Cafe Date with Mom
Lounging on the sofa during our cafe date, I fiddled with the remote.
Channels flipped by at my fingertips.
The speakers blared nothing but meaningless, clamorous hype from news anchors.
Every screen change flashed the blue veil of the Osaka Gate and virtual images of pointy-eared elves nonstop.
YouTube's algorithm had long been flooded with thumbnails of otherworld info and real footage of the Elf Queen, and communities were even worse—keyboard warriors in full swing.
The Japanese government's info dump had more impact than expected.
Just days ago, people were hoarding supplies, convinced the world was ending.
Now they were debating otherworld tourist spots, popping champagne in excitement over elf exchanges.
The public was eating up the fragmented glimpses the governments doled out under tight control.
Unknown resources, beautiful intelligent beings, and survival news of lost families.
Neat packaging. No fairy tale could be more perfect for governments to maintain control and rally support.
But behind it all, the masses had no clue about the grotesque monsters gnawing away at the otherworld bit by bit. They treated it like some golden city of El Dorado.
Official gate entries were halted until the international turf wars sorted themselves out.
America, the EU, China—the world's old vultures were probably huddled in backrooms, eyes bloodshot, carving up someone else's pie.
Clink.
The clatter of dishes from the kitchen sink stopped.
"Puppy, have some fruit. The strawberries are pretty sweet."
Mom had snuck up and naturally pulled my head onto her lap.
The plush feel of her knee pillow. The sweet strawberry scent tickling my nose.
She held up a plate, carefully picking a stemless strawberry and spearing it with a fork.
"Why are you just lying there doing nothing?"
"Nothing worth watching. It's all about me or the elves."
I bit into the strawberry, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Crunch crunch.
Juice from the ripe berry burst in my mouth.
Tart and sweet. Before I could even swallow, the silver fork stabbed the next piece.
Inside, I was still a thirty-two-year-old guy, no doubt.
But lying here with my head in her lap, getting fed fruit—I looked exactly like a pampered pet.
The fact that this humid, comfy humiliation wasn't half bad was probably the real issue.
Mom gently brushed my silver hair aside and asked in a soft voice.
"Wanna go on a date with Mom, then?"
"A date? Where to?"
"Just the cafe down the street. Let's get some fresh air and relax."
I hesitated for a second. But it beat counting ceiling patterns to kill time.
"Lemme finish the fruit first."
Getting ready turned out harder than expected. The bad vibes hit the moment I opened the closet.
I'd aimed for comfy gray sweats, but there was no beating Mom's ironclad baby-daughter makeover regime.
"Oh come on, nice weather and you're wearing that drab thing? Come here. Try this new one I bought."
"Ugh, seriously. It's just a quick neighborhood trip—something casual."
My token protest got shot down flat. Mom shoved a frilly pastel scrap into my hands.
In the end, I was stuffed into a lace-layered getup that screamed princess picnic.
Staring at my full-length mirror reflection, I let out a dry chuckle.
A cute doll, wide-eyed and dazed, looked ready for a picnic any second.
My view of the entryway step was still low, skirt fluttering below my knees.
Wearing this so much had made it weirdly comfortable now.
Blame the body change.
"Ready."
I crammed my feet into the round slippers from the shoe rack and stepped out.
The elevator dinged; I threw up a perception-blocking field right away.
Mom grabbed my small hand like always.
She matched her steps to my short stride, faint soap scent wafting from her.
No one on the street gave the mother-daughter duo a second glance. Lazy afternoon sun poured over the paved asphalt.
Ding-a-ling.
A cheerful bell shattered the quiet.
Roasted beans' bitter, nutty aroma hit hard. The display case brimmed with tempting desserts.
"One iced Americano and one iced tea, please."
While Mom ordered, I scanned for the coziest corner booth by the window.
Sunlight streamed through the glass, turning dust motes on the table ghostly white.
Peaceful. Pure rest, no tension mixed in—the kind I hadn't felt in ages.
Like three years back, pre-Gate Shock, in my NEET days staring at a monitor, calling myself a fourth industrial revolution pioneer.
If those holes hadn't ripped open, I wouldn't have bawled over lost server data and trashed investment accounts.
Mid-wandering thoughts, Mom returned with a tray of chocolate cake, sliding in beside me.
