatever was happening now. But he spoke in a casual friendly manner that was completely at odds with his appearance.

  He asked questions, took notes, and muttered under his breath in a way that suggested my brother was already an interesting case.

  Later that day, the two knight captains returned with their report. The now former master of the kitchens, they explained, wasn’t just missing. The consensus among the servants was that he had abandoned his post, fled leaving behind belongings.

  “Time of disappearance was between him delivering food to us and before dawn,” Captain Godwin said reading from his notes. “Patrolling soldiers noticed nothing during those times. Whatever had driven him, it had been enough to make him run without looking back. No signs of struggle either.”

  “According to the other servants it was probably fear that had made that person run away. But rumors are starting to spread,” Captain Aldric added. “Ugly ones.”

  The captains didn’t stop there.

  Apparently, there were whispers that he had done terrible things, things best left unnamed, and that the moment he laid eyes on us, the heroes, something in him snapped. He didn’t wait for judgment. He hadn’t waited for questions. He’d simply run.

  Captain Aldric was blunt about it. “Anyone who had left the city under similar circumstances would be investigated. Quiet and thorough. This city has logs, the roads have patrols, and people who flee in panic tended to leave trails. No matter how careful they thought they were. Whatever crime he’s committed, we will find him.”

  Still… life went on. Meals were served. From a distance we heard bells ring. Guards changed shifts. The castle hummed with routine, as if the rumors and the disappearance were just another footnote in daily life. According to the princess, we inadvertently chased away a hidden evil within their halls with our mere presence.

  The effect and the reverence that came was—palpable. At least my little group seemed to think so. Others, from what I could observe, like Haruto and the trio who my brother hates, seemed to love it.

  Servants worked with slightly brighter smiles. But conversations paused whenever we passed. They would bow, let us pass, then resumed the moment we were gone. Honestly it was not something to get used to easily.

  Lunch itself turned out to be as lively as always.

  We had roasted chicken or this world’s version of chicken. As well as chicken adobo, our version that had potatoes, cubed carrots, ginger and simmered until tender in this world’s version of soy sauce. Apparently, mom asked around for it, and some of the servants that worked in the kitchen also asked around. In the end they found soy sauce.

  Rice was still not on the menu unfortunately. Still plates were passed, refilled, then refilled again. Even the servants—normally careful to remain unobtrusive—were sneaking glances at the dishes as they moved through the hall.

  “This is amazing,” Arthur declared around a mouthful, pointing his fork at me. “Your mom’s a damned wizard. I refuse to believe this is just cooking.”

  I laughed, waving him off. “Flattery won’t get you seconds any faster.”

  “It might,” Arthur said, already reaching for more.

  Shun, chewing thoughtfully, tilted his head and called to me. “Wills, does your mom know how to make any Japanese food?”

  I thought for a moment, and unfortunately shook my head. “Nope. She’s amazing,” I said, pausing mid bite, “but she never really practiced Japanese dishes. Our best bet would be my brother cooking, and even then, his specialty is fusion food.”

  Among the—now former—Japanese delegates, there was a brief, collective slump. Nothing dramatic. Just shoulders drooping, gazes drifting, the kind of quiet disappointment that didn’t need words. We were in another world. It couldn’t be helped. It reminded them of something we all had been trying not to think about.

  We’d all been dragged into this without warning. Without preparation. Certainly, without permission.

  Of course we were homesick. Of course we’d crave flavors from home—rice cooked just right, miso that tasted familiar, things that made the world feel less—wrong.

  Then Taka clapped his hands lightly, as if remembering something obvious. “Wait. We’ve still got Shizuku-san’s mom.” That earned a few looks.

  Shizuku tilted her head, considering it. “I’ll bring it up later,” she said carefully, like someone filing away a problem to solve at a more appropriate time.

  Trayn leaned back in his chair. “How good is she?”

  Shun glanced between Shizuku and me. “Yeah. As good as Will’s mom?”

  Shizuku didn’t hesitate. “Pretty normal.”

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  The table went quiet again. Acceptance slowly settling in. Then I exhaled. “I’ll go try asking my brother.”

  After we finished eating, I brought a tray up to his room. He glanced up as we entered. As before he was propped up against the headboard and was playing on his phone using one hand.

