A thunderous roar brought the colosseum to life as two fearless warriors pitted themselves for combat. On the left side of the ring stood a rather rotund man with a scraggly beard. Despite his messy appearance, the male was no stranger to fist-fights and it showed from the crafted biceps on his toned arms. The man on the other side, however, sported a more trim, muscular build, but lacked his competitor's height by a few inches. His bright orange spiky hair made him stick out like a sore thumb, held up by a cherry red headband. Standing with his legs apart, the redhead grit his teeth and brought up his fists.
"Welp, it looks like we're coming down to the wire, Chuck." spoke one of the two commentators watching the match from the booth.
"Indeed, Kobe. Hard to believe that out of the fifty competitors who entered, our grand finals would be reduced down to these two. On the left side is the gregarious, but granular Gabor! He's looking to claim his seventh tourney win with his tried and true goulash. But considering who is opponent is, that will be no easy feat."
"That's right because on the opposing side is a legend about to make history in Culinary Colosseum! He's the self-proclaimed King of Curry, harboring flavors as bold and zesty as he is! Give it up for Jack!" Chuck paused for the crowd to cheer for the muscular man.
"Like Gabor, Jack has a goal for himself. He's just one win short from having a whooping one hundred tourney wins! If he can keep his cool and plan a way to bring down his opponent, he should have this in the bag." declared Kobe.
"Food fighters, take your positions," a referee called from the sidelines with a kitchen bell in hand. "Get set..."
With three taps on the bell to signify the start of the match, the two fighters sprung into action. Gabor tried swinging at Jack, making swift jabs, but the cheeky redhead swayed about with a wide grin on his face. A lot rode on this final match to achieve his ultimate goal, but he felt like having a little fun. Not many food fighters can say they've earned that many wins in less than ten years, so he had to relish in it.
"And the match is underway! Gabor's trying his best to land a hit with his Paprika Pounds, but no such luck." said Chuck.
"You can imagine how frustrating this is for him. Jack's just out there goofing off and toying with the guy like he's a rookie!" exclaimed Kobe.
"Well, that's Jack for ya, always looking to put on a show before he ends it. It's no wonder how he got so lucky with his current record. Almost a hundred wins, that's really impressive."
"It sure is, Chuck, but just how long can he keep up this charade? He better watch it if he doesn't wanna get on Gabor's bad side."
"Might a little too late for that, Kobe."
Gabor threw out one last punch out of vexation, but Jack dodged again and catapulted into the air.
"What the-where'd that sonnuvagun go?" snarled the rotund man as he glanced around.
"Lookin' for me, Gaby?" called Jack, appearing behind him still in the air.
"Unbelievable! He hopped out of Gabor's assault like a salmon out of a stream!" Kobe cried.
"I wonder what Jack's got up his sleeve this time." added Chuck.
Like he overheard the commentator's query, the cheddar-haired man brought back a fist swirling with a crimson and marigold blaze.
"My stars, there are the red hot flames he's known for! He's not planning to finish off Gabor right away, is he?" Kobe gasped.
"Appears so. Though, this finisher seems a tad different from the Curry Crush he usually performs." remarked Chuck.
"That's because this is a brand-new finisher I cooked up just for this exact moment! ...heh, 'cooked up', my puns are on point," Jack snickered to himself before regaining his composure. "Anyway, without further ado, let's end this once and for all!"
With that, Jack charged towards Gabor with his fiery fist, about to land a deadly punch to his gut.
"Four-Cheese Curry Fist of FURY!"
Once his fist collided with the man's stomach, a geyser of vermilion flames burst from the ring, leaving behind a charred Gabor and a smirking Jack blowing at his smoking hand.
"And you just got toasted."
The kitchen bell sounded again with the crowd dispersed into clamor and cheers for their favorite fighter.
"Victory is served! The reigning champion, with now a hundred wins under his belt, is Jack!" cried the referee as the muscular man waved and pumped a wrap-covered fist with the crowd.
"He's done it, ladies and gentlemen! He has done it! Jack, a once young man from Dim Some Town, has achieved his life-long dream!" Kobe cried.
"It's definitely gonna be a memorable day in food-fighting, Kobe. This man's accomplishments will surely inspire many upcoming fighters to compete. The King of Curry keeps his crown for another day!" added Chuck. "And now, we'll have an interview with our champion. Take it away, Ann."