Condensation droplets from the cool peach iced tea plopped onto the table.
"Ahh—say ahh, my puppy."
"...Mom, I'll eat outside by myself."
"Nonsense, you get it all over your face alone. Mom'll feed you—ahh."
"Ahh."
Her firm gaze.
Thirty-two years old? Disarmed in a blink before her eyes.
I opened wide for the forkful of cake.
Creamy whipped topping and rich chocolate filled my mouth. Sweet.
"Huh, this place's cake is legit."
"Right? Ha-eun comes here a lot too."
My brow twitched at that.
That little sis kept this spot secret? Whining about overtime daily, but had time for cake runs.
I mentally booked a solid knuckle-rub on her crown for when she got home.
The view outside shifted slowly.
Schoolkids' laughter filtered in faintly; office workers with loosened ties trudged by, weary.
"Time to head out."
I downed the last of the iced water and stood.
On the walk home from the cafe.
My pocket smartphone buzzed irritably. Screen showed Ha-eun calling.
I hit accept and held it to my ear.
"What."
-Oppa, where are you? On a date with Mom?
"Yeah. Cafe down the street—cake's killer."
-Oh, there? Homemade, kinda pricey but delish. ...You better not come back empty-handed, right?
Her scheme was obvious. I stonewalled with silence; her voice ramped up to desperate aegyo mode.
-Ahh—oppaaa, opbang! You're getting cake, yeah? I got drained at work today—blood sugar crash incoming! Pleeease!
"Quit the creepy tongue-twisted whining. Gives me chills."
I shuddered, pulling the phone away slightly.
Her relentless begging wore me down. Coming home empty-handed meant nonstop door-knocking all night.
"Fine. Hanging up."
I turned back, re-entering the cafe. Ordered plenty: rich chocolate for sis, soft cream for Dad.
The hefty paper box weighed down my hands.
Sigh, no brother like me in the world.
Beep-boop.
The door lock chirped; the heavy front door swung open.
Stepping inside, Ha-eun pounced from the living room.
Spotting the white cake box, her grin stretched ear-to-ear.
"Sigh, you pig. Here."
"Whoa! Homemade cake! Thanks, thanks! Best oppa ever! Mwah!"
She snatched the box, whooping as she bolted to the living room. Ripping the ribbon, fork at the ready.
But a cool voice slammed the brakes.
"Ha-eun, cake after dinner, right? No sweets now or no appetite later. Fridge it."
Her hands froze mid-unpack.
Lips pouting dramatically, she obediently resealed and stashed it away.
"Yeees."
As she slunk off with a pitiful whine, I flopped onto the living room sofa.
Soft leather against my back brought back the drowsiness I'd forgotten.
Hugging a cushion face-down, I habitually unlocked my smartphone. Scrolled the community's real-time best posts.
The hype had shifted from otherworld wonders and elf looks to fawning over me, the grand "Earth Representative."
One madness-tinged post caught my eye.
[Kang Tae-ho, My Love.]
[Kang Tae-ho, My Light.]
[Kang Tae-ho, My Darkness.]
[Kang Tae-ho, My Life.]
[Kang Tae-ho, My Joy.]
[Kang Tae-ho, My Sorrow.]
[Kang Tae-ho, My Pain.]
[Kang Tae-ho, My Rest.]
[Kang Tae-ho, Me.]
"Buncha nonsense."
I frowned and flicked the screen off.
Gaze drifting back to the ceiling.
While the boring international diplomacy dragged on, this peace would hold—fragile as a terminal patient's.
Until the old vultures like America and the EU finished their table talks on gate spoils and dimensional secrets, and came knocking again.
I had an instinct: my absolute respite wouldn't last long.
"Puppy, dinner's ready. Come sit."
Bubbling stew sounds. Fresh rice and hearty soybean paste scents tickled my nose.
Mom's warm call from the kitchen scattered my heavy thoughts like magic. I hopped off the sofa to the table.
"Thanks for the meal."
Perched on the chair, spoon in hand. One sip of hot stew broth melted the tension in my gut, warmth spreading everywhere.
Right now, I wasn't Earth's strongest under global scrutiny. Just a regular family member whose mom's cooking was the world's best.
International mess? Next deployment? Whatever.
Future me can deal with the hassle.