HSF2

Chapter 25

It was Sunday. Adam lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. He kept asking himself what all this overeating had really been for. Nowhere had it ever said they were supposed to stuff themselves like pigs. They were supposed to cook from their mom’s recipe book. Sit down. Taste the food. Remember. Maybe talk about a few things. Maybe understand their father. Maybe understand themselves. They were supposed to eat like normal people. But they didn’t eat like normal people. He thought about the number on the scale. 141 kilograms. Then he looked down at himself. All he could see was his enormous belly. Slowly, he got up. He had slept naked, which wasn’t something he normally did. Apparently, he couldn’t even stand wearing clothes through the night anymore. He walked past the mirror and stopped.

He looked at himself. A massive, imposing figure. His belly dominated the entire image.

Yesterday they had eaten another mountain of food. He wondered how many stuffed peppers he had eaten himself. Matúš had eaten ten. That meant he and Jonáš had eaten around ninety peppers between them. He slowly straightened up and stretched his back. His belly spilled forward in all its glory. The towel stayed in place. The belly wasn’t going anywhere. Adam opened the refrigerator. Today was going to be another sweet day. His mom’s recipe book was very clear. Dukátové buchtičky.

The house gradually woke up. The sun began to warm everything pleasantly. They stood by the veranda railing like massive, dominant statues with enormous bellies. Each of them had found his own way to get comfortable. Adam leaned against it sideways. Matúš rested his hands underneath his stomach. Jonáš simply let his belly rest on the wooden railing. “Thank God for this railing,” he remarked.

They drank their coffee in silence.

“Guys, we’ve been together for seven days, and all we’ve done is eat nonstop,” Matúš said thoughtfully. “But we enjoy it,” Jonáš replied.

Adam looked at Matúš’s huge belly and said, “We do. Especially you, since you were live on air.”

Matúš perked up. “On air?”

Jonáš heavily lowered himself beside him. He wrapped an arm around his shoulder like a brother. He wanted to give his belly a solid pat, but sitting down made that surprisingly difficult because he had to lean over his own stomach. Eventually he managed it. Matúš’s belly gave off a deep, heavy thud beneath his palm. Matúš looked confused. “That’s right, Matúško. That belly of yours was seen by the whole world yesterday.”

Matúš didn’t understand. Adam sat down on his other side. He also put an arm around him and gave his huge belly a firm slap. “Matúš, the way you were eating yesterday, all those dishes—it was streamed. People were betting on you.”

The smile disappeared from Matúš’s face. “What?”

Adam continued. “More than 8,400 calories in two and a half hours. A lot of people clearly lost money. Tibor made a profit.”

“At least you ate like a king,” Jonáš added.

Adam looked at him and asked, “You want breakfast?”

Matúš stood there in shock. Nobody had told him anything. Nobody had explained it. He walked into the kitchen, where he had left his jacket. In one of the pockets, he found the paper he had signed the day before. This time, he read it carefully.

The longer he read, the stiffer his face became. “Oh. So I actually signed up for five more feasts like this.”

Adam leaned against the counter. Matúš looked up. “What does that mean?”

Jonáš answered before Adam could. “It means you’re going to eat like that five more times. Maybe even more.”

“People want to see more,” Adam added.

Matúš looked down at his belly. “I can’t do that.”

Jonáš walked over to him. Matúš was sitting while Jonáš remained standing, and suddenly Jonáš’s enormous belly appeared so close in front of him that it briefly blocked his view of everything else.

“I’d like it,” Jonáš said.

Matúš looked up at him. “Seriously, Jonáš?”

Jonáš glanced at the paper and said, “The next stream is already today.”

Adam placed their mom’s recipe book on the table. The last day. Dukátové buchtičky.

“We need to start baking. How many do you think?”

Matúš was still trying to process everything, but he answered almost automatically. “A lot.”

Jonáš nodded. “We could never get enough of those. Now even less.”

Just then, a car pulled into the yard. Tibor stepped out. His large ears glowed in the morning sunlight. He looked seriously good. He walked up to the veranda and knocked. Matúš froze. He didn’t want to talk to him.

But Jonáš already had a plan.

He pulled his sweatpants lower beneath his belly to make himself look even more imposing and stepped outside.

Jonáš stood in the doorway like Goliath. Huge. Broad. His belly pushed out in front of him. Tibor looked like a delicate flower beside him.

“Good morning. I came to arrange today’s event,” Tibor greeted him.

Jonáš smiled calmly. “Good morning. Looking forward to it.”

“We’ll start at four.” Tibor seemed slightly surprised.

“Okay. The full menu again today?” Jonáš asked.

Tibor shook his head. “Not today. Today it’s only dukátové buchtičky. This is about quantity.”

“Fine. But let’s do it this way. I’ll be the main event. My brothers will be having lunch at your place too. Dukátové buchtičky for them as well. So make plenty.”

Tibor smiled. He stepped closer to Jonáš and placed a hand on his belly. He gently stroked it, then leaned in and whispered, “I’m glad it’s you. Matúš is great, but you’re my monster.” Jonáš didn’t move. “You’re going all out today,” Tibor added.

As he pulled back, one of his large ears accidentally brushed against Jonáš’s. The touch lasted only a moment. But Jonáš liked it. A lot.

The guys arrived at the café dressed up. They looked sharp. Jonáš was wearing a button-down shirt. He knew why. Tibor greeted them at the door. He looked at each of them in turn, but he lingered longest on Jonáš. Tibor walked past him, smiled, and rubbed his belly.

“Gentlemen, today is all about you. We’ll keep bringing you dukátové buchtičky for as long as you want them.”

Matúš was immediately excited. Adam looked more cautious, but even he seemed pleased. Sweet foods had a special power. They weren’t just dessert. They were a challenge.

They sat down at the table. Tibor brought out the first servings. These weren’t the tiny school-cafeteria pieces their mom used to make. They were bigger, fluffy, golden, and covered in thick vanilla cream.

“You’re doing this before the stream?” Matúš asked Jonáš.

“One serving to stretch the belly,” Jonáš said with a grin.

“Your belly’s already stretched so much that one serving can’t possibly be a warm-up round,” Adam laughed.

The buns disappeared quickly. Vanilla cream lingered on their lips, their fingers, occasionally even on the tablecloth. The sweetness was soft, warm, and deceptively light. The first servings vanished before they could really feel any pressure.

“How many are actually in one serving?” Adam asked. “Mom used to make little ones like they served in school. These are basically slices we’re dipping into cream.”

Jonáš looked at his plate. “Eight.”

Tibor arrived with another batch. “May I serve?”

The guys nodded. Tibor mischievously wiggled his ears at Matúš. Matúš blushed. The movement was so obvious it felt like a private signal.

Jonáš looked up at Tibor. “And my serving?”

Tibor looked at him, then at the belly trapped inside his shirt. “You’re being served in the other room. Follow me.” Adam and Matúš watched as he disappeared with Tibor. Jonáš and Tibor entered the bright room Jonáš recognized from yesterday’s stream. Nothing was hidden anymore. The camera was visible. The lighting was ready. The table was set. The room felt calm, but Jonáš immediately sensed this was going to be a performance.

“Today it’s all out in the open. I’ll keep bringing you dukátové buchtičky. We’ll start with larger amounts, and later you’ll decide how much you can handle. I trust you won’t disappoint me,” Tibor explained.

Jonáš sat down. The shirt pressed so tightly against his stomach that breathing was difficult. He carefully adjusted his belly so the buttons wouldn’t pop right away.

Tibor left and soon returned carrying two full plates. Sixteen buns. And a huge bowl of vanilla cream.

Jonáš started eating. Like a man. Without hesitation. He grabbed a bun, dipped it into the cream, and took a bite. Cream dripped onto his shirt, but he didn’t care. His ears moved slightly with every bite, as if his entire body was working to the same rhythm.

Less than ten minutes later, both servings were gone.

Adam and Matúš watched the stream from their table. More plates had already appeared in front of them, and despite being full, they kept eating.

“What should we bet on him?” Matúš asked.

Adam looked at him. “On our brother?” Matúš shrugged.

“We’ll see how he gets going. The final rounds will be the deciding ones,” Adam said.

“We’re not slacking off either. I’m already sixteen in,” Matúš replied, dipping another piece into the cream.

In the other room, Jonáš licked his fingers clean. A moment later, Tibor arrived again. This time he carried three servings. He placed them in front of Jonáš and leaned toward him.

“You started strong. Now you’ll do twenty-four.”

Jonáš stretched slightly toward him. Tibor leaned closer.

“You should unbutton your shirt. But try to finish these with it still buttoned. I think the buttons will give up on their own. Relax.”

Jonáš dug in. Again, like a man. Almost like a lumberjack. His mouth filled with dough and sweet cream. He no longer cared if he made a mess. Cream dripped onto his shirt, his pants, and the tablecloth. All he saw were the buns. He ate.

Soon the plates were empty.

He needed a stretch.

He leaned back, raised his arms, and stretched hard.

His belly pushed against the shirt.

The buttons didn’t survive.

They shot across the room, and his stomach burst free. It settled majestically against the edge of the table.

Relief.

Adam and Matúš were already full. Matúš looked at the screen. Jonáš had just finished another two servings. Tibor quietly entered the room. Jonáš was licking cream out of the bowl. He looked at Tibor and smiled. The idea that he could eat this long made him happy. He could feel his body protesting, but it hadn’t given up yet. He took a sip of coffee. Then some milk. Then started on another round of buns. Time-based bets were running on the stream, predicting how much he would eat in an hour. The counter was relentless. Adam and Matúš watched the screen.

“Look at that belly,” Matúš commented. “He’s not getting out of that chair today.”

Adam stayed silent.

“People are betting he’s eaten a hundred buns. I think it’s more. He put away forty in the first twenty minutes alone.”

Jonáš no longer thought in servings. He thought in volume. Capacity. Cream. Warmth. Sugar. Pressure. His belly kept bumping into the edge of the table, covered in cream and crumbs. Any pieces that fell onto it, he picked up with his fingers and ate too. Gong. The first stage ended. Jonáš sat there catching his breath.

“You’re incredible. One hundred and nine buns in an hour. How do you feel?” Jonáš sprawled in his chair. “Good.” Then he lifted his belly and placed it on the table. He groaned. “This is better.”

“You’ve got cream everywhere. Even behind your ears,” Tibor smiled.

“So is it over now? Did you make your money?” Jonáš asked.

“There’s still the finale. People will bet on how many you can eat. We’ll start with a serving of eight. After that, you decide the size of the next one.”

Jonáš straightened up. Now he would be the one pushing past his own limits. The stream resumed.

Adam and Matúš sat there with their bellies hanging out, watching Jonáš. They were completely full themselves, but they still had to finish the last buns in front of them. Nobody left the table.

“What’s happening now?” Matúš asked.

The fatigue was already visible on Jonáš. His body was grinding away. He was sweating. Beads of sweat ran down his face. His ears glistened. Everyone waited for his number.

“So how many?” Adam wondered.

“At least ten. I know him,” Matúš replied.

A number appeared on the screen. 12. Twelve golden buns now towered in front of Jonáš. He grabbed them with both hands. He alternated between dipping them in cream and chocolate, eating from both hands at once. The buns disappeared. The betting climbed higher.

Finished.

Jonáš felt he had reached his absolute limit. But the pressure, the pleasure, and the sight of the numbers kept pulling him forward. He signaled another eight. Eight more appeared. He wiped his hands on his huge belly. He ate them too. Tibor’s large ears had practically turned purple with excitement. He watched Jonáš and waited for the next number. Five. Tibor set down another serving with five buns. He clearly sensed Jonáš was crossing a line. He leaned in and whispered, “Don’t stop if you don’t have to.” Jonáš reached for another bun. And ate it.

Adam watched the screen with growing concern.

“He needs to stop. He’s done. This is becoming a health issue.”

“Let him get at least four more. I already placed a bet,” Matúš said.

“You idiot,” Adam muttered. Then he added, “Seriously though, I’m more concerned about how we’re getting him home. Look at that belly. There’s no way a human being should be able to eat that many buns.”

Tibor waited for Jonáš’s signal. Jonáš held up four fingers. Tibor smiled and brought another serving. As he set the plate down, Jonáš mumbled, “After this, I’m done.”

He started on the final four. His head was beginning to spin. He was full of sugar and baked dough. His stomach was stretched to the limit. Finished. Bing.

But Tibor returned with another serving. Eight buns.

Jonáš looked up sharply. “Why?”

“This is the mandatory final bet. People wagered how many you’d eat.” He placed the buns directly on Jonáš’s enormous belly. This time Tibor’s voice was firmer. “Eat.”

Adam froze in front of the screen. “Seriously? He’s going to burst.”

Matúš watched Jonáš. “Relax. He’ll do it.”

