Two weeks later, somewhere along the southeast coast of the Land of Fire.
The merchant-escort mission had gone off without a hitch. Team 7 was taking a short break in a quiet coastal town. Obito Uchiha, bursting with energy as usual, had dragged Rin Nohara off to explore the local market.
Kakashi Hatake, true to form, slipped away on his own the moment they had a free moment, hunting for a secluded spot to keep grinding.
Hands shoved deep in his pockets, head slightly lowered, he walked quickly along the noisier edge of the street, mind looping through the sticking points of his new technique—Chidori—and the reaction-and-control drills Minato-sensei had taught him.
He was just about to turn into a narrow alley when a huge, flashy promotional poster outside a bookstore snagged his peripheral vision and refused to let go.
The poster was impossible to miss—borderline garish. Backgrounds of exaggerated flames and mouth-watering food collided in bright colors. Across the center, massive bold text screamed:
"Konoha's Genius Shinobi! Land of Fire Master Chef Honoree! Passionately Drawing the Ultimate Culinary Hot-Blooded Legend—Chinese Restaurant Serialization Begins NOW!!"
Smaller subtitle underneath: "Watch a shinobi wield the pen to capture the pinnacle of flavor! First issue includes the secret Master Chef recipe for Mapo Tofu—fully explained!"
Kakashi's feet stopped dead.
He lifted his head, eyes narrowing to slits as he stared at the poster—especially at the name "Shinichi Higashino" printed in extra-large, thickened characters right below the title.
A messy cocktail of absurdity, irritation, and something far deeper—raw unwillingness—exploded in his chest like a knocked-over spice rack.
This guy…
A few weeks ago he'd gone and won some national cooking competition, turning the whole village upside down and even getting an entire street decked out in celebration banners. That had already been ridiculous enough.
And now he was drawing manga?! And hyping it up like this?!
Shinichi Higashino, what the hell do you even think "getting stronger" means?
What do you take the path of a shinobi for?
Some kind of game where you can distract yourself whenever you feel like it and show off a bunch of unrelated talents?!
Kakashi's fist tightened inside his pocket until his knuckles went white.
He remembered the crushing defeat on the training field more than a month ago. The sound of the White Fang short sword snapping. Shinichi's sharp, cutting words that had sliced straight into his core.
For the past month he had trained like a man possessed, every second chewing on that humiliation, wringing out every drop of stamina and chakra just to catch up—to surpass that silhouette.
And what was the other side doing?
Going off to a cooking contest, winning the championship, then coming back and casually picking up a pen to draw manga?
A surge of anger—feeling looked down on, even mocked—rushed to his head.
Kakashi turned to leave on instinct, took two steps, then stopped.
He wanted to see exactly what kind of nonsense the guy who had beaten him was wasting his time on.
Face dark, he spun around and walked straight into the bookstore.
Inside, the lights were bright, shelves packed, business brisk. The most eye-catching spot right by the entrance was a new-release display table stacked neatly with fresh copies of the first issue of Chinese Restaurant. The cover art leapt out: a black-haired boy with bright eyes and a brilliant smile, holding a kitchen knife in one hand and a spatula in the other, flames roaring behind him and exquisite dishes floating in the air. The whole image pulsed with energy and life.
In the corner, clear as day: Author: Shinichi Higashino.
Kakashi picked up a copy. The pages felt brand-new. He paid quickly, didn't even wait for change, and carried the manga outside to a relatively quiet corner. Leaning against the wall, he opened to the first page.
At first his brows stayed locked tight, eyes scanning with suspicion and criticism as he skimmed the setup about "Grand Cathay Restaurant" and the cooking duels.
But as the story unfolded—especially the ultimate tofu showdown between the protagonist "Shinichi" and his senior brother Shao'an, when the protagonist faced the opponent's extravagant Nine Treasures Kirin Crystal Tofu and chose instead to return to basics, cooking that seemingly simple yet profound Mapo Tofu…
Kakashi's page-turning slowed without him realizing it.
His gaze lingered on the panels showing the protagonist's razor-sharp focus while handling ingredients, the frighteningly precise and stable control of the flames, and finally the way the finished Mapo Tofu was drawn—red oil glistening, steam practically rising off the page, so vivid it felt like it could burn through the paper.
The artwork was solid, panel flow smooth, pacing crisp and tight.
Especially the cooking sequences: the obsessive attention to detail, the exact descriptions of heat control, the profound understanding of every ingredient's properties. It all screamed that the author had poured massive effort and an almost terrifying level of expertise into every line.
What shook Kakashi even more was the story's core. Facing a powerful, scheming, even ruthless opponent, the protagonist held fast to his belief that "cooking is the way of connecting with people, meant to deliver happiness and warmth." With the purest skill and heartfelt intent, he crushed the enemy who had lost his way chasing shortcuts and power.
