c15: Satan's Dinner
Some things always happened very suddenly. For example, Tsuru, who had just finished beating up Garp, immediately received an emergency assignment that would last a full year. She didn't bother about Garp, who was sitting there with a swollen face and bruised nose, and hurried home.
Dragging Gion, who was "practicing her calligraphy" in the study, she rushed straight to Uchiha Madara's office without pause.
Needless to say, Tsuru lived up to her reputation as a Vice Admiral—efficient and decisive. In just ten minutes, she had abandoned a thoroughly bewildered Madara, who was left staring at the half-finished kanji for "Fire" still in Gion's small hands.
Madara looked down at the little rascal beside him; Gion, on her end, blinked up at Uchiha Madara with an innocent face. Seeing that Madara hadn't spoken for a long time, Gion wordlessly lifted the half-completed calligraphy scroll in her hand.
"Um... why not leave it like this? I think it looks pretty good, right, Master?"
Madara stared at the partially ruined calligraphy—complete with messy strokes and a tiny black handprint.and after a long, complicated internal struggle, chose to reluctantly accept it.
"This piece is still a bit..." He paused halfway, then shook his head. "Forget it, we'll frame it later. Did you buy a frame?"
——
It was five days before the start of the new term at the Marine Academy, and by now, Gion had already lived under Madara's roof for nearly half a month.
At first, their interactions were painfully awkward. Madara Uchiha, never known for patience, quickly began scolding Gion for her sloppy habits.
"Is this what you call chakra control? Hmph, with these childish games, you won't survive even five minutes on the battlefield! What are you doing every night? Fiddling with worthless junk? You might as well go home and get married now instead of wasting my time!"
Wearing his dinosaur pajamas borrowed from some unfortunate Marine quartermaster—Madara stood in the middle of the living room, shouting at Gion, who was currently attempting to shape chakra into a basic enhancement technique.
Even though Gion was pale from exhaustion, her sharp tongue remained.
"Tch, the moment I surpass you, I'll inherit the Will of Fire myself and let this 'stupid Master' see the true might of a sword that slays even one's own teacher!"
Uchiha Madara, who had lived through an entire era of war and betrayal, wasn't fazed at all. He shot back without hesitation. The two had been bickering like this almost daily for the past month—neither one willing to concede an inch.
"Heh, the last fool who said that to me has been dead for over a hundred years. With your pitiful progress, you'll die of old age before you can even scratch me."
Of course, Gion wasn't blind to her own flaws. Even someone as proud as her couldn't help but feel crushed inside sometimes.
After all, compared to the monstrous names that Madara casually mentioned during his rants—like the childhood version of himself already slaying enemies before the age of ten, or the two-day-old brat Ōnoki from Iwagakure the gap seemed insurmountable.
But what struck Gion the hardest was Madara's frequent references to Senju Hashirama—describing how the man could recover instantly from mortal wounds without any need for medical ninjutsu.
It sounded completely absurd. Even Vice Admiral Garp, considered the Navy's strongest brawler, couldn't pull off anything that ridiculous.
Sometimes, Gion couldn't help but wonder if Madara was making up fairy tales just to torment her. Could Wano Country or whatever Madara called his homeland—really have produced such monsters? If even half of what Madara said was true, then many of the people he fought against back then were at or even beyond the level of a Marine Admiral.
Yet every time she remembered how Madara fought Sengoku and Garp simultaneously when they first met, Gion knew deep down that he had no reason to lie.
Madara, meanwhile, glanced at the zoning-out little devil beside him, then quietly slipped into the kitchen to prepare dinner. Cooking was a new responsibility for him—one he didn't particularly care for. Usually, he'd just swing by the Marine mess hall to grab whatever slop was available.
But Gion? She wasn't someone who could tolerate such treatment. As a Vice Admiral's niece raised in privilege, she was used to nannies and chefs preparing meals daily. She had never endured eating cold leftovers and stale bread as regular meals.
Ever since arriving at Madara's home, she had suffered meal after meal with barely a crumb of satisfaction. The one time she mustered the courage to complain, it sparked an endless argument.
After nearly half a month of daily protests, Madara was finally bullied into occasionally taking her out to proper restaurants.
But going out to eat every time wasn't a long-term solution.
Madara was busy teaching Gion at home every day and wasn't doing any real work to generate income. The 300 million Berries he had earned from looting pirate ships before had already been stretched thin—and Madara was starting to panic.
