Chapter 338: Mix it, Stretch it, Boil it Up! Burn Copper Pot, Burn!
The day had been long at Konoha's hospital. Sakura had spent the better part of her shift moving between wards—resetting broken bones with chakra precision, easing the swelling of concussed genin, and keeping three stubborn old shinobi from sneaking sake into their IV drips. By the time she finally sat down at her desk to write a report, her head was pounding like a taiko drum.
That was when the doors slammed open.
"SAKURA-CHAN!"
She looked up just in time to see Naruto and Chōji stumble in, both of them red-faced, panting, and sweating as though they'd sprinted across the entire village.
Naruto slapped both palms down on her desk, practically wheezing into her paperwork. Chōji bent double beside him, hands on his knees, gasping so hard Sakura thought he might cough up a lung—or at least a dumpling.
"...You've got about ten seconds," Sakura said, voice flat and dangerously calm. "If this is another prank, or if either of you are here because you ate something spicy and want me to fix your stomachs again, I swear I will—"
"WE NEED MALIK!" Naruto blurted, his voice cracking with desperation.
The pen in Sakura's hand snapped in two.
Her eyes narrowed. "You barged into here and dragged me out of my paperwork and rounds—for my fiancé?"
Both boys froze, faces blanching under her withering glare.
"No, no, it's not like that!" Chōji said quickly, waving his arms. "It's serious, Sakura. Really serious!"
Naruto nodded so fast his head blurred. "Yeah! Ayame-neechan's been kidnapped! By cooking-nin!"
Sakura blinked. Then slowly stood. "...Cooking. Ninja."
"Yes!" Naruto said, looking far too energized for someone who should've been terrified. "We went to Ichiraku for ramen—like normal—except it was closed early. And Teuchi-ossan told us Ayame had been taken! By this guy named Hakkaku—he's the leader of some hidden cooking-nin group. They're making him come up with a new kind of ramen or they'll hurt her!"
Sakura pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling through her teeth. "So let me get this straight. You two ran across the village, barged into the hospital, interrupted my work… for ramen?"
"No!" Chōji yelped, dropping to his knees. "For Ayame!"
Naruto dropped to his knees beside him, hands pressed together like he was begging the Sage of Six Paths himself (I guess he actually wouldn't, because like only 5 people in this world currently know about all of that, anyway, back to the story). "Teuchi's daughter is in danger, Sakura-chan! And Teuchi's honor is on the line! If the village finds out he can't protect his own family, Ichiraku will be ruined. We can't report it!"
"Can't report—are you insane?" Sakura snapped, hands balling into fists. "This is a kidnapping. You need to alert the ANBU, at the very least!"
But both boys scrambled forward on their knees until their foreheads thumped against the floor.
"PLEASE don't tell!" Naruto begged, his voice echoing pitifully through the room. "It's for Ayame's safety! If word gets out, the cooking-nin will panic and hurt her!"
Chōji's stomach growled loudly, ruining the dramatic tone. Still, his eyes were wet with sincerity. "Please, Sakura. We don't know who else to trust. Malik's the only one who can help Teuchi make ramen strong enough to beat cooking-nin. You've seen what he can do in the kitchen! He's legendary!"
Sakura stared at them both—two of Konoha's strongest knuckleheads—groveling on the floor like children. Her temples throbbed harder than before, her chakra sparking faintly at her fingertips.
"You idiots…" she muttered, exhaling hard through her nose.
But she saw it in their faces. Desperation. Worry. And beneath Naruto's manic energy and Chōji's hunger-panic, there was real fear for Ayame.
Sakura sighed, finally crouching to their level. "Fine. I'll go find Malik."
Both boys looked up, their faces lighting up like festival lanterns.
"THANK YOU, SAKURA-CHAN!" Naruto shouted, grabbing her hands and nearly shaking them off.
"Seriously, thank you!" Chōji echoed, clutching his stomach as if the fate of ramen itself rested on her mercy.
Sakura shook her head, rising again. "But hear me—if this turns out to be one of your stupid ramen schemes and Ayame is just hiding at home, I will personally knock both of you through the hospital wall."
Naruto and Chōji gulped in unison, nodding so fast their hair bobbed.
Sakura brushed her hands off, already striding toward the door. "I'll get him. And you two better hope Malik is in a good mood."
As she left, Naruto leaned toward Chōji, whispering, "See? I told you she'd understand."
Chōji groaned, still clutching his belly. "She's gonna kill us if Malik says no."
