Lady XIII's silver eyes were narrowed, assessing Agung's response. The dry, smoky scent of the ethereal battle was already dissipating, replaced by the lingering spice of the Gulai Kambing.
"Very well," she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "You claim the Arcana. You claim the power. Now, let's see if your will is strong enough to actually manifest it. If Igor grants the tools, and I acknowledge the path, the catalyst lies with you."
She gestured toward the center of the room with a long, elegant hand. "Now, try to call it out."
Agung stood motionless for a moment, the weight of the realization—that he was now a full-fledged participant in a Persona-style awakening—settling in his mind. He wasn't just quoting lines from a game anymore; he was living them.
He took a slow, deep breath, channeling the confidence he had just found in facing his Shadow. He closed his eyes, focusing inward on the convergence of the Fool Arcana, the transformative power of Death, and the guiding hope of the Star.
He raised his right hand. Using his thumb, index, and middle finger, he performed the familiar, ritualistic gesture of the game's protagonists: he mimicked holding and moving a tarot card sideways in front of his closed eyes, enacting the moment of summoning.
His voice, low and resonant with newfound conviction, cut through the silence of the restaurant.
"Persona!"
The word wasn't a shout, but a command—a statement of absolute self-acceptance and will.
The Summoning
A dazzling burst of golden-white light erupted from Agung's chest, radiating outward and momentarily eclipsing the blue glow of Igor and the dark aura of Lady XIII. The air crackled with energy, and the heavy scent of ozone returned, mixed now with the powerful aroma of freshly baked bread and rich, exotic spice.
The light coalesced behind Agung, forming a colossal figure. It wasn't a warrior or a mythical beast, but a being that spoke to Agung's deepest identity and his new purpose:
A massive, imposing figure materialized. It wore a chef's toque that rose several feet into the air and was draped in intricate, stylized Indonesian batik fabric that covered powerful, ethereal muscles. Its lower half was wreathed in shimmering rice paddy stalks, and its hands wielded not weapons, but a giant, glowing Wok of Purification and a massive pestle and mortar. The entire entity radiated warmth, comfort, and the undeniable power of creation and sustenance.
It was The Star's Chef—a fusion of the cosmic guide and the culinary core of Agung's identity.
Igor let out a rare, quiet sigh of approval, a sound like a distant bell chime.
Lady XIII watched the magnificent culinary guardian, her silver eyes finally wide with genuine, unadulterated fascination.
"The Star," she whispered, a hint of awe in her voice. "Bound to the kitchen, yet ready to guide the world. Truly, you are the Fool."
Agung opened his eyes, staring up at the benevolent, powerful manifestation of his own accepted potential. He could feel its strength—not for fighting, but for creation, defense, and guidance. His journey had truly begun.