Chapter 41: "Childhood Promises and White Suits"
In which we learn that bicycles aren't fast enough to escape drama.
There are meals.
Then there are feasts.
And then… there's whatever happens when you eat with the masters of Ryōzanpaku.
After a morning of training that could best be described as mildly life-threatening, the gang was more than ready for food. Or maybe even a last will and testament. Either worked.
Naruto dragged himself into the courtyard dining area with a groan, his ten-ton weighted training suit hissing slightly as he sat down. Behind him, Kisara flopped onto a bench, Ukita limped in like a wounded rhino, and Kenichi was somehow crawling despite all four limbs working just fine.
And then… the smell hit them.
Miu, apron on and ponytail bouncing, carried out a massive tray with a smile. Ma Kensei was right behind her, twirling a wok like a professional chef-slash-battle mage. Dishes sizzled, spices filled the air, and something about the scent made even Koga—who'd been threatening to pass out—sit up straight.
"Is that… garlic rice?" Ikki whispered like he'd just spotted a unicorn.
"No," Naruto said reverently. "That's hope."
The masters gathered around the table, already halfway through a mountain of food that looked like it could feed a football team. Twice.
Akisame delicately poured some tea that glowed faintly. Sakaki stabbed a whole roast duck with chopsticks and inhaled it like popcorn. Apachai just… smiled and offered Naruto a plate of something suspiciously jiggly.
Miu placed bowls in front of the gang. Steamed vegetables, perfectly grilled meat, soups that radiated warmth down to their bones. Every bite sent a jolt of energy through them—not just metaphorically. The food was infused with Ki.
"How are we supposed to eat all this?" Honoka asked, wide-eyed as a rice ball the size of her head was set before her.
"Just follow the masters' lead," Naruto muttered, watching Sakaki casually crack open a crab shell with his bare hands and slurp the insides like noodles. "And maybe don't make eye contact with Apachai when he eats."
As the gang dug in, it became clear this wasn't just food—it was part of the training. Every dish seemed to target a specific need. Ukita's muscles stopped spasming. Koga felt like he could breathe without pain again. Kenichi… well, Kenichi just cried tears of joy into his miso.
"This is incredible," Kisara said between bites. "What is this?"
"Ki-cooked food," Ma said with a proud nod. "Every dish helps your body recover and grow. Made to withstand our lifestyle and keep us… well, not dead."
"You guys eat like this every day?" Shogo asked, amazed.
"Of course," Akisame said, sipping his tea. "Why else do you think we're still this fit while looking like retired gym teachers?"
Naruto held up his chopsticks and grinned. "Okay. Forget ramen. I'm moving in."
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Look, when someone the size of a small truck says "I made cookies," you say "Thank you," take one, and pray to God before taking a bite. But hindsight's 20/20, and none of us had survival instincts that day.
Apachai strode into the dojo kitchen like a proud toddler holding finger paint. Covered in flour, wearing a pink apron with a bunny on it, and grinning like he'd just saved Christmas.
"Apachai... made cookies!" he announced, voice booming with the kind of joy that could melt glaciers.
Everyone paused.
Miu blinked. Akisame… turned slowly and walked away.
"I don't like that look in his eyes," Shogo muttered. "That's not the smile of a baker. That's the smile of a mad scientist."
Too late.
The cookies looked innocent. Golden-brown. Slightly crispy on the edges. Even had chocolate chips that sparkled like gemstones. It was deceptive.
Naruto, ever the brave idiot, was the first to take a bite. He chewed once. Twice.
Then his eyes went full Sharingan.
"By the Sage's beard," he coughed. "What did you PUT in this?!"
"Protein powder!" Apachai said proudly. "Banana! Beef jerky! Wasabi! More protein! Love!"
Everyone froze.
"Wait," Kenichi said slowly, "Did you say wasabi?"
"I cannot feel my tongue," Koga muttered, already turning pale.
"I think I just saw my ancestors," Ukita wheezed.
One by one, the gang dropped like flies. Kisara tried to fight through it but ended up face-first in a bowl of rice. Loki kept muttering something about "contracting cookie plague" and started writing his will.
The only one standing?
Apachai.
"Apachai… will make more cookies!"
"NO!" half the room screamed in unison before fainting again.
Akisame returned wearing gloves and a face mask. He surveyed the battlefield, sighed, and began dragging bodies to the infirmary.
"You were warned," he said with a shake of his head, dropping Kenichi into a barrel of medical goo. "I told Hayato we needed to lock the flour cabinet."
Miu disinfected the kitchen like it had been hit by a biological weapon. Shigure destroyed the remaining cookies with an explosion tag. No survivors.
By evening, the gang lay in heated recovery barrels, moaning in sync like broken whales.
"Next time," Kisara groaned, "we let Apachai stick to punching trees."
Naruto raised a shaky hand. "Agreed… but I'm keeping the apron. It was weirdly fashionable."
Apachai peeked into the room. "Next, Apachai make… sushi!"
"We're moving out," said Kenichi, with the fear of God in his eyes.
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Let's set the scene: it was around six p.m., and the sun was doing that golden, cinematic glow thing as the gang left Ryozanpaku dojo like survivors of a kaiju battle. Everyone went their separate ways—some limping, some rolling, some crying—but I was feeling pretty good.
