When Po arrived at the kitchen, slightly out of breath from his sprint across the deck, he found Gustave already assembling ingredients with practiced efficiency.
"You called me over to fry one steak?" Po asked with mock exasperation, wiping sweat from his brow. "Surely the world-renowned chef can handle that himself?"
Gustave placed a dramatic hand over his heart, his expression shifting to wounded betrayal. "Po, you've changed! Where's the simple, honest panda I once knew? Now you question my perfectly reasonable requests!"
"Aiya, fine, fine! I'll handle the steak," Po surrendered with a fond chuckle, heading toward the stovetop. "But only because Jerry deserves a proper welcome meal."
Behind Po's back, Gustave's expression shifted to one of smug satisfaction. Of course he could prepare the steak himself—but why work when delegation was an option? The art of strategic laziness was just another skill in his culinary arsenal.
With Po handling Jerry's portion, Gustave turned his full attention to the oil-splashed noodles. The dish demanded respect—a perfect harmony of texture, heat, and aromatics that couldn't be rushed or improvised.
He began by preparing fresh noodles, his hands working the dough with mechanical precision enhanced by subtle electromagnetic pulses. The Rumble-Rumble Fruit's power flowed through his fingers at microscopic levels, aligning gluten proteins with scientific accuracy while maintaining the hand-pulled authenticity that made the dish special.
The noodles must be wide, he thought, rolling the dough until each strand measured nearly two fingers in breadth. Anything thinner lacks the surface area to properly hold the oil and seasonings.
As water reached a rolling boil in his largest pot, Gustave added the noodles alongside crisp vegetables—fresh bok choy and bean sprouts that would cook to perfect tenderness in the time it took the pasta to finish. Timing was everything in this dish; each component had to reach completion simultaneously.
While the noodles cooked, he prepared the aromatic foundation: minced garlic, chopped scallions, salt, five-spice powder, and vibrant red chili powder arranged in Luo Luo's serving bowl like an artist's palette.
The critical moment arrived as Gustave lifted the noodles from their bath, vegetables glistening alongside the wide, silky strands. Everything went into the bowl at once, creating a canvas of colors and textures.
Then came the dramatic finale—a generous ladle of smoking-hot oil poured directly over the seasonings. The sizzle was immediate and spectacular, aromatic steam rising like incense as the heat awakened every flavor compound simultaneously. A splash of soy sauce and black vinegar completed the alchemy, everything stirred together until the noodles gleamed with crimson perfection.
"Oil-splashed noodles, ready to serve!" Gustave announced with justified pride, carrying the bowl to where Luo Luo waited with barely contained anticipation.
Jerry had already demolished most of his steak—despite the meat being several times his own size—his tiny jaw working with cartoon efficiency that defied all biological laws.
"Incredible!" Luo Luo breathed, his eyes wide as he absorbed the dish's vibrant appearance. The chili oil's aroma made his mouth water after days of involuntary fasting in the Robo-Troopers World.
"Eat while it's hot," Gustave advised warmly. "And don't forget these." He placed several cloves of raw garlic beside the bowl, along with a small dish of pickled cabbage and a cup of clear noodle broth.
"Thank you, Brother Gustave!" Luo Luo stood and bowed formally before picking up his chopsticks with reverent care.
The first bite was transcendent. His eyes closed in bliss as familiar flavors flooded his palate—the satisfying chew of hand-pulled noodles, the numbing heat of chili oil, the fresh crunch of vegetables all harmonizing in perfect balance.
"This is even better than the ones I remember from that family trip," Luo Luo declared between enthusiastic slurps.
"Try it with garlic," Gustave suggested with an encouraging smile. "It's a classic combination—though the flavor can be intense for newcomers."
"I've seen that on cooking shows," Luo Luo nodded, remembering a food tv show "They always emphasized the garlic pairing."
Following Gustave's advice, he peeled a clove and took an ambitious bite.
"Hot! Hot! Spicy!" Tears sprang to his eyes as the raw garlic's fire hit his tongue with unexpected intensity.
"Quick—eat some noodles!" Gustave coached.
Luo Luo immediately slurped up a generous portion of oil-slicked pasta, and his expression transformed from pain to wonder. The garlic's sharpness melded perfectly with the chili oil and five-spice, creating layers of flavor that no single ingredient could achieve alone.
From that moment, he ate with gusto, alternating bites of noodles with raw garlic in the traditional style. For someone from Guangdong Province—a region famous for mild cuisine—his tolerance for spicy food was remarkably impressive.
After learning about the Gate's time dilation properties, Luo Luo decided to extend his stay. The human environment, even if not his original world, provided welcome relief after the mecha dimension's barren wasteland.
