It turned out I shouldn't have worried about making dinner; the kitchen was already under occupation by a far more competent regime.
"Room for one more in here?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as I stepped into the kitchen, taking in the domestic scene before me. "Or do I need to present a culinary license to enter?"
"Looks like we've been beaten to the punch, brat," Anko drawled from behind me, peering over my shoulder. "About damn time someone else took over. My stomach was starting to file a grievance against your seasoning choices."
I just snorted. It was evident by now that Anko's issue was with anything that wasn't sweet or dango-shaped; it had nothing to do with my cooking. Yes, I cook just fine.
Tsunami stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, stirring something in a large pot that smelled like miso and ginger. Her long black hair was tied back in a practical knot, and despite the journey she'd just endured, she moved with the grace of someone who'd spent a lifetime feeding people on limited resources.
Beside her, Shiho was carefully slicing vegetables on a cutting board, thin, precise cuts that showed her characteristic attention to detail. She had her bottom lip caught between her teeth in concentration, glasses slipping slightly down her nose as she worked.
It was fascinatingly adorable. My pregnant nerd playing sous chef to the newest resident.
Tsunami glanced up from the pot; her face had a light sheen of sweat, cheeks flushed from the heat of the stove. "Ah, Eishin-san. Perfect timing." She smiled, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes. Why don't you wait in the dining room with Inari? We're just finishing up."
Shiho looked up at me too, her smile soft and warm, she pushed her glasses back up with a wet wrist before immediately returning her focus to the vegetables like they might escape if she wasn't vigilant.
I hummed thoughtfully and crossed the kitchen, placing a hand on Tsunami's back. I felt her posture straighten slightly at my touch. She was not used to it.
"You know you don't have to do this," I said, keeping my voice gentle. "You just finished a long journey. You should be resting, not cooking for a house full of people. Let me take over."
"Hah!" Anko snorted loudly, wandering past me to lean her hip against the counter right next to Shiho. She started poking at the neat piles of vegetables Shiho had arranged like towers, deliberately messing up the organization.
"Yeah, Tsunami. Let lover boy here handle dinner." She flicked a carrot slice across the cutting board. "I'm sure you'd really appreciate his bland, unconsistently seasoned cooking. Real gourmet stuff, a bit of an acquired taste. Like cardboard."
I deadpanned at her. She was such an awful wingwoman. The worst. How did anyone think she was helpful in social situations?
Tsunami looked between Anko and me, her expression thoughtful, clearly trying to gauge the dynamic. What was our relationship, exactly? More than friends? Lover? Chaotic gremlin I couldn't get rid of?
All of the above, really. She was smart; she was already building a map of the household dynamics in her head.
"It's... it's not bland," Shiho muttered under her breath, not looking up from her cutting board. Her knife work became slightly more aggressive. "Eishin's cooking is.... He tries very hard."
Anko raised an eyebrow, leaning closer to Shiho with a predatory grin. "Did you say something, four-eyes? Or are you just mumbling into your vegetables?"
Shiho's face went crimson. She set down the knife with a sharp clack and turned to face Anko, words tumbling out in a rush of defensive anxiety.
"I said his cooking is not bland! It's well-balanced and nutritious and he always makes sure to include proper protein portions and—and the seasoning is appropriate for the dish and just because it's not drowning in sauce doesn't mean it's bland and…." She trailed off into incoherent stammering, looking like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
I felt warmth bloom in my chest watching my little bookworm go to bat for me, even as I wanted to sigh. This was their first real interaction, Shiho and Anko. They knew of each other and of the sort of intimate relationship they each had with me, but this was the first time they'd actually been face-to-face.
And it was playing out like a bully cornering the shy kid in the library.
And Shiho was being more anxious than usual. She had social anxiety, sure, but she wasn't normally this flustered. She was a nerd, not a shrinking violet.
Anko, sensing blood in the water, leaned even closer, draping herself over the counter.
"Aww, that's sweet. Real loyal of you." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial purr. "But let's be real—you're just biased 'cause you're getting dicked down on the regular. Good sex makes bad food taste better, doesn't it? Trust me, I'd know."
Shiho made a strangled sound; she couldn't handle that level of bluntness, her face going from red to purple. "I—that's not—we don't—it's not about—"
I opened my mouth to intervene, to come to the defense of my precious nerd as she had to my cooking, tell Anko to stop being a menace for five goddamn minutes, but Tsunami beat me to it.
