Food is a universal delight, an intrinsic part of the human experience that transcends cultural boundaries. From the sweet to the savory, from the tangy to the salty, the act of eating is a shared pleasure. While most adhere to the routine of three square meals a day—breakfast, lunch, and dinner—there are those for whom this is but a prelude to a more gratifying culinary journey. Enter the realm of snacks, those delightful interludes that tantalize our palates and provide just enough sustenance to bridge the gap until the next substantial meal.
This is where I come into the picture. My name is Kanshoku Kenkichi, and my family has been synonymous with the art of snacking for generations. My grandfather established this beloved snack shop long before I was born, a legacy now carried forward by my father, and soon to be inherited by me. In the academic arena, I might come across as a touch reticent, but once I'm home, my true essence emerges. My adoration for snacks is not merely a hobby but a fervent passion. Snacks are my muse, my obsession, and my raison d'être. The combinations of taste and texture that are possible means there is almost unlimited potential for creativity. In my free time, I even create snacks of my own, complete with bags and logos. You get the picture I'm trying to paint, right? But today, oh was it different. Something happened that completely flipped my perception of not just snacks but also of the world as I know it, but let's start from the beginning.
Earlier That Day
Kanshoku's POV
The day commenced as it always does: with the rhythmic routine of rising, having breakfast, preparing for school, and packing a generous assortment of snacks for lunch.
"Bye, Mom, see you after school!" I called out as I dashed from our shop/house.
"Have a good day, sweetie. Remember to come straight back; you're on the schedule," my mother replied with a warm smile.
I hurried out the door, embarking on my familiar journey to school. Along the way, I mingled with a sea of students heading in the same direction. To be honest, I'm not particularly notable; I prefer blending into the background, which affords me the peace needed to brainstorm new snack ideas. The only distinguishing feature about me is the pair of vintage goggles my grandfather gifted me before he passed away. I wear them in his memory.
Suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted by a collision. I tried to regain my balance, but my efforts failed, and I began to topple. As I braced myself for an inevitable crash against the pavement, something unexpected intervened.
Boing
Two soft, marshmallow cushions broke my fall. As I lay there, bewildered by the oversized marshmallows, I pushed myself up to see what had saved me. And there, directly beneath me, was the source of my predicament.
A girl with long, straight black hair styled into a hime cut, cascading down to her lower thighs, was beneath me. Her dark blue, slanted eyes regarded me with a mix of surprise and curiosity. She wore the same school uniform as me, and her strikingly voluptuous figure would rival any supermodel's. This was Ikaruga Hōsen, our student council president, and I had just landed face-first into her generous chest. Surrounding us were a group of girls with equally impressive figures.
I scrambled to my feet, my face burning with embarrassment, and bowed deeply. "I am so, so, so sorry! I was lost in thought and didn't see you there," I stammered, my cheeks flushed crimson.
I dared to glance up at her blushing face, only to be cut off by her gaze falling upon the scattered snacks around us. "Are these all snacks? Were you planning to bring them all to school? Were you going to sell them to other students?" Her blush evaporated, replaced by a stern expression. "I'm going to have to confiscate these; it's against school policy," she declared, her voice resolute as she gathered up my snacks.
"Hey, those are mine! You can't just take them," I protested, attempting to retrieve my treats, but my efforts were in vain.
"As the student council president of Hanzo Academy, I cannot allow you to flout school regulations by selling prohibited food," she said with finality, her tone leaving no room for negotiation as she walked away with my lunch. So my day has started shitty, huh.
Ikagura POV
With the contraband in tow, I walked toward the school, my friends accompanying me.
"The nerve of that boy, bringing all these snacks just to make a quick profit," I said, my voice dripping with frustration.
One of my squadmates, Katsuragi Ryuta, burst into a fit of giggles. "Well, he was quite lucky, wasn't he? A face full of your tatas to cushion his fall," one of my squadmates said giggling perversely.
Katsuragi, a fellow third-year like me, was renowned for her long blond hair, large breasts, full wide hips, and a toothy grin, voluptuous figure, and unapologetic lechery. Her predilection for groping and inappropriate behavior was well-known, making her an infamous figure among us.
"If he had fallen onto Hibari, I would have ensured he left with more than just bruises," another squadmate chimed in. This was Yagyu Jubei, a first-year with long white hair styled into shuriken-adorned ponytails and striking red eyes partially obscured by a patch. Though her figure was impressive, it paled in comparison to Katsuragi's. Jubei was fiercely protective of Hibari, and her reputation as the "sworn guardian" was well-earned.
"Yagyu, I'm perfectly capable of handling myself," Hibari Sakura interjected with a serene smile. Her pink hair, tied into playful pigtails with black ribbons, and her curvaceous figure, with a focus on a well-rounded rear rather than the bust, completed her adorable yet formidable presence. "But could I see some of those snacks?"
"No, you may not," I replied firmly, my tone brooking no argument. The snacks were a violation of school policy, and no amount of persuasion would change that.
While on the outside we may look normal, if voluptuous, high school students that could not be farther from the truth. We are those who dwell in the shadows, shinobi, guardians who protect the unassuming from evil. We are training our minds, bodies, and souls, to protect the innocent.
