After some of the others decided to have another round with the samurai figures, Grill created food golems for us from the remaining snacks.

  "Too cute," I said as a butterfly with spicy chip wings landed on my hand. "Now I don’t want to eat it."

  "Don’t worry about that," Grill chuckled, handing me the cheese sauce. "Food golems exist to be eaten. They won’t mind."

  I had eaten those same chips and that same sauce earlier that night, but now, infused with Grill’s Kitchen Fairy magic, they tasted completely different. Everything was more intense. Richer. Louder.

  Time passed surprisingly fast. The videos, the marbles, the drinks, the samurai fights, it felt like maybe an hour had gone by, but it was already past midnight.

  I was a little surprised that Mom hadn’t called me yet.

  When everyone started getting tired, we went back to watching more fight videos.

  "This party wasn’t the worst I’ve ever been to," Tünde said, stretching as she yawned. "But I kinda wish we could’ve had a bit more fun. Still, I get it, you can’t throw a wild party when your mom’s home. Plus, it’s Monday."

  "Not every party has to be wild," Angéla said, defending Hana.

  "She’s not wrong," Hana admitted. "I can’t really let loose when Mom’s in the same building. But hey, maybe after the tournament on Saturday, we should throw a real party. Not just movie night and games. An actual party."

  "That’s a great idea," Stagora nodded. "And we should invite the others too."

  "Yeah, but there’s no way all of us would fit in our place," Hana said.

  "Our place is big enough," Angéla offered.

  "A party with our aunt there?" Tünde shuddered. "Absolutely not."

  "It was just a suggestion," Angéla replied.

  "Hey, relax," Hana said quickly. "We’ve got time. Let’s focus on the tournament first."

  "And maybe someone else can find a good venue," Titanilla added.

  I agreed with Hana. Celebrating could wait; surviving the tournament comes first.

  A little later, Mom finally called.

  "So," she asked, "how’s the party going?"

  "Honestly? Way better than I expected."

  "How many grandchildren did you make for me?" she teased.

  "Not funny."

  "Yes it is," she laughed. "Anyway, are you staying there, or do you want to come home?"

  "Depends on what you’re planning for tomorrow."

  "We’ve got the whole forenoon for the first program, but I have other plans as well for the rest of the day," Mom said. "But you can stay there if you want. Oh, and you can invite Hana too. She’d probably like that."

  "Yeah," I nodded. "By the way, she’s kind of a big fan of you. I saw her bedroom, she’s got a bunch of posters, and you’re on some of them."

  I regretted it instantly.

  "Whoa, whoa, WHOA! Her bedroom?!" Mom gasped. “You little rascal. Tell me everything. Are her other parts as smooth as her face? And, an important question, are you average or big by Japanese standards, according to her?"

  "I was helping her carry a table for a game, that's all," I replied, my face burning. "I’ll call you later."

  We kept watching videos for a bit longer. I even tried the drink that had made one of the twins shoot fire from her nostrils earlier. It tasted awful, but somehow, it was still fun. The upset stomach afterward was less fun.

  "So what’s the plan for tomorrow?" Hana asked as she walked me to the door.

  "No clue," I shrugged. "Mom never explains her plans to me. And before you ask, yes, you’re officially invited. Whatever it turns out to be."

  "Thanks," Hana smiled. She was wearing her human face since we were outside. "These last few days were amazing. Martial-arts monster dogs, living food, tulpas, a goddess’ avatar, and a waterbending Nazi minotaur. Best training I’ve ever had. And who knows what we’ll be fighting next."

  "I can’t decide whether I should be excited or scared," I said. "Fighting that monster toddler was creepy, but Bambi almost launching me into space was genuinely terrifying."

  "You’ll get used to it," Hana replied. "It becomes fun after a while. Only the first few weeks are scary. Okay, sometimes months... or years." She chuckled.

  "Wow. Reassuring."

  "I’d better get back before the twin cousins start another family feud," Hana said, turning toward the building.

  I walked over to the corner of the street to wait for Mom. I didn’t have to stand there long before her car rolled up beside me.

  "What’s up, Casanova?" Mom asked as she rolled down the window.

