A Bowl of Ramen Friendship

Minato stood at the door, every opening line he had prepared over the past three days stuck in his throat.

He had imagined many scenarios. A cold confrontation, polite pleasantries, even being blocked outside by a wall of Wood Release—anything but this.

Nawaki wore a pink floral apron, spatula in hand, his face shiny with oil as he pointed at the dango box in Minato's hand and asked if he had eaten.

"...No."

"Perfect."

Nawaki grabbed Minato's arm before he could pull it back, gripping hard enough to tug at the bandages around Minato's right shoulder. He practically dragged him into the courtyard, and as they passed the hallway, Minato caught the mingled scent of miso soup and fried eggs.

Tsunade leaned against the doorframe, bowl in hand, and gave Minato a once-over. Minato knew that look—it was the one used at mission sites to assess a rookie's threat level.

"Who's this?"

"A friend." Nawaki tossed out the words without looking back.

Minato's steps hesitated for a moment.

Friend. The person who had pinned him inside a wooden cage in the arena days ago and beaten his confidence to pieces was calling him a friend.

Tsunade gave an "Oh," lowered her head, and continued drinking her soup without looking at him again.

Mikoto sat across from the dining table, her chopsticks pausing above her bowl for a second. She glanced at Minato, said nothing, and continued eating.

Kushina had the biggest reaction. She half rose from her seat, clutching her chopsticks, with a mouthful of spinach still in her cheeks.

Nawaki pressed Minato into an empty chair and waved at Kushina. "Don't be nervous. Normal socializing. Sit."

Kushina slowly sat back down. Her red hair fell forward, hiding her expression as she looked toward Minato.

Minato sat ramrod straight in the chair. He still had not put down the dango box.

The whole scene was too strange.

A few days ago, he had fought like a madman in the arena, even using Flying Raijin, only to have Nawaki's one-handed Wood Release strip him of all ability to move. That absolute, insurmountable gap had left him bedridden for three days.

Now he was sitting at this person's dining table. Across from him sat the Nine-Tails' jinchuriki and a Sharingan wielder who had left the Uchiha Clan. To his left was the legendary medical ninja, Senju Clan Tsunade, while diagonally across from him, an Orochimaru who had not slept all night was reading notes.

He was the only outsider at the entire table.

Nawaki turned and went into the kitchen. A minute later, he brought out an enormous bowl of ramen. The noodles were piled like a small mountain in the rich white broth, topped with two slices of chashu, a handful of tender chopped scallions, and half a soft-boiled egg.

"Ichiraku Ramen's broth. Packed it up last night. I cooked the noodles fresh. Make do."

He set the bowl in front of Minato, and steam washed over Minato's face.

Minato lowered his head and stared at the bowl for two seconds.

Then he put the dango box on the table.

"...I brought something."

"Three-color dango?" Nawaki sat across from him with a bowl of ramen of his own. "Good taste. From Ginkgo House? Their limited editions are hard to get."

"I waited in line for an hour."

"You had your teacher wait, didn't you?"

Minato did not deny it.

Nawaki opened the box and took a look. He casually gave two to Kushina, two to Mikoto, placed one in front of Orochimaru, and took one for himself, popping it into his mouth.

"Sweet. Not bad."

Minato watched the carefully prepared gift be divided up in five seconds and did not know what to say for a moment.

"Eat your ramen. It won't taste good once it gets cold." Nawaki slurped up a mouthful of noodles with an exceptionally uncouth sound.

Minato picked up his chopsticks and took a bite.

The noodles sprang lightly between his teeth. They were cooked perfectly.

He took another bite.

The two sat across from each other, both slurping noodles, neither speaking first. Tsunade put her bowl in the sink and left. Orochimaru drifted into the hallway with his notes. Mikoto quietly cleared the dishes. After hesitating for two seconds, Kushina followed Mikoto into the kitchen.

Only the two of them remained at the table.

Minato set down his chopsticks.

"Nawaki."

"Yeah."

"About that day..."

"The match where I beat you?" Nawaki lifted the last few noodles with his chopsticks. "Honestly, even now, thinking about your Flying Raijin gives me chills. When you planted that mark on my shoulder—if my Wood Release defense hadn't responded automatically, that Rasengan could've punched a hole through my ribs."

Minato fell silent for a moment.

He had eaten apples for three days and replayed that battle in his mind more than fifty times. Every time, the conclusion was the same: the gap in strength was impossible to overcome.

Yet the person before him was saying, it still gives me chills.

"Are you trying to comfort me?"

"Do I look like someone who comforts people?" Nawaki pushed his bowl aside, laced his hands behind his head, and leaned back. "It's the truth. There's no ceiling to how far Flying Raijin can be developed. My Wood Release can't suppress space-time techniques. You just don't have enough chakra right now. Once you build up your reserves and start chaining second marks, third marks, jumping continuously—I might not be able to handle you."

Minato held his empty bowl without moving.

He turned those words over in his heart. They were not politeness. This person never said things just to be polite.

"I thought about it for a long time before coming here." Minato put down his bowl, his blue eyes fixed directly on Nawaki. "My teacher told me to figure out where I fell short. I spent three days in the hospital thinking about it."

Nawaki tilted his head slightly and waited for him to continue.