Jonáš picked up the first bun. Then another. He scooped up cream and chocolate with his hands, slowly, savoring every bite. He bit. Chewed. Swallowed. Another. Another. Only two remained.

Tibor brought him a glass of milk. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

Jonáš didn’t even try to sit up straighter. He was eating the buns directly off his belly. Another. One left. He wanted to stop. But then he looked at his majestic stomach and picked up the last one too. The room filled with the sounds of chewing, breathing, and silence. Finished. The camera shut off.

His brothers staggered into the room. Their bellies hung heavily in front of them. Overstuffed and weighed down by food, they walked over and patted him on the shoulders and stomach in approval, almost ceremonially.

Chapter 23

Tibor gave Matúš a subtle, man-to-man smile and set the first plate down in front of him. It was ravioli. Large, glossy ravioli coated in butter and sprinkled with Parmesan. The aroma of pasta, cheese, and herbs immediately drifted up toward him. Matúš’s eyes lit up. He loved ravioli. For an appetizer, it was a respectable portion—almost suspiciously respectable—but he didn’t think much about it. Tibor said, “First appetizer.”

Matúš picked up his utensils and started eating. On a screen in a small room next door, betting immediately opened up. People were placing wagers on how long it would take him to finish the first serving. Tibor started a stopwatch. Matúš had no idea. He ate quickly, calmly, with the confidence of a man who didn’t like wasting time. The ravioli disappeared fast. Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. Stop. Four minutes and twenty-seven seconds. Nobody guessed it correctly.

Tibor poured Matúš a glass of wine and brought out the second appetizer. This time it was warm potato croquettes with bryndza cream, bacon dust, and onion oil. Maybe two hundred fifty grams, but plated elegantly. Tasting-menu style. Innocent-looking. Matúš figured this wouldn’t be a problem. It wasn’t. Tibor stood nearby, occasionally topping off his glass, occasionally encouraging him with a short comment. Matúš ate and felt his competitive side slowly waking up. Not against the audience he didn’t know existed. Against himself. After the second appetizer came another glass of wine and a third plate. Matúš thought it would finally be the main course. It wasn’t. A beef tartare on toasted bread landed in front of him. Another appetizer. Matúš was already starting to feel pressure in his stomach. He’d basically eaten almost a kilo of food and they were still just getting started. He finished it.

Tibor poured more wine and asked, “Everything okay?”

Matúš wiped his mouth and nodded.

Tibor added, “Everything so far is going on the menu.”

Matúš leaned back. His shirt was stretched tight across his stomach.

“Compliments to the chef. The food is outstanding.”

Tibor smiled and asked if he was ready for the next course. Matúš nodded. A moment later, a bowl of thick tripe soup was sitting in front of him. He loved tripe soup. He scooped up a hefty chunk of tripe with his spoon like an excavator. The soup was spicy, rich, heavy, and thick. He didn’t even notice there was almost four hundred milliliters of it. The hot paprika flushed his face. His ears turned red. The tripe soup vanished into his belly like a glass of water. The betting intensified.

Back home, Adam and Jonáš sat in front of a laptop, staring at the screen in disbelief. They watched Matúš as one dish after another disappeared from the plates. After the tripe soup came a rich beef broth with liver dumplings. Then Hungarian goulash with homemade bread dumplings. In the corner of the screen, estimated calorie counts kept updating.

4,200 kcal.

Jonáš didn’t move. Adam sat with his hands resting on the table, watching Matúš’s shirt struggle more and more against his stomach. Watching the fabric stretch. Watching the mass of his belly press against the edge of the table. Watching his brother keep a calm expression while his body was already working at full capacity. Tibor brought another dish. Roasted duck liver with onion jam, butter brioche, and red wine sauce. Matúš looked up.

“How much more do you have prepared?”

Tibor smiled.

“You’ve already eaten more than half.”

The betting picked up momentum. Tibor leaned toward Matúš and whispered that he could unbutton his shirt. It would be more comfortable. If he wanted, Tibor could do it for him. Matúš agreed. Tibor slowly loosened the buttons. The shirt opened, and Matúš’s stomach finally spilled forward. The next dish was already in front of him. Pork cheeks with root vegetables, potato cream purée, pan sauce, and crispy onions. Matúš picked up his utensils. He ate. He was surprised himself that he still wasn’t full. Then another dish arrived. Grilled sausage with bean ragout and sauerkraut. Another glass of wine. The wine was lighter, but it helped. It dulled the boundaries.

Adam kept staring at the screen. He wanted to do something. Turn it off. Call him. Go get him. But he sat there, hypnotized. He was starting to get worried. In the corner of the screen it now read: 8,400 kcal.

Adam remembered the time he’d tried to eat ten thousand calories at a Chinese buffet. It hadn’t ended well. Even though he’d absolutely stuffed himself that day, he’d been banned from that buffet ever since.

Jonáš looked at him.

“You actually have experience with that? I never would’ve guessed.”

Adam didn’t answer. He kept watching Matúš.

Matúš was served cottage cheese crepes with butter, sugar, and fruit sauce. He thought that had to be the end. After the crepes came their famous steamed buns. Four large ones, soft, sprinkled with poppy seeds and drenched in butter and sugar. A lot for a tasting menu. Then came tiramisu in a deep bowl. Creamy, heavy, sweet. Matúš ate more slowly. But he kept eating. The last bite disappeared into his belly after two and a half hours. Everything.

Tibor walked in carrying a pitcher of water. He poured a glass and then looked at Matúš. He was slumped back in the armchair, shirt open, jacket pushed behind him, his stomach enormous, stretched tight, and heavy.

“Can you stand up?” Tibor asked.

“Don’t you have anything else?” Matúš said with a smile.

“No.” Tibor shook his head. “I’ll help you up.”

Matúš stood. He felt a little drunk, but after seeing the four empty wine bottles, he wasn’t surprised. He took off his shirt and handed it to Tibor. It was soaked with sweat and missing buttons, but it had done its job. Matúš tried to pull his T-shirt back on. His stomach was too large, too full, and hanging too low. The fabric caught on top of his belly and refused to go any farther. After a moment, he gave up. He kept only the jacket on. His belly remained exposed. Full. Heavy. Visible.

Chapter 24

A taxi came for Adam and Jonáš. Matúš still wasn’t answering, and meanwhile they’d already gotten a call from the dining hall by the cultural center saying the feast was ready. They put on their suits. Once again, they squeezed themselves into narrow dress shirts that their stomachs accepted only with great reluctance. The buttons held on with little confidence. They left their jackets open. There was no other option. They called Matúš several more times. Nothing. The taxi dropped them off in front of the cultural center. They walked into a small room set up as a simple buffet. On the counter were large heated serving trays full of stuffed peppers, bowls of boiled potatoes, containers of sauce, and several bottles of mineral water. Adam paid. They sat down and waited for a while. The manager looked at them, then at the food, and asked, “Where are your guests?”

Adam smiled a little too calmly and replied, “It didn’t work out in the end.” The woman looked at the hundred stuffed peppers and asked, “So what are we supposed to do with all this food now?” Jonáš leaned back. His shirt stretched tight across his stomach, and he calmly replied, “Don’t worry about that. Just look at us.” The woman sized them up. They were big, solid, heavy men. But a hundred stuffed peppers was still a hundred stuffed peppers. “I don’t think two guys can eat a hundred peppers. Not even guys built like you.” She added that and walked away.

Jonáš opened his mouth and repeated, “A hundred?” Adam smirked.

“You’ll eat half of them by yourself.” Jonáš looked at him.

“You should’ve told me.”

“You’d be smiling a lot less,” Adam replied. Then he stood up and said, “Let’s eat.”

Jonáš sat down, and Adam brought him the first two plates. Ten stuffed peppers and a huge pile of boiled potatoes. He served himself about the same. The sauce flooded the plates until the potatoes around the edges started disappearing into the tomato gravy.

They started eating.

Jonáš’s ears practically glowed from how happy he was. He loved stuffed peppers. One pepper after another vanished into his belly. Meat, rice, sauce, potatoes. Every bite tasted exactly the way he remembered it. Adam wasn’t about to fall behind. He ate more slowly, but steadily. At the same time, he kept thinking about Matúš.

What was going on with him?

The broadcast was over. The bets had ended somehow. Matúš had to still be at Breafeast. But Adam had no idea what he looked like, what condition he was in, or whether he could even drive.

The phone rang. Matúš. Adam put him on speaker. Matúš’s voice came through the phone speaker. Cheerful, tired, and a little slurred. “Guys, where are you? I’ve been drinking, I can’t drive, and I’m stuffed like a pig.”

“We know,” Adam said. Silence on the other end.

“How do you know?” Matúš asked, surprised.

“Don’t worry about that right now. Stuffed or not, there’s stuffed pepper waiting for you here. You’re not getting out of it.” Matúš went quiet.

“Stuffed pepper... God. I think I might burst. I’m sitting in a café right now trying to digest a little. Tibor even brought me some enzymes. Hopefully they’ll help and I’ll still be able to eat some peppers. I can handle one serving, at least,” he added cheerfully.

“Get over here,” Adam said, ending the call.

Meanwhile, Jonáš had finished another five peppers. Adam laughed. “See? Didn’t I tell you? You’ll eat at least fifty by yourself.”

Jonáš smiled, though he was breathing harder now. “That scrambled eggs breakfast is slowing me down. But I’ll do it.” He bit into another pepper.

They ate alone in the dim light of the small room. The peppers disappeared along with the potatoes. The sauce levels dropped in the serving trays. Plates came and went. Mineral water kept getting refilled.

Forty minutes later, the door opened. Matúš walked in. He was cheerful. In a great mood. His belly hung completely out, wearing only a suit jacket with no shirt underneath. His face was red, his ears were glowing, and he walked toward his brothers happy and drunk.

Adam looked at him. “You actually walked through town like that?”

Matúš spread his arms. “Of course. I’m a big man.”

“Yeah,” Jonáš muttered. “We saw.”

Matúš stopped. “What’s with you guys and this whole ‘we saw’ thing?”

Adam calmly took a sip of mineral water. “You ate more than eighty-five hundred calories. And now you want to cram stuffed peppers into that belly too?”

Matúš walked over to the serving tray, opened it, and took one pepper. Then a second. Jonáš looked at him. “Serve yourself properly.”

So Matúš loaded up six peppers to start with, along with potatoes and sauce. He sat down between them and started eating.

“Guys, today I was testing the menu. You’ve never had food that good. We’re going there next time. Tibor will set it up.” Matúš said it between bites.

“Sure. Tibor will set it up. He sets up everything.” Adam smiled.

“You got something against him?” Matúš immediately turned toward him.

“Nothing. Just saying he’s a capable guy.”

“You’re hiding something from me.” Matúš frowned and bit into a stuffed pepper.

“We’ll tell you when we get home,” Adam and Jonáš said in unison. And they kept eating.

Adam looked at Jonáš. It seemed like he was slowly running out of steam, but there were still plenty of peppers left. One entire serving tray remained. Adam stood up and opened it.

“There’s the last thirty, just in case we were missing any.” Jonáš rested a hand on his stomach.

“How many did you stuff into yourself? Judging by that belly, I’d guess fifty.” Adam looked him up and down.

“Look at yours. I could make a few assumptions too.” Jonáš wasn’t about to let that slide. He took a deep breath.

“And look at mine. This one’s packed with twelve courses,” Matúš bragged.

Jonáš straightened up completely. He let his belly do its job, as he always liked to say. He stretched, inhaled deeply, puffed out his chest, and his huge stomach shifted as if it were creating new space inside his body. “Stretching helps make room for more food.” And it was true. A few moments later, he was shoveling down the last five peppers from the second serving tray.

Adam looked at Matúš. “You don’t seem very excited about this anymore. What’s wrong? Don’t disappoint us.”

Matúš sighed, but reached for another pepper. Adam served himself five more as well. In the end, they ate everything. One hundred peppers.

Jonáš could barely catch his breath. An empty plate sat in front of him, and his stomach was stretched so tight he could hardly bend forward. Matúš was slowly falling asleep over the table. Adam’s eyes were drooping too, although he tried to look like he was just thinking.

They called a taxi. They waited outside the cultural center. Three men who had eaten very well. Far too well. Their suit jackets were unbuttoned. Their shirts were stretched tight or ruined. Their stomachs pushed far out in front of them. Breathing came hard.

When the taxi arrived, they all went quiet. The driver had shown up in a Fiat Panda. For the three of them. Adam looked at the car and asked, “We’re supposed to fit in there?”

The driver looked them over. “Well, there’s nothing else available. But looking at you guys, I’d say this is going to be a challenge.”

“It is,” Adam agreed. “You probably haven’t transported nearly five hundred kilos of passengers before.”

Jonáš took the front seat because he was the biggest. His stomach immediately spread out between the seatbelt and the dashboard. From the back seat, Adam called out, “Move up. I can’t fit back here.” Jonáš scooted forward as much as possible. It didn’t help much.