"Thanks, Chuck," A black-haired woman appeared next to Jack with a microphone. "This is Ann Chovy, here with Jack who managed to win a hundred food-fighting tournaments in the last eight years. Tell me, Jack, how do you feel now that you've hit that milestone?"
"How do I feel? How do I feel?! I feel awesome! All those people who underestimated me and said I'll never amount to anything can eat it!" grinned the fiery fighter.
"That's great. So what are your plans for the future?"
"Glad you asked. Lemme see that mic, toots," Jack snatched the microphone from the woman and faced the camera. "Ladies, gentlemen, and every other guy in between. I know you've been rooting for me from day one and I can't thank you enough for your support. As much as I'd like to keep entertaining you guys... I'm gonna have to hang up my headband."
At this, the crowd moaned in united agony. Was this the fiery fighter's way of saying he was retiring from food-fighting?
"Yep, this is the last time you'll see me in the ring. But fear not! For I'm mentoring someone who may or may not be a better fighter than yours truly! I'm talking about my son and biggest fan, Colby."
From a run-down, one-floor home, a little eight-year-old golden-haired boy sat with his eyes glued to the television. Behind the boy, an obese man with a receding hairline and spectacles, barked at him to move from the television. But he ignored him, more concerned about what his father had to say.
"Colby, I know you're watching right now... and I really hope you're not sitting too close to the TV 'cause you know it messes up your eyes, but I want you to answer me this," Jack pointed at the TV. "Do you think you got what it takes to be the best?"
"Y-Yes!" nodded the boy.
"You think you got what it takes to top your old man?"
"Yes! Yes, I do!"
"Yes, I'm sure! I'm gonna be the best food fighter ever! Just you wait!"
"That's nice, kid. Now could you make yourself useful and bring me another bag of pork rinds?" grunted the obese man, gulping down a can of beer.
"Got it, Uncle Dad!" the little boy ran into the kitchen, still wearing a huge smile on his face.
The scene then reverts to an older version of the boy, muttering in his sleep as the alarm on his phone went off.
"You got it, Uncle Dad... I'm gonna be the best food fighter... ever... just you wait... just you... ahhh, not the back-scratcher!" Colby bolted up from his bed, grabbing his phone as the buzzing continued to sound. "Aw, man, I had that dream again... I miss you so much, dad."
After he turned off the phone alarm, the boy, now a teenager, reached under his pillow and pulled out a photo of his father, with this message: "To my number one fan, Colby. I thought about writing a really cheesy pun, but it would be too GOUDA to waste." Colby couldn't help but smile to himself; there were many things he missed about his father, but he greatly missed his awful jokes. He always thought he inherited his sense of humor from him and only him since he never met his mother.
Hopping out of bed once he hid the photo, the young man bounced on his heels and stretched his arms and back, getting himself pumped for the day ahead.
"Whoo! Another great day in-store for the food-fighting master in training! I wonder what I should wear..."
Colby glanced down at his current outfit, which consisted of a black short-sleeved muscle shirt lined with white on the sides, conforming to his fit torso and a pair of three-quarter white sweatpants with black spandex leggings just above his ankles. For his accessories, the boy had a grass green bracelet on his right hand, white bandages on his left coming down his wrist, and his spiky hair held up by a red headband. Presumably, the same one his dad wore. Surveying his look, Colby just shrugged and wiggled his bare feet against the fuzzy carpet.
"Eh, I look fine as is."
Making his way to the kitchen, Colby found the same obese man with less hair that he had in his dream. Sporting a brown Hawaiian shirt and faded jean shorts with socks and sandals, the man sat at the table sipping a mug of orange juice.
"Mornin', Uncle Dad! Uh... where's breakfast?" asked Colby, noticing the lack of food on the table aside from the fruit bowl.
"You should know, you're the one who's making it." Uncle Dad took another swig of his juice.
"Oh, right, I forgot. You want the usual? Eggs, bacon, hash browns?"
"Yep. Hurry up and fix it before my mid-morning sitcom marathon starts."
"Got it, don't wanna get in-between you and your sitcoms. Okay, one big breakfast coming up!"