  "Hi, Mom," I said as I got in, rolling my eyes. "If the first one’s a girl, we’ll name her after you. And if they’re twins, we’ll call them Creepy and Carol."

  "Joking about premarital pregnancy?" Mom said, adopting a stern expression. "That’s poor taste, Max." Then the corner of her mouth twitched, betraying her. "Where did I fail as a mother?"

  I shut the door and buckled my seatbelt.

  The rest of the night was mostly a blur. I couldn’t tell whether it was pure exhaustion, one of those cursed drinks finally kicking in, or some unholy combination of both, but I woke up in my bed, still wearing the same clothes.

  I changed clothes and took a quick shower.

  Mom was waiting in the kitchen when I came back. Breakfast (remnants of the lasagna monster from Sunday) was laid out on the counter, since the table itself was in pieces. Mom was kneeling in front of it, studying the remains like she was trying to assemble a massive LEGO set without instructions.

  "What happened here?" I asked.

  "I was so happy you weren’t home that I started dancing on the table," Mom said. "Then it broke."

  "Mom."

  "Okay, fine," she sighed. "One of my old friends showed up. We drank for old times’ sake, things escalated, we started arm-wrestling, and then the table broke," she explained. "But I won, so its sacrifice wasn’t in vain."

  "Okay... By the way," I said, glancing at the clock, "don’t you have work this week at all?"

  "Nope. I told Gabi to handle the gym and only call me if something serious happens."

  Gabi was her right hand, the one who took over whenever Mom was too busy.

  "She knows about the... you know?" I asked.

  "The paranormal world? Yeah," Mom nodded. "So I didn’t have to invent some stupid excuse."

  "Can’t you just fix the table?" I asked. "I mean, you know people. Paranormal people."

  "Yeah, I could," she admitted, brushing dust off a broken leg, "but I don’t want to."

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "Why not?"

  "Because I want a new table. That’s why we’re going where we’re going this morning."

  "Oh. So no fighting, just shopping?"

  "I didn’t say that," Mom replied, shaking her head. "I’ll call Yoko to let Hana know we’re about to drop by. You can finish your breakfast."

  She stood up and smiled.

  "And hey, there’s something good about this little incident. I finally have an excuse to bring a paranormal object into our home since you know about this stuff."

  "You mean... a paranormal table?"

  "You’ll see," she said, winking.

  Half an hour later, we picked Hana up at one of the street corners near her mom's gallery. She looked way more refreshed than I felt.

  "Good morning," Hana said politely as she got into the car. "So, where are we going first?”

  "One of my friends’ shops," Mom replied. "We need to buy furniture."

  "What kind of furniture?" Hana asked.

  "A new bed for you," Mom said casually. "Max complained that yours is very creaky."

  "Joke’s on you," Hana shot back without hesitation. "We were leaning against the wall."

  "Huh. I almost believed you," Mom chuckled. "But yes, we are going to a shop. We need a new table."

  She glanced at us in the rearview mirror.

  "And don’t worry, it’s not the boring kind of shop you’re expecting."

  ***

  We arrived at a familiar furniture shop, the same one where we’d bought my wardrobe.

  "Oh," I said, looking at the storefront, "so this place is also paranormal."

  "In a big city like this, there are tons of paranormal-owned places," Mom explained.

  "I knew about this shop," Hana added, "but it’s way too pricey. We only ever bought the standard stuff here."

  We stepped inside. The showroom looked perfectly normal, rows of ordinary sofas, tables, and shelves. Nothing seemed out of place.

  "Can I help you?" an employee approached us with a polite smile. "We have a wide selection of furniture, from the smallest pieces to the largest..."

  "No need," a familiar voice interrupted. I turned and saw a familiar bald head. "They’re here for the special merchandise. I’ll handle it."

  "Y–yes, sir," the employee stammered, backing away like lingering would shorten his lifespan.

  "Hi, Judge," Mom greeted him. "I didn’t know you actually worked here. I thought you just owned the place."

  "My family owns it," he replied. "But I show up from time to time. I still need something to do when I’m not fighting."

  Then he looked at Hana and me.

