Journal of a Demi-god: Mask of the Chef AR TF

Journal of a Demi-god: Mask of the Chef
A Ukyo Kounji Mask AR Transformation Story by JanusDaGuardian


Cynthia Peterson knew this day was coming, even before she was summoned to the office. Between the frequency of her hot flashes, the arthritis in her knees, the steadily decreasing supply of energy, and her workplace hiring a new linecook, she knew that her time at IHOP was close to finished. It was just as well. She was already in her early fifties, and she'd spent nearly half of that doing the same restaurant beat. However, that beat wasn't so bad.

She was a masterful cook, a surprise for the new and the adventurous eager to fill their hungry morning or afternoon stomachs. Everything from pancakes to waffles, omelets to sausage patties, Cynthia could turn anything into a mouth-watering feast, even the bad ideas that somehow made it onto the menu by the higher-ups. Until three years ago, there was what was called the “Cynthia Special” on their restaurant's menu, which was a custom choice with a base product which she herself would tailor according to what the customer wanted and what she knew would taste exceptional.

She loved every minute of it, from the batter to the plate, the taste tests and the smiles. However, three years ago, their restaurant felt the wide-reaching effects of the decaying American economy. On top of having to lay-off the weak, the new, and the lazy, the restaurant had to cut down on “unnecessary product”, which included some of Cynthia's best ingredients. Needless to say, she was almost as disappointed as her regular customers, who only wanted a bit of spice to go with their side of life.

On the last day, Cynthia surrendered her blue hat and apron. Some of her friends and close co-workers offered her hugs and small words of encouragement, but they served little to quell the pain sinking its teeth into her heart. She was going to miss this place. It was her whole life. There was no one waiting for her at home. Most of her family had packed up and moved to another state to lessen the tax burden on themselves and their families. She was also barren. She had no children to speak of, nor a devoted husband. The white ring of her last commitment had long since faded on her left ring finger like the courage within her heart to find someone she truly deserved.

Cynthia walked out to her car. The late-winter breeze brought a slight chill to her legs, which were thinly covered in a pair of black slacks. She was surprised to find a stranger waiting for her, leaning against the blue tail of her 01 Ford Focus. A stranger who was dressed in a full, black, hooded trench coat that was cinched completely shut, his feet confined in a worn pair of brown leather boots with belt straps, his hands draped in black, fingerless gloves that covered only the backs and sides of his hands, subjecting his alabaster palms to the cold. As strange as he looked to her, he didn't look like a stranger to the cold.

“Excuse me, but that's my car...”

“So it is...”

“Would you mind getting off of it?”

“That depends. Are you in a hurry or something?”    

“Even if I wasn't, that car is my property, and you're vandalizing it.”

“Hardly... If you're so worried about people vandalizing your car, then you should take it for a wash every couple weeks so's not to encourage the younger generation to draw notes or smiley-faces on the gunky windows.”

“Are you honestly telling me what I should do with my property?! Get the hell off my car before I have to call the cops on you.”

The black-hooded man stood upright, allowing Cynthia to walk to the driver's-side door, shooting a justified scowl at the stranger as she opened the door and hopped inside. The stranger followed her, but kept a slight distance from the door.

“I'd imagine you'll be looking for another job now,” The man said. “However, a high school diploma from 1980 isn't bound to land you another job anytime soon. I wouldn't imagine that life-time breakfast chef experience will do you much good either, except for maybe something on the minimum-wage level.”

“Mind your own business.” Cynthia gunned her car, only to have it sputter and quit on her.

“Looks like your car has seen better days,” the man said.  

Cynthia tried again. The result was the same. She began to dread asking for someone to help jump her car for her.  

“If I may be so bold, I actually came here to offer you a job.”

Cynthia was still playing with the car key and the gas, hoping that some combination would help the engine rev-up and allow her to leave the situation she was in, but to no avail.    

“I said, I came to offer you a job...”  
   
Cynthia sighed in frustration. “Yeah, I heard you first time, and I'm sorry to say: I'm not interested...”

“I see... I suppose it's only natural you wouldn't be interested in running a small Okonomiyaki restaurant in one of the more lively streets of Tokyo, Japan, fully stocked with furniture, a brand-new flattop grill, and a cooler full of freshly prepared ingredients.