"Cooking is the extension of one's heart."
That line from the protagonist landed like a stone dropped into a deep pool, sending ripples through the chaos swirling inside Kakashi right now.
He slammed the manga shut with a soft thud.
Absurd.
Ridiculous.
It's just a made-up story!
He tried to shake off the strange feeling, but his mind kept flashing back to those clear eyes that had seemed to see straight through him on the day of their fight.
And to the figure he had watched day after day on the Academy training grounds—carrying boulders, swinging a sword.
Shinichi Higashino!
I don't care how much spare time you waste on pointless crap!
But I will never stop moving forward!
I will catch up to you… and I will beat you!
Kakashi shoved the manga roughly into his ninja pouch, turned, and strode toward the wilderness outside town. His back was straighter, more rigid, more stubbornly set than when he had arrived.
By evening, well past the agreed meeting time.
Inside the inn room, Obito Uchiha paced back and forth, finally exploding, "Where the hell is Kakashi? He said he'd be back before dark!"
Rin Nohara looked worried too. "Kakashi always trains alone, but he's never late for roll call… nothing's happened, right?"
Minato Namikaze, who had been quietly reading mission scrolls by the window, closed the scroll and stood. "Don't worry. I'll go check. You two stay here—don't wander off."
Before the words finished, his figure vanished, leaving only the faint ripple of space-time.
Outside town, twilight was thickening over the wilderness.
Minato flickered between sparse trees and scattered rocks, his speed so high he left only golden afterimages on the retina.
Suddenly he stopped.
A strange, piercing noise drifted on the evening wind—thousands of birds screeching at once, metal scraping at extreme frequency, laced with wild, unrestrained Lightning-nature chakra.
Kakashi!
Minato's eyes sharpened. He locked onto the direction and vanished again.
The next instant he landed silently on a thick branch of a leafy tree, peering down through the foliage at a cleared patch of ground below.
There stood Kakashi Hatake, body slightly crouched, right hand formed into a claw and held at his side.
Blinding blue-white lightning poured from his palm—condensing, compressing—producing the teeth-grinding screech of a thousand birds!
The lightning had sharpened into a lethal shape, like he was gripping a short spear made of pure, howling electricity.
The light lit half his face and those dark eyes. There was no usual coldness or confusion in them now—only near-maniacal focus and, buried beneath it, an emotion on the verge of exploding outward.
"Hah!"
Kakashi let out a low roar. His figure turned into a straight blue streak of lightning, surging forward at a speed far beyond his previous limits.
The target was a house-sized gray-black boulder at the far end of the clearing—one that had weathered countless years.
SCREEE—BOOM!!!
The Chidori's screech peaked, then was swallowed by a deeper, terrifying crash.
The blue lightning pierced the boulder without resistance.
Like a red-hot blade slicing through solid fat, it punched a clean, ragged-edged hole straight through the center—front to back, daylight visible on the other side.
Kakashi's figure appeared on the far side of the rock, still in thrusting posture, right arm buried deep inside.
He slowly pulled his arm free. The lightning gradually faded.
A moment later, the giant boulder—its internal structure destroyed—sent cracks spider-webbing across its surface with a series of heart-stopping snaps, then collapsed in a heap of smoking rubble.
I did it!
I really did it!
Kakashi stared at his right hand, still tingling with numbness and tiny sparks of electricity, then jerked his head up toward the pile of debris.
A month of insane training. Countless failures, backlash, torn muscles, chaotic chakra. The questioning of his father's path, the hatred of his own weakness, the unwillingness and desperate chase after that silhouette…
All the repression, all the obsession, all the pain and confusion—everything seemed to find a violent outlet in that single strike.
"Ha! I did it! Hahaha… I did it! Hahaha… Chidori!!! Hahahaha! Shinichi Higashino!!! Did you see that?! Hahahaha! I did it!!!"
A low, hoarse laugh spilled from his throat—first suppressed and broken, then louder, more uncontrolled, finally erupting into wild, unrestrained laughter that mixed ecstasy, release, pain, and something almost feral.
"Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!"
The laughter echoed across the empty twilight wilderness. It no longer belonged to the usual cold, precocious boy. It sounded like a young wolf that had finally snapped part of its chain, howling at the moon—wild, defiant, and carrying the near-maniacal release of long-suppressed emotion.
High on the tree branch, Minato Namikaze watched silently and did not reveal himself.
His usual warm, sunlit blue eyes looked unusually deep and still in that moment. He saw the dangerous new power in his student's hand… and he saw the crushing psychological weight behind that laughter, ready to overflow.
Let him vent for a while…
The evening wind brushed past, stirring faint dust and the wild grass scent unique to the open plains.
Minato's figure melted into the deepening twilight and disappeared without a sound.