Book 1
Chapter 3: Sanata Samurai and the Sad Bento
The sky over SumaVillage hung like a grumpy cloud demon, all gray and sulky, spitting rain.
It was the annual Young Warrior Exhibition, a fancy name for kids swinging pointy sticks while their parents pretended not to notice the property damage.
Eleven-year-old Ken Hanzori, already infamous for turning flowerbeds into craters, sat under a gnarled peach tree, glowering at a patch of mud. He'd just been disqualified from the exhibition for sneezing so hard the lead judge's prized mustache vaporized into a cloud of glittery ash. The judge was still sobbing into his tea.
Ken, his cherubic face twisted in a pout, kicked a pebble. It flew fifty feet, split a bamboo stalk, and set a distant chicken coop on fire. He didn't notice. He decided the world was deeply unfair for expecting him not to accidentally combust things.
His ATM card, tucked in his pocket, hummed smugly. Its "??? UNREGISTERED TIER" label pulsed like it was untouchable.
Ken sighed dramatically. Then came a sound:
Slurp. Slurp. SLURP.
It was loud, defiant, like a war cry. Ken's sulk vanished. He peeked around the tree trunk.
---
A Slurp in the Silence
There, cross-legged on a patch of dirt, sat Narutama of the SanataClan. His gi was a patchwork disaster, more hole than fabric. His knees poked through like shy turtles. His hair was a wild haystack.
But the kid ate noodles like he was avenging his ancestors. Each slurp was a battle won, a triumph over his sad, sad bento. It held a lump of cold rice, a shriveled pickled plum plotting revenge, and a boiled egg so old it probably had a pension plan.
Ken blinked, fascinated.
"You eat like you're fighting the noodles."
Narutama froze mid-slurp, a noodle dangling from his mouth like a defeated worm. He eyed Ken, his perpetual grin undimmed by his pathetic lunch.
"They started it," he said, then sucked the noodle up with a sound like a vacuum cleaner conquering a swamp.
Ken liked him instantly. No bowing, no fear. He scooted closer, ignoring the rain soaking his fancy coat.
"I'm Ken Hanzori. I blow things up. Not on purpose. Mostly."
Narutama chewed thoughtfully, eyeing Ken's pristine silk.
"Narutama. Sanata Clan. I eat things. On purpose. Usually."
He gestured to his bento.
"This is my third lunch this week. Yesterday was just a leaf. Tasted like regret."
This rich kid's got power leaking out his ears, and he doesn't even care.
He's got everything, and he's whining about a mustache?
Still, Ken's grin was infectious. They talked. Ken talked about exploding koi ponds and the unfair ban on throwing shurikens at bonsai. Narutama listened, interjecting with noodle wisdom: "Tilt the box, looks fuller," or "Slurp with commitment, scares the sadness away."
His stomach growled, betraying his bravado. He ignored it. His clan's last katana had been pawned for rent generations ago.
Mastery was all he had left, and he'd chase it through mud, hunger, or a thousand sad bentos.
---
An Unlikely Alliance and Noodles Apocalypse
Boredom, Ken's eternal nemesis, struck.
"Let's duel," he declared, eyes glinting. "Noodle duel. Winner gets… uh, glory. And this peach."
Narutama raised an eyebrow.
"My noodles versus your… what, gold-plated chopsticks?"
Ken grinned, pulling out a pair of suspiciously shiny chopsticks.
"Standard issue. Hanzori brand. Let's make rules."
The rules were nonsense, invented on the spot. The duel was pure chaos. Ken launched a noodle skyward. His ATM hummed, unbidden, and the noodle burst into flames, streaking like a comet. Narutama yelped, dodging as it landed in his bento, setting his pickled plum ablaze.
"That's cheating!" he shouted, retaliating with a noodle flung so hard it slapped Ken's cheek like a wet insult.
Ken's next move was worse. He swung his chopsticks, and his Mone surged. The entire bento box levitated, noodles erupting like a squid orgy, spiraling into the air and raining down on Suma Village like soggy confetti.
A stray noodle hit a passing merchant's hat, which promptly caught fire. Narutama dove for cover, his bento now a smoldering crime scene. "KEN! My EGG!"
The last noodle, charred and defiant, landed in Narutama's palm. He stared at it. Ken beamed.
"A tie! We're duel brothers now!"
Narutama groaned.
"That's not a thing." (He pocketed the noodle.)
Ken, unfazed, stood in a pile of flaming noodles, peach still in hand.
"Then I won!" he declared, as if the village's new noodle-based apocalypse was a minor detail.
He's a walking disaster. But he's… fun. Why is he fun? Am I losing my mind?
The crowd, used to Ken's chaos, clapped halfheartedly. A chicken, escaped from a burning coop, clucked judgmentally. Narutama sighed.
"You owe me a new bento," he muttered.
---
Sponsorship of Chaos
Ken's face lit up.
"Deal! I'll get you a hundred bentos! Gold-plated boxes, stuffed with dumplings, caviar, whatever you want!"
He waved his ATM card like a magic wand. "Hanzori sponsorship! You're my guy now!"
Narutama's stomach growled, but his pride stung.
"I'm not your guy," he snapped.
I'm not a charity case. I'll master my blade, not his wallet.
But Ken's grin, oblivious and bright, made it hard to stay mad.
From that day, they were inseparable. Narutama showed up at the Hanzori estate daily, wooden sword raised like a flag. Ken, banned from public dojos after turning a rock garden into a lava pit, invented training games. Each session ended in minor injuries and scorched flora.
Ken started slipping him gifts. Rice, socks, scrolls. Narutama protested, "Socks aren't gifts, Ken! They're basic rights!"
Ken just smirked, "I'm humanity's benefactor. Also, you owe me dumplings."
He's infuriating. But he's… mine. My idiot.
By year's end, when the invitations to Kokoro Mone Academy arrived, Ken didn't blink. He paid all of Narutama's fees.
"I'm not your charity case," Narutama growled.
Ken grinned. "You're my emotional support samurai. Tax-free."
Narutama groaned, but his heart traitorously warmed.
He's impossible. But I'll show him. I'll earn my place.
As cherry blossoms bloomed, Ken's ATM glowed, infinite and smug. It then flickered once, like a ledger correcting itself.
For a split second, the words "LOAN DUE" flashed, and vanished. Ken yawned.
Far above, the gods watched.
Generator smiled. "They're cute."
Organizer muttered. "They're a liability."
Destroyer munched popcorn. "That noodle duel? Better than my last apocalypse."