Cynthia glanced up with an obvious look of disbelief. “Bullshit...    

“No, I'm in earnest... Something's...happened with the original owner, but I've managed to secure the place and preserve the ingredients. All I need is for someone to come in with plenty of restaurant experience, who loves to cook, and who loves to make people smile... Know anyone like that?”

Cynthia looked away, a deep sadness returning to her features. “I used to, but she's long gone...”

The man shook his head, a snort of amusement escaping his nostrils. “No. She's still there. Her wings were clipped, sure, but the feathers will grow back if given the chance...”

Cynthia mauled it over for a few moments. Then, with a glimmer of hope that had long abandoned her eyes returned as she wryly said, “I don't think I can afford to move to Japan.”

“I'll take care of that...” The man reached into his black trench coat and brought out a plastic face-mask, which he then tossed unto Cynthia's lap. “Your contract and your travel tickets.”

The mask had a skin-colored hue and thick, flowy chocolate-brown locks streaming along the top and sides of the frame. The expression was a pencil-stroke smile, the eyes hollow. The face was small, cute, but also slightly mature, like a teenaged girl on her way to adulthood.  

Cynthia didn't understand was this meant, blinking a few times in confusion. “Is this a joke?”

“I said I was in earnest, did I not? It may not look it, but it will act as I have stated,” the man said.

Cynthia turned the mask over and scanned the interior confines of the mask. She found no defects. It was well crafted. In fact, she wondered if it was even made with human hands.

Slowly, Cynthia placed the mask over her face, feeling a slight tingle and shiver as it touched her slightly-wrinkled countenance. For a moment, she just sat there, unsure of what to say. Then, a strange sensation of warm spread across her face as the essence within the plastic costume piece worked its magic.

The creases of the mask dissolved as the mask took on a more flesh-like composition. Cynthia felt a somewhat soothing sensation as the skin on her face melded with the substance above it, causing her sagging skin and wrinkles vanish, the bones underneath adjusting ever so slightly until the face of youth the mask contain became her own.

A slight tug on her short, graying cherry curls announced the growth of long, soft locks, which grew darker in color until it matched the patches of chocolate-brown attached to the mask. Pretty soon, the hair reached midway down of her back, the hair on the mask and the newly grown veil weaving themselves together until the two patches of hair became one and looked as naturally grown as it felt.

Cynthia's sight blurred for a moment like a gust of icy wind blew into her eyes as her irises changed color from a light-brown to a shade of blue only revealed in a clear summer sky. Her body began to feel incredibly warm as her aged-frame compressed, her skin rejuvenating to a softness she had long forgotten as any sign of her sagging skin disappeared and the sacks of excess fat melted away. She almost forgot to grab the seem of her pants as they slipped off her thinner yet sultry hips, her newly sculpted legs draped in the black silk that was once her well-fitting slacks. She remarked with a small gasp as the descended mammary glands underneath her bra rose up, taking on a firmness she had not felt in years. Their size were easily in the large C-cup range, a size she had not reached in her prime.    

Amongst these stimulation sensations was a newly-found supply of energy, which she might have had the urge to put to the test if it wasn't so cold outside and if she wasn't utterly befuddled by what had just taken place. A slight rush flooded her senses as the magic set to work restoring several systems within her body that had become worn or put out of commission as she'd aged. Among these systems was her menstrual cycle and her ovaries, causing her to twitch and blush a moment as her entire body became washed in a rapidly-increasing supply of youthful estrogen. For a moment, she even glanced up at the stranger standing outside her car door for a moment, a slight feeling of attraction prompting her to avert her gaze in embarrassment.    

“It's done. A perfect synchronization. I knew you had it in you.”

Cynthia could swear she sensed a smile on the stranger's face, even though it was concealed by the large hood of his coat. She looked at him once more, her nerves slowly starting to cool as her body slowly got used to the incredible changes it had undergone, changes that left her with the healthy, young body of a 16 year-old girl.

With a tenderness that Cynthia accepted with barely a second-thought, the stranger took her left hand in his right. “Shall we go?”

A wave of white light washed over them, obscuring the world around them and even the car she sat in, her new, brunette locks waving behind her as a rather strong yet cool wind swept past her.


