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Dinner was like a dream fulfilled after a day of snacking on stale pretzels: Oliver had been given a small, fluffy omelette, filled with finely-diced chicken and rice that tasted strongly of tomatoes (“Omuraisu,” Luka explained), savory dark noodles with bell peppers and… ginger, maybe? something potent but not unpleasant (“Yakisoba,” Luka explained), something that looked like seasoned snap peas that Oliver attempted to eat shell and all (“Edamame,” Luka explained urgently just before Oliver bit into the pod, prying one open and popping one of the beans into her mouth; Oliver inclined his head in silent thanks and followed suit), and, Oliver’s favorite, a meat-and-potato stew with onions and carrots and mushrooms (“Nikujaga,” Luka said, and Oliver did his best to commit that one to memory, because he did want to eat it again in the near future).

He’d been given a fork with his chopsticks, and the fact that he cleared his entire tray without ever touching it gave him a boost in confidence, strengthened by the pleasant tastes lingering on his tongue and the new fullness in his belly. Thank God he’d made practicing chopstick use his top priority all those months back. At least he’d done that much right.