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The atmosphere hung heavy with an unsettling stillness, broken sporadically by the hushed exchange between an unlikely pair. Atop a small hill, a colossal demonic figure loomed, surveying the expanse of a once-thriving, fertile plain, now reduced to remnants of his former abode.

"It's been eons since I last graced this soil," he rumbled, his deep Germanic timbre tinged with nostalgia as memories of his human life flitted like distant phantoms. "My home, now just echoes and dust."

"Look like a fucking dump to me, Boss." chimed in the crow perched on the demon's massive shoulder, their voice an eerie fusion of tones that sliced through the eerie quietude.

"Do try to appreciate the gravity of this moment, Mnemon?" The demon, or "Boss," glanced at his companion sidelong.

"Just look at this dump, Boss. There's nothin' left but a heap of dust. Are you seriously contemplating retirement right when we finally found your home planet?" The crow prodded, skeptical of their friend's intentions.

Descending the hill, the demon cast a discerning eye over the surrounding forest. "This planet deserves better, Mnemon. A caretaker to watch over its fractured existence."

"Guardian, caretaker, my ass. You're going soft, boomer. But hey, if you're serious, I'm in. As long as we don't stay in one place for too long, you do you, Boss."

"Well, here we are. The starting point of my old and our new journey now," the demon declared, taking a deep breath, a habitual gesture from a past life despite the absence of a nose. "Building here would take a while, though," he mused to himself, setting the stage for the unfolding chapters of their peculiar odyssey.

"You and your bullshitery DIY," Volktair mumbled, expressing annoyance.

Suddenly, a blip emanated from Boss's pocket. He retrieved his self-made interdimensional phone, a forming frown upon seeing the caller's name. "Scheiße."

"It's Ma, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Nervous as he answered the call. "Ja, Mama. I know... No, I didn't skip work. I did ask for a day off from Dad...Well, I'm currently on my old home planet, Mama... No, no. I'm fine, really... Yes, I'll come home now. Love you, Ma."

"So... what's the problem?"

"Nothing, it's breakfast time." Boss pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "And we're 15 minutes late."

"Shit."

"Shit, indeed." He sighed aloud as he snapped his fingers.

A shimmering portal materialized, unfolding into Boss's personal chamber. With a swift, he shed his imposing 12-ft demon form to become an 8-ft figure—a blend of ethereal androgyny with features transcending traditional gender boundaries. Many would misjudge his gender if not for his well-built frame hidden beneath the fabric. Pale, porcelain skin accentuated with platinum hair tied in a ponytail cascading down their back like liquid silver. As for the blindfold, it transformed into a pair of sunglasses. The lenses were surrounded by metal accents that further blocked out the light, giving an enclosed look to the face, ensuring others wouldn't make direct eye contact.

Japan – 2010

Upon arrival in his room, Boss hung up his trench coat and jacket before hastily descending the stairs, Mnemon trailing behind. Despite his formidable power, disappointing his parents was not a choice. As they entered the dining room, his mother greeted them, her gaze a blend of judgment and disappointment, seated beside a table laden with food.

The parental disapproval that doesn't quite boil into anger, just a head-shaking disappointment? Yep, that look was unmistakable.

His mother stood up without a word, walking over to him with open arms. Boss bent down, meeting her embrace with a hug.

"Verzeih mir, Mom. Kinda lost in old memories and stuff like that."

"Es stört mich nicht. I'm more worried about you, though. Don't want a case like your old grandpa," his mother reassured him. "And good evening to you, Mnemon."

"Sup', Ma," the crow greeted back.

Soon, they all gathered around the dinner table. As Boss and Mnemon settled into their seats, his mother began serving the dishes.

The morning began with the Jaeger Schnitzel—a delightful mix of breaded pork cubes fried alongside mushrooms and thick gravy. Then came the Kartoffelkloesse—soft, comforting potato dumplings adorned with browned butter and a sprinkling of bacon crumbs. Following that, a savory beer glaze-coated bratwurst and knockwurst sausages served atop a bed of sauerkraut. To round it off, a basket brimming with German bread arrived, accompanied by various condiments such as homemade jams, pickles, butter, and more.