Gustave waived the boy's food and lodging expenses without hesitation. A child struck by lightning and transported to an alien world deserved compassion, not billing statements.
But Luo Luo's independent spirit refused charity. He insisted on working for his keep, demonstrating remarkable maturity for his age. Since the Bamboo Staff lacked steady customer traffic, Gustave arranged employment at Makino's tavern in Windmill Village.
The arrangement proved mutually beneficial. Luo Luo partnered with Hot Wheels to establish a delivery service—the boy's business instincts and the robot's speed creating an efficient operation that served the island's scattered drinkers. Within a week, Luo Luo had not only covered his expenses but built a respectable savings account.
Meanwhile, Tom and Jerry's enforced peace aboard the Bamboo Staff created interesting tensions. Gustave's no-fighting rule prevented property damage, but it couldn't eliminate their fundamental antagonism. The eternal enemies simply relocated their battlefield.
This particular morning, their conflict reached a boiling point over some trivial slight lost to history. Tom's face flushed crimson with rage, steam literally erupting from his ears as he raised a flyswatter with murderous intent.
Jerry remained completely unruffled, crossing his tiny arms and pointedly looking toward Gustave's position.
Tom froze mid-swing, remembering the dire warning about meal privileges. His need for revenge warred with his need for sustenance—and sustenance won, barely.
But a cat's pride demanded satisfaction. Tom stalked to the ship's writing desk, seized pen and paper, and composed an elaborate challenge letter complete with formal calligraphy and wax seal.
Jerry read the document with growing amusement, then signed his acceptance with a flourish. If Tom wanted a proper duel, he'd get one.
The beach became their chosen arena, sea breeze providing dramatic atmosphere as cat and mouse faced each other with the gravity of legendary warriors. Their expressions carried all the weight of a Forbidden City confrontation between martial arts masters.
A respectful audience had assembled on nearby rocks—the Bamboo Staff's crew munching pop corn as they settled in for the entertainment.
Tom and Jerry began with a formal handshake before leaping apart, each reaching behind their backs with synchronized precision. They produced identical bows, scaled to their respective sizes, and drew arrows with practiced motions.
Both strings released simultaneously—but instead of arrows flying, the bows' recoil launched both combatants backward in spectacular arcs. They crashed into the sand seeing stars while their weapons landed harmlessly nearby.
"Round one: draw," Gustave announced from his judge's position.
For round two, both somehow procured full-sized cannons, which they maneuvered across the sand with tremendous effort. The audience watched in fascination as cat and mouse positioned the artillery pieces facing each other at point-blank range.
Tom and Jerry struck dramatic poses behind their cannons, lighting fuses with theatrical flair.
BOOM!
The cannonballs met in midair and ricocheted back, sending both combatants flying as their own weapons recoiled violently. They landed in identical craters, dazed but undefeated.
"Round two: another draw," Gustave called out, suppressing laughter.
The final round demanded medieval honor. Tom and Jerry emerged from their sandy impacts wearing elaborate court costumes complete with feathered hats and ceremonial swords. They saluted each other with courtly grace before assuming en garde positions.
Wind whipped across the beach, creating a sandstorm that obscured the duelists from view. When it cleared, both fighters were already engaged in furious combat, their blades ringing with metallic precision.
Tom's size advantage became apparent as Jerry was slowly forced backward, his smaller sword struggling against his opponent's reach and strength. The mouse gave ground steadily, victory seeming inevitable.
Then fate intervened—Jerry tripped over a conveniently placed rock, falling backward as Tom's sword swept through empty air. Jerry's weapon, held defensively, punched upward and caught Tom's foot with perfect precision.
"YEOOOOOWWWW!"
Tom rocketed skyward like a furry missile, disappearing into the blue while his sword clattered to the sand below.
Jerry struggled upright, dusting himself off with satisfied smugness. Victory by accident was still victory, and he celebrated with exaggerated laughter that echoed across the beach.
His triumph was short-lived. A shadow fell across the sand, growing larger by the second.
Jerry looked up to see Tom plummeting earthward with the inevitability of gravity, his trajectory perfectly calculated for maximum impact.
The mouse's eyes went wide as dinner plates, but escape was impossible. Tom crashed down with the force of a meteor, driving Jerry deep into the sand until only his twitching tail remained visible.
When the dust settled, both combatants lay motionless in Tom-shaped and Jerry-shaped impressions, their epic duel ending as it began—in a perfect draw.
"Match concluded," Gustave declared with judicial solemnity. "Final result: triple tie, with maximum entertainment value achieved."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writing takes time, coffee, and a lot of love.If you'd like to support my work, join me at [email protected]/GoldenGarudaYou'll get early access to over 50 chapters, selection on new series, and the satisfaction of knowing your support directly fuels more stories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~