  "So," he said calmly, "did you bring them here so they can fight me?"

  "No," Mom replied flatly. "We’re here for tables."

  Judge nodded. "Alright. Just so you know, it’s a busy day. You’re not the only big shot shopping today."

  He led us to a massive elevator, clearly built to transport oversized furniture.

  "So," Mom asked as the doors closed and the elevator began to descend, "can we leave through the normal entrance with the table, or do we need to use a hidden exit so the regular customers don’t notice anything?"

  "All the objects behave like normal furniture around regular people," Judge explained. "They’re fully tamed. You only need the other exit if the item is too large for this elevator."

  "Oh?" Mom raised an eyebrow. "They’re completely tame?"

  "Yes," he said, "tame, but they still need to be claimed. Otherwise, they won’t recognize you as their owner."

  "Are we buying furniture, or a pet?" I looked at Mom.

  "A little bit of both." She smiled as the elevator doors slid open.

  The room we entered felt more like an exotic zoo than a furniture shop.

  Every piece of furniture was kept behind fenced enclosures, each section dedicated to a different type. And the reason for the fences was obvious.

  The furniture was alive.

  Not just moving; running, jumping, screaming, fighting, and in some cases, even flying.

  "Impressive," Mom whistled. "The last time I was here, this place was barely half this size. Now this is some wild furniture."

  "Let me guess," I said. "We have to fight our new table before buying it."

  "You’re starting to understand the paranormal world better with each passing day," Mom nodded approvingly. "Today, you two will tame tables."

  "Taming isn’t quite the right word," Judge corrected. "They already know how to behave as furniture. They simply need to be claimed and domesticated so they recognize their new habitat."

  "Alright, kids," Mom said, turning to us. "We only need one kitchen table, and I already have my eye on it. But don’t worry, you can fight other furniture as training."

  "You can help the staff as well," Judge added. "Not every customer has the ability, or the desire, to fight what they want to buy, so our employees often step in."

  That explained the staff.

  They were all massive, heavily built men wearing luchador masks as part of their uniforms. One of them was currently wrestling a queen-sized bed while an elderly lady watched patiently nearby.

  "So," I said, glancing back at Mom, "today’s lesson is fighting animated objects?"

  "Partially," she nodded. "But more importantly, submission."

  "You taught me that during normal training years ago," I said.

  "Yes," she replied, "but wrestling a normal human into submission isn’t the same as overpowering a paranormal opponent. They can escape more easily, either because of unusual anatomy, strange movement, or outright powers."

  "Submission fighting isn’t really my style," Hana admitted. "I usually go for a knockout. If they give up before that, great."

  "That’s not always an option," Mom said. "Some enemies are too durable to knock out quickly, but they’ll still surrender once the pain becomes unbearable. Submission is a tool you need to have, even if it’s not your favorite." She glanced toward the fenced furniture, grinning. "And today, you’ll get plenty of practice."

  We walked toward the tables’ enclosure.

  "Alright," Mom said, stopping and crouching in front of us. "Quick lesson for you, Hana, and a reminder for you, Max."

  She rested her elbows on her knees, meeting our eyes.

  "Submission wrestling isn’t about hitting harder. It’s about control. If you decide where someone’s body goes, you decide how the fight ends."

  She tapped her shoulder, then her hip.

  "Everything starts with balance and position. If you’re on the bottom but balanced, you’re safer than someone on top who’s off-center. That’s why we fight for position first: mount, side control, back control. Think of them as checkpoints. Each one limits the other person’s options."

  She shifted closer and gently took my wrist, demonstrating without applying force.

  "Submissions give your opponent a choice: tap, or get hurt. You’re not trying to tear anything off. You’re aligning their body in a way it wasn’t meant to go, or cutting off space until breathing becomes uncomfortable."

  She released my wrist and raised two fingers.

  "Most submissions fall into two families: joint locks and chokes."

  She bent her arm at an unnatural angle to illustrate; it was easy with her power.

  "Joint locks target elbows, shoulders, knees, and hinges. You isolate the limb, control the rest of the body so they can’t roll out, and apply pressure slowly. If they panic, that’s on them. You stay calm."