"I fell short in purpose."

Nawaki's brow twitched.

"In the arena, I said I wouldn't give up." Minato's voice was steady. "But at the time, even I didn't know what I wasn't giving up on. Was it beating you? Or winning Kushina back? In the end, it was all about proving myself. But you're different. From beginning to end, you weren't competing—you only got serious when Danzō moved against the Senju Clan Compound."

He paused.

"You have things you want to protect. I only had things I wanted to prove. That's the difference between us."

The wind blew through the newly grown leaves in the courtyard, making them rustle softly.

Nawaki lowered the hand behind his head, looked at Minato for two seconds, then suddenly smiled.

It was an utterly guileless smile.

"Minato, you've got a bad habit—you make simple things complicated."

Minato froze.

Nawaki stretched lazily and propped his feet against the edge of the chair. "What I want is simple. My sister stays alive. Kushina stays alive. Mikoto stays alive. That brat Kakashi grows up and isn't so gloomy. Teacher Orochimaru stops experimenting on living people—that's all. If someone who ought to stay alive comes looking for trouble, I'll teach him what it means to regret being alive."

After saying that, he picked at his ear.

"Glory of the Senju Clan, becoming Hokage—can any of that fill your stomach? I like eating. If there's extra food, then I invite one more person to eat."

Minato sat there, stunned.

The man who had stood atop that hundred-meter wooden Buddha days ago, looking down over all of Konoha—this was all he wanted?

Then he suddenly understood what Jiraiya had said.

"It's not because you're talented. It's because after losing, your first thought wasn't, 'Why is he so strong?' It was, 'What am I still lacking?'"

That was what he lacked.

Someone he wanted to protect. Someone tangible, someone warm, someone sitting across from him and eating from the same bowl of ramen.

Minato stood up.

The movement was sudden. The chair legs scraped against the ground.

He bowed to Nawaki. Ninety degrees. The bandages on his right shoulder pulled with the bend, but he did not frown.

Nawaki was stunned for a second.

"My goal, Minato Namikaze's goal, is to become Hokage." Minato's voice carried from his bowed position. "Not to prove myself, but to protect every person in this village."

He straightened.

"Including you and the Senju Clan."

The two looked at each other.

Nawaki leaned against the back of his chair without changing expression. Then he hooked Minato's chair leg with his toe and pushed it back into place.

"Fine. When you become Hokage, I'll be responsible for beating up the people you can't beat."

Minato did not sit.

"You don't want to become Hokage?"

"Hats don't look good on me."

"..."

"And if I become Hokage, I won't be able to go out for ramen during work hours." Nawaki's face remained perfectly straight. "That kind of miserable job suits you best."

The corner of Minato's mouth twitched. Then he could not hold it in and laughed.

Not the smile from the arena, full of unwillingness and reckless determination. This was the kind of laugh that came from genuinely thinking this person was hopeless.

"Sit down. Why are you standing there?" Nawaki tapped the tabletop with the handle of his spatula. "There's one dango left that no one took—you brought it, so you eat it."

Minato sat down.

He picked up the last three-color dango and took a bite. It was filled with sweet red bean paste.

Nawaki found a pot of cold tea in the kitchen and poured them each a cup. The two chatted on and off, from the principles of Flying Raijin to whether Ichiraku Ramen's soy sauce broth or miso broth was better, from how noisy Orochimaru was when he stayed up all night experimenting to whether Kakashi should turn off the lights at night after moving into the compound.

They talked for nearly half an hour.

Minato got up to leave. When he reached the courtyard gate, he paused.

"Oh, right—seven tomorrow evening. Yakiniku Q."

Nawaki was clearing the bowls.

"What?"

"A get-together for the new generation. Shikaku Nara is organizing it. Choza Akimichi, Inoichi Yamanaka, Hiashi Hyuga... everyone's going." Minato looked back. "Are you coming?"

The bowl in Nawaki's hand stopped in midair.

"Food and drinks included?"

"Everyone pays their own way."

"Then I'm bringing my family." Nawaki set the bowl in the sink. "Kushina eats a lot. Is your budget enough?"

Minato rested a hand on the doorframe and thought for a moment. "...I'll cover one extra share."

"Deal."

Minato turned and left. His golden hair swayed twice in the sunlight before disappearing around the corner of the alley.

Nawaki stood at the courtyard gate with his hands in his pockets, watching him leave.

A voice came from the direction of the kitchen.

"Bringing your family?" Mikoto stood in the hallway with a dried plate in her hands, her tone so flat it carried no hint of emotion. "Which family members?"

Nawaki turned around and saw Mikoto's expression.

Very calm. Extremely calm. So calm that a faint warning ran down the spine of his Sage Body.

"...You and Kushina. The two of you."

"Mm." Mikoto put the plate in the cabinet, turned, and walked away.

After taking two steps, she looked back.

"What should I wear?"

Nawaki blinked. He looked down at the pink floral apron on himself.

"...I'll go change first."

Outside the courtyard, the treetops swayed gently in the breeze. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, scattering flecks of gold across the ground.

Kushina's voice came from deep within the kitchen. "What kind of get-together?! Will there be ramen?! Seriously—if there's no ramen, I'm not going!"