"This is the Ricecake Maker."
Morgan clapped the dust from his hands, his face pale from exertion but carrying a subtle note of pride.
"You wanted ricecakes, so I invented a machine that can produce them."
Invention: The Ricecake Maker
Origin: Future Tech Corporation – from the Doraemon universe
In the stories Morgan vaguely remembered, many miraculous gadgets came from a place called Future Tech Corporation, designed by brilliant scientists from a distant era. The tools that actually made it into commercial use were always the ones deemed stable, safe, and controllable.
But seeing one appear out of thin air? That was something else entirely.
"Invented? You call this thing appearing out of nowhere an invention?!"
Wogan's eyes bulged so hard they looked like they might roll out of his skull.
He wasn't a complete idiot. He understood what the word "invent" meant.
But whatever this was… did not match any definition he'd ever heard.
"Don't worry about the details."
Morgan waved his hand dismissively.
"The important thing is that you get to eat ricecakes. Isn't that what matters?"
"...Yeah, that's true."
Wogan nodded before he even realized he was agreeing. Then he froze.
Something about this situation was so absurd that his brain couldn't even process how absurd it was.
He glanced toward Maggie. She didn't speak, but her gaze was locked on the machine, sharp and focused.
At least he wasn't the only one trying to figure out what in the world was going on.
Still… whatever this machine was, it had clearly drained Morgan. Wogan could sense it. The kid looked weaker than before, like the invention had sucked the strength out of him.
"So how does this thing make ricecakes?"
Wogan slapped his hand against the purple metal casing. It made a satisfyingly heavy sound.
"Ricecakes are made from sticky rice. Naturally."
Morgan gave him a puzzled look, as if this should be obvious.
Wogan stared at him.
"So this thing can't actually make ricecakes out of thin air?"
In an instant, the Ricecake Maker plummeted in value in his mind. What he had first seen as a miracle device was now downgraded to useless scrap.
"I don't know how it works in the original world," Morgan said calmly. "But if it needs sticky rice, then…"
He eyed the machine with obvious disappointment.
"We don't even have regular rice. Forget sticky rice. We don't have anything except empty stomachs."
Then, as if suddenly inspired, Wogan added,
"But this metal looks sturdy. If we break it down, the scraps might fetch a decent price."
His eyes shone.
Bread was rare, but metal? Metal could be traded.
He turned toward Morgan with rare generosity.
"How about this? If we sell it, I'll give you a cut huh?"
Because just then, Morgan produced something else out of nowhere.
"…What is that supposed to be?" Wogan asked, blinking rapidly.
"Tools for growing sticky rice."
"...You invented these too?"
"Of course."
Morgan answered without hesitation.
"If sticky rice is required to make ricecakes, and we don't have any, then the logical first step is to grow it."
Wogan gawked at him.
Growing rice?
In Meteor Street?
In a place where nothing grew except garbage, crime, and hopelessness?
And wasn't growing rice supposed to take… months?
"What are you waiting for?" Morgan asked, tossing a long green capsule toward him.
"Go plant the rice."
Wogan fumbled to catch it.
"This is called Seedlings in a Capsule. Everything you need to start growing rice is inside."
Before Wogan could form a word of protest, Morgan pulled out another item: a small green cylinder with a cord at the bottom.
He gave the cord a gentle tug.
Swish. Boom.
A red light burst into the air, then expanded into a glowing sphere that hovered above them like a miniature sun.
Wogan took two steps back, eyes wide.
Maggie's pupils dilated, though she didn't move otherwise.
"This is an Indoor Sun," Morgan said calmly. "It accelerates plant growth."
Apparently, the first significant invention he made had come with several smaller support tools bundled together almost like bonus items.
Then, with a soft pop, he opened a bottle and released a fluffy white cloud into the air.
"And this is Clouds in a Bottle."
Finally, Morgan crouched down and unfurled a glossy, water-soaked sheet across the floor. The texture was soft and damp, like rich soil after rainfall.
"This is a Super Mini Rice Field," Morgan said.
"It already contains fertilizer."
He followed it with one last creation, placing a gentle, gleaming figure into the tiny field.
"And this is a Cloud Scarecrow."
Wogan and Maggie stood frozen. Their brains could not keep up.
Within minutes, the barren empty shack had transformed into a bizarre indoor farmland.
Morgan wiped his forehead. Sweat dripped down his temples, and his breathing had grown shallow.
Inventing so many items at once had drained him far more than he expected.
But then again, he had been clever.
Wogan's commission was simple: "We want ricecakes."
Instead of directly creating ready-made food which would have consumed an unimaginable amount of power Morgan created tools.
Tools that would require them to plant, grow, harvest, and feed the rice into the Ricecake Maker.
More work for them.
Less cost for him.
"So that's it…" Morgan murmured.
"If I invent something that directly fulfills the goal, the energy cost is huge. But if I create tools that require the user to complete part of the process, the cost drops significantly."
Understanding dawned across his tired expression.
His ability was becoming clearer.
"Still… the consumption is too high."
Morgan steadied himself, breathing through the exhaustion.
"I need restrictions. Contracts. Something to balance the cost. If I use limitations and vows, maybe I can reduce the burden…"
His thoughts drifted into the distance as Wogan and Maggie continued staring at the surreal miniature farmland in stunned silence.
The Ricecake Maker waited quietly.
The artificial sun shone warmly overhead.
The ricefield shimmered with cloud-fed moisture.
And for the first time in a long, long while…
The children of Meteor Street saw something that looked frighteningly close to hope.