"Anko-san." Tsunami's voice was pleasant. Too pleasant. She turned from the stove, still holding the wooden spoon, and her smile was the sort of smile that looked warm until you noticed it didn't reach her eyes. "Perhaps you could help Inari set the table? I recall you mentioning in Wave how much you dislike waiting for food. It would speed things up considerably if you made yourself helpful."
That was not good. I looked from Tsunami's scary smile to Anko. The latter was not one to take threats, as subtle as they were, lightly, let alone be commanded to do anything. Hell, if I had to get her to do anything, most of the time, it was followed by her rebellion streak that I had to dismantle by fucking her senseless.
Anko blinked, looking from Tsunami to Shiho, then clicked her tongue and straightened up. The fire I expected didn't burst. "Tch. Yeah, yeah. Fine. I'll go babysit the kid. Make sure he doesn't break the good china. If we even have good china." She pushed off the counter, heading toward the door. "You all have fun playing house."
She shot me a wink as she passed, unrepentant, but she left.
Silence settled back into the room, broken only by the bubbling pot. Tsunami turned to Shiho, her expression softening into genuine warmth. "Don't mind her, Shiho-san. Anko-san has... a unique way of showing interest. She means no harm, she's just the loud sort."
Shiho adjusted her glasses, trying to regain her composure. "I'm fine. Really. But I won't let her disparage Eishin's cooking. It's—it's nutrient, and he gives his all."
Yet, still, I couldn't help but notice….. she never called my cooking good. Only nutrient or I try hard. Could it be….. no, banish the idea. My cooking was good. Shiho was just too anxious to use the right words.
Tsunami's smile became genuine. "I'm sure it is. Anko has her own way of showing she cares. It's rough around the edges, but there's warmth underneath." She paused, glancing at me, then back to Shiho. "And I'm certain Eishin-san's cooking is nothing like she described."
Shiho muttered something under her breath, then looked at me. I smiled reassuringly and nodded. Her face lit up, and she turned back to her vegetables with renewed focus, chopping with deliberate precision.
I blinked, trying to process these last seconds. Anko leaving just like that… what happened during their journey for her to listen to Tsunami?
The middle-aged woman seemed to find my expression amusing. She turned fully toward me, wiping her hands on a towel.
"Balance is important in a household, Eishin-san," she said, her tone light but carrying a distinct matriarchal wisdom. "especially one with... multiple strong personalities. It takes a steady hand to keep everything in harmony."
I smiled, slipping my hand from Tsunami's back down to the small of it, just above the curve of her hips. "Seems like you don't need my help after all."
Tsunami's smile widened slightly. She placed a hand on my chest, applying gentle pressure. "No, we have everything under control here. Go wait in the dining room. Let the women work. Shiho-san and I have this covered."
She pushed lightly, directing me toward the door like a mother shooing a child from underfoot.
"Alright, alright." I chuckled, raising my hands in surrender. "I know when I'm not wanted. I won't be on your way, ladies."
"Oh, you're wanted," Tsunami said, a hint of smugness in her voice that reminded me she wasn't just a traditional mother. "Just not at the stove."
Before she could fully escape, I leaned in and kissed her cheek.
The middle-aged woman froze, the spoon stilling in her hand. This was the first intimate gesture between us since she'd arrived. I'd held back from hugging her earlier, uncertain how she'd react after the journey, after leaving everything behind. The plan was to woo her slowly, let her settle in, rebuild the connection step by step.
But a kiss on the cheek was safe. Affectionate without being demanding.
Tsunami's breath hitched, her eyes widening. She turned her head slightly, a flush a lovely shade of pink creeping up her neck. "E-Eishin-san! Not in front of..." She glanced at Shiho, flustered but not pulling away.
"Couldn't help myself," I winked. "You're too bossy to resist."
Then I moved past her to Shiho, who had been watching furtively from the corner of her eye. Can't let my pregnant nerd be jealous. I bent down and kissed her temple, feeling her entire body go rigid with embarrassed delight.
"Thank you for defending my cooking," I murmured against her hair.
She made a sound somewhere between a squeak and a sigh, clutching her knife like a lifeline.
"Right then!" I announced, skipping backward toward the door before either of them could scold me further. "Looking forward to whatever you two are making. Smells amazing already."
I ducked out of the kitchen, leaving two flushed women and joined the kids in the dining room to wait. And yeah, I'm being literal with the plural. Inari might be twelve, but Anko has the emotional maturity of a sugar-crazed toddler when the mood strikes her.
Case in point, I found her locked in a heated debate with Inari about whether kunai or shuriken were the superior throwing weapon. Anko was insisting that kunai had more versatility and stopping power, while Inari, who'd probably never thrown either in his life, was stubbornly arguing that shuriken were cooler because they spun. The kid was gesturing wildly, while Anko grinned like she was enjoying winding him up. It was ridiculous. It was also oddly endearing in a way that made me want to stay very, very quiet and not get dragged into their nonsense.
