They had spent the afternoon laughing and running around, with Pochita hot on their heels, barking with infectious joy. Exhausted but happy, they sat down on the edge of the sidewalk to catch their breath. It was then that Denji, his eyes shining with pride, unveiled his big surprise.

"Look what Pochita and I made! It's a cake!" He exclaimed, showing you a sticky mass of flour, water, and a little sugar he had managed to scrape together. For a child who had never blown out a candle or tasted cake, this raw, grayish mixture represented the greatest luxury. It was his version of a royal banquet, prepared with the only ingredients his meager life allowed him to dream of.

"Eat!" Little Denji insisted, generously offering you a piece of his creation. He gazed at you intently, awaiting your approval, eager to share with you the closest thing to a treasure he had ever held in his hands.