"Then he won't say no," Naruto replied confidently, fist pumping. "Believe it!"
The laughter of children still clung to the air like sweet perfume. The wide hall of one of Konoha's community kitchens buzzed with fading echoes of chatter as the last of Malik's students filed out—young genin balancing trays of dumplings, elderly villagers carrying carefully wrapped noodles, and parents shepherding their kids while thanking Malik profusely for his patience.
He smiled and waved them all out, leaning against a counter with his arms folded, until the last little boy ran up to press a hand-made thank-you card into his palm. Malik's heart squeezed. He tucked the card carefully into his sash.
Then he turned back to work.
The room was a mess—bowls stacked haphazardly, flour scattered across the counter like snow, vegetables in half-prepared bundles. Malik snapped his fingers.
A soft shimmer of pink magic—threaded with golden sparks—fanned across the kitchen. Knives lifted from chopping boards, floating neatly into their racks. Pots and pans danced themselves into sinks, where hot, soapy bubbles rose to scrub them clean. The flour swirled into glowing streams that brushed themselves off the counters like chalk wiped from a slate.
Malik moved through it all with ease, his gold-and-pink cooking robes flaring dramatically behind him. The outfit had been tailored for him specifically—a blend of practicality and flair. A fitted tunic with soft-thread cuffs, an apron etched with subtle cooking symbols, and silken pants loose enough for comfort but tight enough to remind everyone he was not just a chef—he was Malik.
As he swept his hands through the final spell to polish the countertops, he heard footsteps. Deliberate. Familiar.
He smirked even before he turned.
"Sakura," he said, spinning on his heel with the grace of someone who enjoyed entrances. His eyes twinkled hot pink and gold. "I should warn you—I'm not signing autographs today. But—"
He let his gaze flick downward and then back up, a grin tugging at his lips.
"—because you have a giant fat butt, I'll make an exception for you."
Sakura froze mid-step.
Then her eyes narrowed into lethal slits.
"Excuse me?" she asked, her voice dangerously sweet.
Malik swaggered closer, clearly delighted with himself, leaning in as though to peck her cheek—
SNAP.
In one fluid motion, Sakura twisted his wrist and pulled. Malik went down like a sack of flour, groveling on the polished floor in front of her, his free hand raised in surrender.
"Baby! Sakura! My sweet cherry blossom!" he babbled dramatically. "I'm sorry—not about you having a giant butt, but about what I said about it. Forgive me!"
Sakura's lips twitched despite herself. She should have been furious. He always pushed her buttons. But damn it… the way he groveled, the way he said her name like a prayer, the way his hot-pink aura flared like mischief and sincerity all tangled together—
Deep down, in a dark corner of her heart she rarely admitted even to herself… Sakura liked it when he begged.
Not that she'd ever say that out loud.
"Idiot," she muttered, releasing his wrist at last.
Malik popped back up like nothing had happened, brushing imaginary dust off his robes before leaning closer with a grin. "See? That's why I love you. You're violent, radiant, and built like a divine goddess of thunder thighs. Perfection."
Sakura shoved him lightly in the chest to keep him from leaning too close. She exhaled hard. "You're impossible. But I don't have time to argue with you. I came here because Naruto and Chōji begged me to."
Malik raised an eyebrow. "Ah. So this is ramen business, then."
Sakura crossed her arms, scowling. "They said Teuchi's daughter, Ayame, was kidnapped. By… cooking-nin. Led by some guy named Hakkaku. They're forcing Teuchi to create a new kind of ramen or they'll hurt her."
Malik's grin faltered just enough for his eyes to darken. He leaned back against the counter, folding his arms. "Hakkaku, huh? Been a long time since I heard that name."
Sakura blinked. "You know him?"
"Know of him," Malik corrected, lips twitching with old memory. "Hakkaku's always been jealous of Teuchi's craft. Man's obsessed with the idea that ramen isn't just food—it's a weapon, a technique, something that can conquer nations if cooked right. That obsession? It's dangerous. But Teuchi…" Malik's grin softened into something warmer. "That old, loyal dog has always cooked for the soul, not for power. If he's asking for help, then it's serious."
He pushed off the counter, the glow of his magic sparking faintly around his fingertips as he straightened his robes.
"Don't worry, Sakura. I know what this is about. The honor of a chef is no small thing."
He smirked, the fire of determination lighting up his expression. "Teuchi needs me? Then Malik is on his way."
He reached for her hand, brushing his lips against her knuckles with deliberate charm before winking.