I made myself small, sinking into a cushion in the corner, content to be invisible.
Fortunately, the wait wasn't long. Tsunami and Shiho emerged from the kitchen carrying trays laden with bowls of miso soup, fluffy white rice, grilled fish, pickled vegetables, and a simmering hot pot that smelled like heaven condensed into cookware. We all settled around the low table, and the meal began.
It felt surreal.
I'd never eaten with this many people before. Not like this. Growing up an orphan meant meals were functional. Even after becoming a shinobi, dinners were usually solo affairs or quick field rations shared in tense silence between missions. This…. this crowded table, this warmth, this noise, was alien territory.
The low table was packed, everyone reaching for dishes, passing bowls, the clink of chopsticks and the hum of conversation filling the space. To be honest, I'd been worried it would be awkward. Three women, all mine in different ways, meeting for the first time in a domestic setting. That should've been a recipe for disaster.
But, somehow, somehow, it wasn't.
Anko's brash humor kept things light, her irreverent jokes deflecting any potential tension. Shiho's quiet, earnest observations balanced Anko's chaos, grounding the conversation whenever it threatened to spiral. And Tsunami—Tsunami was the glue. The mature woman was warm and effortlessly smoothing over any rough edges with the skill of someone who'd been managing difficult personalities her entire life. She knew when to laugh, when to redirect, and when to gently tease.
Sure, I became the butt of most of the jokes that even Shiho, my cute little Shiho, had joined the wicked snake by the end. Talk about a bad influence; someone must pay. But it worked. The initial tension between Shiho and Anko dissolved into something approaching camaraderie, or at least mutual tolerance.
It was the best meal I'd ever had. Best food, best company, best everything. And it ended far too quickly.
It was a family dinner. An actual, honest-to-god family dinner.
Gathered around a table, shared food and laughter, complained about each other but stayed anyway. I'd never thought I'd have one of those. Funny how life worked.
When the meal ended, I felt a pang of disappointment, but also a giddy, buoyant feeling that made washing dishes feel less like a chore and more like an honor. Tsunami tried to insist she'd handle the cleanup, but I insisted harder in the form of a little spank on her butt that made the point across. She was a civilian who'd just endured a week-long journey from the Lands of Wave. She needed a hot bath and a soft bed, not dish duty.
After the kitchen was clean, I made my rounds. Checked on everyone, made sure they were settling in. Collecting a few stolen kisses and wandering hands along the way. But I kept it tame. They were all exhausted, and there was no need to be freaky-freaky on this day.
Once the house was quiet, I slipped back to the training ground. No rest for the wicked. I added four more shadow clones to my rotation and assigned two specifically to the birth control seal project.
My time with Sakura had sparked some more ideas to incorporate. Maybe I could modify the containment matrix to help with her reserves, kill two birds with one stone.
With my clones hard at work, I prepared for the next step.
I flashed through the hand signs—Boar, Dog, Bird, Monkey, Ram—and slammed my palm onto the ground, focusing on the specific chakra signature of my intended destination.
"Reverse Summoning Jutsu!"
Smoke billowed around, the world lurching sideways as space folded and spat me out somewhere else.
I expected the crisp, cool air of the maple forest. I expected the perpetual autumn, the carpet of crimson maple leaves underfoot, the ancient gnarled trees with their fiery foliage rustling in a gentle breeze.
What greeted me was none of that.
The air was thick and humid, clinging to skin like oil. The ground beneath my feet wasn't soft earth but slick stone, dark and wet, reflecting nothing. Around me, massive formations of rock twisted upward like ribs, veined with pulsing red foliage that seemed to breathe in the dim light. The vegetation wasn't natural—it grew in spirals, thorned and glistening, wrapping around the stone like arteries feeding something living.
And ahead of me loomed the entrance to a cave. Massive. Yawning. The opening was framed by jagged rock that looked disturbingly organic, like a throat ready to swallow, rimmed with those same red veins that seemed to pulse faintly with bioluminescence. The darkness inside was absolute, the kind that didn't just block light but devoured it.
This... was definitely not the Momiji Sanctuary.
I stood up slowly, looking left, then right. The silence here wasn't peaceful; it was heavy and predatory. Like walking into a room where everyone stops talking the moment you enter because they were just discussing how to eat you.
"Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me."
Something slithered in the darkness ahead, a sound like dry scales on wet stone.
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