The rhythmic *thwack-thwack-thwack* of the knife hitting the wooden board was the only sound in the kitchen. Agung didn't even look down; his hands moved with a practiced, blurring speed. Each potato was transformed into a perfect, uniform cube in seconds, as if a machine were doing the work.
The laughter died down instantly. Chika, who had been doubled over, slowly stood upright. Nico dropped the bag of potatoes she was holding. Even Maki, the daughter of a medical dynasty, watched with narrowed, analytical eyes.
"You're... actually good at this," Maki whispered, stepping closer to inspect the precision of the cuts. "This isn't 'Creation Magic.' This is muscle memory."
Agung paused, the knife resting lightly on the board. He looked at his hands—the slightly thicker, "panda-like" fingers that still moved with the grace of a worker. He didn't look like a smug billionaire anymore; for a brief second, his expression was miles away, back in a world that didn't have idols or magic operators.
"I only became a quadrillionaire after I stepped foot in this messed-up world," he said, his voice quiet and devoid of the previous humor. "In my old world... the one I was actually born in? I wasn't rich. Not even close."
He picked up a piece of potato, turning it over in his hand.
"I worked as a street sweeper," he continued, looking at the stunned faces of the girls. "My salary was **1.9 million Rupiah** a month. That's barely **14,000 Yen**. For a whole month of sweeping the dust and trash of the city under the hot sun."
The silence in the kitchen became heavy—unbearably so. For the girls, who were used to the glittering world of centers and stages, or the billionaire lifestyle of the Oharas, the numbers he was quoting sounded like a mistake.
"1.9 million... for a month?" Dia whispered, her hand going to her mouth. As the daughter of the Kurosawa family, she knew the value of currency, and that amount was less than some people spent on a single dinner in Ginza.
"It was barely enough for me and my family to survive," Agung said, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. "When you live like that, you learn how to cook every scrap. You learn how to prep food fast because your time is the only thing you own that doesn't cost money. I didn't learn to peel like this in a culinary school. I learned it because it was how we lived."
He looked at the Mikan apron he was wearing.
"So, yeah. I have a quadrillion dollars now. I can manifest gold and Swiss chocolate. But the man inside this 'Panda' body? He still remembers exactly how many potatoes 1.9 million Rupiah can buy."
He turned back to the pile of vegetables, the knife starting its rhythmic beat again.
"If you want to know why I'm 'frugal' with my Android phone and why I prefer cash," he added over the sound of the chopping, "it's because in my head, I'm still that guy with the broom. The 'Deadbeat' might have forgotten where he came from, but this version of me? I'm never letting go of that."
Mari felt a sharp, painful pang in her chest. She had spent three years hating a man she thought was a cold-hearted runaway, but she was looking at a man who understood the value of a single potato better than she understood the value of her own private jet.
"Agung..." Umi started, her voice soft and full of a new kind of respect.
"Don't get sentimental on me, Number One," Agung interrupted, though his tone was teasing. "We still have twenty liters of miso soup to make. Someone get the dashi ready. My salary might have gone up, but the work hasn't changed."