A/N: This story is currently undergoing various corrections and restructuring in grammar, syntax, etc.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything remotely profitable/cool of Hetalia, that honor belongs to Mr. Hidekaz Himaruya, who is responsible for blessing this world with the magic of personified nations that make learning history a bit more fun, and far more funny. I also do not own any of the pop cultural references, or the reference later to the lovely Rowling's Harry Potter series.
I own only the mochi created specifically for this story, that little cutie's definitely worth keeping!
It was a warm, slightly muggy day in Osaka, Japan, and the national human personification of the nation itself was busy examining his country's economic status through a tour of the Japanese packaged food industry. Japan had been meaning to examine the working and economic conditions of his country's factories for a while now, but the vast amounts of paperwork (which he privately agreed with Germany were a necessary evil) and his own troubles with recovering from last year's unfortunate series of natural disasters (Japan still got the occasional dizzy spell from the aftereffects of that damn earthquake, and his onsens seemed far more intimidating now after that tsunami...) had kept him from making any visits.
However, this year's newest World Meeting was to be hosted at Japan's country, and in addition to ensuring his house was "spick and span" at least twice over, all possible hurtful or valuable objects moved to temporary storage to prevent any Italian-related accidents (He liked Italy, he truly did, but there was only so many times one could trip and break precious porcelain pottery), and checking that there was plenty of extra rooms for the countries too lazy to fly back home afterwards, he had been put in charge of providing refreshments for his guests. At Italy's...energetic request, some of his land's best known sweets were to be put on display, including "Wagashi" (traditional dessert his people often served with tea, especially those made of mochi, azuki bean paste, and fruits.), "KakigÅri" (a shaved ice dessert flavored with syrup and condensed milk.), and, at America's insistence, at least a half-dozen types of mochi (Japan's quietly personal favorite for the meeting selections, as the multiple flavor offerings would keep most nations happy and well-supplied with sugar-sweet deliciousness.).
Japan, being a modest and early-to-prepare nation, had agreed to the mochi request as he stocked up on the rest of the desserts; after all, it wasn't in his social policy to refuse others something, especially if it was easy to acquire, and he didn't want America and Italy becoming upset at the lack of mochi and giving poor Germany yet another headache to deal with. It would merely cause even more disorganization and chaos amongst the nations.
Then again, Japan hadn't quite understood at first that America, being his usual all-encompassing, madly curious self, had wanted to personally see where his requested treat was made. As Japan was too polite, he could only nod his head when America had come up to his house earlier that morning, blue eyes like a puppy begging for a treat as he asked cheerfully if "Since, I heard about these mochi things from Italy and they sounded cool enough to try, could you could supply us hungry nations with awesome, yummy mochis to snack on; I mean, we need SOMETHING to occupy ourselves with while Germany's being all boring! Plus, I wanna see where the mochi things are made. Take me to the mochi-making place, 'kay, Japan?"
Being too tired at his early awakening, Japan had only been half-awake and thus couldn't form full coherency enough to attempt to refuse and reschedule a time to discuss refreshments at a saner hour. And so Japan, being too polite to refuse, was now bound by verbal agreement to not only supply the mochis, but also take America with him to a mochi processing-and-packaging factory. The poor Asian country could only sigh and, as his friend England would say, "Belt up and get it over with already."
Taking America to a mochi factory, as Japan looked back on it, was probably not a good idea if he had wanted to factory to still be able to be worked in. He had to deal with America's complaints of the summer heat and bugs, the crowded bus with it's hard plastic seats and handles slippery with perspiration from countless citizens' sweaty grips, and the loud, tinny wail of the bus engine (which had given him a slight headache) as they travelled along the rails and roads towards the southern half of his country...and then they had finally arrived. Taking America with him inside the mercifully air-conditioned factory, he had shown their identification and then opened the doors to lead inside one of the mochi conveyor belts, where the wide-eyed visiting nation could see the long belts and metal chutes crammed with brightly packaged boxes of mochi, all in various states of wrapping, unwrapping, being put into boxes, being checked for any deformations, dusted with powdered sugars and sprinkled with shredded coconuts...
It wasn't so bad at first, he reflected: America had actually been rather polite, happily firing off questions about mochi flavors, shapes, and sizes ("Can you get me a hero-sized one, Japan? And can it be hamburger-flavored? Please, please, PLLLEEEAAASSSEE? "), production rate ("How the heck do you guys work so fast, man? Japan, are your people, like, superhuman android machines that live off coffee and ramen or something?"), and even the economic profits of this portion of the Japanese dessert business ("So, how much dough could be made off making these things? I mean, they ARE delicious, they must sell like crazy...").
And then America had to fill his daily "I'm-heroic-enough-to-do-stupid-things" quota...
It had honestly been an accident, that much he knew. But Japan HAD warned the bespectacled nation to stay away from the mixing vat holding the newest batch of freshly made mochi paste. America, however, refused to listen to his warnings of personal safety, claiming "Don't worry, Japan! It'd be too unheroic for me to die by falling into a mochi mixing vat? I, mean, REALLY? Death by mochi paste sounds WAY too dumb!" So the island nation was forced to follow him over to the vat, where he discovered that America (in spite of all regards towards personal safety), was leaning dangerously far over the vat, peering into the gooey white mixture slowly churning away below. With a mad grin on his face, America had leaned in even farther in order to get a closer look at the mochi paste. With a cry of horror, Japan threw his "personal-space" (Meaning I'm not going to touch you unnecessarily) policy to the proverbial winds and grabbed hold of his friend's hand, yanking him back away from the vat.