Matúš sat behind the driver and tried not to breathe too deeply. He could feel his belly pressing against the seat in front of him. Adam wasn’t much better off. Every inch of the car worked against them. The ride home was short, but it felt long.

When they arrived, they barely managed to squeeze themselves back out. Adam simply opened the gate and said, “Let’s go to sleep.”

Chapter 22

It was ten o’clock in the morning. Adam woke up to Jonáš’s snoring. At first, he just opened his eyes and lay there for a moment. The room was filled with soft morning light, and next to him lay Jonáš, turned on his side, with his huge belly wedged between them like another piece of furniture. He snored deeply, heavily, rhythmically. Like a saw that occasionally catches and then starts up again. Adam slowly got up. For a second, he lost his balance, his belly pulling him forward, and he had to grab the wardrobe. He stood there and exhaled. He made himself a coffee, set it down on the kitchen island, looked at his belly, and spent a moment thinking about what to have for breakfast. Then he opened the refrigerator. Yesterday he had bought two trays of eggs, ham, cheese, sausages, and everything he considered a classic breakfast staple. One by one, he laid it all out on the counter. He sliced the ham, melted cheese in a skillet, browned the meat, and added the eggs. It wasn’t some delicate scrambled egg dish. It was his homemade, heavy, dense, salty breakfast mix. The smell woke Jonáš up. By the time he walked into the kitchen, Adam was already scooping a full bowl for him. Adam pointed to a chair. “Sit down and eat.”

“How many eggs?” Jonáš smiled.

“Twenty. That should be enough for you.” He set the plate in front of him.

“For me?” Jonáš raised an eyebrow.

“For us. Obviously for us.” Adam laughed and served himself too.

Jonáš could still feel last night’s doughnuts sitting in his stomach, but he didn’t complain. He sat down, picked up a spoon, and started eating. Adam ate across from him, quietly, his eyes occasionally drifting toward his brother’s belly. After a while, Jonáš looked around and said, “It’s kind of quiet in here. Is Matúš home?”

Adam shrugged. “No idea.”

They ate breakfast in silence. Eventually, Jonáš asked timidly, “When are we making the stuffed peppers?”

Adam froze. “Jesus. Right.”

He looked toward the pantry, then into the fridge. “We don’t even have any peppers. And Matúš has the car.”

Jonáš wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and asked, “So what now?”

Adam thought for a moment and said, “Best thing is for me to order it. Either we’ll go out to eat, or they’ll bring it to us.”

A brief spark appeared in Jonáš’s eyes. Adam asked, “Do they make it at Breakfeast too?” Jonáš shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I’m going online. I’ll figure something out.” Adam said, then walked back to the bedroom.

Jonáš stayed alone in the kitchen. He cleaned up for a few minutes, but he couldn’t help himself. He opened the refrigerator and stood in front of it like he was watching television. He had just finished breakfast, but he could still eat more. He looked at the sausages. The cheese. The leftover ham. Then he closed the refrigerator.

Back in the bedroom, Adam scrolled through restaurant delivery options. Eventually, he found a small cafeteria near the cultural center. He dialed the number. A woman answered on the other end. Adam explained that he needed stuffed peppers. A lot of stuffed peppers.

The woman asked, “How many servings?”

Adam stared at the wall and answered, “What I really need is at least eighty stuffed peppers.” Silence.

“Are you having some kind of big celebration?”

Without hesitation, Adam lied. “Something like that.”

The woman did some quick calculations, then recommended ordering a full hundred. The price supposedly didn’t change much at that quantity, and at least they’d be sure to have enough. Adam agreed. The order was placed. Later that day, they would go to the cultural center, where the small cafeteria operated. The stuffed peppers would be ready in the afternoon. He was just about to close his laptop when a pop-up window appeared in the corner of the screen.

BET ON THE EATER.

Adam frowned. He was about to close it, but the text underneath the headline stopped him. Can he eat every item on the menu? Watch the live challenge. He clicked. A page with a dark background, numbers, odds, and a video window filled the monitor. Adam didn’t even really know how many dishes were part of the challenge, or what they were. He assumed it was something stupid. Out of curiosity, and as a joke, he placed a five-euro bet. Then he clicked on the video.

And froze.

On the screen was a small room. A fully set table. A white dress shirt stretched across a large belly. A suit jacket. A fresh buzz cut. Large protruding ears glowing in the backlight. Matúš. At first, Adam couldn’t believe his eyes. He leaned closer to the screen and stopped breathing. Matúš was sitting at a table in Breakfeast. In front of him was an elegant place setting, glasses, plates, silverware for multiple courses. His belly was pressed against the edge of the table, his shirt stretched so tightly that the buttons looked like the last knots holding a rope together. Numbers streamed through the corner of the video. Bets. Odds. Comments. Adam’s face went numb.

Behind him, Jonáš appeared in the doorway. Jonáš asked, “Did you find the peppers?”

Adam didn’t answer. Jonáš stepped closer and looked at the screen. At first, he didn’t understand what he was seeing. Then he went pale.

“Is that Matúš?”

Adam quietly said, “Yeah.”

On the screen, the door to the room opened and Tibor walked in carrying the first course. Elegant. Calm. Like a man who knew exactly what was about to begin.

Jonáš braced himself against the table with one hand and asked, “What is this?”

Adam read the name of the website one more time. Bet on the Eater. Then he looked at Jonáš.

Chapter 21

Matúš got up a little earlier. He went downstairs to the kitchen and made himself a coffee. He sat at the island and listened to the house sleeping. Matúš smiled. The big protruding ears they had hated as kids now felt almost like an advantage. As if they picked up the house better than his eyes did. Adam was nowhere to be found. Jonáš was nowhere to be found. He went upstairs. Quietly, he opened the door to Jonáš's room. The bed was empty. Matúš stopped. He went back downstairs to Adam's room and carefully cracked the door open. He smiled. It was like when they were kids. Except now, instead of two boys lying on a narrow bed, there were two giant mammoths. Adam and Jonáš were asleep, squeezed together with barely any room, belly against belly. A ridiculous sight. And somehow nostalgic at the same time. He didn't wake them. Matúš sat in the armchair by the door for a while and drank his coffee.

He walked into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He checked the hair around his ears. There was no way it could have grown back in a day. But he was already developing hair paranoia. At this rate, Tibor probably got a haircut almost every day, he thought. Matúš ran his fingers along the sides of his head. “I'm going too,” he told his reflection. He put on light blue chinos. He loved them. They were slim, hugged his legs and butt just right, and made him feel better built than he probably really was. Then he pulled on a pink LV T-shirt. He tried tucking it in, but his belly had other plans. The fabric rolled up, stretched tight, and the bottom of his stomach stayed exposed. He didn't care. Over it, he put on a light blue blazer. Standing in front of the mirror was one solid man. Big, powerful, freshly showered, with a belly like a tank and ears nobody could miss. He quietly closed the door behind him and left. The barbershop was already open.

When he walked in, Tibor was sitting in the chair. Matúš spotted him in the mirror before Tibor turned around. Tibor had a cape around his neck, his head slightly tilted down, while the barber finished up the sides. When he saw Matúš, he smiled. His big protruding ears gave a little wiggle. Matúš sat down in the other chair and couldn't resist a comment. “Morning. Heading out already? Your ears just waved at me.” Tibor smiled at his reflection. “I can wiggle my ears.” Then he did it again. Matúš saw it in the mirror. It was absurdly adorable. The big ears moved as if they had a life of their own, and with the perfectly shaved sides, they stood out even more. Matúš said, “You could use that as a greeting now.” Tibor smirked. “Probably only with you.”

The barber finished Tibor's fade. There was something oddly satisfying about watching him brush away the tiny hairs around Tibor's ears, then apply cologne to the skin and run his fingers briefly along the edges as if checking the clean line. Tibor sat calmly, though his ears had turned slightly red. When he stood up, he said goodbye to the barber. Before leaving, he leaned toward Matúš and quietly whispered in his ear, “Whichever one you are, I'll be waiting for you.” Then he gave his belly a solid slap. Matúš smiled and, in return, tugged hard on Tibor's ear. Not rough. Brotherly. But enough to make Tibor hiss and laugh at the same time. The barber watched the whole scene in the mirror. “Looks like something's going on here,” he remarked.

Matúš sat down in the chair and let himself be covered with the cape. The fabric immediately lifted over his stomach, creating a large rounded hill in front of him. The barber asked, “What are we cutting? Not much has grown since yesterday.”

Matúš looked into the mirror. “The top. Give me a proper buzz cut.” The barber nodded. The clippers buzzed.

Matúš closed his eyes. Half an hour later, he walked out of the barbershop. His hair was almost shaved off. He felt good. Dangerously good, actually. And hungry. He headed straight to Breakfast. There were already a few people in the café, but it wasn't crowded. He sat more toward the corner so he could see both the room and the counter. Tibor was quick. He came over right away, but he didn't take his usual server posture. He looked at Matúš, then at his clothes, his belly, his fresh haircut, and said, “I have a different seat for you today. Come with me.”

Matúš was a little surprised. But that was exactly what intrigued him. He got out of the chair with more effort than he'd like to admit and followed Tibor. They walked past the counter and entered a small room, something like a meeting room. It was cozy and separated from the main café area. Bright light, minimalist décor, and a table set in the middle. Tibor seated him. Matúš noticed the chair was sturdier. Wider. The table was set a little farther away from it. Somebody had thought this through. Tibor stood across from him and asked, “Ready for a real breakfast?”

Matúš looked at the table setting. He placed a hand on his belly, which pushed forward beneath his white T-shirt as if it already knew the answer before he did. “I am,” he said.

This wasn't a regular table in a café. It was set almost too nicely. White tablecloth, large dinner plate, smaller plates off to the side, two glasses, silverware arranged by course, cloth napkin. It felt more like a private tasting event than breakfast for a guy who had only decided to visit the barber an hour earlier.

Matúš sat down carefully. The chair was sturdy and wider than normal café chairs. Tibor stood beside him and calmly explained that they were testing a new menu today. Several courses. They wanted the opinion of a true food lover, someone who genuinely appreciated good food. The rule was simple: if he finished the entire serving, the dish could go on the menu. If he didn't, he had to pay for it. Tibor placed a document in front of him. Matúš barely skimmed it. The food already interested him more than the text. It was probably in their genes. Whenever a feast appeared in front of them, reason stepped aside and let the body make the decisions. Besides, if it was a tasting menu, he wasn't worried. Tasting menus meant small portions, after all. He signed.

“Will somebody be serving us in here?” Matúš asked.

Tibor smiled and said yes. He added that today would be a more upscale experience, and that he appreciated Matúš's nice outfit and fresh haircut. It would have looked even better with a dress shirt. Matúš glanced down at his pink LV T-shirt stretched across his belly and nowhere close to covering all of it. “If you've got one I can wear, I don't mind.” Tibor stepped out for a moment. He returned with a white shirt. Matúš took off his blazer and pulled off the T-shirt. He stood there with his massive torso exposed. Tibor helped him into the shirt. It was XXXL, but with Matúš that didn't mean much anymore. The shoulders fit well. The chest fit well enough. The problem started at the belly. The buttons refused to meet.

“Need some help?” Tibor asked.

“You'll have to. Hopefully those buttons are built tough,” Matúš joked.

Tibor calmly replied that a popped button would just be a bonus part of the test.

Matúš took a deep breath and tried pulling in his stomach. It helped a little. Tibor grabbed the edges of the shirt firmly, pulled the fabric across Matúš's belly, and started buttoning it up. The shirt stretched, the belly resisted, but eventually the fabric gave in. Then Tibor tucked the shirt into his pants. That wasn't easy either. The pants were slim, the belly hung low, and the fabric didn't want to cooperate. But Tibor worked calmly, almost professionally. Finally, he helped Matúš back into the blazer and seated him at the table. Matúš's enormous belly touched the edge of the table. Tibor stepped back for a moment. It was a good picture. A big man, white shirt stretched across his stomach, blazer open, broad shoulders, strong jaw, fresh buzz cut, big protruding ears, and a beautifully set table in front of him.

Tibor walked into a small room next door. A little technical room. He checked the feed from the meeting room on a monitor. Perfect. The soft light fell across Matúš's belly, making it look even bigger. Backlighting shone through his large ears, which looked more prominent than ever after today's barber visit. This guy has to show what he's capable of today, he thought.

Numbers appeared on the monitor. Something like a calculator, only more alive. The numbers changed and slowly increased. Carefully at first.

Matúš had no idea what he had actually signed. It wasn't just about the food. He had also agreed to an online test. A live stream. Everything that came with the betting company behind it. It was written in the document, but buried among the formal language people skip over when they're already waiting for the first course.

Music started playing in the room. Pleasant. Soft. Almost luxurious. Matúš sat at the table with his hands resting beside the silverware.

