Chapter 2: Fire Mountain Feast
Fire Mountain stood silent beneath the waning sun, its peaks still smoldering from ancient volcanic veins. The palace atop it, once feared as the fortress of a giant, now glowed with a more domestic warmth. Lanterns flickered along the walkways. The air was fragrant with char and soy, with sizzling oils and woodsmoke. Dinner was almost ready.
Inside the stone courtyard kitchen, I flipped slices of marinated boar meat over an open flame using nothing but my pinky and index finger—Soma's influence in full display. Each cut of meat seared with perfect caramelization, and I had already plated the first courses: bamboo shoot salad in sesame dressing, mountain yam over chilled soba, and a miso soup enriched with wild herbs and ki-infused dashi.
"Are you trying to seduce your daughter's friend with food?" Stussy asked behind me, casually sipping wine.
I smirked. "This is how you greet a Saiyan. Feed them once, and they'll never leave."
Stussy chuckled, brushing imaginary ash off her spotless white qipao. She'd swapped her World Government lab coat for something lighter, but she still carried the air of someone who could dissect a man with a glance. The fact that she called Fire Mountain "peaceful" said everything.
There was a sudden whoosh of air.
A small figure landed at the edge of the courtyard, dust rising around his bare feet. He was maybe four feet tall, wild-haired and bright-eyed, carrying a fish almost twice his size slung over his back like a sword.
"UNCLE!" Goku called out, his voice echoing. "Is dinner ready?!"
I didn't correct him. Technically, I was now his adopted uncle—Chi-Chi being his future wife and all—but more than that, I had no intention of treating Goku like a stranger. If I could bond with him now, maybe I could shape his future a little more.
"It's ready when you help set the table," I called back.
He dashed forward, faster than a normal kid should be, catching a tray mid-air that I casually tossed. I saw his eyes flicker to the roasted boar. His stomach growled. Then his gaze shifted to Stussy, and he blinked. "Who's the pretty lady?"
Stussy tilted her head, intrigued. "I'm your Auntie. Try anything, and I'll turn you into sashimi."
Goku scratched his head. "Sashimi sounds tasty."
I nearly dropped my tongs laughing.
Dinner was served on the wide outdoor veranda. A table carved from an ancient tree sat low to the ground, ringed by cushions. Goku dove into the first plate like a wolf, devouring rice, meat, and noodles with wild abandon.
Stussy ate with precise, measured movements, lips barely parting as she dissected a yakitori skewer. I enjoyed a balance of both—Soma's template taught me to savor, while Garp's influence encouraged indulgence.
"You're strong, Uncle," Goku said between bites. "You don't feel like a regular human."
"I'm not exactly one anymore," I admitted. "Been training hard. Harder than I ever have."
"You gonna enter the tournament?" he asked excitedly. "I'm gonna join Master Roshi's training soon. Gonna be the strongest in the world!"
That childlike certainty... it would become prophetic. He didn't know it, but he was already on a path that would lead him to fight gods.
"Maybe I'll enter," I said. "But even if I don't, I'll be watching. And training."
Goku finished his fourth bowl of rice and leaned back, full and happy. "You cook almost as good as the old man at Grandpa Gohan's place."
"Almost?" I echoed.
He nodded seriously. "Yeah. He made these dumplings once that—"
"Don't worry," Stussy interrupted, sipping her wine. "My husband accepts challenges."
Later that night, after Goku curled up on a spare futon with a blanket over his head and a plate still in his hand, I sat on the veranda alone. Stussy joined me minutes later, resting her head against my shoulder. For a while, we just watched the mountain breathe—steam curling from hot springs, wind whistling through the pine trees, stars blinking into view.
"You're good with him," she said softly.
"He's special," I replied. "And he deserves a family."
Stussy tilted her head. "So do you."
I didn't answer. Not immediately.
Inside me, the Garp template stirred, like a sea beast rolling beneath the waves. It hadn't spoken to me, not like a voice—but I could feel what it wanted.
Structure. Struggle. Strength.
If I wanted to progress beyond 10%, I couldn't rely on daily chores and bodyweight exercises. Garp didn't train in peace. He forged himself in storms.
"I'm starting tomorrow," I finally said. "Real training. No more warm-ups."
"Need a sparring partner?" she asked sweetly.
I raised a brow. "You offering?"
"No," she said with a smirk. "But I'll enjoy watching you break."
The First Day
The dawn split Fire Mountain like a spear of light, and I stood at the cliff's edge barefoot, shirtless, and bracing for what was to come.
Training Routine: Day One
Weighted climb of Fire Mountain with 3-ton ankle cuffs
Bo staff sparring against stone golems
Ki suppression conditioning—lifting boulders while forcibly limiting output
Culinary focus training—prepare full-course meal with only one arm and ki-sensing interruptions every three minutes
Why the cooking?
Because Soma's template wasn't just for flavor. It demanded performance under pressure. Improvisation in the face of disaster. His battles were fought on countertops, but they were just as brutal. Cooking while fatigued, distracted, or under ki duress would forge mental resilience.
Halfway through the climb, I fell.
The mountain punished carelessness. Loose gravel gave way, and I tumbled thirty feet before slamming into a boulder. My spine cracked against it. The cuffs felt heavier than iron now, and sweat blinded me.
I bit my lip and screamed.
Then I laughed.
Garp laughed in my blood.
He was the man who fought mountains of pirates, dragons of war, and legends on the high seas. A fall like this was a lesson, not a loss.
I pushed off the stone and resumed the climb.
By the time I made it to the summit and returned, I could barely move. My arms were jelly. My breathing ragged. But I didn't stop.
I went straight to the courtyard kitchen.
Stussy was already watching from a nearby bench, her eyes amused and patient. "Don't burn yourself," she called out.
The single-arm cooking test began.
I prepped five dishes. Soup, stir-fry, smoked eel, rice, and a dessert made with shaved mountain ice and honeyed citrus.
And every three minutes, an alarm flared, forcing me to re-center my ki and cut it to 20%.
It was like slicing vegetables while half-asleep—every breath felt like a gamble. But Soma's instincts carried me.
When the final plate was finished, I nearly collapsed into it.
Stussy walked over, picked up the spoon, and tasted the soup. Her eyes widened—just a little.
"Better than yesterday," she said.
"I'll take it," I wheezed.
Template Progress:
[Garp Template: 12%]
[Yukihira Soma Template: 37%]
Only 58% more until I could clash with giants and laugh doing it.
And so, the real journey began.
Next Chapter Preview:
Roshi visits Fire Mountain, sensing a shift in the Ox King's energy. Goku begs to stay longer, drawn to the intense training. Stussy drops a name that rattles even Roshi: "Yujiro Hanma." Meanwhile, deep inside a sealed scroll, a third template stirs—waiting.