  This time, Reika had been intercepted by the prince halfway down the corridor and promptly dragged Shizuku along with her. Both looked unenthusiastic to say the least. That left the usual four of us, with Shun, Hanzo, and Yuuto tagging along.

  “Nii-san,” I began, setting the tray down, “we have a bit of a problem.”

  He snorted lightly and immediately regretted it, hissing under his breath before setting down his phone and receiving the tray.

  I explained, which didn’t take long. He listened while shoveling potatoes, chicken, potatoes into his mouth in that order. He really liked his potatoes.

  “They found soy sauce, but they’re still searching for miso and rice,” I said, finishing my explanation. “Maybe it exists, just not nearby.”

  “You can’t make Japanese food without miso or seafood or dashi,” he said flatly, gesturing with his fork. “Just like it’s hard to eat Filipino food without rice.”

  “He makes a good point,” Shun said, nodding gravely.

  I also agreed with his sentiment—it’s a matter of national importance.

  Hanzo leaned forward. “Is there any dish you can think of? Preferably Japanese.”

  My brother paused mid-bite and raised an eyebrow at him.

  “You people are the Japanese,” he said, genuinely confused. “I’m only half, and I grew up in the Philippines. Why are you asking me?”

  Yuuto’s shoulders sagged. “Because when we talked about it on the way here, we realized everything we ate normally had rice, seafood, miso or dashi.”

  Hanzo started counting on his fingers. “The ones we always have is Pork. Chicken. Fish. Eggs. Curry. Tamago-kake-gohan. Omurice. Even umeboshi.”

  “We asked Taka about ramen, but that still means making the noodles,” Yuuto said miserably. “And anything miso-based is off the menu as well, because there is no miso. That means we’re stuck with soy.”

  “I also thought of okonomiyaki but we will still have a problem. From my conversation with some of the servants earlier, we are inland,” Taka added. “So, no dashi, seaweed and bonito flakes if they have it at all, and seafood is definitely off.”

  Yuuto shrugged. “Even the pork-only versions still have dashi in the batter and bonito flakes on top. So that one’s out as well.”

  Arthur opened his mouth, clearly gearing up for something profound or at least confident but my brother beat him to it.

  “Arthur,” he said calmly, “any sentence that has Asians, eat, and rice in the same breath is a sentence only white people say.”

  There was a heartbeat of silence.

  “How the hell did you know what I was going to say!?” Arthur demanded, staring at him like he’d just witnessed a magic trick.

  Trayn, meanwhile, laughed. He bent over laughing, one hand on his knee, the other pointing accusingly at Arthur. “So, you were absolutely going to say it!?”

  My brother didn’t even look smug. He just shrugged and went quiet as Arthur and Trayn argued over things related to rice. My brother’s eyes stared at his plate for a few seconds. Then he twirled his fork like a drummer playing with the stick with his left hand absentmindedly. He stopped then speared a chunk of chicken and popped it into his mouth.

  He chewed. Paused. Then, like the meat had knocked something loose in his brain, he snapped his fingers.

  “Okay. We can’t do anything soupy,” he said, swallowing. “No rice means anything with broth is just—sad. And if we try to substitute with potatoes or bread, it’s going to get soggy and offend at least three cultures.”

  That was oddly very specific, but no one argued. He set the fork down and reached for his phone.

  “Japanese food isn’t just rice. It’s technique.” He explained as his thumb moved fast, muscle memory doing most of the work.

  “And then I thought of gyoza but it goes back to the problem of rice,” he said, tapping the screen once, “so we work around it.”

  After a few seconds, he turned the screen toward us.

  Two pictures. He glanced up at us, a faint grin tugging at his mouth despite himself. “Unfortunately, for us to do that, we’re going to have to borrow from white people.”

  By dinner, the results of my brother’s idea and my mother, and Shizuku’s mother’s collaborative cooking effort were laid out before us. Two types of katsu pork and chicken with simple soy-based sauces, as well as a generous plate of gyoza. The two had worked seamlessly together.

  We checked in with them earlier and got a good look at the chicken or at least the closest thing to a chicken in this world. It looked odd at first glance. The birds had no necks, their heads, though proportional, were round and almost comically stubby, with fat and near-spherical bodies. It honestly looked like a rather large fat parrot.