"Baby girl," he said, his voice smooth as butter on hot bread. "Go ahead and lead the way."
Sakura shook her head, exasperated but unable to hide the faint pink blooming across her cheeks. "You're unbelievable."
"Unbelievably handsome, talented, and punctual?" Malik grinned, grabbing his cooking staff from the wall. "Yes. Now let's save Ayame before Naruto and Chōji eat the village out of snacks waiting for us."
With that, he swept his apron aside like a cloak and followed her out the door—ready for whatever culinary chaos awaited.
Teuchi's ramen stand was unrecognizable.
The counters were cluttered with half-cut vegetables, stacks of misaligned bowls, and a few steaming pots that hissed and bubbled in threatening rebellion. In the middle of it all, Teuchi himself stood firm, his white chef's headband tied so tightly that his forehead glistened with sweat. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, arms flexing with the strength of decades spent stirring broth that could soothe the soul.
But today, his patience was thinner than his noodles.
"No, no, no!" he barked, slapping Chōji's hand away from the boiling pot. "You don't just drop the pork belly in like a kunai into mud! You lay it in, gently, like you're tucking your child into bed!"
Chōji, cheeks puffed and already stuffed with a half-chewed dumpling, frowned. "But it all goes to the same place…"
"It goes to the heart, boy!" Teuchi thundered, before whirling toward Naruto.
Naruto, meanwhile, had created what could only be described as a ramen catastrophe. His shadow clones had been tasked with chopping vegetables, but somehow they'd gotten into an argument about the "proper" way to dice scallions. Three were throwing kunai at the cutting board. Two were eating the onions whole. Another had managed to slice the counter clean in half.
"Dattebayo, it's teamwork!" Naruto defended himself, waving a ladle like a weapon.
"TEAMWORK DOESN'T MEAN DESTROYING MY SHOP!" Teuchi bellowed, snatching the ladle and slapping it back into the pot. "You'll ruin the broth's spirit if you stir it like that. Gently! Clockwise! Always clockwise!"
Naruto and Chōji exchanged nervous glances. They weren't sure if they were being trained… or punished.
✨ On the Road
Meanwhile, Malik and Sakura walked side by side through the evening streets of Konoha. Lanterns burned low, villagers wandered home from their duties, and the smell of snow-mingled air carried hints of street food through the alleys.
Sakura pinched the bridge of her nose. "Listen carefully, Malik. While we're in public, you call me respectful names. Sakura. Sakura-san. Sakura-chan if you want to push it. Occasionally… occasionally… you can slip in something cute. But no butt talk. No thighs. No—"
Malik tilted his head, smiling warmly at her, his hot-pink and gold eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.
"...You're so pretty when you're angry," he said, soft and sincere.
Sakura's shoulders slumped. "You're a lost cause."
"True," Malik replied with a grin. "But I'm your lost cause."
She fought the blush creeping up her cheeks and chose silence. Better than feeding him more material.
✨ At Ichiraku
When they arrived, the sound of chaos hit them first. Pots clanging. Naruto shouting. Chōji begging for "quality control taste tests." And over it all, Teuchi's booming voice, commanding like a general in the middle of war.
Malik ducked through the doorway and froze. Then his eyes lit up.
"Teuchi!"
The old man turned, his scowl dissolving instantly into a wide grin. "MALIK, YOU ROGUE!"
They moved toward each other with exaggerated steps, clasping hands and snapping through a complicated, years-old handshake—one part slap, one part spin, finishing with a finger-gun and a chef's bow.
Sakura blinked. "What did I just witness?"
"Culinary brotherhood," Malik said solemnly.
"Madness," Teuchi corrected, chuckling. Then his smile faded, his eyes sharpening with purpose. "You know what's happening, Malik?"
"I heard enough," Malik replied, rolling up his sleeves as pink-gold magic sparked around him. "And I smelled enough too. Let's save Ayame and remind the world what ramen really means."
✨ Cooking Begins
The kitchen erupted into organized chaos once more—but this time with purpose.
Teuchi manned the broth with unmatched precision, adjusting heat, swirling in bones, kelp, and spices until the air itself felt alive. His movements were fast, stern, and absolute—every flick of his ladle carried decades of mastery.
Malik floated beside him, magic weaving through the space. His enchanted knives spun in perfect synchronization, chopping vegetables so finely they glowed with magic. Spices ground themselves into fragrant powder under pulses of pink light. He stirred dough with glowing threads of energy, stretching it in the air until it spun into noodles finer than silk.
