Fanma stood before the stove, carefully recalling Tsunade’s dietary preferences: she disliked sweets, loved tender chicken, and enjoyed a good drink.
To capture a woman’s heart, one must first capture her stomach.
Recalling the vast array of recipes and mouth-watering delicacies from his past life, Fanma found himself at a crossroads.
Sichuan or Cantonese?
Lu or Su?
The hero of an age, Fanma, hesitated before a cutting board.
It might be hard to believe, but Fanma was a genuine devotee of pure love—a “keyboard warrior” of romance.
Tsunade was his childhood sweetheart and his closest confidante.
Transitioning from a best friend to a girlfriend was a complicated maneuver.
Despite potentially hanging around Jiraiya for a few years (strike that), he was still technically an innocent.
One reason was that the Uchiha bloodline was forbidden from mixing; doing so would lead to severe consequences.
The other reason was that a celibate state was required for the initial stages of his taijutsu training, and he wasn’t exactly a casual man.
After his physical constitution skyrocketed, Fanma had sadly discovered he’d reached a state of “reproductive isolation.” Sometimes he even wanted to traverse the dimensions to ask his fellow taijutsu experts how they managed it.
Could people who shattered mountains with a single punch really conceive children with ordinary humans in the normal way?
Fanma stopped the inner monologue and focused on the evening’s menu.
No sweets, loves tender chicken.
The answer was clear: the classic Sichuan dish—”Chicken Bean Curd” (Ji Dou Hua).
He grabbed two Rock-fowl.
Young pullets—perfect.
With a gentle flick of his wrist, he deboned them.
Using Wind Release chakra condensed into a blade, he trimmed the excess membranes, leaving only the crystal-clear meat.
He beat the meat with rhythmic, high-frequency strikes—dozens per second—until it transformed into a delicate chicken paste.
He poured in prepared Sand-ginger water, Mist-scallion water, premium Fire-wine, and mineral water from the Leaf spring.
Mixing the paste with water in a 5:4 ratio, he added salt, egg whites, and just enough starch.
After straining the mixture through a fine sieve, he added broth and another splash of wine.
He poured the mixture into boiling water.
Under high heat, the paste set instantly; he then lowered the heat, stirring gently to draw out the purest essence of the chicken.
Finally, he removed the broth, strained it into a bowl, and laid the tender, curd-like chicken paste on top.
It was finished—clear as a mirror, delicate as bean curd, and fragrant as a dream.
Fanma nodded.
Tsunade would love it.
He used the remaining broth to create a rich soup with winter bamboo shoots, mountain mushrooms, shark fin, and water shield.
He then quickly boiled a second Rock-fowl to seven-tenths doneness, letting it cook through in its own residual heat.
He deboned it, sliced the meat into strips, and tossed them with chili peppers, Sichuan peppercorn powder, ginger, salt, rice wine, and vinegar.
Fanma inhaled, exhaled a miniature version of the Fireball Jutsu to evaporate the excess liquids—leaving only the fragrance—and flash-fried it.
The fragrant, tender, spicy, and smooth Dong’an Chicken was ready.
With some braised venison, flash-fried peanuts, and smashed cucumbers, the feast was complete.
He brought out a few bottles of fine wine he’d “borrowed” from the Land of Water Daimyo’s bedroom back in his Anbu days.
Everything was prepared.
Today was a battle of a different kind.
A heavy knock sounded at the door.
Tsunade strode in, head held high.
Smelling the aroma filling the room, she asked, “You bastard, you can actually cook?” Seeing the spread on the table, she widened her eyes, staring at Fanma in astonishment.
Fanma was momentarily speechless.
Had this woman really thought he was joking?
Then again, considering how much he’d loved to flirt since they were kids, it made sense.
Fanma steadied himself, poured two cups of wine, and gestured for her to sit.
Tsunade grabbed her chopsticks, took a bite of the Chicken Bean Curd, and her eyes lit up with happiness.
“How is this so good?
It melts in the mouth!
How did you know I loved chicken?” Fanma chuckled.
“I’ve known since we were kids.” Tsunade rolled her eyes, already lost in the food.
She grabbed a bowl of rice and began devouring the Dong’an Chicken and braised venison, her chopsticks dancing.
Fanma watched her with a smile, barely touching his own food, focusing on clinking glasses and snacking on the cold dishes.
As Tsunade got into the swing of things, she shouted, “Drinking this cup by cup is pointless!
Get bigger glasses!” Fanma stood up, fetched two beer mugs, and brought out a whole case of liquor.
Drinking hard liquor out of beer mugs—in the ninja world, only the two of them could pull that off.
They matched each other drink for drink.
The silence between them, once the food was gone, turned heavy with unspoken tension and a faint awkwardness.
Tsunade put down her chopsticks, looking at him with a flushed face and drunken eyes.
“You bastard…
we’ve known each other for eighteen years, right?” “Yeah.
Eighteen years.” “You…
you’ve become an incredible ninja.” “I guess.” “Is ‘incredible’ all you call beating me and Uchiha Setsuna?” “…” “Honestly, I know you don’t like me.
And I don’t like you that much either.
That day…
you were just trying to comfort me, weren’t you?” “I wasn’t.” “Ha!
A man who can defeat two clan-level ninjas—would he really avoid being with the girl he likes just because he’s worried about war?” Tsunade slammed the table.
“Even a Genin wouldn’t use such a lame excuse!
You bastard!” Fanma was silent.
He had overlooked one thing: in this world, only he knew of Uchiha Madara’s conspiracies, Kaguya, Isshiki—he knew too much.
Fanma felt that his current strength was merely “sufficient,” barely enough to survive the coming storm.
But in Tsunade’s eyes, it was just a rejection.
No ninja would overthink the future like that.
After all, because of Fanma’s presence, she hadn’t experienced the death of Nawaki or the loss of a lover; she was still just a girl.
Fanma looked at her flushed face, his heart suddenly calm.
He stared at her intently and said slowly: “Since you say so, I ask to be with you right now.” Tsunade froze, her mouth slightly agape, looking at Fanma with an adorable, stunned expression.
“I’ve known you since I was a child.
I’m Uchiha, you’re Senju.
Even though our clans were enemies, we still became friends.” “After I graduated, I went to the Anbu.
We didn’t see each other much, but I always remembered you.
Every time I went to a new village, I’d bring you a local specialty.” Tsunade hummed, though she was currently wearing the ice-cotton haori he’d brought her from the Land of Water.
“I can’t say how much I love you.
As ninja, we face death every single day.” “Maybe I’m strong, but even a ninja like Tobirama Senju fell on the battlefield.
That is my concern.” “If you ask me how much I love you?
I don’t know.
But if I let you slip away, I will regret it for the rest of my life.” “What I can promise is that if we are together, I will learn how to love and protect you.” “So, do you understand now, Tsunade?” Tsunade listened quietly, her ears turning bright red.
She walked over to Fanma, wrapped her arms around his neck, her face peach-blossom pink, her breath sweet like orchids, her eyes shining with brilliant love.
“Your confession…
it’s just like a taijutsu report.
So unique.” They embraced slowly and kissed, fierce and passionate.
Earn Them Together!