Colby took his place in the kitchen and retrieved a carton of eggs and bacon with a bag of potatoes from the fridge. Growing up learning how to cook from his father, the young food fighter knew that making hash browns from scratch proved more efficient than relying on packaged goods. Peeling the potatoes, the blond carefully cut them into shoestring slices, seasoning with a little bit of salt and pepper before dropping them in the fryer. On the stove sat a skillet ready for his eggs and bacon. Placing two oval cookie cutters, Colby poured the seasoned egg batter into each of them while adding in the crisp bacon bits he already cooked. Everything prepared, the spiky-haired boy plated the hash browns as if they looked like a nest, adding on the egg and bacon ovals topped with melted cheddar and mozzarella cheese.
"And done!" Colby placed the plate in front of his uncle, handing him a knife and fork. "Dig right in!"
"Hold on a sec, kid," Uncle Dad squinted at the dish like it came from another planet. Eggs over hash browns? How did his nephew come up this idea? "What kooky concoction did you make this time?"
"I call it my 'Eggs in a Nest.' See, what I did was made the eggs into ovals with cookie cutters and sprinkled in some bacon to liven them up a bit, so you get that sweet and salty flavor. As for the hash browns, I just made one big one to serve with the eggs, explaining the nest. Presentation is key." winked the headband-clad boy as his uncle tried the dish.
"Mmm... mmm, not bad. Guess all that experimenting you do is starting to pay off."
"You think so?" the blond sat down at the table with his plate of food.
"Yep, mmm," Uncle Dad took another sip of his juice. "Say, after we're done eating, you wanna, uh... do that training thing?"
"Do I?! Is that a trick question, Uncle Dad?! Are you really asking if a food-fighting master-in-training wants to train?!"
"I dunno... and I don't care."
Following breakfast, the two went to the backyard to begin Colby's training regime, which had him lugging around sacks of dirt, jogging a hundred laps around the yard, and doing fifty sit-ups, push-ups, and jumping jacks. Becoming a food fighter didn't just mean having culinary prowess, it also meant honing one's body to be trim and prepared for upcoming battles. Because his father barely had time to train him, the novice learned how to fight on his own; he understood basic techniques like punching and kicking, but never studied anything else. Why, the first fifty pages of his father's training manual went over the basics of landing hits. Also advised from the book, Colby shouldn't move to the next topic until he could knock his fist through a pillow. And as much as the determined teen tried with almost every pillow in the house, he couldn't do it.
Training ended for the day and to celebrate, Uncle Dad cracked open another icy beer in front of the television with Colby wiping away his sweat with a towel.
"Whew, I'm exhausted." sighed the pudgy man, grabbing the remote from the armrest.
"But, Uncle Dad, you hardly did anything." the stout young man chuckled.
"I know, watching you move around and stuff wore me out. Say, it's almost dinnertime. Mind fixing up something?"
"You got it, but I need to grab some stuff from the store first."
"Alright..." Uncle Dad kept his eyes on the screen, not noticing his nephew standing before him with his hand out.
"Ahem!" coughed the golden-haired boy.
"I need some money."
"About twenty should do."
Grabbing his wallet with an annoyed sigh, the boy's uncle took out a folded twenty dollar bill and slapped it in his palm, "Here. Now, scram."
"Thanks, Uncle Dad. I'll be back in a jiffy!" Colby jogged out the door.
Once he left the house, he continued his jog towards the market, unaware of a mysterious figure stalking him from a dark alley.
"Interesting, that boy is Jack's son? His torrid aura is no different from his own, that's for sure. But how can I know if he possesses the same potential he had? I'll have to keep an eye on him..."
About fifteen minutes later, Colby strolled back to his house with a pair of plastic bags containing ingredients for dinner.
"Man, I lucked out. Three pounds of chuck for half the price? I gotta go bargain hunting more often!" chirped the boy.
"Are you ready to achieve your destiny?" called out that peculiar, raspy voice from the alley.
"Ready to what?" Colby darted his head around the neighborhood, not finding a single person present. Shrugging his shoulders, he resumed his walk.
"I will not be taken lightly. Do you wish to fulfill your destiny or not?"
"Huh?" the golden-haired boy turned around again, but this time, he found a brown tabby cat with a magenta flower mark on its forehead. "Oh, I must be hallucinating. For a sec, I thought this cat was trying to talk to me."
"You're not hallucinating, boy."
The voice sounded again and it appeared to come from... the cat? Kneeling down with a confused expression, Colby glanced at the cat, wondering why it called out to him. And how did it have the ability to communicate with humans in the first place?