Chapter 19

The guys were heading home stuffed with pancakes and sausages. Adam drove slowly, one hand on the wheel. The sides of his head were cleanly skin-faded, his ears fully exposed, the lines sharp. Matúš watched him from the back seat for a moment, then nodded approvingly. “That fade looks awesome. Absolutely perfect.” Adam ran his fingers around his ears. They lightly bounced under his touch, and he smiled. “I love it like this.” The house welcomed them in the evening light. They unloaded groceries for even more food. Today was supposed to be a sweet-food day. They cut themselves a little slack and bought the steamed buns ready-made. Adam grabbed four packs with eight buns each. Thirty-two buns. Hopefully that would be enough.

Matúš and Jonáš unloaded flour, eggs, milk, oil, and the rest of the supplies. They were making donuts, steamed buns, and even langoš. Sweet, greasy, heavy food. After the pancakes, it was an absurd plan. But absurd plans were starting to become normal in their house. Once they changed into comfortable clothes, they finally let their stomachs spill free from their tight shirts. The relief was instant. Jonáš and Matúš took their coffee out to the porch. Warm rays of sunlight fell across their large, exposed bellies. A moment later Adam joined them and rested his gut on the railing. Jonáš looked at him. “What?”

“I’m okay.” Adam rubbed his stomach. He was quiet for a moment, then added, “We need to remodel the bathroom. You can’t even move around in there normally anymore.”

Jonáš nodded and said dryly, “Tell me about it. Did you weigh yourself?” Adam smiled. Matúš immediately perked up. “So how much?” Adam stayed silent for a moment, as if double-checking whether he really wanted to say it out loud. “Guys, this probably shouldn’t even be possible. One-forty. Right now, after the pancakes.” Matúš didn’t look surprised. “Are you really shocked? We eat like machines around here. We barely move. We eat and sleep.” Later, a curse came from the bathroom. Matúš immediately lifted his head. “See? I’m guessing one-fifty.” Jonáš came outside, rested his gut on the railing next to Adam’s, and stared out into the yard. Adam ran a hand across the freshly shaved back of his head and smiled. “Your ears look perfect.” Matúš had less patience.

“Just spit it out.”

“Guess.”

“I said one-fifty.”

“Higher?” Adam asked.

“One-sixty,” Matúš pushed further.

Jonáš blushed. He straightened up, but his stomach stayed resting on the wooden railing. He lowered his eyes. “One fifty-two.” Then he added, “Let’s eat, guys.”

Adam started steaming the buns. Matúš made the donuts—small, soft, fluffy ones. He mixed up a huge batch of dough because if the buns weren’t enough, they’d make up the difference with donuts. The langoš was their backup plan for something savory. They set the table. Adam served eight buns to each person. On the club plates, they stood like little pyramids. He placed another eight in the middle of the table. Matúš stacked around fifty small donuts into two bowls. Next to them, he set down about ten langoš and said, “In case somebody wants something savory.”

Adam looked at him. “Somebody? There are only three of us here.”

Jonáš made tea, cocoa, and coffee. They stayed in sweatpants even though the evening was getting cooler. Nobody had the energy for formality. After the barbershop and Breafeast, it was time for their home ritual. They ate buns. Jam, poppy seeds, butter, soft dough. They had plum jam on their lips, poppy seeds between their teeth, sugar on their fingers. When they finished their portions, Adam leaned back and looked at the bowls. “Should we go for the donuts too?” Jonáš pointed out that there were still buns left. Matúš asked him, “Do you want them?” Jonáš looked toward the middle of the table. “I’m having donuts now.” Adam wasn’t surprised. He already knew what was happening. He slid the bowl in front of Jonáš. Full of donuts. About twenty-five of them. Then he said, “All right, let’s see if you can handle it.”

Jonáš obeyed. He liked hearing the command. Not because he couldn’t say no. But because someone had defined his place at the table before he had to admit it himself. He ate slowly. One donut after another. They were small, easy to finish in two bites, but after each one he felt his stomach filling more and more. Matúš applauded him while helping himself to another bun. Jonáš looked at him. “Leave a few buns for me.” Adam served himself ten donuts and ate quietly. That strange feeling returned—the soft huffing, the brief groan on an inhale when someone is so full they feel like their skin has nowhere left to stretch. The conversation faded. Their stomachs grew. Adam pointed at the langoš. “What about those? They should get eaten. Or are we throwing them away?” Matúš immediately frowned. “Absolutely not.”

Jonáš had just finished the last bun from his plate. In the middle of the table there were still about five donuts and ten langoš left. Adam stood up. He leaned across the table, his gut pressing against a club plate, and picked up the bowl with the last donuts. Without any discussion, he divided them up: one for Matúš, one for himself, and three for Jonáš. Then the langoš. Two for Matúš. Two for himself. Four for Jonáš. Jonáš looked at the serving. “I can’t do that.”

Adam looked at him with a dry, stern, completely calm expression. “You’ll eat it. I’m not discussing it.”

Chapter 20

It was already late at night. The house had gone quiet. Heavy snoring echoed from the bedrooms, the sound of men who had eaten more over the past few days than they ever meant to. Jonáš sat on the bed in his room. He was naked except for Superman-logo briefs, facing the mirror and staring at himself for so long that his own reflection started to feel unfamiliar. It looked like a scene from one of those extreme makeover shows, just without the cameras, without a trainer, without dramatic music, and without the promise that everything would change tomorrow. He was looking at a huge man. Looking at a belly that wasn't just big anymore. It was dominant. Heavy, round, pushed outward, stretched tight. It seemed like a thing of its own. Jonáš placed both hands on it.

Was he really the fattest of the three?

The question crossed his mind without any irony. Matúš and Adam had serious bellies too. All three of them had changed over the past few days. But with him, it felt different. At least that's how it seemed. Maybe he wasn't the biggest by measurements. Maybe not always. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, the way he ate, the way he could stay at the table longer than anyone else. Maybe I'm just the biggest eater, he thought. He smiled. He felt warmth spreading through his ears. He tugged one, then the other. His big ears flexed and sprang back into place. After today's haircut, they stuck out even more. Clean, exposed, unmistakable. But he already felt like something was growing around them again. Do you have to go to the barber every day or what? He laughed to himself, but the laugh pressed against his belly. He'd only been here five days. Five days of nonstop overeating. Goulash. Szeged stew. Pirohy. French potatoes. Dessert day. And in between, breakfast, pancakes, sausages, eggs, sweet rolls, coffee, wine. Laughter, sweat, buttons. He lay down on his back.

His belly moved with him at first, then against him, then finally settled. After a bowl of donuts, about twelve sweet buns, and four langošes, it sat on him like a mountain. Literally like a mountain. Raised, firm, heavy. When he inhaled, it barely moved. He hadn't seen his own crotch in a long time. That gave him pause. How much did he weigh now? How much had he gained since arriving? He knew he'd put on more than fifteen kilos in just the last month. He could feel it in his pants, his T-shirts, his button-down shirts. Is this still okay? He really needed to start going to the gym. He'd have to drag Matúš along. Maybe Adam too. Then he remembered another recipe. Tomorrow would be stuffed peppers. His entire determination collapsed at the thought of tomato sauce, potatoes, and ground meat stuffed into soft peppers. He loved stuffed peppers. How many would he eat? Ten? Definitely more.

He had to roll onto his side to breathe more easily. He lifted his belly, at least a little, and turned his whole body over, letting out a loud breath. It's weird that none of us need one of those sleep apnea machines yet. All of them snored like chainsaws. He could already hear Matúš from the room next door. Heavy breathing, uneven, deep, exhausted. Adam was farther away, but he was probably no better. Jonáš closed his eyes. Another thought appeared in his head. If someone brought him food right now, he'd eat. Not a lot. But he'd eat. There was still room. He still felt that pleasant, stuffed fullness inside him. He sat up. Lowered his legs off the bed, braced one hand on the mattress, and used the other to support his belly. A short grunt escaped him. He sat at the edge of the bed staring into the mirror across from him. How much do I weigh?

He stood up. Slowly, with one hand resting on his stomach, he opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The house was dark. A faint light from the kitchen downstairs had been left on. The scale was downstairs. Jonáš walked down the stairs. Each step creaked softly beneath him. The bathroom was cooler. He stood in front of the scale and stared at it for a moment. He took a deep breath, which wasn't easy because his belly pressed up beneath his ribs. Then he stepped onto it. The scale beeped and Jonáš looked at the display. 157 kg. He stood motionless for a second, then smiled with almost alarming satisfaction. Beautiful. What is wrong with him? He should have been scared. He should have sat down, added up the last few days, thought about the stairs, the shower, his breathing, the fact that he couldn't even see his own crotch anymore. But fear wasn't his first reaction. Triumph was. Jonáš stepped off the scale, slid both hands underneath his belly, lifted it, and gave it a good shake. It rippled heavily. Warm, big, and his. Then he slowly rested it on the bathroom counter. The counter accepted the weight with a soft creak. Jonáš looked in the mirror. He was a handsome man. He admitted that to himself without embarrassment. A Viking. In both ears and belly. Then a thud came from the kitchen. Jonáš became alert.

Jonáš stepped out of the bathroom. Adam was standing in the kitchen. He was wearing nothing but sweatpants and had the expression of someone who didn't expect to find his brother wandering the house at night in Superman briefs.

"Damn, you scared me." Adam let out a breath. Jonáš leaned against the doorway.

"What are you doing creeping around with that belly?"

"Look at yours. It's not any smaller."

Jonáš glanced at Adam's midsection. Adam's stomach hung out in front of him. Heavy, round, and clearly bigger than it had been a few days ago.

"Come on. I don't weigh a hundred fifty-three kilos." Adam smirked.

"Yeah, right." Jonáš smiled sarcastically. Adam's smile stiffened a little. He looked Jonáš directly in the eyes. "You weighed yourself?"

Jonáš straightened up as much as his belly allowed. "I'm already at a hundred fifty-seven," he announced. Adam said nothing. Jonáš placed a hand on his gut and slowly ran it across the surface. "This is a magical house."

Adam didn't respond. He walked past him into the bathroom. Jonáš stayed in the kitchen, naked, leaning against the counter and listening. First silence. Then the brief creak of the scale. Then more silence, this time longer. Jonáš called out:

"Well?" A sigh came from the bathroom. Jonáš added: "Magical house."

Adam emerged slowly. He looked like he was trying to decide whether to laugh or curse. "Five days ago, what was I? One thirty-five?"

Jonáš watched him. Adam looked down at his stomach. "Now I'm one forty-one."

Two men stood in the middle of the night inside their parents' house. Both with enormous bellies. The numbers weren't just numbers anymore. They were proof. Adam sat down. The chair creaked beneath him. Jonáš sat across from him. Slowly, one hand resting on his gut. For a while they just looked at each other. Then at their bellies. Jonáš leaned back and said: "So you're growing too."

Adam rubbed his face. "Six kilos in five days."

Jonáš said: "Magical house."

Adam looked at him more sharply. "That's not magic. That's physics."

Jonáš shrugged and placed both hands on his belly. Then he looked at Adam differently. Not mockingly. Not challengingly. More with curiosity. "How's your pride doing?"

Adam knew exactly what Jonáš meant. He didn't need him to be more specific. Outside, it was dark. The house slept. Only the refrigerator hummed quietly. Adam rested a hand on his own stomach.

"With a gut like this, I don't think about it much." Jonáš looked up at Adam's belly.

"I pee sitting down," he continued. "Sometimes I get a good wet dream, and that's about it. My body's doing its own thing. But male pride? That's been somewhere else for a long time."

Jonáš fell silent. Adam looked directly at him. "And you? You're a virgin, right?"

Jonáš's ears instantly turned red. Not a little. Completely. They turned into two beacons. Jonáš lowered his gaze, but it was pointless. Adam had already seen it. "I am," Jonáš said quietly.

Adam finally said: "Probably a family curse."

Jonáš laughed briefly. "Maybe."

"That's why gaining weight feels good to you." Adam leaned back. "It's emotional eating. I know it."

He studied Jonáš more carefully. He sat at the table, his belly hiding his manhood, and the Superman logo felt pretty ridiculous in the situation. All that masculine pride, everything the world said a man was supposed to prove through his body, his achievements, or women, seemed drowned in fat. Adam stood up and left the kitchen. Jonáš stayed at the table listening to his footsteps. First down the hallway. Then a door opening. Quiet rummaging. Then footsteps returning. Adam came back carrying a bowl of donuts. He set it in front of Jonáš. There were about thirty small donuts inside. Round, soft, dusted with sugar. The kind you eat in one bite. Left over from earlier that evening. Left over from the dessert day that was supposed to be over and wasn't. Jonáš looked at the bowl.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Adam stood beside him. "Eat."

Jonáš opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something. Maybe protest. Maybe ask if Adam was serious.

"Eat." Adam's voice was firm. No room for negotiation.