***

When Cynthia opened her eyes again, she was on her feet, the stranger still holding her hand as a urban world of foreign composition came into focus, a warm afternoon sun shining overhead. City streets, large signs, and crowds so packed and organized that they rivaled the densest crowds in any U.S. City.  

Cynthia's right hand shot down to grab her ill-fitting trousers only to find that they were no longer there. In place of clothes that fit a over-weighted woman in her fifties was a blue, short-sleeved blouse, the sleeves tied back with white ribbons. Her shapely legs were now concealed in full, black leggings that felt to be made of nylon and pronounced the some of the attractive, slender curves of her lower-body that weren't covered by the lower-length of her new blouse. Draped over her shoulder and across her chest was a yellow bandolier holding several small spatulas. On her back was the largest spatula she'd ever seen in her life, and her long brown hair was now pulled back with a white ribbon that was tied in a bow atop her head.

Cynthia blushed and grappled the stranger's right arm, drawing him in closer as she ducked her head and used his body to help hide her uncomfortable appearance from the many groups of Asian-looking people walking past them. It'd been a while since she felt so embarrassed about wearing clothing that made her body look good.  

“This is it. We're here.”

Cynthia looked up to see a small yellow canopy atop a wooden bar with brown flaps adorned with strange, white characters that she couldn't read yet looked strangely familiar. Behind the flaps was a open, sliding door leading to was looked to be a small cafe or restaurant. That's when she remembered what the stranger had said before.

“Welcome to Okonomiyaki Ucchans.”  
     
The stranger led her inside. There were tables that were set up, along with box stools with red cushions, the majority of them surrounding a long, two-section counter and a black flat-top grill.    

“Care to take a closer look at your new work area?”

Cynthia released the stranger's arm and slowly made her way around the counter, where she found the hidden coolers and compartments, which she, upon opening, discovered were full of freshly prepared ingredients, all seemingly prepared by a culinary pro of some kind.

Cynthia grabbed a pinch of sifted fresh basil and gave it a sniff, a content smile finally appearing on her lips as she rose and glanced at all the food product at her disposal, including the clay jars of specialty okonomiyaki sauce laid before her.

“And this is all mine?” Cynthia asked, exhaling in surprise as she finally noticed the change in her voice.

“It's all yours,” The man said. “Under the name of Ukyo Kounji, but it's yours nonetheless...”    

  Cynthia tensed and rubbed the back of her right arm. “I don't know if I'm ready for this...”

“Don't worry. The person your partnered with is a natural at okonomiyaki crafting, and your past experience with foods similar to these and fast, efficient customer service will make the rest utterly simple.”

Cynthia reached down and grabbed a stainless-steel bowl, which she instinctively began filling with flour, soup stock, and vegetable oil.

“See? You've already found the ingredients for your first okonomiyaki batter.”

Cynthia beamed with excitement, a slight blush appearing on her cheeks. She had no idea what she was doing, but the more she messed around with the ingredients set before her, the more she became convinced that her rightful place was behind the grill of this restaurant. The feeling was intoxicating. Before she knew it, she started to giggle in suppressed joy, “I'm feeling adventurous now. How about I cook you up the first of the new 'Cynthia's special' menu to commemorate my first day on the job?”    

The black-hooded man raised his hand. “I'm afraid I'll have to pass for today. There are other important things that I must see to first.” With that, the man in black started for the door

Cynthia frowned, quite disappointed at the man's lack of time. “Aw, nuts... Well, be sure to stop in the next time you're in town. I'll be sure to fix you up something real nice.”  

The man stepped outside. “I'll be looking forward to it... Ukyo...”

“One more thing... Are you gonna tell me your name, or are you just gonna waltz in with that weirdo-mugger getup? I won't blame you if you aren't very attractive under that hood, but still...”

The man in black turned about and, with a slight pause, he pulled back his hood.

Cynthia—or rather “Ukyo”-- gasped as the most gorgeous face, framed by long, feathery, auburn locks appeared, the length secured by a thin, brown cord. His eyes were as green as a forest full of evergreens and were as focused as a falcon's on a hunt. The only reason Ukyo did not faint right then and there was that the man, who looked young enough to be in his late-teens or early-twenties, offered her no more than a thin smile, an expression that hardly flattered his obvious potential.

“My name is Pollux,” the man said, bowing his head slightly.  “and I shall remain in your doubt until I return...”