The thick, heavy sea mist clung to the rocky coastline, smelling sharply of salt and decaying kelp.
Having reached their assigned sector near a desolate beach, Team 12 and the Akimichi-led assault squad took shelter behind a sprawling cluster of sea-worn boulders. The damp wind howled off the dark ocean waves, but the towering rocks provided just enough cover to set up an observation post out of sight from potential Kirigakure naval patrols.
"Alright, take fifteen minutes to refuel," the Akimichi Jōnin instructed, waving a hand to signal a temporary break. "Keep your voices down."
Without a word, Inuzuka Hana, Aburame Shi, and Kurenai Yūhi pulled small, dark brown spheres from their supply pouches—standard, bitter military food pills designed solely for high-calorie efficiency rather than taste. Even Asuma took out a dry, chalky nutrient bar with a miserable scowl.
Akira, sitting casually on a smooth rock, reached into his pouch and unrolled a small storage scroll. With a tiny tap of chakra, a soft cloud of smoke popped and cleared, revealing an elegant, wooden two-tier bento box.
As Akira popped the wooden latch open, a rich, mouth-watering aroma of freshly grilled teriyaki chicken, steamed rice, seasoned tamagoyaki, and pickled vegetables burst into the cold sea air.
The contrast was brutal.
The fragrant scent washed over the squad, making the dry food pills in everyone's hands taste like literal cardboard. Hana's giant white hound, Haimaru, immediately whined, his nose twitching frantically as a string of drool escaped his jaws.
The Akimichi Jōnin froze mid-chew. His eyes snapped toward Akira's bento box, his stomach letting out a loud, thunderous rumble that echoed off the rocks.
Swallowing hard, the massive Jōnin leaned over, his eyes wide as he looked down at the six-year-old. "Hyūga kid... do you... happen to have any more of those bento boxes in that scroll?"
Akira looked up at the giant warrior, his pale Byakugan eyes glinting with a overly cautious, protective look as he pulled his own box a few inches closer to his chest.
"I only have one extra," Akira bargained in a careful, reluctant voice, reaching into his scroll to summon a second wooden box. "And I'm only giving you one."
"Deal!"
The Jōnin snatched the box with surprising speed, popping the lid open and shoving a massive portion of grilled chicken and rice into his mouth. A look of pure, heavenly bliss washed over the broad face of the Akimichi elder as he chewed, savoring every single grain of rice as if he had just discovered true enlightenment on a cold beach.
Finishing the entire box in three massive bites, the Jōnin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and offered Akira a broad, approving grin.
"Kid," the Jōnin boomed softly, patting his stomach with immense satisfaction. "I am Akimichi Torifu. Remember the name! When we get back to Konoha alive, I'm personally taking you to the Akimichi main estate and treating you to our secret clan BBQ feast!"
Akira didn't show any dramatic excitement. He simply gave a polite, light nod and went right back to chewing his own food with total indifference.
'So this guy is Akimichi Torifu...' Akira mused internally, taking a bite of tamagoyaki. 'One of the elite bodyguards who served directly under the Second Hokage, Tobirama Sarutobi, alongside Hiruzen and Danzō. No wonder the Third Hokage felt completely comfortable sending his bratty son Asuma out to the coastal warzone. With a veteran monster like Torifu guarding the squad, my safety here is basically guaranteed for the time being.'
Asuma, however, was practically fuming. Watching Akira treat a veteran hero and a senior advisor's comrade with such casual indifference infuriated his fragile pride.
"Hey! Kid!" Asuma snapped loudly, glaring at Akira while pointing a finger. "Why don't you thank Lord Torifu properly?! Show some damn respect!"
Akira didn't even bother turning his head. He ignored Asuma completely, taking another slow, peaceful bite of his rice while staring out at the foggy waves.
Torifu glanced down at the calm Hyūga boy, a subtle, amused gleam passing through his sharp eyes. 'What an interesting brat,' Torifu thought to himself. 'Not a trace of nervousness, completely unbothered by the battlefield, and cooks better than half the chefs in the Leaf.'
Once lunch wrapped up, Torifu clapped his hands, instantly shifting the atmosphere back to military seriousness. "Break's over. Move into your observation positions."
The squad dispersed along the rocky ridge. Every thirty minutes, Akira would quietly activate his dōjutsu—"Byakugan!"—the veins around his temples bulging slightly as his vision cut through four hundred meters of dense sea fog, scanning the dark water for any incoming Kirigakure stealth boats.
While Akira was conducting his routine sweep, Asuma—who was assigned to perimeter guard duty—paced back and forth near the rocks. Asuma's eyes kept flickering over to Kurenai, who was sitting on a nearby boulder, watching Akira's calm, effortless chakra control with a genuinely curious, fascinated expression.
Seeing Kurenai give the younger boy so much attention set off a spike of petty jealousy in Asuma's chest.
Stepping forward with a loud, deliberate stomp, Asuma puffed out his chest, pointed his trench knife directly at Akira, and yelled at the top of his lungs.
"Hey! Hyūga Akira!" Asuma barked, his voice ringing loudly across the quiet beach. "I challenge you to a duel! Right here, right now!"
The sudden, loud declaration instantly drew the startled attention of everyone on the ridge.