Agung felt the familiar heat of a flush creeping up his neck as Mari's mischievous grin pinned him in place. He looked from Mari's playful, predatory expression to Kasumi, who looked like she was a second away from steam whistling out of her ears.
The "24-hour promise." It was the ultimate double-edged sword of his current existence—a commitment to absolute devotion that, when multiplied by twenty-one, defied every law of physics and human biology, even with his "infinite" stats.
"I don't make empty promises, Mari," Agung said, setting his coffee mug down with a definitive *clack*. He straightened his posture, moving away from the counter. "I just didn't expect you to bring out the 'irrigation' metaphors before the kids had even finished their breakfast."
Agung turned his gaze toward Kasumi. The shift in the room was palpable. The domestic chaos of milk and groceries hadn't disappeared, but a different kind of weight had entered the air—the weight of individual attention.
With 16 children and 21 partners, "time" was his most precious currency. The creation magic could handle the house and the food, but it couldn't manifest the quality of a shared day.
He noted Kasumi's bright red face. She was the youngest among the "mothers' group," often the most boisterous, yet clearly the most flustered when the spotlight of his "24-hour" focus actually landed on her.
Agung walked over to Kasumi, offering a hand to steady the moment. He dropped the dry, tired-dad persona for something more present and focused.
"Mari is right about one thing," he said, his voice lowering but remaining steady. "If we're staying in Numazu, it's because I'm dedicating myself to this family—and that means every single one of you. No shortcuts, no 'manifesting' our relationship."
He glanced back at Mari with a faint, knowing smirk.
"I've already handled the logistics. The kids are fed, the house is expanded, and the 'Kingdom' can run itself for a day. Kasumi, I believe you're next on the calendar. And since I don't need to sleep and I don't need to work, you have my absolute, undivided attention starting... now."
He looked at the others, his expression a mix of genuine affection and the realization of the Herculean task ahead of him.
"The rest of you, try not to burn the newly expanded wing down while I'm occupied. Mari, Lanzhu—you've had your 'irrigation.' Let the girl breathe before she faints."
Kasumi let out a tiny, squeaky noise, her hands flying to her cheeks. The domestic reality of Numazu was settled, but the personal journey of the "24-hour promise" was just beginning.
"So, Kasumi," Agung asked softly, "Where are we going? Or do I need to 'manifest' a private getaway just for us?"