Boss and Mnemon were really craving a mug right now, but with Mom present, they had to set aside their alcoholic desires for the moment. At least the tea was good.

"Und wie schmeckt's?" His mother inquired about the taste of the meal.

"Um," Boss took a piece of the Schnitzel. "Da kann man nicht meckern." His mother nodded in appreciation at his praise.

"I still can't understand your German praise. What do you mean by 'it's okay'? Shit's bussing," the crow exclaimed, devouring the food voraciously.

If anyone else had been present, they'd likely be contemplating a trip to the nearest mental asylum. Allowing the crow to perch on the table was already a peculiar sight, but witnessing the bird employ telekinesis to handle cutlery and eat food was beyond questionable.

"Where's Dad? Early work again?" Boss noticed the absence of his father.

"Yes, big orders from nearby. It's their anniversary, I think," his mother explained. "Time sure flies fast. Still remember when he first opend' his bakery here," she reminisced about her husband's opening day.

For context, despite their family's current involvement in Japan, their heritage was deeply German—specifically, when it came to bread. Authentic, artisanal bread was a revered tradition among Germans. Their father hailed from a long line of artisan bakers spanning four generations—a true craftsman in the realm of bread-making.

He insisted on handcrafting real bread using natural ingredients and traditional methods. No chemicals, no additives, not even industrial yeast. Their father went to great lengths to procure flour from traditional grains like pre-industrial wheat varieties like rye, oat, emmer, and einkorn, possibly sourced from organic farmers. Modern wheat, bred for maximum yield and profit, didn't meet his standards as it needed nutritional quality and flavor.

He rejected flour with additives, opting for flavor-focused dough development despite being less machine-friendly. Industrial yeast was out of the question, relying solely on natural or levain/sourdough. Employing techniques like autolyze, stretch and fold, and handcrafting, he embraced longer fermentations to enhance natural flavors. Baking in a wood-fired stone oven was his norm, creating a crust that preserved moisture, maintained freshness, and offered a distinct texture impossible to replicate in Japan's industrial bread scene.

In Japan, bread largely adhered to mass production, making authentic artisanal bread a rarity, if possible, in this age.

Boss vividly recalled their family's first day in Japan, where their father's immediate mission was to locate a bakery. At that time, most of the bread available in Japan resembled soft, squishy loaves known as shokupan. To their father, these loaves were 'Französischer Scheiß,' akin to what Germans referred to as toastbrot or toast even before it hit the toaster.

The memorable sight of his father storming back home, clutching a bag of shokupan and channeling full-on Hitler status, remains etched in the family's memory.

"It's only been a year, Mom. The fact that he can compete with the long-established places here speaks highly of his skill," Boss said, munching on his food.

"A year can feel long, Sonny. The rest of us aren't as laid-back as ye," his mother sighed. "At my age, I catch myself turning into your grandparents more daily."

"Mom, you're what, 50? Bri'ish and filthy-rich. You're leagues above the rest," the eldest reassured her, earning himself a slap to the back of his head.

"Ow! What's that for?"

"Watch your tone!" The mother exclaimed while Mnemon chuckled.

"Don't ye dare go on about bein' better than others, ye cheeky bloke!" his mother pinched his cheek. "I don't know if ye scallywag even use a mirror, but we all know ye haven't agd' a day."

"And yet, every day, I find another wrinkle." The mother sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Mom, it's okay to retire early," Boss reassured her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Take a break, drag Dad somewhere... anywhere. You have my corporate protection; just go and enjoy yourself."

"I'd love to, but not with your money. I don't know about other parents, but that won't be the case here," she insisted firmly.

"Ma, if you don't take that money, his company will eventually absorb it," Mnemon interjected. "Having corporate protection is a rarity for VoidTech, you know."