"Now come along, I am going to drop this off at the office and then we will head towards our class with Kiriya Sensei," I spoke in a commanding tone.
Time Skip
After we'd dropped off the confiscated contraband, the four of us made our way to our secret hideout in the old school building. The place had seen better days, with cobwebs in the corners and creaky floorboards, but to us, it was home—a secluded spot where we could let down our guard and plan our next moves.
We sat in the dimly lit room, waiting for the last member of our group. The air was thick with anticipation until the silence was broken by a familiar sound—a rumbling noise from one of the secret entrances.
"Woah!" A voice called out, echoing through the chamber as a figure shot out of the chute, landing with a light thud on the floor. From the slide emerged a short girl with dark brown hair tied in a ponytail with a white ribbon. Her figure, like ours, was eye-catching—large breasts and a round, firm butt. This was Asuka Hattori, granddaughter of the legendary Hanzo Hattori, after whom our academy was named. She was known for her love of sushi, with futomaki rolls being her absolute favorite.
"I'm back, everyone!" Asuka exclaimed, her voice filled with the joy of finally returning to our hidden lair.
"Welcome back, Asuka! How did your test go?" I asked, curious about her recent challenge.
"I really hope I did well!" Asuka replied, her face lighting up with hope as she stepped forward, completely unaware of the figure creeping up behind her.
In an instant, the room's atmosphere shifted, but Asuka lost in her thoughts, didn't notice the impending surprise.
"GOTCHA!" Katsuragi snuck behind Asuka and started groping her breasts.
"Ahn, Katsuragi please stop," Asuka exclaimed
"Not happening, I need to refill on my Asuka juice, "Katsuragi's playful antics were abruptly cut short when a small orb landed in the center of the room.
Whoosh
Smoke billowed out, filling the space and causing everyone to cough and sputter. As the thick cloud began to clear, a tall figure emerged, his silhouette sharp against the fading haze. He had white hair, neatly styled, and wore a sleek black suit that contrasted with the old, dusty surroundings. This was Kiriya-sensei, our mathematics teacher and, more importantly, the one who had trained us in the art of ninjutsu.
"Hello, students," Kiriya-sensei greeted us, his voice calm yet commanding. "First on the agenda, I will reveal Asuka's score from the test."
He reached into a manila envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. His eyes scanned the page briefly before he looked up. "Hmm, I see you were cutting it close, barely any time left on the clock, and you had to use the cicada technique to escape. It takes great luck and skill to achieve exactly the passing grade, so congratulations are in order," he announced with a slight smirk.
"Mou, don't tease me like that, Sensei," Asuka whined, her face flushed with embarrassment.
"You misunderstand me," Kiriya-sensei replied, his tone softening. "What matters is that you passed. Learn from this experience and use it to reach even greater heights in your ninjutsu."
His words, though stern, were meant to reassure her, and the worry that had briefly flickered across Asuka's face began to fade. But Kiriya-sensei wasn't done yet.
"Now," he continued, his voice regaining its authoritative edge, "let's get to training. I want you to duel each other, so get changed and meet me in the dojo."
With that, he tossed another smoke bomb to the ground, vanishing as quickly as he had appeared.
Cough, cough
"What is it with him and smoke bombs?" Katsuragi grumbled, fanning the air to disperse the lingering smoke.
"I don't know, but we should hurry and get changed," I said, rising to my feet. "Let's not keep him waiting."
Kanshoku's POV
'Great, just great. That damn girl took all my snacks, and now I'm stuck with cafeteria food, stupid stuck-up president,' I thought bitterly, replaying the events of this morning in my head. It's not that the cafeteria food here in Japan is bad—it's decent, really—but it's missing that certainje ne sais quoi, that spark of life that truly good food should have.
I trudged through the lunch line, picking out a few uninspired dishes, and eventually found a quiet spot to sit by myself. Just me, my tray, and my thoughts. I poked at the food absently, my mind already wandering to something far more interesting: snacks. Ideas started forming in my head, new recipes and combinations swirling together like the perfect blend of flavors. But there was something different today, something sharper, more vivid. The ideas weren't just coming to me—they were practically jumping out, bursting with color and intensity.
'Eh, it's probably nothing,' I shrugged it off, unaware that this small spark of inspiration would soon ignite something far greater than I could ever have imagined.
The day trudged on in its usual monotony: classes, more classes, and, just when you thought you couldn't take another minute, even more classes. Each tick of the clock felt like a tiny eternity stretching out before me. Finally, after what seemed like an endless purgatory of lectures and notes, the bell rang, signaling our release. Freedom was sweet but tinged with bitterness as I quickly packed up and headed toward the headmaster's office, hoping against hope that my snacks hadn't met an untimely demise.
But, as I feared, my precious treats had been unceremoniously tossed away, probably without a second thought. Dejected, I walked back home, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on me. My steps were slow, dragging, as I headed towards the one place where I could always find solace: our family's snack shop.
"I'm home, Mom," I called out as I dropped my school supplies and changed into my work uniform—a comforting ritual that made me feel like I was stepping into my true self.