Kenichi and I were on our bikes, and Honoka was riding behind her big bro, holding onto his shoulders like a sleepy koala. It was peaceful. Quiet. Too quiet.
Which, of course, meant something bad was about to happen.
We rolled into the neighborhood, cruising past the park, when I saw him.
A guy standing still as a statue under the flickering glow of a lamppost. He wore a white suit, like he was either going to a wedding or a Yakuza cosplay convention. His glasses gleamed. His hair was slightly chaotic, like he hadn't slept or had fought a wind demon. And then he turned to us with a smile that made me immediately suspicious.
"Kenichi," he said.
Kenichi braked so hard I thought the tires would explode. "Ryuto?!"
Now, I know what you're thinking. "Naruto, who's Ryuto?" And I would love to tell you I knew too. But nope. I just stood there like the third wheel on a bicycle built for heartbreak.
Turns out, Ryuto—aka Mr. Business Suit Meets Anime Rival—was Kenichi's childhood friend.
"When we were six," Ryuto said, "we saw her."
"Her who?" I whispered.
"Miu," Ryuto replied dramatically.
Apparently, six-year-old Kenichi and Ryuto had witnessed a pint-sized Miu body-slam some full-grown dudes like she was auditioning for WWE. That day, they made a pact: they would become strong, powerful, martial arts legends!
Except Kenichi moved away.
Ryuto trained like a man possessed.
And Kenichi… became Kenichi.
"I trained every day," Ryuto said, voice low and sharp. "I imagined we would reunite, and you'd be standing tall beside me, as strong as I was. But now… look at you."
He looked down on Kenichi like he'd just stepped in something disappointing.
"A loser. A traitor."
Harsh.
Ryuto didn't fight us, though. He said he'd wait till tomorrow. Something about "not worth the energy today," which, ouch.
But he did add one little silver lining to the roast session: "You're training at Ryozanpaku now. That might save you. It might make our pact real again."
Kenichi looked like he'd seen a ghost from a math test he didn't study for.
Ryuto adjusted his cravat—who even wears a cravat casually?!—and walked away like a Bond villain leaving before the explosion.
The ride home was quiet. Honoka was holding in a giggle, but I could tell she was worried too. Kenichi looked like someone had dropped an emotional anvil on his chest.
"You okay?" I asked.
Kenichi nodded. "I think I just got called weak in three languages."
"Well, good news," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "You're not the weakest. That honor goes to Koga. Or possibly Akisame's medical soup."
He cracked a smile.
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Ryuto:
The sleek black car glided down the road like a shadow with heated leather seats. In the back, Ryuto sat silently, framed by tinted windows and quiet luxury. His white suit was unwrinkled. His hands folded neatly. But his eyes, reflecting faint city lights, were anything but calm.
They were eyes looking backward.
Flashback: Two Short Kids and One Big Promise
Once upon a playground, Ryuto was the shortest kid around—except for Kenichi. That fact alone might've made them friends. That, and the shared obsession with Miu, who, even at age six, could probably beat up a mid-sized gorilla.
Ryuto wasn't weak, though. He had… cleverness. Tricks. Like using a snack bar to open its own wrapper by pressing it against his leg. Genius, honestly.
But he was also the kind of kid who gave Kenichi a lame cat badge from the vending machine, pretending it was a gift when really, he just didn't like it. According to Ryuto, Kenichi really wanted it. According to reality… Kenichi was just too polite to say no.
Then came the Yin-Yang badge. The holy grail of playground treasure. Kenichi got it. Miu liked it. Ryuto wanted it.
Kenichi refused to trade. And Ryuto challenged him to a duel—a battle of honor and justice (aka, playground karate chops). He lost.
And Kenichi moved away.
That moment should've ended there.
But it didn't.
Ryuto sat in the back of his car, the soft hum of the engine barely audible. He remembered standing in front of the same vending machine, again and again, feeding it coins until he got the Yin-Yang badge for himself.
And when he finally held it?
Empty.
It wasn't the badge he wanted.
It was the victory. The one Kenichi took from him. The one that never came.
And so Ryuto had stopped looking for friendship. For fairness. He only chased strength. He chased wins.
He chased the feeling of never losing again.
When Ryuto was older, he saw a man—Isshinsai Ogata—drop two armed men like they were empty water bottles. No mercy. No hesitation. Just power, wrapped in a calm smile.
That was the day Ryuto decided. He didn't care about right or wrong. Morals were for the weak. Power was the only law that mattered. And Ogata? Ogata was the high priest of that church.
He'd begged Ogata to teach him. And when Ogata saw the steel in Ryuto's eyes, the obsession that burned from boyhood like a cursed badge?
He agreed.
Ryuto leaned back against the leather seat, staring at the Yin-Yang badge he now wore as a custom lapel pin.
"Still weak, Kenichi," he whispered. "Still a loser. But maybe Ryozanpaku will fix you. Maybe you'll become strong enough… for me to finally defeat."
The car turned a corner. The city moved on.
But in the back of that car, a childhood rivalry was quietly catching fire.
And someone was going to get burned.