The mother sat in contemplation as the Boss nudged her. "Just take it already. How much longer will both of you put off taking time for yourselves? Sis would agree, weißt eh."

After a brief moment of contemplation, the mother relented. "Since you're so persistent, I'll reconsider," she chuckled and shook her head. "Knowin' your dad, he's probably whiskd' me straight off ta th' vineyard. No doubt."

"So...," she hesitated. "How was th' trip ta your old home, or planet?"

"It reminds me of Grandpa."

"How so?" His mother inquired.

"When he was gone, I missed him a lot." The son reminisced about the good old days when his grandpa took him to the shooting range, showed off his gun collections, and tested them with him.

"Now, I only miss him sometimes."

"Seasons turn, memories fade," the mother nodded, understanding her son's sentiment. "I too feel that every time I go ta his grave every month an' den."

A moment of silence ensued.

"Go."

The mother's abrupt answer made Boss and Mnemon turn their heads toward her. Finishing her breakfast, she held her son's hands tightly.

"Ye don't ned' ta worry about us."

"Said th' lad who nearly got stabbed in Birmingham. That's rather bit cringe, innit Mom." The son scoffed with the British accent, only to earn another slap to the back of his head.

"Was hab ich getan??!? Das ist die Wahrheit!" Boss exclaimed while rubbing his head.

"Say one more word an' I'll shove this bo'oh'o'wa'er up your woke ass an' ship ye ta Detroit!" His mother threatened as she pinched his cheek.

"Anyway," The mother straightened herself. "Like I said, just go and do your stuff. We—well, me, will try me best not to do somethin' stupid. Happy now, ye scamp?"

The son said nothing, just squinted at his mother, half-believing her. Another smack landed behind his head.

"What kind of attitude is that?"

"You said if I said another word, you would ship me to Detroit. What do you expect me to do?!?" Boss tried to reason with his mother.

Smack 2: Electric boogaloo.

"Once you're done with breakfast, get yourself elsewhere. You're driving me crazy!" The mother began cleaning up the dishes and carrying them to the kitchen.

"Still funny, no matter how often it happens," Mnemon laughed at his friend being scolded. "Ma's a gem. Too kind for a mortal."

"Indeed, she is." Boss chuckled softly.

After clearing the table for his mother, Boss glanced at his phone.

"5:30 A.M... Still early," Boss observed casually.

"So..." the colossal crow, perched nearby, fixed its piercing gaze on Boss. "You planning to roam the farm all day, Boss?"

"Nein," Boss grinned mischievously, locking eyes with Mnemon. "We indulged in a bit of... trolling today."

"Today, we embark on a different endeavor. A surprise audit of our restaurants beckons." Boss announced proudly, a hint of haughtiness in his voice.

"Poor bastards," the crow shook its head, preemptively lamenting for the unsuspecting staff.

"You paint me like a devil," Boss arched an eyebrow. "Every establishment under my care deserves attention, regardless of size or nature. Quality must be maintained at all times."

"Dude," Mnemon tilted his head. "Most of our shops, except the lounge and pop's bakery, are small. Heck, there's a ramen shop smaller than our room. Plus, they're mainly in Tokyo Midtown. Any dip in quality there, folks will notice. Most heads are seasoned, and they know us." Mnemon emphasized.

"Yeah, I doubt they'd try to dupe you," Mnemon scoffed. "Germans and Japanese, y'all share a work ethic, maybe? Why stress?"

"Experienced or not, they must maintain my standards," Boss sipped his drink. "Besides, it's been a while, and I want to ensure everything is running smoothly."

"Not just to gauge their reaction? Not because Germans have a knack for complaining? Hnnng???"

Boss remained quiet, sipping his drink with a knowing smirk behind the mug.

"Utter sadist."

Boss finished his tea and excused himself, heading up the staircase toward his private quarters. Stepping into his room, he approached the window, throwing it open to inhale the fresh morning air deeply.

As he went to the bathroom, a tone of resignation seeped into his words.

"It's getting worse, isn't it?"