Book 1.
Chapter 3: Sanata Samurai and the Sad Bento
The sky over Suma Village looked like it was in a bad mood, a heavy gray mess that spit rain like it was annoyed with everything. It was the yearly Young Warrior Exhibition, which was really just a fancy way of saying kids hit things with sticks while their parents tried to look like they weren't worried about the damage.
Eleven-year-old Ken Hanzori, who was already famous for wrecking flowerbeds, sat under a twisty peach tree, giving a patch of mud a mean stare. He'd just been kicked out of the exhibition for sneezing, specifically for sneezing so hard that the main judge's perfect mustache disappeared in a puff of sparkling dust. The judge was still crying into his tea, mumbling about his "family whiskers."
Ken's normally sweet face was all scrunched up in a pout. He kicked a small rock. It flew about fifty feet, split a bamboo pole, and somehow set a chicken coop on fire way in the distance. He didn't even notice. He just decided the world was unfair for expecting him not to accidentally blow stuff up. The ATM card in his fancy pocket gave a quiet little hum, its "??? UNREGISTERED TIER" label glowing as if it knew it was special and powerful.
Ken let out a huge, dramatic sigh, the kind you only hear from a kid with crazy powers and no friends.
Then came the sound.
Slurp. Slurp. SLURP.
It was loud and proud, like a battle cry against the quiet. Ken's bad mood disappeared. He peeked around the tree, curious in spite of himself.
---
A Slurp in the Silence
There, sitting on the ground with his legs crossed, was Narutama of the Sanata Clan. His gi was a total mess, patched up so many times it was more holes than cloth, with his knees poking out like shy turtles. His feet were bare and covered in mud, like they were good friends with every puddle in Suma. His hair was a wild mess, like a comb had seen it and run away in fear.
But the kid ate noodles like he was getting revenge for his ancestors. Every slurp was a victory, every bite a win over his super sad lunch. It was a little wooden box with a lump of cold rice, a shriveled pickled plum that looked like it was planning something evil, and a boiled egg so old it probably deserved to retire.
Ken just stared, amazed.
"You're eating like you're fighting the noodles."
Narutama froze with a noodle hanging from his mouth like a defeated worm. He looked at Ken, his big smile not affected at all by his pathetic meal.
"They started it," he said, then slurped the noodle up with a sound like a small hurricane.
Ken instantly liked him. No bowing, no being scared, just a kid who saw noodles as his enemies. He moved closer, not caring that the rain was soaking his expensive jacket.
"I'm Ken Hanzori. I blow stuff up. Not on purpose. Mostly."
Narutama chewed for a second, looking at Ken's clean silk clothes.
"Narutama. Sanata Clan. I eat stuff. On purpose. Usually." He pointed to his lunch box. "This is my third lunch this week. Yesterday was just a leaf. It tasted like regret."
Inside Narutama's head, a quieter thought formed. "This rich kid has power pouring out of him, and he doesn't even care."
Part of him thought Ken's accidental chaos was cool. Trees splitting, coops burning, all without even trying. But another part, the part that cleaned floors for scraps of rice and dreamed of making his family famous again, felt annoyed. "He has everything, and he's complaining about a mustache?" Still, Ken's smile was catching, like a sickness you didn't mind getting.
They talked. Well, Ken talked, about blowing up fish ponds, how it was unfair that you couldn't throw ninja stars at bonsai trees, and how his ATM card made monks throw up flowers. Narutama listened, adding his own noodle wisdom: "Tip the box, it looks like there's more inside," or "Slurp with all your might, it scares the sadness away."
His stomach grumbled, giving away his tough act. He ignored it. The Sanata Clan hadn't been samurai for many years, not since they had to sell their last sword to pay for rent. Being a master was the only thing he had left to fight for, and he'd fight for it through mud, hunger, or a thousand sad lunches.
---
An Unlikely Alliance and Noodles Apocalypse
Boredom, Ken's biggest enemy, hit him.
"Let's duel," he said, his eyes shining. "Noodle duel. The winner gets… uh, glory. And this peach." He held up a slightly smooshed peach like it was a holy item.
Narutama raised an eyebrow. "My noodles versus your… what, golden chopsticks?"
Ken grinned, pulling out some very shiny chopsticks. "Standard issue. Hanzori brand. Let's make some rules."
The rules made no sense, made up on the spot: balance a noodle on one chopstick, say a funny poem, toss the noodle into the other person's lunch box, first to lose their food loses. Narutama, driven by hunger and annoyance, agreed.
