At the same time, Team Seven received a mission.
Standing before the three of them, Minato spoke, "Tomorrow at eight in the morning, gather at the village gate. This mission will probably take quite a while—don't expect to be back in ten days or half a month. Get some rest early today."
After saying that, he waved his hand to signal dismissal, and his figure blurred into an afterimage before vanishing.
After Minato left, Kakashi turned around without saying a word and headed toward the eastern side of the village, his steps crisp and decisive.
Obito froze for two seconds. That uneasy feeling in his chest surfaced again, and he couldn't help shouting, "Hey! Kakashi! Where are you going?!"
Kakashi didn't even turn his head, nor did he stop walking, as if he hadn't heard anything at all.
"That guy!" Obito's eyes widened, his cheeks puffing up in frustration.
Rin gently tugged at his sleeve and whispered, "He's probably going to find Shinichi."
"Going to find Shinichi again?!"
Obito's voice instantly shot up, his face full of disbelief. "Why has he been going to find Shinichi so often lately? Clearly, we're the teammates from the same squad, right?"
The more he spoke, the more worked up he got, counting on his fingers, "I go on missions with him every day, eat with him every day, and do… stuff together every day! But him? The moment a mission ends, he runs off to Shinichi. He won't even say a word to me!"
Rin held back a laugh and said softly, "Maybe it's because Shinichi can help him with his training."
"Training?" Obito curled his lips, his voice suddenly dropping as he muttered, "Then he could train with me too! I've improved quite a bit lately, okay? Although… maybe not as much as Shinichi."
He paused, then muttered even more quietly, "No, actually, I can't compare to him at all."
After saying that, he deflated on his own, his shoulders slumping.
Seeing his sour, jealous expression, Rin finally couldn't hold it in and burst out laughing.
Obito shot her a resentful look. "Rin, what are you laughing at?"
"Nothing." Rin covered her mouth, her eyes curving into crescents. "I just think you care a lot about Kakashi."
"I—I don't care about that idiot at all!" Obito's face flushed red, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, his voice jumping an octave. "I just… I just think the way he acts is bad! It's not very team-like! Totally unacceptable! Yeah, that's it!"
"Alright, alright, sure, sure."
Rin laughed even harder, but didn't expose him further.
Obito muttered a few more complaints, then waved his hand as if giving up.
"Forget it, forget it. I won't bother with him! Let him go find whoever he wants! Rin, let's go shopping. I heard a new dango shop just opened recently—it's supposed to be really good!"
"Okay."
"I'm telling you, Rin, I really couldn't care less about what that idiot Kakashi is doing! He's going to find Shinichi, right? Then let him go!"
As Obito and Rin walked toward the commercial street, he kept muttering under his breath, "Hmph, one day I'll become really, really strong—strong enough that he'll come to me on his own to train!"
Rin glanced back at the direction Kakashi had disappeared, then looked at Obito beside her—clearly so concerned yet still stubbornly denying it—and couldn't help laughing again.
The warm autumn sunlight poured down, stretching their shadows long as they walked one after the other into the warm orange glow at the end of the street, with only Obito's voice still drifting through the air.
"Rin, if I go learn some really powerful jutsu too, do you think Kakashi would—… no, don't misunderstand! It's not like I want him to come to me! I just want to improve the atmosphere in the team, that's all!"
"Mm, Obito is the best."
"Hey! Rin, you're laughing at me again!"
"No, I'm not."
Their bickering echoed through the street, gradually scattered by the autumn breeze.
...
Training Ground Four.
The autumn afternoon sunlight slanted across the field, casting a mellow warmth over the grass.
Team Ten sat in a loose circle. At the center, a simmering pot released steady waves of heat, the broth rolling and folding over itself as layers of aroma—savory, rich, faintly spiced—rose into the air and drifted with the breeze.
Shizune clutched her bowl, already flushed from the heat, yet completely unwilling to stop. "This is… way too good…! How can something like this exist?!"
She took another bite almost immediately, as if afraid the flavor might disappear if she hesitated.
Kurenai lifted a piece from the pot, letting it cool just slightly before tasting it. The moment it touched her tongue, her expression softened.
"…The flavor is incredibly clean," she murmured. "Nothing overwhelms anything else… but everything is there."
It wasn't explosive.
It wasn't excessive.
But it lingered—deep, layered, quietly addictive.
Tsunade sat nearby, watching the pot with a faint frown, chopsticks paused mid-air.
"This doesn't make sense."
Her gaze shifted to Shinichi.
"You're not using anything special. Just standard ingredients, basic cuts, simple preparation. No rare herbs, no exotic components… and yet—"
She took another bite, slower this time.
"…the balance is absurd."
There was no single dominant flavor.
No unnecessary heaviness.
Every element seemed to arrive at exactly the right moment—heat, texture, aroma, aftertaste—layering over each other with deliberate precision.
More importantly…
As the food settled, a subtle warmth spread through her body.
Not the sharp stimulation of spices.
Not the artificial boost of stimulants.
But something steadier.
Smoother.
Her chakra flow—almost imperceptibly—became more fluid.
"…It's not just taste," Tsunade muttered. "It's function."
Each bite was doing something.
Not aggressively.
Not forcefully.
But undeniably.
She narrowed her eyes slightly.
"With long-term intake… this kind of composition would continuously support the body's internal balance. Nutrient absorption, energy conversion, even chakra circulation…"
She looked back at him.
"…You're basically designing food to be perfectly utilized by the body."
Shinichi remained calm, continuing to eat as if nothing unusual had been said.
But internally, he understood.
The [Gourmet] Entry wasn't just about cooking skill.
It wasn't even just about flavor.
It was perception.
An almost instinctive awareness of how ingredients interacted at a structural level—how heat transformed them, how textures responded, how compounds combined and broke down.
More than that—
He could anticipate the result.
Not just the taste in the mouth.
But what happened after.
How it would settle.
How it would be absorbed.
How it would circulate through the body.
So the process itself was simple:
Control the heat.
Respect the structure.
Layer the timing.
Balance intensity.
Guide the interaction.
Nothing complicated.
Just… precise.
That was all.
And yet, that precision turned something ordinary—into something complete.
Not flashy.
Not exaggerated.
But quietly overwhelming.
"I know! I know!"
Shizune suddenly raised her hand, still chewing.
"Shinichi said cooking is an extension of your feelings!"
She set down her bowl and started gesturing enthusiastically.
"When he cooks, he's thinking about how to make everyone enjoy it more, how to make it easier to eat, how to make your body feel better after—so all of that gets reflected in the final result!"
She nodded emphatically, completely convinced.
Tsunade glanced at Shinichi again, clearly unconvinced… but not interested enough to argue.
She took another spoonful.
The warmth spread again.
Deep. Steady. Comfortable.
"…Whatever," she muttered.
As long as it worked.
As long as it tasted this good.
That was enough.
At that moment, a silver-white figure appeared at the entrance of the training ground.
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