Sakura rolled her sleeves, stepping forward. "Don't underestimate me."
Malik winked. "Wouldn't dream of it, baby girl."
She ignored the nickname. With practiced ease, Sakura took over the cutting station, her hands moving like steel traps, her chakra-enhanced control slicing vegetables with flawless uniformity. Years of cooking at home and Malik's merciless "Cooking Bootcamps" paid off—her ramen toppings looked like they belonged in a painting.
Naruto and Chōji stared in awe.
"Since when can Sakura cook like that?" Naruto muttered.
"She's scary," Chōji whispered.
Teuchi barked, "Don't just stand there gawking! Learn!"
And so they did.
Naruto used shadow clones properly this time—each one rolling noodles in sync under Malik's magical rhythm. Chōji, guided by Teuchi's firm hand, learned how to balance flavors, adding pork belly slices with surprising tenderness for someone with an appetite so aggressive.
Malik laughed, energy sparking in his aura as bowls began to assemble themselves: perfect noodles, shimmering broth, toppings arranged with artistry. He flicked his wrist, sealing each bowl with a faint pink rune that preserved freshness and enhanced taste.
"This," Malik declared, raising a steaming bowl high, "isn't just food. This is survival. This is love in broth form."
Teuchi's grin widened. "You always did talk too much."
"And you always did underestimate my sparkle."
The two men laughed together, a sound that warmed the room even as steam fogged the windows.
Naruto and Chōji exchanged glances, stomachs growling. Sakura sighed, shaking her head but smiling despite herself.
For the first time since Ayame's capture, Ichiraku felt alive again.
And this time, Malik was here.
And that meant the Cooking-Nin didn't stand a chance.
The ramen was finished.
Steam rose from the bowls like curling banners of hope, carrying the scent of pork broth, miso, garlic oil, and perfectly cut vegetables into the night air. Teuchi stood tall at the head of the group, his hands still trembling faintly from the intensity of it all. Malik clapped him on the back with his usual flare, pink-gold sparks trailing faintly from his fingertips.
"Old man," Malik said warmly, "if this doesn't shut Hakkaku up, nothing will."
Teuchi snorted but allowed the corners of his mouth to lift. "We'll see."
✨ The Ascent
The group departed Ichiraku together—Teuchi, Malik, Sakura, Naruto, and Chōji—each carrying bowls sealed carefully in enchanted containers Malik had whipped up. The night was cold, the road rough, but Malik's magic lit the way. Pale pink orbs drifted around them like fireflies, casting long shadows across the snowy rocks as they made their way up the mountain.
Naruto and Chōji whispered back and forth, their nerves showing. Sakura kept her pace steady, though her fists were clenched at her sides. Malik, in his plum-and-gold robes, walked like a man who'd been here before.
When they reached the summit, torches burst alight all around them—twin rows forming a vast, glowing circle. In the center, a massive cooking ground lay prepared, stone counters and iron cauldrons catching the firelight.
From the shadows stepped dozens of figures. Cooking-nin—at least three dozen, each clad in aprons marked with the kanji for "flavor." Their weapons weren't kunai but ladles, knives, and woks. And at their front came Hakkaku.
His long, greyish hair hung loose around his shoulders, his black eyes sharp and greedy. His smirk cut across his weathered face as he scowled at Malik, then fixed his stare firmly on Teuchi.
"So. You came."
Teuchi's jaw tightened. "I want to see my daughter."
Hakkaku waved lazily, as though brushing away a fly. "She's safe. She's eating well. Nothing to fear."
Teuchi's nostrils flared. He knew Hakkaku too well—snake-tongued, greedy, sly. But before his anger could boil over, Malik laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Relax, old dog," Malik said, his tone light but his eyes sharp. "Hakkaku's a bastard, sure—but he always keeps his word. She's safe."
Teuchi took a slow breath, nodded once. "…Fine."
Behind them, Naruto and Chōji whispered to Sakura.
"Hey, uh… do you know what's going on?" Naruto asked, scratching his head.
Chōji leaned closer. "Yeah, what's this about Teuchi, Malik, and Hakkaku? Cooking wars?"
Sakura groaned. "Don't ask me. If I tried to keep up with Malik's 'culinary adventures,' I'd lose brain cells. All I know is: Ayame's kidnapped. That's all that matters."
The boys exchanged a look.
"So… no details?" Naruto pushed.
