Protagonists (2)

Akai brought the spoon to his mouth, a balanced scoop of rice, curry, and a perfect cut of pork cutlet resting on it. He chewed quietly, slowly.

And then it hit him.

The flavor exploded.

Curry was his favorite—had been since his past life. That hadn't changed even after reincarnating into this cursed and chakra-infested world. But this wasn't just curry. This was his curry.

It has no carrots. He hated carrots.

Evenly chopped potatoes and cubes of meat, perfectly soft without dissolving into mush, blended into the rich, deep flavor of the pork stock curry. But that pork cutlet—crispy breading that clung to the meat even when cut with a spoon, fried golden yet not dry, tender inside... tender enough that it practically fell apart on his tongue.

This meat was hit with a mallet, he thought. And marinated. Not just seasoned. There's a light yellow tint... turmeric, maybe a hint of soy and sake in the base?

Most people just slapped seasoning on both sides, dunked it into flour, egg, breadcrumbs, and fried it blind. But this—this was the work of someone who knew what they were doing.

Akai's hand froze slightly mid-bite.

This flavor is almost exactly like the pork cutlet I perfected in my past life...

Across the table, Shion was trying very hard not to cackle.

Her lips curled into a smug little smirk. Victory.

Heh. Taste the power of my culinary and reading skills, fool. Thank your damn author for putting your favorite food recipe in that auxiliary chapter, you bastard. KEKEKEKEKEKE—

"...This is good," Akai said calmly, spoon tapping lightly against the bowl.

Shion tilted her head, innocently. "Oh? I'm glad you like it~"

He squinted slightly at her. Her smile was too triumphant. Her eyes a little too bright. He knew that expression—it was the look of someone who knew she'd won something, even if the other party hadn't realized what game they were playing yet.

Akai slowly chewed another bite, hiding the subtle twitch of his eyebrow.

She was digging into her own bowl, clearly pleased with herself, like a villain who finally set the perfect trap. Which, to be fair, she kind of had.

Still, Akai cleared his throat softly, feigning nonchalance. "You're... very skilled."

"Oh stop~" Shion giggled, placing a hand dramatically over her chest. "You're embarrassing me~"

Yeah, this girl's definitely up to something, Akai concluded, mouth full of his own perfected curry recipe from another life.

But damn it... she's good.

Akai was overwhelmed.

Isn't this a test? he thought, gripping his spoon a little too tightly. 

She's suspicious of me... this might be the setup before the kill. Befriend me, get close, earn my trust, learn about me—then eliminate me once she considered me a threat to her perfect reincarnated life.

The classic "second transmigrator becomes the mid-arc antagonist" plot! Damn it, I can't let that happen. I need leverage. I need to return the favor first-!!

Smile.

He forced one.

"Then... I'll cook tomorrow," Akai offered, voice light, falsely radiant like a fresh spring breeze.

Across the table, Shion blinked. Just once.

He thinks I did all this because I want something from him, she thought, annoyed but slightly amused. 

Well, it would be great if it works, and I could just say, 'Please don't kill me after you become a Shisui-fusion nightmare monster,' but I can't in actuality say that can I?

He's trying to return the favor before I get to use that said favor. I can't let that happen.

Shion tilted her head sweetly, placing her empty spoon gently onto the edge of the bowl. Her winning smile glimmered like a sharpened kunai.

"Ah? Weren't you going to buy ramen for Naruto-kun tomorrow night?"

Direct shot.

Akai flinched—internally.

Damn it. She blocked it. She blocked it.

She's not even looking at me and she's already countering my favor-return setup? Seriously?!

"Th-then... what about lunch?" he blurted, grasping for ground before it all slipped away.

If I let her walk now, I'll have nothing. No leverage. She keeps the curry-favor card and I'm just another ungrateful side character in her route. And what do fanfiction protagonists do to ungrateful side characters?!

