The Kamui dimension was a place of perfect, geometric isolation.
It was a world of endless, rectangular pillars of grey stone stretching into an obsidian void. There was no wind. There was no sound. The air was sterile, dry, and cold—a vacuum that preserved everything exactly as it was.
Obito Uchiha sat cross-legged on the top of the tallest pillar. He wore his orange spiral mask, but for now, he had pushed it up slightly to breathe the recycled air of his own personal hell.
He was meditating.
Or, attempting to.
Inhale.
He focused on the concept of despair. He visualized the moon. He thought about the infinite Tsukuyomi, the plan to save the world by destroying it. He felt the weight of his sins, the burden of the Uchiha name, the tragedy of Rin...
Exhale.
For a moment, he felt peace. The anger that usually burned in his chest like a coal settled into a quiet, manageable ember. He felt weightless. He felt... profound.
SCHWINK.
The sound was subtle—a distortion in the fabric of space-time appearing directly above his head.
Obito didn't flinch. He was deep in his trance, contemplating the futility of existence. He assumed it was just a minor fluctuation in his own chakra, a stray thought manifesting in the void.
He kept his eyes closed.
SPLAT.
It wasn't a metaphor. It was wet.
Obito's entire head was suddenly, violently coated in warm, salty liquid. Noodles—slippery and alkaline—draped over his mask. A slice of narutomaki slid down his cheek and stuck to his chin. A soft-boiled egg bounced off his shoulder and landed in his lap.
Obito froze.
He opened his eyes. The single visible Sharingan was now bloodshot, staring into the middle distance with a mix of confusion and homicidal rage.
He slowly reached up. He peeled a sheet of nori seaweed off his forehead.
"Ramen..." he whispered, his voice cracking. "Tonkotsu broth. Extra garlic."
SCHWINK.
Another distortion opened. This one was larger. More aggressive.
THWACK.
A massive, white, gelatinous object flew out of the void at high velocity.
Obito's reflexes kicked in. He snatched it out of the air inches before it hit his face.
It was heavy. Dense. It felt alive.
It was a chunk of mochi. But not normal mochi. It was vibrating with residual Earth Release chakra.
And it was growing.
In his hand, the rice cake expanded, pulsating like a heartbeat, threatening to consume his glove.
Obito stared at it.
Stuck to the sticky side of the mochi was a small, oil-stained piece of paper. A receipt.
ICHIRAKU RAMEN
Order #42
1x Infinite Rice Cake (Special Order)
Total: 0 Ryo (Winner!)
At the bottom, drawn in cheerful red ink, was a little smiley face with spiraling cheeks. Next to it, in neat handwriting: "Thank You! Come Again!"
The smiley face mocked him. The "Thank You" felt like a personal attack on his ideology.
The mochi pulsed again, doubling in size. It was now the size of a watermelon.
Obito looked at the infinite void around him—the place he had built to escape the pain of the world. The place where he plotted the downfall of nations.
And now, the place where he had to dodge flying soup.
He crushed the receipt in his fist. He glared at the expanding ball of carbohydrates.
"I fucking hate Konoha," Obito growled.
He threw the mochi into the darkness, where it would likely drift forever, a silent, expanding monument to someone else's lunch.