The duel was a total mess. Ken, waving his chopsticks like a crazy music conductor, launched a noodle into the sky. His ATM card hummed without being asked and the noodle caught fire, shooting through the air like a comet. Narutama yelped, jumping back as it landed in his lunch box, setting his pickled plum on fire.
"That's cheating!" he yelled, throwing a noodle back so hard it hit Ken's cheek like a wet insult.
Ken's next move was even worse. He swung his chopsticks, trying for a fancy move, but his power surged. The whole lunch box lifted into the air, noodles flying out like a squid party, swirling into the sky and raining down on Suma Village like soggy confetti. A noodle hit a passing merchant's hat, and it immediately caught on fire. Narutama ducked for cover, his lunch box now a smoking crime scene. "KEN! My EGG!"
The last noodle, burnt and stubborn, landed in Narutama's hand. He stared at it. Ken beamed.
"A tie! We're duel brothers now!" Narutama groaned. "That's not a thing."
He put the noodle in his pocket. It wiggled once, as if it were alive. Narutama figured it was just the soy sauce. (It wasn't).
Ken, not bothered at all, stood in a pile of flaming noodles, still holding the peach. "Then I won!" he said, as if the village's new noodle-based disaster was just a small detail. Narutama glared at him, soaked in soy sauce, his pride as messed up as his lunch. Inside, he was furious. His fingers twitched toward the peach, then curled into fists. His stomach grumbled. His pride grumbled louder.
"He's a walking disaster. But he's… fun. Why is he fun? Am I losing my mind?"
The people in the crowd, used to Ken's mess, clapped half-heartedly. A chicken, who had escaped the burning coop, made a clucking sound that sounded like a judging remark. The chickens cluck in catchy nursery rhymes before running away. Narutama heard it as "Foolish boy, debt comes due." Ken just heard "BOK-BOK."
Narutama sighed, brushing noodles from his hair. "You owe me a new lunch," he mumbled.
---
Sponsorship of Chaos
Ken's face lit up. "Deal! I'll get you a hundred lunches! Golden boxes, filled with dumplings, fancy fish eggs, whatever you want!" He waved his ATM card like a magic wand, already imagining a parade of chefs. "Hanzori sponsorship! You're my guy now!"
Narutama's stomach grumbled, but his pride hurt. "I'm not your guy," he said, quieter than he meant to. 'I'm not a charity case. I'll be a master with my sword, not with his money."
But Ken's grin, innocent and bright, made it hard to stay angry. "He's using me, isn't he? Or… does he just not get it?"
From that day on, they were always together. Narutama showed up at the Hanzori house every day, his wooden sword held up like a flag, his smile hiding the hunger pains. Ken, who was banned from public training halls after turning a rock garden into a pit of hot rock, made up training games:
"Dodge the Glowing Bees" (Narutama got stung, the bees glowed),
"Blindfold Ninja Star Toss" (the Hanzori roof got some new holes).
Each session ended with small injuries, burned plants, and Narutama wondering why he didn't just quit. "Because he makes me laugh", he told himself, hating that he did.
Ken started giving him gifts. Rice, socks, scrolls with actual words he could read. Narutama complained, "Socks aren't gifts, Ken! They're just a normal thing to have!" Ken just smirked, "I'm doing a service to humanity. Also, you owe me dumplings." Narutama rolled his eyes but kept the socks. "He's so annoying. But he's… mine. My idiot."
By the end of the year, when the golden invitations from Kokoro Mone Academy arrived, Ken didn't hesitate. He paid Narutama's fees. Every single penny, every scroll, even the silly glowing sandals.
"I'm not your charity case," Narutama growled, holding onto his pride for dear life.
Ken grinned, tossing a coin in the air.
"Nope, you're my emotional support samurai. No taxes."
Narutama groaned, but his heart felt a little warm. "He's impossible. But I'll show him. I'll earn my spot."
That night, Narutama trained alone under the peach tree, swinging his wooden sword until his arms shook. Not to impress Ken, but to prove to himself that becoming a master wasn't something you could just buy.
As cherry blossoms bloomed and Suma's sun set, Ken's ATM card glowed, endless and confident. The ATM card then flickered once, like a record correcting itself. Ken yawned. His shadow twitched, scribbling in a tiny notebook before snapping back. For a moment, the words "LOAN DUE" flashed, and then disappeared.
Ken scratched his head.
"Weird. Must've eaten bad peaches."
Far above, the gods watched.
Generator smiled, "They're cute."
Organizer mumbled, "They're a problem."
Destroyer munched popcorn, "That noodle duel? Way better than my last end-of-the-world party."