Shion tilted her head, one gloved finger tapping her chin in mock thought. But her expression was a lie—this move had been planned five turns ago.

"Oh no, that's a bit tricky," she said, voice light as air. "I've got a few noon appointments... Hokage's office and all that."

"Such a pain~ not getting to taste your cooking is such a paaaain~✨✨✨"

Her smile was dazzling. Lethal.

"But let's save it for another time. Thank you for the offer, Akai-san~"

She shut me down, Akai realized as a single bead of sweat crept down his temple.

He took another slow bite of curry, not even tasting it anymore.

She took the high ground. She fed me, denied all repay attempts, and even sweet-talked me with fake innocence.

This is the worst possible scenario. After regaining my memories, I should've expected this—this is textbook fanfic protagonist behavior!

He looked up at Shion.

She was humming cheerfully as she began rinsing the dishes, not even looking at him anymore.

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It was early in the morning. 7 AM sharp.

Two wooden trays rested firmly in Akai's hands, each balancing a heated stone plate that sizzled beneath a thick, juicy cut of braised steak.

Nestled beside it were mashed potatoes—whipped just the right amount—and precisely cut asparagus stalks arranged with surgical neatness. Two soft-fried eggs lay on top, their yolks glistening, barely cooked. It was a heavy breakfast, sure—but not random.

This was the exact breakfast Shion would always cook for herself in the story Akai knew.

A calculated move. A symbolic gesture. A trap with buttered edges.

Akai raised his foot and knocked on Shion's door, voice clear but polite:

"Shion-san. Are you inside?"

The door creaked open a second later—but it wasn't her.

Instead, a man with soft features and a faintly tired look peeked out. White robes with faded trim. Slight stubble. Friendly but entirely unremarkable in every way.

"Ah, Akai-dono, right?" the man said, blinking once. "Shion-sama mentioned you."

He glanced at the food, then at Akai.

A small smile curled up at the corners of his mouth.

"Perfect timing, Akai-dono."

Akai tilted his head, his usual blank expression locked in place while internal alarms blared.

She talked about me to her servant already? Is that a good thing or am I flagged for deletion?

"I'll go get her," the man said calmly.

Except—he didn't move.

Instead, he casually pushed the door open wider and turned his head slightly toward the interior of the house.

Then, with the most innocent smile imaginable, he called out:

"So he said, Shion-sama. It is not the enemy. You don't need me to say that you're unavailable after all."

A very loud shriek immediately followed from deeper inside.

Akai did not react on the outside. But his inner monologue was already in full sprint.

She's here. She's been watching me since I turned the corner, hasn't she?

He activated his Byakugan for just a second. Confirmed. Crouched behind the hallway, pressed up against the wall with flared chakra like a cat on edge. 

She was mentioned to be a chakra sensor in the story too...

She anticipated this. She knew I'd try to repay her. She's trying to dodge the favor being returned before she can weaponize it.

Behind the wall, Shion was busy whisper-screaming into her palms.

NOOO—HE ACTUALLY CAME! Is he seriously already counterattacking?!

She hissed a breath, biting her lower lip.

Meanwhile, Taruho nodded to himself approvingly, having completely misread the tension.

What a sweet kid, he mused. When Shion-sama described him as a manipulative psychopath, I thought she was exaggerating. But here he is—bringing her favorite breakfast. They must've hit it off yesterday.

He turned back to Akai and said cheerfully, "I'll just let her know you're here," then wandered off without even closing the door—leaving Akai standing like a butler on a magazine cover.

The plates sizzled in his hands. His glasses caught the light.

Then came Shion's voice, a bit flustered. "Taruho, you—!?"

The door opened widely again, this time with the unmistakable energy of the girl herself. Her hair was still a bit messy from sleep, eyes widening when she saw the steak breakfast.

Akai, still composed, tilted his head. "Good morning, Shion-san. I figured I'd return the favor. I hope you don't mind steak for breakfast."