  Then she stepped behind us, not touching, just close enough that we could feel the intent.

  "Although you won't necessarily need it against animate objects, let's talk about chokes as well." She added, "Chokes aren’t about crushing the throat. The clean ones restrict blood flow to the brain. Done right, they’re fast and controlled. That’s why they’re considered safer; you can stop the second someone taps."

  She straightened and leaned back slightly.

  "The real trick isn’t the techniques," she said. "It’s patience. You don’t chase submissions. You let the opponent make mistakes. When they push where they shouldn’t, or reach when they can’t protect themselves, that’s when you take something."

  She smiled faintly.

  "And always remember: if you don’t control their hips, their shoulders, or whatever body parts they have instead, you don’t own the submission. Control first. Finish second. You don't have to be stronger than your opponent if you are skilled enough."

  She turned toward the enclosures.

  "Hm. I think I’ll demonstrate," she said, then walked up to one of the staff members. "Excuse me, I ordered a table recently. UA118-B, according to the website."

  "Yes, that one’s over in the corner," he replied. "The boss said we don’t have to break it in for you."

  The table they were talking about was massive. Matte black, with blood red accents carved into the edges. Its thick legs were shaped like those of a beast, ending in clawed feet. One end of the tabletop had three small, wolf-like heads carved from the same wood, one at each corner and one in the middle, while the opposite end sported a thick, carved tail.

  "This model is called the Hungarian Hellhound," Judge explained. "It’s not very popular. Most people find it too..."

  "Dangerous? Cool? Badass?" Mom guessed.

  "...cringe," he finished. "People say it’s only for edgelords."

  "Bullshit," Mom snorted. I kind of agreed with him, honestly. It was edgy as hell. But also undeniably awesome.

  "Alright," Mom said. "Now let me in."

  Judge opened the gate, and Mom stepped inside.

  "Once it stops moving, that means it’s submitted," Judge added. "Also, giving it a name afterward helps with bonding."

  Mom walked by the other tables, running around like flattened horses. The moment she approached it, the table became visibly agitated. It felt what was coming.

  The legs bent low, claws scraping against the floor, and the wolf heads snarled as the table lunged forward like a charging animal. It tried to ram her, then twisted sideways, attempting to sweep her legs out from under her.

  Mom didn’t strike.

  She stepped in close, grabbed one of the carved legs, and let the table’s own momentum pull her forward. Her body flowed around the movement, her arm bending and flattening unnaturally as she wrapped herself around the leg like a living clamp.

  The table bucked hard, slamming its other legs into the floor, tail lashing. One of the wolf heads snapped at her shoulder, teeth clacking inches from her neck.

  Mom opened her skin. Literally.

  Her shoulder split just enough for the wooden jaws to pass through without biting anything vital. At the same time, her other arm stretched across the underside of the table, muscles threading around its central beam like straps.

  She dropped her weight low, twisted her hips, and pulled.

  The hellhound table toppled sideways with a heavy thud, legs flailing. It tried to scramble back up, but Mom was already on top of it.

  She shifted position smoothly, pinning two legs with her knees while her torso flattened and spread, wrapping around the tabletop itself. Her ribs flexed inward, locking around the structure like a vice.

  The table thrashed once more. Then slower. Then weaker.

  Finally, it stopped moving entirely.

  The wolf heads went still. The tail relaxed.

  Mom stood up, dusting herself off as her body snapped back into its normal shape.

  "There," she said. "Good table."

  Judge nodded approvingly. "Submission confirmed. Do you want to name it?"

  Mom looked at the table, thought for a moment, then smirked.

  "Hmm, since you have three heads, let’s call you Buksi," she said.

  [Note: Buksi is a playful, affectionate word for head, and it's also a stereotypical dog name in Hungary.]

  One of the carved wolf heads wagged slightly.

  "It likes you," Hana said.

  "Of course it does," Mom replied. "I’m very lovable."

  "And very humble," I added quietly.

  She turned back to us.

  "Alright," she said, cracking her neck. "Your turn. Go tame something."

  "Can I join?" We heard somebody from behind. A familiar blonde woman appeared.

  It was Omnia.