That familiar tension stirred inside Jonáš's chest. He picked up the first donut. It was small. It disappeared almost instantly. Soft dough, sugar, a little oil, sweetness. Then a second. A third. Jonáš ate slowly, in a steady rhythm. After only a few pieces, he felt his body slipping back into that strange mode. After everything he'd eaten all day, he should have refused. But the order had been given. The bowl sat in front of him. Adam stood beside him. Jonáš put another donut into his mouth and closed his eyes. He savored every bite. Not because the donuts were special. They weren't. They were ordinary, sweet, soft. But that was exactly their strength. They could be eaten without thinking. One after another. Like small confirmations. Like steps along a path someone else had ordered him to walk. Adam slapped his belly. Hard. Almost aggressively. The sound echoed through the quiet kitchen, and it hurt a little. His stomach was stretched tight, sensitive, and still full. The blow woke him up, but somehow strengthened him too.

Adam repeated: "Eat."

Jonáš obeyed. Another donut. Another. Another. The bowl slowly emptied. Jonáš's body worked. He started sweating. A shine appeared on his forehead, his breathing deepened, and between bites he let out short puffs of air. His belly stretched tighter and tighter. Heavy, round, pressed against the edge of the table. Sometimes he had to support it with one hand, as if helping it carry another layer. Adam watched him. He knew that feeling too, just in a different form. Jonáš ate, and every bite carried a little shame, a little pleasure, and a little of that old emptiness that food had always filled so easily in their family. Jonáš could see the bottom of the bowl now. Sugar stuck to his fingers. His lips were greasy. In his stomach he felt pressure turning into heavy warmth. Another. Another. Adam remained silent. Jonáš reached for the second-to-last donut and paused. His hand hovered above the bowl. Adam leaned closer to his large ear and calmly, gently ordered: "Finish it."

Jonáš looked at him. His ears were still burning. His eyes held exhaustion, but also something like an admission that this was exactly the boundary he both hated and sought out. He took the donut. Ate it. Then the last one. When the bowl was empty, Jonáš placed both hands on the table and simply breathed for a while. Adam picked up the empty bowl and slid it aside. Jonáš sat motionless. His gut was enormous, stretched tight, warm, and heavy. He could feel every bite. Adam sat across from him.

"So. This is it?"

"What?"

Jonáš looked up.

"When somebody tells you to eat. When you don't have to pretend it was your decision." Adam pointed at the empty bowl.

Jonáš didn't answer. He didn't have to. His face said enough. Adam rested a hand on his own stomach. "I understand that more than I'd like."

The kitchen was quiet. Upstairs, Matúš's snoring echoed. Heavy, uneven, completely unaware of what was happening downstairs. Jonáš leaned back. He had to lift his belly with both hands just to find a more comfortable position. "Do you think we're lost?"

Adam looked at the empty bowl, then at Jonáš. "No."

Adam looked at his brother and, for a moment, stopped seeing a giant man who weighed one hundred fifty-seven kilos. He saw a little boy. Sitting hunched over his belly, heavy, overstuffed, his ears still red, wearing the expression of someone pretending he had everything under control when the opposite was true. A few minutes earlier he'd finished an entire bowl of donuts simply because Adam told him to eat. Now he sat quietly, as if he wasn't looking at an empty bowl but at his own destiny. Adam sighed.

"Tomorrow we're having stuffed peppers. Your favorite." Jonáš looked up. Adam continued: "You need to enjoy it."

Jonáš smiled, but there was fatigue in it too. "I'm afraid I will."

Adam leaned back. His belly pressed against the edge of the table. "How many are you gonna eat?"

Jonáš's expression answered for him.

"Let's go to bed," Adam said.

"Can I sleep in your room?" Jonáš asked quietly.

"And where exactly? We won't fit on the bed." Adam said it jokingly.

Jonáš didn't answer. Adam's smile slowly disappeared. He looked at his brother one more time. At his huge body, his tired face, the shame mixed with the plea. Jonáš didn't want to be alone. That was all.

"But we can try," he added.

The bed in Adam's room seemed big only until two men like them looked at it. They stood beside it for a moment in silence.

"This is gonna be an engineering problem," Adam remarked.

Chapter 18

Fresh out of the barber shop, the brothers walked into Breakfeast. They scanned the café. Adam was sitting at a table by the back window. In front of him was a plate with five real American pancakes, glossy with maple syrup. There was a coffee, a glass of water, and about four empty plates on the table. Some still had traces of mustard on them, others were marked with sweet syrup trails. It was obvious Adam hadn’t been sitting there for just five minutes. When he spotted them, he smiled and said, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Jonáš looked at him suspiciously and remarked, “So this is what you’ve been up to? Stuffing your face in here? I thought you were the sensible one out of all of us.”

Adam gave a slightly sheepish smile and said, “Guess not.”

Then he shrugged and added, “After hearing you guys rave about this place, I stopped by after shopping.”

Tibor had just brought Adam his pancakes. He greeted the twins and immediately noticed their new haircuts. He complimented them and added that he’d been to the barber himself early that morning. Matúš leaned toward him, lightly flicked one of his big protruding ears with a finger, and nodded approvingly. Matúš said, “Perfect. That’s exactly what a handsome man should look like.” Tibor smiled. With the sides of his head freshly shaved, his ears turned slightly red. Jonáš sat down next to Adam, and Matúš took the seat beside him. Their slim pants pressed comfortably against them as they sat, and their half-shirts rode up even higher. Their bellies settled forward, heavy and ready. Tibor explained that they had a special promotion today. It was called Clean Off. Some supplies were approaching their expiration dates, so all day they were serving American pancakes, sausages, eggs, and bread in an all-you-can-eat format. Jonáš asked how it worked. Tibor smiled and replied, “One flat price per belly. You can eat as much as you want.” Matúš looked around and remarked, “But I don’t see a buffet.” Adam cut off a piece of pancake and explained, “The way it works is you finish a serving first, then you get another one.” Matúš already knew the system. He pointed at the empty plates in front of him and added, “I’ve already put away ten sausages. Ten pancakes are already in the belly, and now I’m moving on to another five.” Tibor didn’t even ask questions, and a few moments later he brought each twin ten sausages and ten pancakes as a light appetizer. He set the plates down in front of them with the calm confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

They ate with focus. The sausages disappeared with mustard and bread, the pancakes with butter and maple syrup. Adam finished his pancakes and looked satisfied, though it was obvious he already had plenty in him. Then he stood up.

His belly nearly burst out from under his pink RL half-shirt. He adjusted the belt beneath it, exhaled, and looked at his brothers. “Guys, I’m gonna go get a haircut.” Then he left.

From behind, he looked like a massive man. Powerful legs, tight jeans, a heavy stride. Nobody looking at his back would have guessed he was carrying such a perfectly rounded belly in front of him. His low-rise jeans were clearly his only option at this point, even if they occasionally revealed more than they should when he walked. The twins slowly finished their first round.

Tibor came back and asked, “Still hungry?”

“How much food do you have left?” Matúš wiped his mouth.

“Not a whole lot.” Tibor smiled.

“We’ll help you with that.” Jonáš leaned back and rubbed his belly.

Tibor understood. He pushed the tables together, created a large eating space, and served everything that was left. About forty pancakes, roughly thirty sausages, bread, around thirty sunny-side-up eggs, bowls of mustard, maple syrup, butter, and more coffee. The twins moved to the new table. And they ate.

They ate for a long time. They could feel their chino pants digging deeper and deeper into their waists. Their bellies grew in front of them, heavy, round, and warm from the effort. Matúš was sweating. Jonáš smacked his lips as he ate. Tibor watched them from behind the counter. Eventually, only a few pancakes and five sausages remained. Matúš looked at Jonáš and said, “Could use a little help.” Without a word, Jonáš grabbed the leftovers and finished them. Matúš smiled and remarked, “I meant he could’ve fed us. But fine. You ate it.”

Tibor walked over to the table. He looked at the empty plates, the empty serving dishes, the syrup bottles, and the enormous bellies that now dominated the entire space. “Excellent, gentlemen. Now that’s what I call men in action. Can you still stand up?”

Jonáš leaned against his chair and said, “We’ll see.” Then he grabbed his belly with both hands, lifted it properly, and set it on the table. It landed heavily with a loud smack. Tibor leaned toward him and gently ran a hand across his stomach. Carefully, but without hesitation. Jonáš didn’t move at all. As Tibor bent closer, Jonáš leaned toward his large ear and whispered, “Anything left?”

Tibor paused for a moment and then smiled. Not professionally. Personally.

Chapter 17

Jonáš and Matúš walked into the barbershop. The place was modern, white, clean, and spacious. Two chairs, large mirrors, shelves lined with pomades, bright lighting, the scent of aftershave and freshly washed floors. Both of them had dressed up for the city. They always did. Even though their bodies had long since stopped fitting standard sizes, they still liked good clothes. Today they were wearing slim-fit chinos and their favorite RL polo shirts. The problem was that even XXXL looked ultraslim on them. The fabric stretched tight across their chests and shoulders, but most of all across their bellies. The bottom hem couldn't fully cover either one’s gut. Even so, it worked. The barber stepped out from behind the counter. He was young, friendly, and dark-haired. The barber smiled at them and asked, “So, gentlemen? Who’s up first?” Jonáš raised his hand. The barber glanced at the chair and casually remarked, “Hope you fit.”

Jonáš’s eyes lit up, and a flush of tension spread across his face. It didn’t offend him. Quite the opposite. He squeezed himself into the chair. It wasn’t exactly easy. Matúš sat down on the couch and watched with amusement as Jonáš finally settled in. The barber stepped behind him and looked at him through the mirror.

“Looks like we’re doing a skin fade. A high skin fade,” he said calmly.

Jonáš nodded and said, “I can’t stand hair around my ears.”

The barber laughed and replied, “Ears need room.”

The barber draped a cape over him. For a moment, his entire body and large belly disappeared beneath it, but only in appearance. The cape immediately molded itself around his stomach, rising into a rounded hill and stretching across it so noticeably that Matúš quietly laughed from the couch. Soft music played through the barbershop. The clippers buzzed to life.

Jonáš closed his eyes. It was strangely relaxing. The buzzing around his ears, the gentle passes along the sides of his head, the cool air on freshly shaved skin. In the mirror, he could see the barber working with focus, precision, and very few words. The barber watched him. Every now and then, his gaze drifted to the cape stretched over his belly. When he reached for a comb, his hand brushed the taut fabric. When he leaned for the scissors, he rested against Jonáš’s stomach a little more than necessary. When he switched clipper guards, he briefly steadied himself with a firm hand on the rounded top of the belly beneath the cape. No hesitation. No apology. Jonáš never fully opened his eyes. He just watched the mirror through a narrow squint and felt comfort, pride, and that familiar dangerous calm mixing together inside him. After a while, the barber finished the final lines. He wiped off Jonáš’s neck, cleaned up the detail around his temples, and stepped back.

“All done.”

Jonáš looked in the mirror. With the perfectly clean high skin fade, his ears stood out even more. Large, prominent, exposed. His face looked tougher, more masculine, more defined. The hair around his ears was gone. Jonáš nodded with satisfaction and said, “Exactly like that.”

Then it was Matúš’s turn. An hour and a half later, they walked out of the barbershop. Fresh cuts. Clean. They felt masculine. Stronger. They moved slowly through the city. They passed a storefront window. Matúš glanced at their reflection for a moment and said, “We look good.”

Jonáš nodded and added, “We look big.”

A few blocks later, they caught the smell of coffee and pastries. They slowed down. Their bellies had gone down since yesterday’s French-style potatoes. Not completely. The heaviness was still there, but the hunger was coming back. Slowly, quietly, shamelessly. Exactly as it always did. Matúš smacked Jonáš on the stomach right there on the sidewalk.

“What are you doing?” Jonáš asked, startled.

“We’ll see how much this gut can eat today.” Matúš lowered his voice. “I’ve got a feeling Tibor’s really going to fatten you up.”

Breakfeast was right in front of them. Through the glass, they could see warm light, empty tables, and movement behind the counter. Jonáš was quiet for a moment. Then he adjusted the collar of his polo shirt, which still couldn’t fully cover his belly, and asked, “You coming?”

Chapter 16

Adam and Jonáš stood by the kitchen sink peeling potatoes. A large bowl full of peels was already sitting on the counter, next to it two knives, an old washbasin filled with water, and another sack of potatoes leaning against a cabinet. It was already almost two in the afternoon. Matúš still hadn’t come downstairs. Adam peeled another potato and dropped it into the water. Then he asked, “Still sleeping?”

Jonáš shrugged and said, “After yesterday, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Adam objected, “After yesterday, we got up too.”