Shion stared at the dish, then at him, her brain short-circuiting for just a moment.

He made that dish. The one she used to make when she was alone in her apartment in the fanfic—before Akai even appeared in the original chapters. A very specific, symbolic comfort meal.

Her inner alarms blared. H-huh? Coincidence?

But her face remained a practiced smile. "W-Wow, Akai-san... This is... really unexpected."

Both kids, smiling, polite, respectful.

Both kids, screaming internally.

Their Cold War of mutual paranoia had just escalated into culinary warfare.

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The dining table was set, the morning sun casting pale streaks of gold across the hardwood floor. A single plate in front of each of them, twin glasses of chilled water to the side, and the smell of sizzling steak still lingered faintly in the air.

Akai sat quietly, fork and knife in hand, carefully slicing into the soft, marinated meat. Across from him, Shion wore a bright smile that didn't quite reach her eyes—though it would've fooled anyone else.

She cut a neat portion of mashed potatoes and steak together and took a bite with composed precision.

"It's... quite the breakfast, Akai-san," Shion said pleasantly, her voice melodic.

"It was the least I could do," Akai replied with equal calm. "Yesterday's curry was exceptional. I wouldn't feel right if I didn't at least try to return the favor."

Both of them smiled.

Both of them were sweating internally.

So it was curry yesterday, and steak today? Shion mused behind her composed demeanor. Does this mean he's trying to outdo me? I won yesterday—he's trying to tip the balance.

She's trying to lock me into emotional debt, Akai concluded, sipping his water with barely a sound. She even deflected my offer to cook yesterday. That's not someone who wants repayment. That's someone keeping their favor in reserve—for leverage.

Meanwhile, Taruho stood a few steps away from the table, a tray still in his hands from helping set the water. He observed the two children from the side—Shion with her soft smile and fluttering eyelashes, Akai with his slightly downcast gaze and faint blush (a side effect of stress, not affection).

His eyes widened a fraction.

Ah... no way... could it be...?

He suddenly clasped the tray to his chest, his gaze turning warm. A gentle, supportive aura surrounded him.

"I shall support you, Shion-sama," he declared, completely unprompted.

Akai paused mid-chew.

Shion blinked, knife frozen in her grip halfway through cutting an asparagus.

A brief silence fell.

"...Eh?" Shion tilted her head, confused.

"...Support her in what?" Akai asked flatly.

Neither of them dared break the awkwardness further.

Taruho, still smiling like a father giving away his daughter at a wedding, gave no further explanation.

Akai cleared his throat and asked, "Are you sure you're not eating, Taruho-san? I made one more portion. It's still warm—I can bring it here."

"Ah, thank you for the offer," Taruho said, waving a hand gently. "But I have a few things to attend to this morning. Please enjoy your meal without me."

He bowed slightly and made his way toward the exit.

That's when Shion spoke up, eyebrows twitching, unsure why she felt a rising sense of dread.

"...Taruho."

He stopped, glancing over his shoulder.

"...Whatever you're thinking, it's not that."

There was a pause.

Taruho smiled even more warmly.

"Don't worry, Shion-sama. I know exactly what you're thinking."

NO YOU CLEARLY DON'T?!

Shion's grip tightened slightly on her fork.

"Like I said—"

But before she could finish, the front door slid shut.

"...he's gone," she sighed.

Akai stared at his water glass for a long second.

They resumed eating.

The silence returned, but now it was laced with mutual calculations, unanswered questions, and the distinct sound of two incredibly paranoid children pretending to be normal.

But the steak?

Perfectly medium-rare.

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The plates were mostly empty now, save for a stray asparagus tip and the glossy remnants of steak juice pooled along the edge of Shion's plate.

The warmth of the meal lingered faintly in the air, though the psychological tension between them never once cooled off.

Taruho had already left.