"Yes, I can speak. You're not the first person surprised by this." the feline said.
"Whoa, this must be my lucky day! First, I score a good deal on meat and now, I find a talking cat? This has to be a sign..." mused Colby.
"If that sign has anything to do with becoming a food-fighting master, then, yes. Before I transformed into this, I used to be a friend of your father's and he asked me if I could assist you with your dream. I know it means a lot to you to follow in his footsteps."
"You got that right, kitty. My dad came this close to winning a hundred tourneys, but he kicked the bucket before he had the chance. That's what I'm gonna do when I start competing myself, not only to prove myself but prove to him I'm more than just a dumb boy who can cook. You see where I'm coming from?"
"Yes, I do. That's why your father turned to me to help." the cat stated.
"How can you help? I mean, no offense, but you're just a little kitty cat. Cats can't cook, they can't fight, and I know for a fact that they can't teach. Usually, we're the ones who do the teaching."
"Do you know who you're talking to? I happen to be a food-fighting master myself. I'm one of the forefathers of fine cuisine. The Guru of Gourmet. The Magician of Meals. I am-"
"I'm gonna name ya Mr. Snugglepuss." grinned Colby as the cat kneeled in disgust over his new name.
"Ugh... you're more of a bother than I presumed."
"Thanks! I see ya got a collar, you got an owner who lives around here?"
"Purrfect! I'll just have to take ya home!" the spiky-haired boy scooped up the cat, heading for his house.
"Er, are you sure your parental guardian is fine with having me in the house?" asked Mr. Snugglepuss.
"Of course, why wouldn't he? Uncle Dad wouldn't mind having a pet around."
At the one-story home, Uncle Dad still on his recliner channel surfing, engrossed in the television until Colby came in with the newly-named Mr. Snugglepuss.
"Uncle Dad, guess what?"
"Whatever it is, I don't care." grumbled the pudgy man, taking a sip of his beer.
"Ta-da!" the boy shoved the tabby cat in his uncle's face. "I found this cat on the way home, his name is Mr. Snugglepuss. Can I keep him?"
"I guess, but if I find a scratch or poop on my chair, he's getting the boot."
"Sweet, thank you! Now, to get started on dinner!" With that, Colby bolted into the kitchen with the cat.
"You're not gonna cook the cat, are you?" hollered Uncle Dad.
Placing the cat on the counter, Colby took out the ingredients needed for his dish and preheated the stove.
"Alright, Mr. Snugglepuss. Watch how the son of a food-fighting master does it!"
And so, the headband-clad boy dressed chunks of beef with salt, pepper, and flour, setting them in a pan to sear them before popping them into a slow cooker. With the beef boiling, he chopped celery, carrots, potatoes, and onions to be added into the slow cooker with two cups of beef broth. Two hours later, the stew simmered with a rich, savory scent rising from the kitchen.
"Should be ready in a few. I'll warm up some rolls in the meantime." the golden-haired boy declared, checking the bag of bread rolls on the counter.
"Uh, Colby, was it?" Mr. Snugglepuss licked his muzzle, being allured by the spicy, meaty scent.
"What is it, Mr. Snugglepuss? Aw, I know what's up. You're hungry..."
"Yes, I am, and I was wondering if I could try a bit of that stew."
"I dunno... cats only eat cat food not people food. I wouldn't want you to make a huge mess on the floor after I give you some."
"I'm aware, but after staving off of nothing but kibble and water, I'd like something different. Also, I feel that tasting the stew could help me evaluate how much potential you have as a food fighter," reasoned the cat, still licking his mouth. "So, can I have some or not? I'm famished!"
"Alright, alright, don't be a sourpuss," Colby opened the slow cooker and scooped out a spoonful of the stew, blowing onto it before bringing to Mr. Snugglepuss. "Here ya go."
Gathering some stew with his tongue, the cat savored it for a moment before coming to a conclusion, "...hmm, not bad. The meat's seasoned perfectly and the broth really helps bring out the flavor of the vegetables."
"Heh, thanks, Mr. Snugglepuss. For a cat, you're a pretty good food critic." remarked Colby, petting the cat.
"Yes, yes. It's an impeccable dish, but it's far from perfect. You seem to have the basics of cooking down pat, but there's much more to be studied. Regardless, you have great potential. Perhaps, I'll have to stick around and monitor your growth."
