The first sign of trouble was the chanting in the hallway.
Kazuo, sprawled belly-first under the kotatsu, thought it was just the neighbors fighting again. The couple in 3B had a talent for turning every argument into something that sounded like an ancient blood ritual. But when he slid the door open to grab his UberEats, the truth was worse.
A dozen strangers in mismatched robes were kneeling in front of his apartment door, their heads bowed reverently. At the center of their little shrine was a pair of very old, very greasy chopsticks—his chopsticks—that he had tossed into the trash last week.
They glowed faintly, suspended above an offering plate of instant ramen cups, socks, and what might've once been a hamster.
Kazuo stared. "…Why are my used utensils levitating in the hallway?"
The cult leader, a man with wild hair and an unwashed cardigan, raised his hands to the ceiling. "BEHOLD! THE HOLY CHOPSTICKS OF THE CREATOR! THROUGH THEM FLOWS THE POWER OF DIVINE NOODLES!"
The crowd erupted into synchronized chanting.
Seraphina appeared behind Kazuo, clutching her head the moment she saw the scene. "Oh stars above. It's happening again."
Kazuo scratched his cheek. "Again?"
"You leave anything lying around and mortals turn it into an artifact!" she hissed. "First the ramen packet. Then the socks. Then the vending machine button you sneezed on. Now chopsticks. You're a walking cargo cult!"
Kazuo watched as one cultist carefully polished the glowing sticks with a microfiber cloth, muttering prayers. Another poured soy sauce over them as if it were holy oil.
"…Well, at least they're keeping them clean. Stairwell hasn't been mopped in years," he said. "If they scrub the building while they're at it, maybe I'll get a rent reduction."
Seraphina's wings bristled. "They are growing too powerful. You can't just let mortals build religions in your apartment hallway!"
"I can if it means free housekeeping," Kazuo muttered, ducking back under his kotatsu.
By the end of the week, the Cult of the Chopsticks had spread beyond the hallway.
Neighbors couldn't get to their doors without being offered "sacred ramen samples." Flyers littered the stairwell: JOIN THE NOODLE FAITH—SALVATION THROUGH DISPOSABLE CUTLERY. Someone painted murals of two glowing chopsticks descending from Heaven like twin comets.
And worst of all? The chanting never stopped. Morning, noon, night—an endless drone of: "SLURP AND BE SAVED. SLURP AND BE SAVED."
Kazuo stuffed socks into his ears and groaned. "Do they even have jobs? Or is worshiping my trash their full-time gig now?"
Seraphina sat stiffly at the table, reading from a celestial ledger. "They've already registered as an official religion. They filed tax-exempt status this morning."
Kazuo choked on his instant coffee. "You mean… they're making money off my chopsticks?"
"Not just money," Seraphina muttered. "They're gaining political clout. There's talk of building a shrine. With a noodle fountain."
Kazuo groaned. "Of course. Ramen fountains. Why not."
The cult leader—who now referred to himself only as "The Grand Slurper"—knocked politely on Kazuo's door one evening.
Kazuo opened it with one eye half-shut, wearing pajama pants and a noodle stain on his shirt. "…What."
The Grand Slurper bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the doormat. "Oh Great One, we humbly request your blessing upon our sacred pilgrimage to the 24-hour convenience store. We wish to buy bulk ramen, that we may further spread your divine flavor."
Kazuo stared at him. "It's just ramen, dude. It's three packs for a dollar. Knock yourselves out."
The cult erupted in cheers. Someone fainted.
Seraphina dragged Kazuo back inside by the collar. "Stop encouraging them!"
"I'm not encouraging them. I'm just… not discouraging them," Kazuo said, flopping back onto the kotatsu. "Besides, if they keep this up, maybe the landlord will waive my utilities. Free rent reduction if they clean the stairwell—it's a win-win."
The problem, of course, was scale.
At first it was just a dozen cultists. Then two dozen. Then three hundred. By the end of the month, thousands of noodle fanatics had gathered outside the building, chanting about "The Slurp Eternal." The chopsticks were now encased in a golden reliquary stolen from an abandoned church, guarded day and night by robed disciples.
The city took notice.
Reporters filmed the mass gatherings. Politicians tried to shut them down, only to be converted after one bowl of "holy ramen." Rival religions filed lawsuits claiming trademark infringement.
Seraphina was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "This is a crisis! A full-blown crisis! They've weaponized cutlery!"
Kazuo yawned. "Eh. Could be worse. At least they're not burning anything."
As if on cue, a cheer erupted from the street below. Kazuo leaned out the window to see cultists lighting chopstick-shaped torches and parading through downtown. Traffic screeched to a halt as noodle zealots climbed onto cars, waving banners of Cup Noodle logos defaced into sacred symbols.
"…Okay," Kazuo admitted, "that might be bad."
The climax came when rival factions splintered within the cult itself.
The Orthodox Slurpers insisted the original chopsticks were to be worshipped as-is, without modification.
The Disposable Heretics argued that only new chopsticks carried divine power, and began mass-producing counterfeit relics.
And the Stainless Sect claimed metal chopsticks were superior and condemned the others as "flimsy infidels."
Soon, the streets erupted into chopstick wars—flimsy wooden sticks clashing with gleaming stainless steel, soy sauce balloons exploding in clouds of salty chaos.
Kazuo sat on his balcony, sipping a beer, watching the carnage below like it was reality TV. "…Free entertainment."
Seraphina screeched beside him. "They're turning the city into a battlefield over your dirty utensils!"
"Better than them storming my apartment," Kazuo said. "At least they're keeping busy."
It took a full celestial intervention to end the madness. Seraphina, glowing with divine light, descended into the middle of a chopstick brawl and shouted:
"ENOUGH! THE CREATOR CARES NOT FOR YOUR UTENSIL PETTY WARS!"
The crowd froze.
Kazuo, lounging on the balcony, shouted down: "Yeah, seriously. Fork off already."
The pun alone nearly caused another schism.
But finally, after much screaming, crying, and noodle-throwing, the cult dispersed… mostly. They left behind a shrine in the stairwell, a permanent mural on the apartment wall, and a lifetime supply of instant ramen offerings at Kazuo's door.
Kazuo picked up a box of cup noodles from the pile, grinning. "Free groceries. Worth it."
Seraphina collapsed onto the floor, muttering, "You're going to be the end of civilization."
Kazuo slurped a noodle, unconcerned. "…Eh. Civilization had a good run."