Sakura's cheeks flushed. "I don't have to explain Malik or me to you two idiots. He's my fiancé. He has hobbies. I deal with them. End of story."
Naruto and Chōji smirked, trading a knowing glance. Sakura raised a fist threateningly, and the conversation ended.
✨ The Challenge
Hakkaku crossed his arms, his voice carrying across the firelit circle.
"Did you use your magic on it, Malik?" he sneered. "Your tricks? Your flashy pink smoke?"
Malik's grin widened, gleaming in the torchlight. "The only magic I used was these—" he raised his hands, wiggled his fingers, "—and my skill. The food's clean. You'll find no enchantments, Hakkaku. Just perfection."
Hakkaku's smirk faltered. "Then… show me."
Malik and Teuchi stepped back. Their roles as masters had been fulfilled. Now it was time for the apprentices—Sakura, Naruto, and Chōji—to prove themselves.
✨ The Cooking-Nin Showdown
Sakura moved first, chakra thrumming in her arms as she slammed her fists into a pile of dough. It flattened instantly, rolled and stretched with flawless precision. Her control let her knead with the strength of a monster and the delicacy of an artist, the dough responding like silk beneath her palms.
"Goddesses above, that is one sexy woman . . . also Good start!" Malik called.
Naruto followed, summoning a dozen shadow clones. Each clone grabbed a rolling pin, working in perfect rhythm. Together, they stretched the noodles long and thin, tossing them high into the air. The glowing strings of dough caught the torchlight, fluttering like streamers before landing perfectly back on the counters.
"Dattebayo! Ramen no Jutsu complete!"
Then came Chōji. With a deep breath, he activated his Expansion Jutsu, his hands swelling to comical size. He carefully—carefully—placed slices of pork belly into the simmering broth, flipping them with practiced grace. Despite his size, his movements were tender, reverent, as though each piece was precious cargo.
Together, the three worked in harmony.
Sakura's strength. Naruto's clones. Chōji's precision.
Bowl after bowl came together, steaming and golden, the scent so powerful even the cooking-nin began to salivate.
Malik crossed his arms, pride in his smirk. "Perfect."
Teuchi nodded. "They've done it justice."
✨ The Tasting
The bowls were presented. One for Hakkaku. Enough for all his men.
"And," Malik started, "We brought extra, pre-made, just in case you felt . .." But he didn't get to finish, Hakkaku stopping him with a raised hand, his attention on the food in front of him.
Silence fell as the first bites were taken.
Slurp. Chew. Gulp.
Then—tears.
Actual tears streamed down the faces of hardened cooking-nin, their chopsticks trembling as they ate. The flavor overwhelmed them—the balance of broth, noodles, and topping nothing short of divine. Some wept openly, some bowed their heads in reverence. Even Hakkaku's lips trembled as he swallowed, his pride crumbling under the weight of flavor.
"…Incredible," he whispered.
He stood, his men standing with him. In unison, they bowed to Teuchi.
"You win," Hakkaku admitted. "She's yours."
✨ Ayame's Return
Ayame emerged from the shadows, led forward gently by a pair of cooking-nin. She was unharmed… though her figure had changed and long nights of feasting on Hakkaku's rich food had left her plumper, cheeks rounded, her body soft. Most notably, her breasts strained against her robe, fuller and bouncier than before.
Malik's eyes widened instinctively, but he snapped his head away, cheeks pink. He didn't even dare.
Sakura noticed—and smiled. She patted him on the cheek, approving. "Good boy."
Ayame bowed, tears in her eyes. "They treated me well. Too well, maybe. But I never doubted you'd come, Father."
Teuchi's eyes softened, though his jaw remained stern. "You're safe. That's all that matters."
✨ A New Deal
Hakkaku dropped to one knee. "Teuchi… please. Teach us this recipe. We'll pay any price."
Teuchi's sternness returned, his voice sharp as steel. "You want to learn? Then work for it. Come to Ichiraku. Work shifts. No pay. In fact—you'll pay me. Then maybe, just maybe, I'll share what makes true ramen."
The cooking-nin didn't hesitate. They agreed, voices unified.
For the first time in years, Teuchi allowed himself an actual, complete, and broad smile—not smug, but proud.
Beside him, Malik clapped once, sparks flying from his fingertips. "Looks like Ichiraku just got new staff. Hope they can handle my critiques."
Sakura groaned. "Here we go again."
Naruto and Chōji cheered, bowls in hand, already asking for seconds.
And for the first time in a long time, the mountain echoed not with challenge… but with laughter.