Life had settled into a familiar rhythm once more—sweat, soil, fish, and fire. Jaka worked hard during the day, saving coins wherever he could. He helped his father shape tools and plow heads in the forge, assisted his mother in the rice fields, and occasionally joined the village youths spearfishing in the nearby river.
But every night, Jaka returned to his passion: the Art of the Spoon.
It all started as a joke—his modern mind clinging to a bizarre inspiration.
"If John Wick could kill someone with a pencil," Jaka muttered to himself, crouching behind a hay bale, "surely I can do the same with spoons." He grinned, tapping the wooden spoon in his hand like it was a prized dagger. He had to admit, the thought amused him.
That night, as the moon hung low over the village, Jaka twirled his trusted wooden spoon like a short blade. He launched into a flurry of awkward, over-exaggerated moves—each one more ridiculous than the last. Palm strike, scoop jab, parry, spin—he nearly tripped over a sleeping goat but managed to spin his body, landing perfectly on one foot, eyes narrowed in fierce concentration.
Except, the spoons kept flying out of his hand.
Spoon Warrior +15
[System Message: User commitment to absurd specialization detected. Mental diagnostics advised. Consider switching hobbies before further embarrassment occurs.]
Jaka scowled inwardly. Oh, shut up, system. You clearly don't understand the art. He muttered to himself, "Spoons are a noble weapon, okay? Not just any tool. This is precision. It's style."
The spoons sailed gracefully through the air and landed behind the granary with a soft clink.
Laksita, who had been quietly passing by with a basket of herbs, caught sight of the flying spoons. She blinked, her expression unreadable as she stopped to watch Jaka flailing around.
"…What are you doing again with spoons!?"
Jaka, still in the midst of his training, didn't break character. With dramatic flair, he raised his spoon in the air like a knight drawing a sword from its sheath. "The spoon is my ally. My extension. My legacy."
Laksita folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. "You're a spoon maniac."
Jaka didn't miss a beat. "And proud. I'm going to be the medieval John Wick." He struck a dramatic pose, the spoon held high like a weapon of great power. "Except I don't need a pencil. I have cutlery."
Laksita's jaw dropped slightly. She blinked several times as she processed his words. "Jon Wik?" she echoed, her voice laced with genuine curiosity. "What is that? Who is he?"
Jaka, always willing to explain, though not without a touch of ego, gave an exaggerated sigh. He placed a hand over his chest like he was preparing to recite an epic tale. "John Wick," he said dramatically, "is the most dangerous man to ever walk the earth. He's a man of few words. A man who can defeat an army of foes with nothing but a pencil."
Laksita stared at him, her expression one of sheer awe. "A pencil?"
"Exactly! A pencil!" Jaka continued, his hands moving as if painting the scene for her. "A single pencil. A man fights for love, for honor, and yes—for pencils." He paused, waiting for the impact of the story to sink in.
To his surprise, Laksita didn't look confused. Instead, she seemed completely enthralled. Her eyes sparkled with something close to admiration.
"That's incredible," she whispered. "He... can do all of that with just a pencil?"
Jaka's chest puffed up with pride. "Exactly. And just imagine what I can do with a spoon! One day, the world will tremble at the mention of the Spoon Warrior."
Charisma +10
[System Message: User's charm has increased due to their fascinating tale. Subject now looks upon you with increased respect.]
Hey, you're returning to normal.
Jaka smiled to himself, feeling a surge of pride.
Meanwhile, Laksita, still staring at Jaka as though he were some kind of legendary figure, spoke up again. "So, when do you become the Spoon Warrior?" Her voice was teasing, but there was genuine curiosity in her tone.
"Soon," Jaka said with a wink. "I just need to train harder. I need to master every move, every flick of the wrist. One day, I'll be unstoppable."
He twirled his spoon again, attempting a complex maneuver—one that looked a bit too much like an attempt at a dance move—but the spoon slipped from his hand and flew through the air, landing with a soft plop in a nearby mud puddle.
Laksita laughed, her melodic chuckle ringing through the quiet night.
Jaka paused, staring at the muddy spoon. Okay, maybe not quite unstoppable yet.
Laksita, still amused, shook her head in disbelief. "You really are crazy, Jaka." She grinned. "But... I think I can see it. You'll make a name for yourself, won't you?"
Jaka struck a dramatic pose, spinning the spoon around his fingers. "Of course. One day, every kingdom will hear the legend of the Spoon Warrior."
She raised her hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Just—please don't start challenging people to spoon duels. I don't think the villagers will appreciate it."
Jaka's grin widened. "You just wait. The Spoon Warrior will rise." He lowered his voice to a serious tone. "And when I do, I'll need you by my side as my trusted companion."
Laksita's eyes softened as she looked at him. "I'll always be by your side, Jaka. But remember, not all battles are fought with spoons. Some are fought with knowledge."
Jaka's smile faltered slightly. The weight of her words hit him harder than he'd expected. He had been focused so much on his odd, almost comical quest for spoon mastery that he hadn't really thought about the deeper struggles they both faced. Life in this world wasn't about dramatic poses or fancy combat moves—it was about survival, about finding a way to rise above the limits of their birth.
"I'll never forget that," Jaka said softly, his voice quiet for the first time that evening.
Laksita gave him an encouraging smile. "I know you won't." She paused, then added, "But—just in case... maybe you should go easy on the spoon duels for now. Perhaps focus on getting us both into the Village Center instead."
Jaka nodded, smiling again. "Right. The Village Center. Our next big step." He tapped his spoon against his palm. "But once we're there... the Spoon Warrior will be unstoppable."
As they both began their walk toward the village center, Jaka felt a renewed sense of purpose. This world was not kind to those born without privilege, but he was determined to change that—for both of them.
But as they walked along the road, a growing sense of unease washed over him. The sound of hooves soon became unmistakable—at least a dozen riders, their footsteps echoing against the quiet village road. The sight of banners fluttering in the wind sent a shiver down his spine.
Majapahit.
The royal convoy arrived earlier than he had anticipated. Jaka's heart raced as a thought struck him. This... this is the first trigger. The convoy... it's the sign that the village will be burned. I thought I had more time. I didn't track the date...
The convoy passed by, a series of heavily armored soldiers flanking a noble-looking figure riding atop a grand steed, with more royal guards trailing behind. They moved with purpose, and their presence seemed to make the entire village hold its breath.
Laksita whispered, "Majapahit?" Her eyes were wide with awe.
Jaka swallowed hard, his mind racing. This is too early. The village's fate is already set in motion.
The convoy moved past, and Jaka stood frozen for a moment, his thoughts clouded with the realization. The royal procession might have been just the beginning. The destruction that followed was inevitable, but the question remained—could he change what was already written?
He was the lead designer. He knew the story. He knew how it was supposed to unfold. But now, the game seemed to be playing him instead. The system, evolving on its own, had its own mind—something Jaka wasn't fully prepared for. The world moving behind his back.