Unfortunately, America had taken this to mean that Japan wanted him to move over so he could see too, and so he'd pulled the island nation hard toward him, causing Japan to crash into him and make the resulting weight imbalance cause them to fall into the mixing vat. The mixing beater gave a great shudder and groan; the paste bubbled madly as the two sank.
The workers, shocked by what they'd seen, frantically began calling for help, hurriedly shutting off the machines as several of their bolder members began lowering themselves inside to search for the (hopefully) unscrambled nations. But this all stopped as a sudden rumbling came from the vat, then...
BOOM. A harsh shriek of malfunctioning machinery caused the workers to cover their ears and run to the relative safety behind the conveyor belts as the vat's contents exploded violently in a huge splattering of thick whitish-grey paste mix, splashing the walls, the floor, the other machines and windows...not even the workers were spared a soaking, and soon everything in the cavernous room was covered head-to-toe in what could only be described as "white, sticky, goop." The whole place, and the mochi, was ruined.
All of a sudden, there came a loud, slightly obnoxious laugh from the smoking remnants of the mixing vat. "Hahahahahaha! That. Was. AWESOME! Hey Japan, don't make that upset face at me, I didn't do TOO much damage to this place!" The workers peering out from behind their defenses to see two white paste-covered figures walking out of the mixing vat, the taller one supporting the other.
Still, the damage was considered even worse once everyone had gotten outside to assess their physical conditions: not only was everyone now left underpaid or having to take medical leave (the factory's equipment replacement or repairs cost would have to be taken out of their wages, and the explosion had caused several of the nearest workers moderate injuries to their ankles and arms), but the mochi produced had been destroyed. And on top of it all, Japan also had to deal with a complaining, goo-spattered America who was bewilderedly repeating "I didn't think I was THAT bad..." as he tried to explain to the gathered workers.'No, this is certainly not my good day', he thought sadly.
Unbeknownst to Japan, the factory explosion DID make one good thing...one of the few mochi trays that had survived the blast had been hit with a large glob of the "contaminated" mochi paste, the paste which had pulled free several of America's pale gold hairs during the explosion. The paste and hair, still hot from the blast, bubbled and frothed over the half-full mochi tray, mixing and melting into a single wad of soft, grayish white paste about the size of two full packs of playing cards stacked together.
The wad's acquired pieces of hair twisted together, thickening, curving slightly into the familiar shape of the island Nantucket. And as the DNA from the hair assimilated into the jelly-soft, porous paste, the mochi changed further: two slender pieces of hair dropped down from the 'ahoge' (cowlick/Nantucket), falling into place as "eyebrows" over soft indents in the shape of a pair of (almost comically) sweetly large eyes, which thickened over slightly, giving the appearance of eyelids. Eyelids which opened to reveal eyes blue as the sky...which then looked downwards to discover...Alas! No mouth! The almost face looked comically upset at this, eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing in apparent frustration as the mochi gave off a sudden look of intense concentration (If this is too much to comprehend, think Germany when he's trying to understand Italy's babblings of pasta~). This paid off, in the form of a thin slit in the middle of the mochi's 'face', which opened slowly wide to reveal a little round cartoon-like mouth, complete with a small strawberry-pink tongue and little white rows of perfect teeth. The mochi tested its newest facial addition by cooing, which delighted it, leading to purring.
(Not to insult anyone possibly reading this, but if you can't picture this, think of drawings of Mochimerica. but with bigger eyes, no glasses, and about 3 sizes smaller. And less obnoxious than the human America.)
Suddenly, there was a great groaning from the ruined vat, and the mochi blinked in alarm, letting out a squeak of fear as it moved away. Or rather, tried to: the poor thing, still getting used to being actually alive and with a sort of body, had been so busy celebrating by purring that it hadn't considered actually trying to move off its tray. That is, until now. With a determination that would make its DNA donator proud, the little Japanese pastry began to hop away, thankfully clearing the vat just before more paste started to fall in huge, heavy gobs.
Slowly, the mochi managed to find its way out of the room, hopping along through the factory as it tried to get out of its ruined birthplace. The shadows scared it, the groans and slimy stuff in the factory room scared it, and it just wanted to get out and find the warm thing outside that just barely filtered through the upper windows, what was that thing...oh right, the sun. The mochi slowly was getting bits and pieces of thought-memories (memory fragments that lacked an actual picture, but had 1 or more of the other senses), and so it knew that it needed to leave this place and find somewhere warm and well-lit so it could see properly, and maybe even figure out a heroic plan of what to do next.
Would the outside world be big and loud and scary? You bet. Full of strange people and dogs that might eat it and cars that might run it over? Of course. But the little mochi was so determined to get outside that it didn't care.
'After all', the mochi thought (yes, the mochi does have some basic insides like brains, otherwise if food was put in its mouth where would it go?), 'I'm American! 'Course I'm gonna be okay!"