He'd stormed off dramatically after giving Shion that bizarre, heartfelt support for... whatever romance he'd cooked up in his imagination.

Neither Akai nor Shion had addressed it. They simply watched him disappear with synchronized confusion—and a mutual agreement not to question it.

To begin with, Akai remembered quite a few dishes Shion had cooked throughout the story. He'd read about them in that auxiliary chapter the author had lazily tacked on—everything from festival sweets to elaborate rice sets and preserved bentos.

At times, it felt less like a "powersheet" and more like a food blog. Honestly, with how detailed it got, Akai sometimes wondered if the Author was secretly a housewife in training.

But the real issue?

He couldn't cook.

Not in the "burnt toast, try again" kind of way—no, if left unsupervised in a kitchen with genuine intent, Akai was more likely to rupture a gas line and turn himself into a tragic news segment before noon.

Good thing I remembered something like that, Akai thought, his eyes scanning the now empty and cooled-off stone plate in front of him.

Searing the meat? Easy. Braising it after a good sear? Manageable. Toasting asparagus and seasoning with salt? Practically instinct.

But the eggs—those damn sunny-side-up eggs—they were his personal hell.

So many chicken babies had perished in the process. Burnt edges, ruptured yolks, watery whites—it was as if every one of them had died to remind him of his incompetence.

Still, he was relieved. At least this one—this steak and eggs with asparagus—was something he remembered well from the story.

One of Shion's comfort foods, something she cooked for herself after long sealing assignments.

Conversation between them carried on as if nothing deeper swirled beneath the surface. Casual, surface-level words were traded, smiles half-meant but polite.

Then, finally, Akai set his fork down. His tone remained smooth and composed, but the question was far from casual.

"This is... just something on my mind," he began. His red eyes flicked up from his glass to hers. "Do you—have anything you wanted for me to do?"

There was a pause, not long, but deliberate.

Shion blinked. Her smile didn't falter, but she did lean back slightly in her seat, folding her arms. "Hmm? What brought this on, Akai-san?"

"Nothing in particular," he said softly. "But you went through all the trouble to cook for me. That curry wasn't some leftover dish, it was... too well-timed. Too well made. I just thought—maybe you were trying to lead up to a request."

He smiled, faint and unreadable.

Shion's eyes narrowed just the tiniest bit.

The Shion Akai remembered in the story wasn't some Mary Sue protagonist. She wasn't soft and she wasn't handed everything.

She was manipulative—not out of cruelty, but out of necessity. Reincarnated into a cold world with bloodlines and war and ancient ghosts, she worked harder than anyone.

She crawled her way up the mountain of fuinjutsu and stood on top of it, blood on her knuckles and ink-stained fingers.

The girl in front of him had the same gleam in her eyes.

That's why Akai was careful.

Because even now, he had no idea what her angle was.

Why curry? Why now? Was it genuine goodwill? A baited trap? A test to see whether he would be useful—or dangerous? If Shion truly believed she was the protagonist of this world, then anyone outside her narrative... might just be seen as a threat.

Especially someone like him. A Hyuga with a mysterious red eye. Someone who wasn't even mentioned in the original story. Not even a footnote. He wasn't even a proper extra. A phantom character with no script.

So how long until the protagonist decided he didn't belong?

"I'm not the kind of person who likes owing others," Akai added, placing his glass down gently. "So if there's anything—now's a good time to say it."

Shion looked at him, for a little too long.

"W-well... there's isn't."

They talked a little longer, the air light on the surface but thick with silent calculations. Taruho's departure had helped—his presence would've made this cold war even more awkward.

Just as Akai reached for the tea kettle to refill her cup, Shion tilted her head slightly.

"Actually," she said, tone softening, "there is something I'd like to talk about."

Akai's hand froze mid-pour.

There it was.

He turned his head slightly toward her, expression unreadable.

"What is it?" he asked.

She smiled again. Polite. Calm.

"Let's clean up first."

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To be continued.