A car braked outside. Both of them turned toward the veranda door at the same time. Adam wiped his hands on a dish towel while Jonáš stepped closer to the window. A taxi had pulled up in front of the house. Matúš climbed out with obvious effort. His belly spilled forward in all its exposed glory, glistening with sweat in the sunlight. His shirt was unbuttoned. He was drenched. His face was red, his breathing heavy, and his big protruding ears were burning bright. Adam and Jonáš stood behind the door in silence. Matúš slowly made his way to the veranda. He stopped in front of them, still out of breath, looked at Adam first, then Jonáš. Finally, he said to Jonáš, “How do you manage to eat that much in one sitting?”

Jonáš didn’t move. Matúš rested a hand on his stomach and added, “But I pulled it off too.” At that moment, Jonáš understood. Breakfeast. Matúš had been at the café. Adam looked from one to the other and asked, “What did you have?” Matúš waved a hand as if he didn’t want to open the whole case file and said, “Pancakes.”

But Jonáš already knew enough just from looking at Matúš. From the open shirt. The sweaty forehead. The way his belly hung forward under its own weight and how he kept unconsciously supporting it with one hand. Matúš stepped closer to Jonáš.

“Tibor says hi.”

He leaned toward Jonáš’s large protruding ear and whispered, “We need to go back there soon.”

Adam and Jonáš went back to preparing lunch. Today’s recipe was French potatoes. It wasn’t their favorite meal. It never had been. But it was clearly written in their mother’s cookbook, and they had already decided they were going to work through the entire collection. Not because they loved every dish. Because every dish was part of that strange chain. The potatoes had already been peeled into a large basin. There were a lot of them. Adam sliced up hot dogs and sausage. Beside them he set out eggs, cream, onions, cheese, and large baking dishes. Matúš sat down at the table, still unbuttoned and shiny with sweat.

“Need help?” he asked.

The kitchen settled back into its rhythm. Knife against cutting board. Metal against baking tray. The scrape of a dish sliding across the counter. The quiet hum of the oven. Jonáš poured the first layer of potatoes into a baking dish. Adam added the sausage and hot dogs. Then eggs, cream, salt, and black pepper. Another layer. Then another. The dish filled up, growing heavier and thicker. Jonáš sprinkled in cheese. In the end, two large baking dishes went into the oven. Adam shut the door and set the timer.

Silence settled over the kitchen.

Adam washed his hands, looked at both of them, and said, “We eat in an hour.”

Matúš closed his eyes and said, “Perfect.”

The first aromas of potatoes, sausage, cream, and cheese were already beginning to drift out of the oven.

A little while later, Adam headed to his room. Just a quick nap while the potatoes finished baking. He walked into his room, and within minutes they could hear his legendary snoring. He had fallen asleep.

Only Jonáš and Matúš remained in the kitchen.

Jonáš was wiping down the counter while Matúš sat at the table with his belly resting against it.

Eventually Jonáš couldn’t hold back anymore.

“What was that all about?”

“With what?”

“The café.”

Matúš sighed. He knew that question was coming. Honestly, he’d expected it the moment he walked into the house.

Jonáš leaned against the counter. He looked stern, but there was something else underneath it.

Curiosity. Tension.

“And don’t leave out everything you ate. I’m interested in that too,” Jonáš added.

“Of course.”

Matúš smiled. Then he told him the truth.

“But he offered me something different. Not your Feast,” he said. “I ate pancakes. American pancakes. Fat, sweet pancakes.”

Jonáš leaned closer and asked, “How many?”

“I don’t know. Every time I finished a plate with five on it, he’d take the empty one away and bring another serving. I definitely got through at least eight plates.”

Then Matúš finally asked, “How do you do it? How can you eat that much in one sitting?”

Jonáš smiled. “So you gave yourself away.”

Matúš raised an eyebrow. “How?”

Jonáš shrugged. “By the fact that you struggled with it.” Matúš raised an eyebrow again. Jonáš continued. “I would’ve eaten even more.”

Matúš laughed. “So would I. I just needed a little help.”

Jonáš looked at him. “Help how?” Then it hit him. He smirked sarcastically and said, “Wait. He actually fed you?”

Matúš just smiled and winked. Jonáš froze. “No way.”

Matúš leaned back, rested a hand on his belly, and let it press heavily against the edge of the table as he exhaled.

Then he said, “Believe it.”

An hour later, the table was ready again. Adam was still asleep, so they didn’t wake him until the French potatoes came out of the oven. Evening was already settling outside. The light on the veranda had softened, the yard had grown darker, and the house once again centered itself around food. They served the French potatoes directly onto large dinner plates. Everyone got a generous portion. A big, heavy, creamy serving loaded with baked cheese, sausage, eggs, and cream. Matúš quietly slipped a little extra onto Jonáš’s plate. They sat down on the veranda. They started eating quietly and obediently, as if this was no longer lunch or dinner but simply another step in a family ritual. French potatoes weren’t their favorite meal, but they disappeared from the plates faster than any of them expected.

After a while, Matúš looked at both of his brothers and said, “You guys are getting shaggy.”

Adam looked up from his plate. “Excuse me?”

Matúš pointed at Jonáš’s head, then Adam’s. “That hair around your ears. What’s going on with that? Tibor was freshly shaved today. Absolutely perfect. Clean sides, ears out, everything precise.”

Jonáš nodded almost immediately. “We need to go see the barber.”

Adam ran a hand along the sides of his head. “Tomorrow?”

A few minutes later they were sitting comfortably on the veranda, plates empty, bellies stretched tight and heavy. Even the French potatoes had found their way into their hearts. Each of them felt the pressure, the pleasant exhaustion, and the quiet awareness that another recipe was behind them. Only three of their mother’s meals remained.

Chapter 15

Matúš got up before the others. The house was still asleep. More accurately, the house was snoring. Adam could be heard from one room, Jonáš from another. The heavy, deep, exhausted breathing of men who had eaten more than was reasonable the night before and drunk enough wine that they didn’t wake up like people, but like the consequences of their own decisions.

Matúš quietly walked down the hallway. He peeked into the room where Jonáš was sleeping. He was lying on his side, and next to him sprawled an enormous belly, heavy and still looking as if it were full of yesterday. He looked peaceful. And exhausted. Matúš stood in the doorway for a moment, then quietly closed the door. He went downstairs, got dressed, and left the house. He put on a light gray suit, similar to the one Jonáš had worn before, and a white shirt that he had somehow managed to find still clean. He parked outside Breakfeast Café. He wasn’t there just for breakfast. He wanted to find out what was going on between Tibor and Jonáš. If anything was going on at all. And there was something else too. He liked Tibor himself. Matúš walked inside.

The café was empty. It was still early. He sat down at a table by the window. He hadn’t even had a chance to catch his breath when Tibor came out of the kitchen. Matúš noticed him immediately. Tibor had obviously been to the barber. The sides were completely shaved, a high skin fade as sharp as a knife line, and a short buzz cut on top. His ears practically glowed. Large, prominent, sticking out, even more exposed by the haircut. He looked more masculine than the last time, even though he wasn’t big or muscular. Tibor walked over to the table with a smile and said, “I’m glad you came back.”

Matúš understood immediately. He thought he was Jonáš again. This time, he let him believe it without hesitation. Tibor glanced at his belly, then back at his face, and said, “Looks like your stomach’s back to normal capacity.” Matúš smiled slightly. Normal capacity. If only he knew. He was still full from yesterday’s pirohy. His shirt stretched between the buttons every time he inhaled. Tibor smiled wider and asked, “Same as last time? Or are you trying something different today?” Matúš leaned back as far as the table would allow. “Why don’t you recommend something?”

Tibor grabbed onto that immediately. Not like a waiter reciting a menu. Like someone who had just been given a chance to test a person. He looked at Matúš’s shirt, the strained buttons, the belly resting against the table, then placed his hands on the back of the empty chair across from him. Tibor said, “Okay. Then not the House Feast today. You already know that one,” he continued. “Today I’d give you something slower. Less of a challenge, more of a process. We’ll start with something warm and sweet. American pancakes. And coffee. Strong.” Matúš said, “That sounds good.” He felt his belly shift beneath his shirt. “Let’s do it.” Tibor nodded and asked, “And the shirt?”

Matúš pretended not to understand. “What about it?”

Tibor nodded toward the gaps between the buttons and said, “If it starts getting in the way, feel free to loosen it. The place is still empty.”

Matúš laughed briefly and asked, “Do you say that to everyone?”

Tibor replied, “No. Just you.”

The sound of a frying pan came from the kitchen. Tibor turned around, but stopped by the counter and added, “And by the way, nice suit.” Then he disappeared into the kitchen. Matúš remained seated by the window. He was in an empty café with a man who thought he was Jonáš. And despite that, he felt strangely good. Tibor walked back into the kitchen. On the way, he found himself wondering why Jonáš—or rather, the man he still thought was Jonáš—had seemed slightly caught off guard by the comment about the shirt. After all, he’d said exactly the same thing last time. If it was getting tight, he could just unbutton it. Back then, he’d accepted the suggestion almost immediately. Maybe he forgot. Maybe he was more embarrassed than yesterday. Or maybe he was just having a different kind of morning. Tibor let it go. Some things don’t need to be pushed. They just need room. Meanwhile, Matúš sat by the window and realized he had to be careful. If he wanted to stay in Jonáš’s skin, he couldn’t give himself away. He couldn’t ask too many questions. He couldn’t correct the name. He couldn’t react like someone sitting here for the first time. He had to be Jonáš. In his mind, Jonáš wouldn’t spend much time thinking about food. He wouldn’t analyze Tibor’s looks, track every word, or calculate the risks. He would sit down, let the food arrive, and dig in with that strange calm of someone who already knew his secret.

Tibor brought the coffee. Strong, black, with a small cup of milk on the side. And three plates of American pancakes, each one stacked into a short tower of five thick pancakes covered in maple syrup. Matúš stared at them without saying a word. Tibor wished him a good meal. From behind the counter, Tibor watched him. Matúš finished the first plate and immediately started on the second. The pancakes were sweet and fluffy. The maple syrup gave them exactly the right flavor. Another five disappeared into his belly. He looked gently at the next serving, smiled to himself, and started eating again. At that moment, Tibor brought another plate to the table. He picked up the empty dishes and paused, looking at Matúš’s shirt. At the belly trapped between the buttons. Matúš kept eating. Voraciously. With every chew, his large ears swayed in a steady rhythm. He finished the third serving. He pulled another full plate toward himself. Tibor brought yet another serving. Matúš looked at him.

“As long as you keep eating, the offer stands,” Tibor explained.

Matúš bit into another thick pancake. He’d lost count of how many he’d eaten. He was full. Definitely full. He placed a hand on his belly. He didn’t finish this last plate. He leaned back in the chair. His shirt stretched tight, and strips of skin appeared between the buttons. Slowly, he undid the first button over his stomach. Then the second. Then another. The shirt opened, and his belly immediately relaxed forward. It settled heavily against the edge of the table, and Matúš visibly felt relief. He left it open. There was no point fighting the fabric anymore. Tibor’s huge protruding ears turned red. He tried to stay calm, but his ears gave him away. Large, red, exposed, impossible to miss. Matúš took a sip of coffee. A few drops landed on his exposed belly. Dark specks spread across the stretched skin. That was when he fully realized he was sitting by the window like a display piece. Anyone walking by would see a big guy with his shirt unbuttoned. He didn’t care. He scratched behind one ear. Then behind the other. Finally, he grabbed both ears with his hands and stretched them outward. The large ears flexed and bounced back into place. The familiar feeling calmed him in a strange way.

Tibor stopped by the table and asked, “Everything okay?”

Matúš looked up. He was struggling with a short tower of five pancakes. Something about it clearly didn’t sit right with Tibor. At least not compared to the man he thought Matúš was. Matúš looked at him, smiled, and gave him a thumbs-up. Tibor asked, “Can I help somehow?” The question caught Matúš off guard. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. One absurd answer flashed through his mind—only if you feed me yourself.

He didn’t say it. He didn’t have to. Tibor picked up a fork.

He cut off a generous piece of pancakes glued together with maple syrup and placed it into Matúš’s mouth. Matúš froze. Warmth spread across his face, and his large protruding ears suddenly burned so intensely that he caught them in the reflection of the window. They looked like beacons. Red, large, exposed. He leaned back and let Tibor continue what he had started. Tibor’s ears were now just as red as Matúš’s, though for a different reason. Against the sharply shaved sides of his head, the color practically screamed. He tried to look calm, but he wasn’t entirely succeeding. He stopped. Looked at Matúš more gently than before.

“Can I keep going?”

Matúš didn’t speak. He simply gestured with his hand that he could. Tibor continued. The last bite took the longest. Matúš finished it with his eyes closed.

“How many plates did I actually have?” he asked.

Tibor only smiled and carried the plate away.

Matúš tried to stand. He got up awkwardly. His shirt hung open at the sides, his jacket spread apart, and his belly sagged lower under its own weight than before. Matúš paid. For a moment, silence settled between them.

“Come back again.”

