Agung's large hands moved with a surprising economy of motion, an experienced dancer in the confined space of the kitchen. The powerful jet of the wok burner roared to life, and the clatter of the spatula against the steel became a comforting, rhythmic pulse. He was listening to the voice of the Djin, a constant, low-level drone of sarcastic commentary only he could perceive, while focusing on the needs of the boy.
Uzumaki Naruto. The name hit Agung with the force of nostalgia and immediate, profound pity. The poor hero, the one destined to carry the weight of the entire world, sitting right there in his humble restaurant, starving after the infamous bell test.
Agung scattered chopped shallots, garlic, and chili into the wok with a practiced flick of his wrist.
"This Nasi Goreng takes just a few minutes, but it requires patience," Agung said, not turning from the heat. The words, though spoken in his Indonesian dialect, flowed seamlessly into Naruto's understanding. "I noticed you look quite dusty, friend. And perhaps a little… defeated. I know you're from a different place, but every person needs to rest their legs and their heart sometimes."
He tossed in the cold, cooked rice—the key to perfect fried rice—and the steam momentarily clouded the air.
"Tell me about your world, traveler," Agung continued, stirring vigorously to coat every grain in the fragrant oil. "I'm a simple man, a chef, but I've always been fascinated by stories. What is it like where you come from? What kind of village do you live in?"
He glanced over his shoulder. Naruto, still slumped in the chair, looked up, startled by the direct, non-judgmental question.
Agung added a splash of thick, sweet kecap manis (sweet soy sauce), giving the rice its signature dark color and deep, caramelized flavor. The rich aroma of the soy sauce hitting the heat was intoxicating.
"You don't have to tell me everything," Agung said softly, his focus returning to the wok. "But sometimes, telling a stranger about your burdens—even the ones that seem small, like missing lunch—can make the burden easier to carry."
He needs to talk it out, Agung thought, remembering the bell test script perfectly. He needs to process the feeling of betrayal and isolation before he can embrace the lesson.
"In your world," Agung probed gently, cracking an egg onto the side of the hot wok and scrambling it quickly, "do you have... a lot of rivals? Or perhaps, people who don't quite understand you?"
Agung was fishing for validation, trying to confirm the boy's loneliness without reciting the Naruto script. He was trying to be a counselor, not a comic book geek.
Naruto seemed to wrestle with the honesty in his gut. His hands twitched.
"My village… it's Konoha," Naruto finally started, his voice small, edged with bitterness. "It's the greatest hidden village! And I'm gonna be Hokage, the greatest ninja, believe it! Everyone will have to look up to me then!"
The bravado was thin, and it cracked quickly.
"But..." He trailed off, looking down at his worn-out sandals. "But right now, everyone just sees the screw-up. The knucklehead. They pretend I don't exist. My own teacher tied me up and told me I was useless because I didn't get a bell. And my teammates... they knew I was hungry. They were told not to, but they still ate their food together, sharing it, right in front of me."
Agung's heart squeezed, a pang of genuine sadness displacing his professional calm. The isolation was real, and it was acute.
He expertly mixed the scrambled egg into the dark, steaming rice. The dish was finished.
He plated the Nasi Goreng Kampung high on a simple white plate, topped it with a glistening fried egg (sunnyside up, of course), and garnished it with sliced cucumber and two crisp kerupuk crackers.
Agung carried the plate out of the kitchen and set it down in front of the young, defeated hero.
The aroma hit Naruto fully—savory, spicy, sweet, and fundamentally comforting.
"Eat," Agung commanded softly, placing his hands on the counter. "In my culture, food is love. Right now, forget the bells, forget the rivals, forget the rules. For the next ten minutes, you are only here. You are safe, and you are fed. This meal was cooked just for you, Naruto. It carries no judgment, only warmth."
Naruto stared at the plate, then looked up at Agung, his blue eyes wide. He slowly reached for the fork. The silence was broken only by the sizzling of the fried egg and the faint, rhythmic pulse of the still-glowing portal door.