The legendary Hidden Leaf Village. Humans call many things “legendary,” usually things that are simply average but old. What’s worse, the village wasn’t actually hidden. Why do they call these villages hidden if they aren’t actually hidden? It’s just sitting there at the base of a mountain. A mountain with human faces sculpted into it. They might as well sculpt an arrow pointing down saying, “not so hidden leaf village right here.”
Now, whether it was actually legendary was still under investigation. It’s as the humans say, the jury is still out. Probably taking lunch.
As I floated toward the village on my desert nimbus I detected something unexpected. A smell. A good one. The aroma of broth drifted into my nasal passages and triggered the human biological response known as “anticipation.” This was concerning. Broth, in my experience, usually means ramen. Ramen has always looked suspicious to me: noodles soaking in liquid the color of dirty dishwater. Yet somehow this smell suggested it might not be terrible. It was rich. Comforting. Almost… inviting. Like a trap, but a delicious one.
Perhaps this village’s greatest achievement was not its ninja, its history, or its unsettling enthusiasm for headbands—but the ability to make a bowl of wet noodles seem like a culinary miracle.
I would try this ramen. For research. And also because my stomach was making noises again. I don’t know if I would rule in favor of the not so hidden leaf village being “legendary,” but the broth had filed a very compelling opening argument.
[mft]
[Forced Entry]
[Half the Time Card]
[1 hour]