Matúš nodded.

“And bring Jonáš.”

Matúš stopped. Looked at him. Tibor only smiled faintly. Calmly. As if he wanted him to know the game had ended a long time ago. Matúš smiled too.

“So you knew.”

“For a while.”

“And you let me keep going?”

“You let me,” Tibor shot back.

Matúš rested his hands on his belly and laughed briefly. Tibor handed him the receipt and said, “Tell him I said hi.”

Matúš nodded.

Chapter 14

Adam was still in bed. More specifically, in Jonáš's bed. He didn't realize it at first. Only after he opened his eyes and recognized the old wardrobe against the wall, the low ceiling, and the poster Jonáš had left there back in his teenage years. The room was filled with muted light. Not morning light. More like late-afternoon light. They'd done it yesterday. That was his first thought. Recklessly. Unhealthily. Undignified. But they did it. Adam couldn't remember exactly how many each of them had eaten. After the fourth serving, they'd stopped counting. But everyone had put away at least seventy pirohy. Jonáš definitely ate more. That much was obvious even without numbers. Adam's head throbbed a little. The wine. It had relaxed him. Finally. He wasn't just the older brother who controlled everything, counted everything, compared everything, and lectured everyone. He was there with them. With his younger brothers. With the twins he'd missed for years more than he'd ever allowed himself to admit. And he was glad they were here. He closed his eyes, and Jonáš came back to him again. Jonáš after the last plum-filled pirohy. Shirt unbuttoned, sweaty, drunk, head tilted back, enormous belly completely spread across the table. He couldn't stand up. Couldn't even pretend he could. They had to help him. Which was funny, because neither Adam nor Matúš were doing much better. They were struggling themselves. Adam remembered standing up, grabbing the table, and just standing there for a few seconds so he wouldn't get dizzy. He remembered carefully getting his arms under Jonáš so Jonáš could at least get into a position where he could look for his balance. Jonáš's belly was heavy, warm, and stretched tight from everything he'd eaten. Adam could feel the weight of it in his arms, all while being painfully aware of his own belly getting in the way every time he bent forward. Matúš was supporting Jonáš from behind by the shoulders.

Getting Jonáš through the doorway into Adam's room was a whole story by itself. First he got stuck sideways. Then by his belly. Then all of them laughed so hard they nearly collapsed onto the floor. Eventually they got him inside, laid him on the bed, and Jonáš fell asleep almost immediately. Like an overloaded system that had finally shut down.

Adam ended up in Jonáš's room afterward. How exactly he'd made it up fifteen stairs, he had no idea. He only remembered the railing and his heavy legs.

Adam rolled onto his side. It wasn't easy. His belly got in the way, pulling him forward and pressing against his diaphragm. He gave up and rolled back onto his back. His breathing was heavier. Not dramatically. Just with the awareness that his body was bigger than it had been a few days ago, and after all those pirohy, there was no ignoring it. He lay there with one hand resting on his stomach.

It was firm. Heavy. Still full. He thought about what was really happening. Their father's inheritance was supposed to test them. Seven days. Seven meals. One house. Maybe their father had hoped they'd argue and finally say the things they'd been holding inside. Maybe he'd hoped they'd sit at the same table and spend time together. Maybe he had no idea what he was setting in motion. But Adam was starting to feel more and more that food was what connected them. He thought back to the evening again. Matúš and Jonáš rubbing his belly.

At first it caught him off guard. Then it made him laugh. Then it relaxed him. Maybe he was drunk, but for the first time he didn't feel like someone who had to explain or apologize for his body. He belonged there with them. Big like them. Round-bellied like them. Ridiculous like them.

He stared at the ceiling. How much did he even weigh now? Adam heard someone in the kitchen. First a faint cabinet door closing. Then the quiet scrape of a chair. Adam slowly sat up on the edge of the bed. His head was still pulsing from the wine, and his belly hung over the waistband of his boxers. He stood up. Fifteen stairs down. Every step made his belly sway, and every breath reminded him that two hundred ten pirohy wasn't a metaphor. It was an event.

He walked into the kitchen, stopped in the doorway, and asked, "How did you even manage to get up?"

"I don't know," Jonáš said.

Adam smiled and walked over to him. He stopped right in front of him, carefully lifted his belly with both hands, and gave it a small bounce, as if checking the weight of an object that had become a shared family project yesterday.

"Getting you and your little buddy up was quite a workout."

Adam let go of his belly.

Jonáš stood across from Adam at the island and rested his own belly on the countertop. He exhaled in relief. "This counter is one good thing about this house. Yesterday was epic," he continued. "I know the whole thing sounds insane. But when I was finishing those last plum-filled pirohy..."

He stopped, searching for the right words, and finally said it without any defenses. "It was a food orgasm." Adam looked at him.

"I keep thinking about it. About finishing them. About there being nothing left. About the way you guys were looking at me. About feeling like if there'd been anything else there, I probably would've tried that too."

Adam held his mug with both hands. "Do you know how many you ate?" Adam asked. Jonáš shook his head. Both of them looked toward their mother's recipe book. Jonáš nodded toward it and asked, "So what's on the menu today?"

Adam opened the recipe book, but before he started reading, Jonáš looked down at Adam's belly. Adam was still leaning it against the island. His midsection was obviously bigger than it had been at the beginning of the week. "You're definitely bigger than you were three days ago too," he remarked.

Adam looked down. And then he remembered. The scale. He'd wanted to weigh himself that morning. He set down his mug and walked to the bathroom without a word.

Jonáš stayed at the island and listened. At first there was silence. Then the brief creak of the scale. Finally, Adam swore.

It wasn't angry. More surprised. A little amused. The kind of reaction you have when you get exactly what you expected, but it still hits you anyway.

Jonáš leaned toward the bathroom and called out, "So? How much?"

Adam came back into the kitchen slowly. He looked calm, but there was something in his eyes somewhere between shock and respect. He stopped across from Jonáš, rested his belly against the island again, and picked up his coffee mug. "Well. I'm catching up to you."

Jonáš raised an eyebrow. "That's a weak answer."

Adam took a sip. "One hundred thirty-eight."

Jonáš placed a hand on his own belly. He settled it more comfortably against the counter. "You're making good progress."

Adam looked at him. "That wasn't supposed to be a compliment."

Jonáš said, "Sure sounded like one."

Adam rubbed a hand across his face. "And are you sure how much you weigh?"

Jonáš fell silent. He looked toward the bathroom. "No."

Chapter 13

The veranda was ready. A white tablecloth lay smooth across the round table, almost ceremonial. On top of it sat large dinner plates, silverware, wine glasses, napkins, and a small vase with a branch from the yard. It wasn’t perfect, but it had atmosphere. Exactly the kind Matúš had imagined when he said they needed to dress up for this. Adam carried three large pots over to a side table. Steam rose from each one. Bryndza. Meat. Plum jam. Three kinds of pirohy. Three pots. Two hundred and ten pieces. A week’s worth of food now sitting on the veranda as lunch for three men. Jonáš and Matúš poured the wine. Adam gave the table one last check. Everything was compact, everything within reach. The pots off to the side, plates ready, sauces, butter, onions, bacon, and sour cream all close at hand. The round table had been a good idea. Nobody had to get up too often. Nobody had to reach across half the veranda. At their size, even things like that mattered.

They were still standing. Each holding a wine glass. Adam wore a light blue suit. Matúš and Jonáš stood across from him in light gray suits with a subtle metallic sheen. Their white dress shirts were brand new, but they were already losing the battle. Jonáš had the lower buttons undone from his belly button down. After his morning struggle, Matúš was relying only on the buttons that had survived. They raised a toast before lunch. When they stepped closer to clink glasses, their large bellies touched each other before the glass did. Adam looked down and said, “Excellent. The bellies kissed before the wine did.” Matúš burst out laughing, making his glass shake slightly in his hand. Then he said, “That’s our new toast.” Jonáš smiled, but he didn’t step back right away. That brief contact between them had a strange physical honesty to it. There was nowhere to hide. Not in those shirts. Not at this table. Not in this house. Then Matúš looked at Adam’s shirt and said, “We’ll see how long your buttons hold out.”

Adam opened the first pot. Steam rose up and spread between them. The bryndza pirohy glistened with butter and onions. Adam set the serving ladle next to the pots and said, “Everybody takes as much as they want.”

Matúš looked at him and said, “That’s a bold statement.”

Adam calmly replied, “This is a proper lunch. Not a competition. We’re wearing suits.”

Jonáš nodded slowly, but his eyes had already moved across all three pots. Three options. Three temptations. Three challenges. Matúš served himself first. A plate piled high with bryndza pirohy. Jonáš started serving himself after him. Slowly, almost ceremonially. Adam noticed he was taking more than he’d call reasonable, but less than he would’ve expected from Jonáš. Maybe that was a good sign. Or maybe it was just the first round. Adam served himself last. Once all their plates were full, the veranda grew quiet for a moment. The wine sat in their glasses. The tablecloth was still clean. The pirohy steamed. Their suits were still holding together. Their bellies rested against their own spots at the table. And the house around them felt like it was watching to see what they would do. Matúš picked up his silverware and said, “All right then. Properly.” Adam nodded. Jonáš looked at his plate, then at his brothers, and repeated, “Properly.”

The first pirohy disappeared in silence. They ate plate after plate. At first, they ate with dignity. White tablecloth. Wine. Silverware. Suits. Slow first bites. The bryndza pirohy were soft, heavy, and rich with butter. The onions clung to the dough, the sour cream spread across the plates, and each of them initially made an effort to eat like someone sitting at a formal lunch. Then things started to change. Eating wasn’t the problem. The problem was getting up and serving more. By the second plate, all three understood that. Their bellies started pressing into the edge of the table, their shirts stretched tighter, and their chairs protested every movement. They agreed to take turns. One would stand up, serve everybody, sit back down, and the meal would continue. By the third plate, they were already feeling the pressure. Each of them had at least thirty pirohy inside him. They felt that familiar growing resistance from the body as food settled deeper, stomachs expanded, and every breath became slower. Adam felt it beneath his shirt. Matúš felt it in the waistband of his pants. Jonáš felt it directly in his belly, which was leaning harder and harder against the table.

Adam stood and served his brothers a generous fourth plate. Matúš immediately dug in. Jonáš held his fork for a moment, as if checking in with his own body. He still hadn’t hit that magic threshold. He was full, but not there. Not at that point where something inside him flipped. Adam sat back down. At that exact moment, his first button flew off. A small white dot tore free from the shirt, shot across the table, and landed somewhere between the glasses. All three fell silent. Adam looked at his shirt for a moment, then at his plate. He reached for his fork, took a serious bite, and put it in his mouth. Bryndza remained on his lips. Matúš and Jonáš watched him. Neither said anything right away. It was obvious they liked the way he was committing to it. The older brother who had counted the pirohy that morning as a warning now sat there with a stretched shirt, his first missing button, and bryndza on his mouth.

Jonáš smiled and said, “If you want to finish that serving, you’re going to have to loosen your shirt.”

Adam swallowed and replied, “First I finish eating.”

Everything settled into their bellies. The plates were empty, but the pots were still full. Only the bryndza pirohy were finally starting to run low. It was Matúš’s turn. When he stood up, he pushed his belly forward to peel himself away from the table. A short snap followed. Another button. Adam leaned back and made a decision. “What do we need shirts for? Let’s unbutton them.”

They opened them up. One after another. Buttons gave way, fabric parted, and all three immediately felt relief. Their bellies seemed to spring forward toward the table. Suddenly there was nothing left to hide. The shirts hung open at the sides, the suit jackets framed their massive bodies, and their huge stomachs finally stopped pressing against the fabric. Matúš served everyone another helping of meat pirohy. They were denser, greasier, heavier. Juices ran over the dumplings, over the forks, over their fingers. They washed them down with wine. The grease stayed on their lips. Adam wiped it away with a napkin. Matúš used his hand. Jonáš left it there for a while. Another serving. Then another. They had stopped counting. Jonáš served both himself and Matúš. Matúš leaned toward him, pointed at his plate, and said, “Give yourself more. You can handle it.” Adam smiled and nodded. Jonáš obeyed. He served himself more. Matúš winked at him. Jonáš felt that brief internal jolt again. His brothers were watching him, waiting, expecting him to handle more. Another serving vanished into their bellies. Adam added the last of the meat pirohy to Jonáš’s plate. About six extra pieces. Jonáš protested a little.

Adam looked at him sternly and said, “You’re not getting up from this table until you eat that.”

Jonáš smiled slowly and replied, “I’m really not.”

His belly rested heavily in front of him, pressed against the table, full and still growing with every bite. He needed a break. They all needed a break.

