The night was his ultimate stage; a platform where his skills were revered, his plates a work of art and his dishes caused lines to form outside the street. It wasn't very often that he would take a peek at the customers from the kitchen; he had neither the luxury nor time, not to mention the window wasn't exactly fit for anyone's viewing pleasure, including himself.

That doesn't mean he never attempted, especially when he was beginning to gain popularity among food critics the world over. Many would just randomly pop in and were it not for the help of his expert receptionist he wouldn't have a clue who goes through the restaurant doors. It wasn't uncommon, either, to spot a critic in disguise, especially when they would insist he make something that wasn't in the menu. Even something so simple as a hamburger and french fry dish was so thoroughly scrutinized; as it was, you can even bet a side dish was going to make a food magazine column. He wouldn't dare complain, because those critics do bring him customers and Michelin Stars. He just wished they didn't come one after the other.

Besides, he only wanted one person's opinion. It was unfortunate she hadn't come by; she had to be the most famous critic out there - and the most beautiful. They say she ate a lot for someone who's so fit (he actually prefered unbelievably sexy ), but the catch was the dish had to be - in her own words - immensely satisfying that there is no other option but to want more. A visit from her is worth a magazine spread, and her critique another block of curious food lovers from all over.

But that wasn't the reason why he wanted her in his restaurant. Sakura Haruno didn't start out as a famous critic. She started out as his critic. Well, not really. Back then he only really knew how to cook ramen despite being a culinary student. She would come over and use the fancy words, writing her critique on a piece of paper and reading it out loud. He loved being praised, because he never got that in his classes. They never took him seriously, being a kid of a very famous chef; he thought it only fit that he wouldn't take his classes seriously either.

They argued about his poor grades. She said that ramen wasn't the only dish in the world. Sure it was, he responded. That he shouldn't be wasting his parents' money. That he should at least show some effort and not be a dick in class. He remembered saying something like "stop talking you sound like my mother" or "you're not even my girlfriend and I cook for you"… He got slapped for that.

Then she left town and moved to another school. It was only then that he realized she was right.

He worked his ass off and in two years became the best in his class, forgetting everything he mastered about ramen. In three years he had started his own restaurant, and in another three made it world famous. He never knew what happened all those years they didn't manage to see each other. But in the time that passed when he began to gain praise from pretty much everyone, he found that it was still her words and acknowledgment he wanted most.

Maybe he was trying to settle an old score. That he didn't end up a guy with a small-time ramen stand and that his grades in his last two years were enough to erase his bad ones. Maybe he wanted to brag about the Michelin Stars he got without the help of her critique.

Or maybe he wanted to satisfy himself knowing that his dishes could so easily win her over and she would forget all the silly things immature men say.

The usual crowd was present in the early hours, but being a weekday has its perks. Not only did they close earlier but the clientele were usually pretty ordinary. No fuss, no special requests, no annoying food critic wannabes. By 1:30 AM there were very few tables occupied and most of the kitchen staff were beginning to clear up.

He was still on the stove trying out a new dish. His sous chef Konohamaru watched eagerly, taking mental notes.

"Stir this up for me, will you?" He handed Konohamaru the wooden spoon and turned to look for an ingredient he had shoved in one of the cupboards earlier that night.

He was busy searching when the bridge of his nose crinkled. One sniff was indication enough. "Lower the heat, Konohamaru."

He busied himself once more but the scent was still in his nose. "Konohamaru-"

"Hey Chef… Miss Haruno is pink-haired, right?"

"Uhh… yeah? I believe she's had a couple of color changes these past years," he chuckled. "I was a fan of the light brown hair for some time, but only just; it made her look ordinary. And you need to lower the flame,"

"And… does she have a tattoo shaped like a diamond? On her forehead, I mean?"

"Well, actually it's a birthmark. I used to joke around that she was pretty hardcore getting a tattoo as a bab- wait, why are you asking?"

"Be-because she just walked through the door and is taking a seat,"

Naruto almost pushed a whole cart full of dirty dishes to get closer to the kitchen window. His eyes immediately found her unmistakable pink hair as she sat with her back to him. He was shitting his pants why oh why didn't Konohamaru just say it immediately? He didn't even catch a glimpse of her face! DAMMIT!

He jumped at the sound of the kitchen phone, his hand immediately pressing the button. "Sai god dammit where was the trusted forewarning when I needed it most jesus why is there no waitress on her?"

Ten-Ten calmly raised her hands before pressing in the double doors. "I'll handle it, Chef!"

"WAIT!"

The young lady paused as he wiped the sweat off his brow. He stepped to her, his voice lowered to a whisper, "Uh… Try your best to make her turn sideways, will you?"

Almost forgetting that he still had Sai on the line, he heard his voice echo the kitchen. "We're closing in fifteen minutes, Chef. Most of the guests have left and-"

"Close the doors, Sai. Just say we're on… I dunno. Inventory count, "

"That only happens at the end of the quarter, Chef."

"I don't care. Just do it. And you owe me big time this is too major of a slip up, man."

"My apologies, Chef. I had a hard time flushing my-"

"OK OK I GET IT now shut the doors."

He shifted his focus to the view outside his small kitchen window. A lot of people had already left, save for their usual clientele who stayed for the drinks. She was almost alone in the main hall, flipping through the menu and thinking about lord-knows-what. He knew all her favorite dishes. They weren't in the menu, but no problemo. All she had to do was ask.

Ten Ten finally approached her table and he found that the bustling sounds in the kitchen and the scent of his burning sauce did not compare to the sensation that was brimming at the pit of his stomach. His heart drummed loudly inside his chest as beads of sweat gathered in his forehead; anticipation rising steadily as his eyes locked on the strands of her hair. He knew what she looked like, he had enough magazines at home with her on it, even if it was just a small one on the editor's page; still, she always looked best in person, what with those beautiful green eyes and bright smile… did her voice still sound the same? His sure as hell didn't, not that it mattered.

He found himself leaning towards the window at the first sign of Ten Ten making a conversation. Sakura was talking, alright, but she was staring at the menu. An order had just come in the kitchen but thankfully his other sous chef took charge. Everyone else was watching him; waiting for his orders in collective nervousness.

It seemed that Sakura was having a hard time choosing, and Ten Ten was likewise having a hard time following his orders. He could tell she was really trying; pointing at the menu and talking, even gesturing to the wine bar behind. She dropped her pen, not intentionally, he was certain - and just like that, Sakura immediately tried to help her pick it up. She bent over and he saw; her nose and lips the same old small but beautiful, her face was slightly longer but her cheeks more defined, her arms, long and slender. And he leaned in just a little bit more to catch a glimpse of her creamy legs and her little black dress. He never imagined a side profile view would have his heart somersault inside his chest, and absolutely nothing prepared his knees from weakening when she smiled at Ten Ten before handing over the menu.

Calm down. You know everything, it's all in your head. She's going to ask for her favorite dish. And you're going to make it the best dish the world has ever known. She will love it and she will love you and you will live happily ever-

"Chef!"

Snapped out of his musings, he was briefly surprised to find Ten Ten back in the kitchen standing next to him.

"What is it? What does she want?"

"Ramen, Chef. She wants ramen."