"Welcome back, sweetie," Mom replied, her voice warm and welcoming as always. And just like that, my shift began.
In the shop, I could finally let loose, and let my creativity flow. The world outside didn't matter here; this was my haven, where I could be who I was without fear or hesitation.
The shift itself was uneventful but satisfying. I helped customers find the perfect snack to satisfy their cravings, offering advice and sharing my love for each treat. A few kids came in with wide-eyed wonder, some old folks who'd been regulars since before I was born, and that strange old guy who runs the sushi place down the street. He always goes on about his granddaughter, and though I've heard the story a dozen times, something is endearing about his ramblings.
As the hours ticked by, the shop began to wind down, and we prepared to close. I grabbed the broom and started sweeping the floors, while Dad took inventory, and Mom headed into the kitchen to start dinner. The routine was familiar and comforting, and it gave me a sense of purpose. In this small, cozy shop, I felt at peace, like nothing could touch me.
After dinner, I settled into the usual routine: homework. By the time I finished, the house was eerily quiet, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards. Mom and Dad had already gone to bed, the rhythmic hum of their snores faintly drifting through the walls. I could have called it a night, climbed into bed, and let the day end like any other. But something stirred within me—a restless, creative urge that refused to be ignored.
Against my better judgment, I found myself drawn to our creation room, a haven for confectionery and snack experimentation. The room was a candy maker's dream, equipped with everything from mixing stations to custom plastic bag designers for packaging our edible masterpieces. It was a sanctuary of potential, and tonight, it called to me louder than ever.
Ideas from earlier in the day bubbled back up to the surface of my mind, vivid and insistent. Gummies—I wanted to make gummies. But not just any gummies. These needed to be special, something new.
"Hmm, what flavor should I go for? Orange? No, too much citrus. Apple? Nah, not feeling it. Grape... Yes, that will do just fine." The decision sparked a rush of excitement as I grabbed the ingredients: grape-flavored gelatin, water, and a bit of purple food dye for that perfect hue.
I mixed everything, creating a smooth, homogenous blend. The aroma of sweet grapes filled the air as I poured the mixture into shuriken-shaped molds. I couldn't help but smile at the playful design, imagining the surprise and delight it would bring to anyone who tried it. Once the molds were filled, I carefully placed them in the freezer, waiting just long enough for them to set.
When the time came to retrieve my creation, I opened the freezer, expecting to see perfectly set gummies. Instead, I was met with something completely unexpected—the gummies were glowing. Not just a soft glow either; they were practically radiating light, a vivid purple luminescence that pulsed gently as if alive.
I stared in disbelief, the mold pan slipping from my hands in shock. The gummies tumbled out, but instead of simply falling to the floor, they began bouncing—yes, bouncing—around the room like hyperactive rubber balls. My heart raced as I watched them careen off the walls, the ceiling, and every surface in between. What the hell was going on? I'd made gummies countless times before, but nothing like this had ever happened.
Snapping out of my daze, I lunged forward, managing to grab a few of the bouncing candies and carefully placed them back in the pan, except for one, which I held onto for closer inspection. There wasn't a single speck of dust or stray hair sticking to it. Combined with their bizarre behavior, it was clear these weren't normal gummies.
Curiosity gnawed at me, and despite my better judgment, I did what any self-respecting creator would do—I popped the gummy into my mouth.
The flavor exploded across my taste buds. "WOW," I exclaimed, the words barely escaping as I chewed. The grape flavor was incredibly clear and juicy, and the texture of the gummy was perfect, with just the right amount of chew. It was, without a doubt, one of the best things I'd ever tasted. But it wasn't just the flavor that caught my attention—something else was happening. I felt a sudden rush of energy like my entire body had been supercharged. I felt... good. Too good. The world around me seemed to warp and shift as if I were bouncing up and down, yet I wasn't moving.
"Wait, why is everything shaking?" I asked myself, glancing down to see odd, vibrant colors swirling around my feet. Slowly, I lifted one foot, revealing a purple blob clinging to the sole of my shoe. Panic set in as I realized both my feet were now stuck to these strange, springy blobs.
"AH! AH! GET IT OFF!" I shouted, frantically trying to scrape the goo off my shoes. But as I applied pressure to my right foot, the blob compressed, then sprang back with surprising force, launching me into the air. I landed on my back, the breath knocked out of me as I tried to process what had just happened.
Dazed but not deterred, I stood back up, a wild idea forming in my mind. "Well, here goes NOTHING," I muttered, bracing myself as I jumped. Sure enough, the same thing happened again—only this time, I launched straight up, slamming my head into the ceiling.
"Ow!" I yelped, rubbing my throbbing head. "Okay, note to self: don't try that with something over your head." But despite the pain, a grin spread across my face. "I made this. I made some sort of superpower snack. Holy crap, this is awesome!"
My heart raced with excitement as the realization sunk in. I had created something extraordinary, something that went beyond the realm of ordinary snacks. These weren't just gummies—they were power snacks, capable of things I hadn't even begun to understand. Little did I know, this was just the beginning, the prelude to something far greater than I could have ever imagined.