"Hey, kid, are you done with dinner yet?! You're not chatting it up with that cat, are you? ...I wouldn't be surprised if you are!" shouted Uncle Dad.
"And that man is your uncle?" questioned Mr. Snugglepuss.
"Yep, that's my Uncle Dad. He's not the best parent in the world, but he tries... a little. Almost done!" the young teen cried back.
A tedious day had passed for the soon-to-be food warrior and, like all athletes, he deserved a refreshing rest. After cleaning the kitchen, Colby took a shower before heading to bed. In his room, the blond boy pulled the covers up to his chest, turning to Mr. Snugglepuss lying beside him.
"Welp, that's another day in the life of a legend in the books. Sorry I don't have a bed for you, Mr. Snugglepuss, but you can sleep on my big, comfy bed with me if you want." Colby smirked at the cat, resting comfortably on his paws.
"It's fine, really. Do you have any plans for tomorrow?" asked Mr. Snugglepuss.
"Nope, it's the same routine every day. Train, cook, sleep, repeat. I try to get Uncle Dad to do something with me like go to the movies or a theme park, but he's so cheap. His idea of a fun-filled afternoon is a six-hour binge of his favorite 90s sitcoms. You know, the kind where the humor went over your head with you were little? That's what I mean."
"Huh, that's interesting..."
"Tell me about it. But not right now 'cause I'm about to crash! Good night, Mr. Snugglepuss!"
"Good night, Colby. Rest well."
Once the boy switched the lights off, Mr. Snugglepuss lied awake. The bedroom window remained open, shining down the moon's glow onto the carpet. Leaping down from the bed, the cat sat before the moon and observed it. He had only been with Colby for less than a day, but did he seem capable of being the mentor he required?
"Jack, I promise I'll do everything in my power, despite being a mere feline, to aid your son. Although you've told me countless times he doesn't have the wisdom nor the strength to do this, I feel that Colby will be able to-"
"Mmm, Mr. Snuggles?" mumbled the food-fighter rookie, arm draped over the edge of the mattress. "Why are you talking to yourself?"
"I-I wasn't! I was just watching the moon..." fibbed the feline.
"Why? It's not going anywhere... stop being such a weird kitty and get some Z's..."
"Yes, fine. It would be wise to get some rest at this hour."
A new morning arose at the household, though, it meant for Colby he'd have to perform the same routine: cooking for his lazy uncle and food-fighting training in the backyard under the scorching sun. When unoccupied in a rare instance, the spiky-haired boy kept to himself in his room with Uncle Dad hogging the living room. There, he read from a comic book while Mr. Snugglepuss accompanied him on the bed.
"So this is what you do during your free time?" questioned the cat.
"Yep. I finally get a chance to catch up on my comics! Have you ever read Captain Cabbage before, Mr. Snuggy?" Colby asked.
"No, nor have I heard of him. ...and nor do I care."
"Yeah, ya do! How can you not care about Captain Cabbage? He's always defending people from the evil forces of scurvy! Try as they might, but they're no match for his Vitamin C powers!"
"I see... Colby, this may seem like a loaded question, but have you ever considered leaving home to help with your food-fighting journey?" Mr. Snugglepuss crawled up to the boy's crossed legs.
"Um, not really. Why?"
"Because in order to become a food fighter, you have to explore new places to learn new things while meeting new people. Why do you think your father was always on the go?"
"Because he gets stir-crazy really fast?" Colby assumed with a raised black brow.
"That, and he always felt the need to perfect his craft. That's something you have to do too if you wish to be as strong as him." replied Mr. Snugglepuss.
"I don't know if I should, though. I don't think Uncle Dad would be okay with me leaving the house."
"Well, to be frank, your uncle doesn't strike me as an ideal caretaker and he doesn't seem to respect you. How he and your father are brothers is beyond my understanding."
"Yeah, but that's families for ya. They're like salads, they come in all sorts of flavors and personalities."
"That's true, but I want to know how your uncle agreed to looking after you."
"It's a long story, well, not really, it's kinda short. My dad and Uncle Dad were chatting one day..."
Colby imagined himself in the midst of his father and uncle's conversation one afternoon. They were both in the living room while a giggling eight-year-old boy scrambled about with a pot on his head.
"I know I've been neglecting Colby a lot lately, but I gotta do what I gotta do. A food fighter's job is never done, bro." Jack rubbed the back of his head.
