Book 1
Chapter 4: The Ramen Stand Revelation
The sky over Suma Village, having exhausted its supply of grumpy clouds, had given way to a perfectly innocent blue.
Ken Hanzori, eleven years old and perpetually bored, found himself facing an unusual problem: a friend who refused to be impressed by casual displays of cosmic wealth.
"We could rent a private airship," Ken suggested, twirling a gold-plated stylus between his fingers. "Top floor, champagne fountain, zero gravity. You'd love it. No bamboo in the face."
Narutama, currently untangling a stubborn fishing net with the focused intensity of a monk solving life's mysteries, only grunted.
"Too much sparkle. Damages the eyes. Also, bamboo has character."
Ken squinted. "What about a gold-leaf painting class? We could paint each other. I'd let you use the real gold."
Narutama sighed. A puff of dust rose from the net. "I'd rather punch a tree."
"I could make a tree explode. Accidentally," Ken offered, brightening.
That finally earned him a side-eye. Narutama's gi, patched and faintly smelling of pond water, rustled as he shifted his weight.
"Or… we could do something normal." His grin hinted at mischief. He pointed toward the village, to where faded lanterns swayed over a sagging wooden sign.
---
The Echo of Ancestors
A wistful note crept into Narutama's voice.
"My grandmother used to run the best ramen stand in Suma. People said her broth tasted like… hope. And beef. Mostly hope." He hesitated, staring at his calloused hands.
"It's closed now. A bit run down."
Ken blinked. A ramen stand. That sounded refreshingly… normal. And possibly involved food. He perked up.
"Closed? Why? What does 'hope and beef' even taste like? Let's go see it! We can un-close it!"
Before Narutama could protest, Ken's boundless energy propelled him forward. They darted through narrow village lanes, past wooden fences and clucking chickens, until the stand came into view.
It was a shadow of its former glory. Faded red banners hung limply, flaking gold kanji that probably once read "Heavenly Noodles" but now whispered "Mildewed Dreams." A crooked lantern swayed in the wind, creaking like it had given up.
Uncle Hiro, Narutama's uncle, swept dried leaves with the weary rhythm of a man sweeping away memories. Auntie Sora polished an already-shiny bowl like it owed her money. Pride battled exhaustion on their faces.
Hiro straightened, spotting Ken's fine coat and the Hanzori crest stitched in gold. Money. Sometimes trouble. Sometimes… hope. He bowed stiffly.
"Young Master Hanzori. Welcome to… our humble establishment."
Ken beamed, blissfully unaware of the tension.
"Perfect! Narutama says you make 'hope and beef' ramen. I'll take a deluxe, extra everything! And make it… sparkly!"
---
The Accidental Culinary Cataclysm
Hiro blinked. Sparkly ramen? He glanced at Sora. She shrugged. At this point, why not?
Ken leaned over the dormant stove.
"Does this thing even work? It looks like it's seen too many failed dreams."
He waved his hand dismissively.
Deep inside him, the immense, unquantifiable Mone stirred. A casual thought. A flick of the wrist. A desire for "deluxe, extra everything, sparkly" ramen.
The stove answered.
With a sound like a rice cooker summoning a minor sun, golden light erupted from the ancient iron. Ingredients levitated. Noodles spun themselves into perfect spirals. Broth simmered instantly, releasing an aroma that punched hunger straight into the villagers' souls. Eggs soft-boiled in midair, their shells dissolving into edible glitter. Vegetables diced themselves with flawless precision.
Then, with a glorious BOOM, the cosmic stove was delivered.
A geyser of sparkling ramen burst skyward, coating the roof in shimmering broth before raining perfectly into waiting bowls. A single pork slice drifted down and landed on Hiro's nose.
He inhaled. His eyes watered.
"It's… it's like Grandma's. But… louder!"
---
The Village Awakens
The scent rolled through Suma like a divine bell.
Doors creaked open. Dogs sniffed the air and howled. Even the old temple bell swayed without wind, as if bowing to the flavor.
A passing merchant caught a glowing noodle on his sleeve and slurped it. His eyes widened to dinner-plate size.
"By the gods… it's heavenly!"
Within minutes, a line formed—villagers, traveling merchants, even two armored maids from the Hanzori estate, all desperate for a taste. Chickens clucked angrily as they were shoved aside.
A toddler waddled up, caught a falling noodle in his mouth, and instantly began breakdancing.
"The baby approves!" someone shouted.
Hiro and Sora, stunned but overjoyed, moved on autopilot. Coins clinked in the long-silent cash box. Hope returned, carried by the steam of Explosion Ramen.
---
The Misunderstood Miracle
Ken stood amidst the bustling, revitalized ramen stand, arms crossed, a smug grin plastered on his face.
"See?" he declared loudly to Narutama, who was valiantly trying to keep up with the incoming ramen bowls, still occasionally flinching when a rogue noodle exploded from the stove.
"It's all about the presentation! And the perfect order. My ordering skills are top-notch."
He completely ignored the fact that he had barely ordered anything beyond "deluxe, extra everything, sparkly."
Narutama gave him a long look. He had seen the glow on Ken's hand, the way the noodles had obeyed him. He knew. His own Bronze-tier ATM card pulsed faintly in his pocket, pitiful beside Ken's unintentional cosmic flex.
Yet Ken, smiling amid the noodles and villagers' cheers, remained blissfully unaware. He was a walking accident of fortune, a storm of unearned miracles leaving trails of hope and broth in his wake.
Narutama just sighed, a deep, tired sigh that promised many more years of this nonsense. He picked up another bowl, a small, genuine smile forming on his lips. At least the ramen tasted like hope. And actual beef, this time.
The sun climbed higher, casting golden light on the newly vibrant ramen stand. The scent of "Explosion Ramen" hung heavy in the air, a delicious testament to Ken Hanzori's continued, unwitting influence on the world.
Above, Ken's ATM flickered faintly, quietly logging another "minor" Mone surge, blissfully ignored by the boy who only wanted sparkly noodles.