In just half a month, Gion, that prodigal brat, had almost completely burned through the fortune he had painstakingly hoarded.
If Madara could throw away his pride, he would have marched to Garp and the other old fossils in the Navy headquarters to beg for support.
But if Uchiha Madara could cast aside his pride so easily, he wouldn't be Uchiha Madara.
Forced into a corner, Madara had no choice but to attempt to cook for himself.
Now drained of spirit and strength, Madara stood in the tiny kitchen, feeling as if he had reached the final battlefield of his life.
He stared nervously at the pot in front of him, memories flashing back. Was it last time when he accidentally stabbed the fish during gutting?
Or was it the time he dumped a little too much salt into the stew?
Or maybe... maybe it was when Hashirama once nearly poisoned himself by trying to replicate Madara's "cooking style" after a battlefield truce?
Uchiha Madara looked coldly at the bubbling, blackish-purple sludge surrounding the poor fish head floating sadly in the pot.
He didn't understand it he had followed the recipe perfectly!
Well, aside from adding seasoning "by instinct" and maybe boiling it for a bit too long.
But still, how did it end up looking like Salamander Hanzō's poison?
Just then, Gion, having finished her morning chakra control exercises, pushed the kitchen door open weakly, eager to see what was for breakfast.
And then, her young heart was traumatized.
She stared at Uchiha Madara in disbelief, almost thinking she had stepped into some evil summoning ritual.
"Master... okay, I admit maybe I slacked a bit during practice," she said stiffly, "but invoking the Will of Fire to murder your disciple—isn't it a little early for that?"
"I always thought the Will of Fire you keep talking about meant nurturing strength across generations... but if this is it..."
Gion shook her head solemnly.
"Even if I die, I refuse to accept it."
Uchiha Madara gazed indifferently at the pot, closed the lid slowly, and said with profound dignity:
"Food must not be wasted."
Gion looked at him like she was looking at an irredeemable sinner.
"Master... are you even hearing yourself right now?"
Madara's face darkened. Without another word, he grabbed Gion by the collar and dragged her out the door.
"That thing's not food. It's a biological weapon meant for Garp.
We're eating outside today."
——
A scrawny restaurant waiter greeted them with a standard Marine Town smile.
"What would you two like to order today?"
They spoke at the same time:
"Dry-fried river fish!"
"Rice bowl!"
Gion and Uchiha Madara turned and stared at each other, question marks practically floating above their heads.
In the One Piece world, where the seas ruled and freshwater fish were rare delicacies, Gion's order would easily cost over 100,000 Berries.
Meanwhile, Uchiha Madara... was clearly planning to survive the next fifty years with the remaining 10 Berries in his pocket.
"I don't care!" Gion snapped, crossing her arms stubbornly.
"I'm still growing! I want river fish!"
Madara's brows twitched.
"It's not good for children to eat too much luxurious food."
Gion: "Excuse me?"
After arguing and going back and forth, they finally compromised on a large plate of fried sea fish instead.
Madara figured it was cheap enough to not hurt his pride too much—even if the taste was borderline tragic.
Gion, meanwhile, thought pragmatically: Meat is meat.
The idea that her miserly master expected the future "Admiral Gion" to fill her stomach with only plain rice was ridiculous.
No wonder the ninjas of Wano Country always seemed to rebel against their masters. They had good reasons.
Uchiha Madara stared silently at his plate, which was cleaned more thoroughly than a battlefield after a Dust Release.
He took a silent mouthful, admitting grudgingly that although sea fish was inferior to river fish, it was, at least, decently cooked.
Gion watched Madara with sparkling, mischievous eyes.
"Master, master~," she chirped, "you always say your Sharingan can copy anyone's ninjutsu, right?
Why don't you go sneak into the kitchen and copy the chef's cooking technique?"
For a second, Uchiha Madara was left utterly speechless.
Copying cooking with the Sharingan?
Was she serious?
He didn't even bother activating the Sharingan unless facing at least an A-rank jutsu.
Now she expected him to open the eye... for a meal?
Madara opened his mouth to retort—but Gion's next words crushed his spirit entirely:
"Or..."
Gion said sweetly, "you could think about that 'anti-Garp' poison you just brewed up."
Madara coughed violently, nearly choking on a fishbone.
"Ninjutsu: Dust-Free Confusion no Jutsu!"
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