"So I'm stuck babysitting him again?" Uncle Dad squinted at his brother, opening a bag of chips.
"Yes, but only 'til I get my hundredth win. After that, I'll retire and take the kid under my wing. I promise, once that's done, you'll never have to look after him again."
"Hmm, and that deal's still on the table, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, you'll get your lifetime supply of junk food and sitcom DVDs. I got you, little bro," the fiery food fighter winked at his brother while making a gun shape with his hand. "Oh, lighten up, ya grouch. You may not like him, but Colby's a good kid. A stupid kid, but a good one nonetheless."
"Hmph." Uncle Dad shoveled chips in his mouth out of disinterest, refusing to believe that, of all words, "good" described a boy resembling his brother.
"We were all stupid kids once. It's just that Colby's stupidness makes him seem weird to the average stupid kid, ya know?" Jack paused as his son bumped into a wall. He fell, but quickly gathered to his feet before moving again.
"...you still owe me dinner."
"Alright, alright, I'll fix ya something."
"And that's the story of how my Uncle Dad became my new dad. Take it from me, never run around with a pot on your head. It's fun, but not for your scalp." advised Colby.
"Good to know. I still think you should consider it, however. As I've told you before, you have potential. Why waste it being stuck training in one place?" Mr. Snugglepuss posed as the boy pondered.
"Hmmm... Mr. Snugglepuss, can I ask you something?"
"Do you know why cats make a chirping noise when they see a bug? I've seen a bunch of videos of cats doing it and it bugs the heck out of me. ...heh, I almost didn't notice that pun."
"Ugh, these next couple days will be amusing."
Another day had diminished and, like yesterday and the day before, Colby made breakfast for his uncle. He trained a little bit afterwards, by doing sets of push-ups and sit-ups; jogging to the store to gather some last minute items. From the looks of it, the boy took Mr. Snugglepuss' words to heart. Packing a change of clothes, food and water, hygiene items, and his father's training manual into a duffel bag, Colby threw the string over his shoulder and glanced down at his cat.
"Ready to go, Colby?" asked Mr. Snugglepuss.
"Yep, let's do it!" nodded the golden-haired boy with a shiny, wide grin.
The two left the house without a single protest from Uncle Dad, knowing his indifferent attitude towards his nephew. They began their stroll out of the suburbs, towards the lively shopping district that had a huge love for food-fighting and food in general.
"Well, you're finally out of your uncle's hair or lack thereof," sneered the cat, trotting beside Colby's ankle. "Are you sure he's fine with you leaving?"
"Yeah, he'll be cool with it. It's like he won't even notice I left. I can just picture his reaction to the little goodbye note I left him." smirked the headband-clad boy.
At the same time, Uncle Dad had came back from the kitchen with a fresh can of beer. About to park himself into his dented recliner, the portly man discovered a yellow note with Colby's messy handwriting in black pen.
"The heck is this?"
Snatching the note taped to the chair, the uncle read it aloud:
"Dear Uncle Dad,
I appreciate everything you've done for me, though, it wasn't much, but I have to begin my quest to become a food fighter by leaving the house. I can't be one being cooped here all day. I'm sorry, but I gotta do what's right for me and I can't argue with a cat who has my best interests at heart. I'll still write to you sometimes.
"Welp, only one thing to do." Without hesitating, Uncle Dad plopped himself back on the recliner and opened his can of beer, switching on the television.
"Yeah, that does sound like him, doesn't it? Colby, there's more to being a food-fighting master than cooking and fighting, it's also about having an open mind. A willingness to learn more about the world around you. Are you prepared to show everyone what you're made of?" questioned Mr. Snugglepuss.
"You bet I am!" Colby nodded again.
Shifting his brown eyes back to the street, he grinned as he thought about the new experiences he would have on his quest. What kind of friends would he meet and would he run into a couple foes along the way? Would he learn more about himself in the process?
"Dad, I hope you're watching me, because your boy's about to become a star right before your eyes!" the blond pointed to the sky as Mr. Snugglepuss gave him a funny look.
"...and you called me weird for talking to myself."
So, this is an interesting idea I came up with last December-early January. I thought what if I took two of my interests, aside from art, which are martial arts and cooking and combined them to make this? It was originally going to be a blatant parody of shonen anime that often poked fun at the genre, but let's just say it won't happen as much.