They sat there with their shirts open, breathing heavily, wine glasses in hand. The third bottle was already gone, and the mood had changed. They were slower, louder, more honest. Matúš laughed longer. Adam spoke less carefully. And Jonáš had that strange shine in his eyes that Adam already recognized. Adam brought over another bottle of wine. He was a little drunk now. Not enough to lose his words. Just enough to stop pretending he had everything under control. He set the bottle on the table and said, “Now we finish the plum jam ones. That’s dessert.” Jonáš’s eyes lit up. Matúš stood up heavily, almost unwillingly. When he bent toward the pot, his enormous belly knocked over a wine glass. Red liquid spilled across the tablecloth like the aftermath of a minor accident. Nobody cared. Matúš served more portions. Plum jam pirohy. Sweet, soft, shiny with butter, dusted with a little sugar. He definitely gave Jonáš a few extra. The guys kept eating. Their stomachs were already full, but the plum jam still found room. They finished. None of them could move. Eventually Matúš stood and looked into the pots. There were still some plum jam pirohy left. Not many. Maybe seven. Maybe eight. Matúš scraped all of them onto one plate. Then set it in front of Jonáš.

Matúš said, “You’re not getting up until you eat those.”

Jonáš picked up his fork. He started on the last pirohy. He felt euphoric. It mixed with exhaustion, wine, pressure in his stomach, and the feeling that his body had become the center of the entire lunch. Every bite pushed him further. He was so full it was hard to sit, yet a question appeared in his mind that scared him more than all the food before him. What if he could still handle more? The thought opened up inside him like another room. One piroh after another disappeared. Matúš watched him with tense satisfaction. Adam stayed silent, glass in hand, shirt open, his own belly heavily spilled out in front of him. Jonáš ate another one. Then another. One final plum jam piroh remained on the plate. Jonáš paused for a moment. His belly was tight, huge, round, and every breath made it grow a little more. He rested a hand on it. Matúš leaned forward and said, “The king finishes the last one.”

Chapter 13

Adam and Matúš went to their rooms. Jonáš headed to the bathroom. He walked in and stood in front of the mirror. His face looked hard, damp, still a little sleepy. He ran a hand over his head and frowned. He hated it when hair started growing around his ears. It ruined the shape immediately. Big protruding ears needed space. They needed to stay clean. Jonáš ran his palm along the side of his head and quietly said, “Time for a barber.” Then he went back to his room.

Adam started getting dressed. He picked out the light blue suit he had bought last summer. Back then, it still fit. Not comfortably, but it fit. Now he buttoned the pants underneath his belly and had to take shallow breaths just to make the fabric cooperate. He got them closed. Barely. Far too barely. But they were closed. He put on the jacket too. Buttoning it wasn't even an option. Not a chance. Adam looked at himself in the mirror and just shrugged. It was fine. The suit still created a silhouette. Broad shoulders, massive arms, a hard face. Then he pulled out a dress shirt. He had bought it a month ago. XXXL. It should have been okay. It wasn't. He put it on, slid his arms into the sleeves, and started buttoning it up. The upper buttons went on easily. The chest was still manageable. The problem started lower down. Once the shirt reached his stomach, he had to pull the fabric together with both hands. Button by button. Every single one felt like a small test of patience. Eventually, he got it closed. Barely. The moment he sat on the bed, the fabric tightened immediately. The gaps between the buttons opened into narrow ovals, and the skin of his stomach showed through. The buttons held, but they didn't look very convincing. Adam patted his belly and told it, “Today you've got to survive lunch. Today I'm going to eat.”

In the room next door, the twins were getting dressed. They pulled out light gray suits with a subtle metallic finish. They weren't fully formal, but they had enough shine to feel special. The fabric caught the light softly and emphasized their massive builds. Matúš started wrestling with a new shirt. Unworn. Crisp. White. He fastened the last buttons over his stomach more through willpower than technique. The pants were tight, but exactly the kind of tightness he liked. Slim fit. He stubbornly believed slim fit still meant style, not denial of reality. The jacket was worse. That had stopped serving as something you buttoned. Now it was just for the outline.

Matúš stood in front of the mirror. He couldn't even see his whole body in it. He had to step back. He placed both hands on his stomach, weighed it in his palms, and smiled with satisfaction. “One day you'll be like this.” Then he called for Jonáš.

Jonáš came into his room, and the sight of him was ridiculous. Matúš stood there in pants that were too tight, an unbuttoned jacket, and a shirt fighting for every inch. Jonáš wasn't doing any better. His pants were unbuttoned, his shirt stretched over his stomach, and he wore the expression of a man who had already realized he couldn't do it alone. Jonáš stood against the wall and said, “Please button me up.”

Jonáš leaned his back against the wall. Matúš stepped in front of him, grabbed the edges of the shirt, and started pulling them together. It wasn't gentle. It was more like mechanical work. The shirt was new, so the buttons still had a chance of surviving. Matúš fastened them one by one, with pressure, deep breaths, and short pauses whenever Jonáš had to hold his breath.

“Matúško, a little gentleness, please,” groaned Jonáš.

“Well, gentler isn't possible when you've got a belly like a barrel,” Matúš teased him.

Eventually, they managed to button most of it. From the navel down, though, the shirt and buttons gave up. Jonáš stood against the wall, the shirt stretched across his enormous stomach, the lower buttons open, his pants barely closed. Matúš helped him pull on the jacket. During the movement, however, his own shirt rebelled. His stomach pushed forward, the fabric snapped under tension, and two buttons shot off somewhere toward the bed.

For a second, there was silence.

Then both of them started laughing.

Matúš looked down at his shirt. The middle still held. The bottom didn't. His stomach was pushing out. Matúš waved it off and said, “It's fine. I don't expect we'll stay buttoned up like this for very long.”

They liked suits. Not because they made them look slimmer. That had stopped being true a long time ago. They liked them because they gave them structure. A jacket emphasized the shoulders. A shirt lifted the chest. Pants held the posture together. And within all of that, their huge stomachs didn't look like an accident. They looked like a statement.

Today they weren't going out among strangers. Today was family. And that was exactly why they wanted to dress up.

Matúš stood next to Jonáš in front of the mirror. Two thirty-five-year-old brothers. Twins. The same hard faces, large protruding ears, short hair, broad shoulders. And two stomachs that could no longer be ignored, even in the best suit.

Matúš placed a hand on Jonáš's belly and said:

“I promised you'd be the biggest-bellied one out of all of us. By now you have to be at least one hundred fifty-three centimeters.”

Jonáš looked at him and asked, “Around the waist?”

Matúš nodded and said, “Where else?”

Jonáš lowered his gaze to his stomach. The shirt strained across it, the open lower buttons exposed skin, and the jacket merely framed all that weight. He smiled.

Adam's voice came from the hallway. “You guys ready?”

Matúš shouted back, “Almost. Just finishing the structural engineering.”

Adam appeared in the doorway wearing his light blue suit. He looked at them. Then at the buttons lying by the bed. Then at their stomachs. Adam nodded with approval and said, “Excellent.” Jonáš adjusted his collar. Matúš smoothed out his jacket. Adam turned toward the stairs. Downstairs, a table was already set. A white tablecloth.

Chapter 11

Matúš walked over to the wooden railing and automatically rested his belly against it. He realized it was exactly the right height. Not too low, not too high. His gut settled comfortably on the top rail, and part of its weight seemed to transfer into the wood. Matúš let out a satisfied breath and said, "Now this is quality architecture."

Jonáš turned away from the yard and looked at him. Matúš stood in the sunlight, his belly pressed against the railing, wearing a short T-shirt rolled up above his waist, his face relaxed after coffee and breakfast. The light hit him from the side, straight across his head.

And his ears.

Those big protruding ears were practically glowing in the sun. The skin was lightly red, the edges lit up and vivid, as if someone had traced them with warm light. Jonáš stared at him and started laughing.

Matúš frowned and asked, "What?"

Jonáš pointed at his head and said, "Right now you look like the patron saint of people with big ears."

Matúš touched one ear and asked, "Here you go again?"

Jonáš calmly said, "No. I'm just saying they're glowing."

Matúš turned slightly and looked into the glass door, where his reflection showed faintly. His ears really did stick out noticeably, and in the morning light they looked even bigger than usual. Years ago, it would've bothered him. Now he just smiled.

"You know what? We really went through a lot because of these when we were kids." Jonáš went quiet.

Those ears had been with them from the beginning. Back in elementary school, they got called everything from Dumbo to elephant ears. Teachers pretended not to hear it, classmates laughed, and they learned either to fight back or act like they didn't care. Matúš usually fought back. Jonáš stayed quiet. Adam once told them that if they were ashamed of it, everyone else would notice even more. Back then, they didn't believe him.

Jonáš quietly said, "I hated them."

Matúš looked at him and said, "Me too. Especially when Mom gave us short haircuts." Jonáš laughed through his nose.

"That was an execution."

Matúš added, "And Dad still said at least we looked like men."

Jonáš dryly remarked, "Dad had a strange idea of what support looked like."

Matúš ran his fingers over his ear again. It wasn't a gesture of embarrassment. More like checking something that, over the years, had changed from a curse into a trademark. Slowly, Matúš said, "But now it's our signature." Jonáš looked at him. Matúš continued, "Look at us. Three guys. Same blood. Same ears. Same hard expression whenever we're trying to pretend we've got everything under control. And the same problem of not fitting our bodies into the spaces we had left over from childhood."

Jonáš leaned against a porch post and said, "You're a philosopher today."

Matúš replied, "No. I'm just full."

Jonáš asked, "For you, is that the same thing?"

Matúš nodded. "Pretty often."

Both of them laughed. Matúš rested both hands on the railing and left his belly lying on the wood. He looked content. Big, heavy, leaning against the old house. Jonáš watched him for a moment. "Tibor has ears like that too."

Matúš turned toward him and asked, "The guy from Breakfast? I know. I complimented him on them." Jonáš raised an eyebrow. "You did what?"

"I complimented his ears."

"Why?"

Matúš shrugged. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

A pot lid clattered in the kitchen, followed by Adam quietly cursing. The water had probably started boiling. Matúš looked inside and said, "Then I guess we should start with the fact that there are more pierogi in there than common sense." Jonáš smiled.

"Everybody knows that."

Matúš replied, "No. Adam calls it tradition."

For a while, they just stood there side by side. Matúš patted the belly resting on the railing again and said, "But this railing really is good." Jonáš laughed. "Just don't break it."

Matúš laughed at first, then pushed himself off the railing and walked over. He wasn't in a hurry. His own belly shifted heavily forward as he moved, his shirt riding up again, while the sun still shone through his large protruding ears. He stopped right in front of Jonáš. For a moment, he sized him up. The belly. The posture. The face. That strange contentment Jonáš always carried whenever he thought nobody could see it. Then he gave his belly a solid smack.

The sound was full, deep, and soft. Jonáš's large belly rippled heavily beneath the palm, and he simply exhaled, more surprised than offended. Matúš grinned. "You be careful. You're the fattest one here."

Jonáš looked at him. Matúš rested his hand on his belly again, this time more gently, like a brother. "And I'll make sure it stays that way."

Jonáš laughed, but the smile lingered on his face with an oddly serious edge to it. He wasn't sure whether it was a provocation, a promise, or a trap. With Matúš, it was often all three at once.

Another pot lid clattered in the kitchen, followed by Adam quietly cursing. The water had probably started boiling. Matúš turned toward the house and said, "Come on, king of the bellies. Tradition's waiting."

Jonáš placed a hand where Matúš had smacked him. He could still feel his belly there. It didn't hurt. It was more like a reminder that his secret wasn't entirely his anymore.

He looked toward the kitchen door. Matúš was already walking inside. Jonáš remained on the porch for another moment. The old house was still standing. The railing was still holding. The question was whether they would too. Then Adam's voice came from the kitchen behind them.

"If you're philosophizing about life, you'd better come throw pierogi into the water."

Adam made lunch. The pierogi were done. He had boiled them in batches, lifting them out with a slotted spoon, transferring them into large containers, and coating each layer with butter so they wouldn't stick together. By the end, three large pots full of pierogi stood on the counter. Adam stared at them with his hands on his hips, wearing the expression of a man who had just realized the consequences of his own decisions. Quietly, he said, "Two hundred ten." He couldn't help it. He'd counted them while cooking.

Matúš's voice came from the hallway. "How many?"

Adam closed his eyes. He shouldn't have said it out loud.

Matúš walked into the kitchen with Jonáš behind him. Both of them looked at the three pots. Then at Adam. Then back at the pots. Jonáš said nothing. Matúš smiled. "This isn't lunch anymore. It's a school cafeteria."

"We're eating on the porch," Adam said.

Matúš raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Adam answered, "Because I need air."

Jonáš nodded. That made sense. The kitchen was hot and humid. Outside there was sunshine, open space, and at least the illusion of normalcy. Adam pointed toward the porch.

"Set the table."

Matúš looked offended. "Us?"

"Yes. I made two hundred ten pierogi. You two can handle a tablecloth." That was an argument nobody could politely argue against.