  But appearances were deceiving. The servant said these creatures were incredibly fast, and the people who tended them had to be even faster to catch them alive. The upside is that they breed really easily and were a staple food in this world. It was a bizarre yet fascinating spectacle that made the meat we ate feel almost like a trophy.

  On the table sat two large woks, holding our “substitute rice.” Since this world lacked a grater, we couldn’t make traditional grated or steamed rice dishes. Instead, the cauliflower or Briarheads as they call it in this world had been finely chopped by my father who looked enthusiastic about it, fried, and seasoned with garlic, onion, salt, and pepper.

  It wasn’t rice—but it mimicked the texture and had enough flavor to fill the void.

  Dining with us that day were the two knight captains, both of them having shed their armor in favor of simple clothes. Nothing ceremonial, nothing imposing—just practical, comfortable garments not too different from what we ourselves were wearing.

  It felt… oddly grounding, seeing men who commanded soldiers and held authority sitting at the same table, sleeves rolled up, eating the same food as us.

  Captain Aldric nodded appreciatively after his first bite, while Captain Godwin was more expressive.

  “This pairs remarkably well,” Godwin said, tapping his fork against the plate. “The texture, the seasoning—” He dipped another piece into the sauce and smiled. “That sauce especially. It brings everything together.”

  I swallowed and replied, “That was my brother’s idea. Soy sauce, honey, ginger, vinegar. The chili is optional.”

  Godwin let out a low whistle.

  Hanzo leaned back slightly, a grin spreading across his face. “I have to admit,” he said, gesturing with his spoon, “your brother’s really showing how sharp he is with these fusion dishes.”

  “It’s not the real thing,” Yuuto added between mouthfuls, clearly unconcerned as he shoveled in another bite, “but it works. I’d take this any day.”

  “Right? That,” Arthur managed around the food, “with the katsu is just—” He trailed off and nodded solemnly, as if no further explanation was necessary. He simply raised his free hand and made an exaggerated okay sign, cheeks already full.

  Trayn’s eyes gleamed as he leaned forward. “Yeah. And this is just him improvising. I can’t wait to see what he’ll make when he actually decides to cook properly.”

  I nodded in agreement, about to add something of my own, when Shizuku cut in.

  “Try not to say that to his face,” she said flatly from behind us. “I really don’t want to see that smug grin of his getting any worse.”

  There was a sharp edge to her tone, and it didn’t take much to guess she was still irritated from her earlier ordeal with Reika—and the prince by extension who was, as before, still stuck himself to Reika.

  We all exchanged brief looks, then, almost in unison, lowered our gazes back to our plates. No one said anything. But we all kept our smirks.

  Then, we all noticed a subtle shift in the room. The guards moved with quiet precision, some stepping in to whisper hurriedly to their colleagues. Their glances flicked toward the entrance of the hall, and it wasn’t long before every head followed their line of sight. Even the king’s eyes narrowed slightly, taking in whatever disturbance had arrived.

  A moment later, the source became clear. A woman entered, her blonde hair catching the light from the crystal stones, framing a face that carried both elegance and calm but with a subtle hint of authority. She was dressed in practical travel attire—nothing overly ornate, but the quality of her clothing spoke of nobility.

  At her side, clutching her hand, was a small girl, no more than six or seven, with soft gray-brown hair and an inquisitive gaze that darted around the hall, taking in the unfamiliar faces.

  Behind them, two knights flanked the pair. They were both imposing, standing as tall as Captain Godwin, their armor polished and precisely fitted. Both had the distinctive raised collar near the neck. Both looked youthful and were definitely younger than the knight captain.

  Even at a glance, it was impossible to ignore how similar they were—their brows, hair, and striking blue eyes marked them unmistakably as brothers. Their presence exuded silent discipline, a physical echo of the captains we had already come to respect.

  The king, maintaining his usual air of composed authority, raised a single hand in a signal for everyone to remain seated. Yet he didn’t linger behind his table. He swept forward, arms wide, his face breaking into a rare, warm smile.

  “Welcome back,” he said, his voice carrying across the hall. “It is a joy to see you both again.”

  The woman responded with a measured, regal nod, her eyes briefly scanning the room before settling on the king. She also spread her arms to receive the king.

  There was no mistaking who this person was. The queen was back.