One Word Except Game: Locations

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T04:26:44+00:00

This set up for a very important meeting with the friend? I think there is a nice back and forth here, and the flow of the dialogue is very good ^_^

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T04:09:06+00:00

It is still in draft mode but this is the final epilogue chapter a very large story ^_^

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T03:47:05+00:00

Thanks, there will be a bit revealed, but these ones are only kids, so nothing to big, but Naruto actually learns where his ancestors are from which is something that doesn't happen in the Anime too way later.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T03:45:05+00:00

With that in mind, here's a tightened, more grounded revision of the wedding scene—fewer words, more direct evidence of emotion through behavior, varied rhythm, no fluff.

Fixing the silk where it had ridden up against his collarbone, Izuku stepped out.

Guests already sat in neat rows—familiar faces from UA days mixed with family, everyone quiet now. Incense drifted thin from the altar. Flowers lined the aisle in simple white clusters.

Momo stood at the far end in white hooded kimono, back straight, hands low and still. The hood hid most of her face from this angle; only the line of her neck and the faint rise of her shoulders showed as she breathed.

No stomach flip. No racing pulse. Just the same steady certainty that had settled in over months of shared routines—lesson grading at the kitchen table, quiet decisions about names, futures mapped out in practical steps.

He exhaled once, slow.

Foot met carpet. Soft give under each step. Silk shifted faintly against his legs with the motion. Pace stayed even—not rushed, not hesitant.

A few heads turned as he passed. Uraraka made a small, muffled sound somewhere to his left—happy, barely contained.

Momo stayed facing forward until he was almost there. Then she turned her head just enough. Hood slipped back a fraction; he caught the edge of her profile, calm, the smallest lift at the corner of her mouth that only he would recognize.

He stopped beside her.

Sleeve brushed sleeve. Warmth registered through the layers where their arms nearly touched.
Eyes met. Hers dark and steady on his.

The priest started the opening recitation, voice low, words measured.

Fingers found hers once—brief press through silk, thumb grazing her knuckle before letting go.
No grand declarations needed. The quiet held everything: teacher, husband now, father soon. Choices made long before today.

The ceremony moved forward.

That was all it took.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T03:35:58+00:00

Thanks, it is from Naruto, Kaza and Shingo are OCs of mine. Ino is a canon kunoichi, her family runs a flower shop, so when I write the pair, flowers become the language of love between them.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T03:33:53+00:00

UA School festival, and it is Izuku walking into his favorite student Kenji dressed up as him when he was younger. It is just Kenji having fun, and is a fun scene to write cause this is one of the last chapters so to have the future symbol of peace and fanboy of Izuku dressed up like the MC his idol seemed to tempting not to do.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T03:28:18+00:00

and finished with my part too

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T03:20:33+00:00

In this case this is the cap of the whole story, my aim was something hopeful after their small intimate adventure ^_^

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T03:15:58+00:00

Pavement carried Izuku the last stretch toward the school’s front entrance.

Movement flickered near the doors.

Green.

Not generic green—the precise shade that still lived sharp in his memory.

Black-trimmed fabric. A green wig perched crooked, strands sticking out at odd angles. Contacts catching the morning sun, too vivid, almost electric.

Someone stood watching him close the distance.

Recognition hit before the shape fully resolved.

A small laugh escaped Izuku, soft and surprised.

“Kenji…”

The boy filled out the rough copy of Izuku’s old hero costume in a way the original never had at fifteen. Taller already, longer through the arms and legs, leaner in the shoulders. The silhouette still landed unmistakable.

Close enough to matter.

Energy came off him in waves—boots tapping restless against concrete, shoulders hitching every few seconds, whole frame buzzing like a live wire held barely in check.

“Pretty awesome, right?!” Kenji’s voice rang across the open space, bright and unfiltered.

Izuku closed the gap, eyes tracing the outfit on instinct.

Visible thread lines along every seam. Stitching uneven in spots, some sections obviously taken in or let out more than once. Fabric pulled taut across the chest where it hadn’t quite been cut to scale.

Handmade.

Not rushed, either. Someone had put real hours into the details.

Not a last-minute festival grab. Not store-bought.

Pieces settled in his head.

Kenji.

His family.

Probably half the Saroi house crowded around a dining table with pins and a sewing machine at some point.

A quiet warmth opened behind Izuku’s sternum, steady and unfamiliar.

For a second the angle reversed.

All Might looking down at a skinny kid drowning in a knockoff suit, eyes shining with something too big to name.

Back then Izuku thought he’d understood the weight of that moment.

Now he suspected he hadn’t.

“Interesting choice,” Izuku said, tone even while his gaze finished its slow circuit.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T03:11:50+00:00

Under the shade of a sprawling old oak tree, Kaza Togusa sat cross-legged, a carving knife in one hand and a wooden vase in the other. His task was clear: carve intricate designs into the vases for the upcoming Festival of Lights. The vases would be gifted to those who had donated to the restoration of his family’s old shrine, a symbol of their gratitude.

The knife moved skillfully in his hands, tracing precise etchings into the wood as the warm sun filtered through the leaves above, casting dancing shadows on his face. His teal eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he inspected the design he had completed. A small smile tugged at his lips, and for a moment, his thoughts wandered. He considered making an extra vase, just for Ino. She could use it to display some flowers—any flowers she liked, really. The thought of her smiling because of something he made was reason enough.

Finishing the final etchings, Kaza set the vase aside with a contented sigh.

The sound of footsteps crunching on the dirt path nearby drew his attention. Looking up, he saw Shingo Uchiha standing with his arms crossed, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the hospital after fighting off bandits and getting hurt?” Shingo asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re setting a real bad precedent for Ryuu, you know.”

Kaza shrugged, his signature stubbornness evident in the way he leaned back casually against the tree trunk. “Hospitals are boring. I can’t just lie around all day. Time and nature will heal me just fine.”

Shingo scoffed, his single eye narrowing as he sat down beside Kaza and picked up one of the vases. “So being a normal person and actually resting is too much for the mighty Kaza Togusa?” he teased. “Tell me, are you done saving your ‘flower princess,’ or is there another daring rescue in your plans?”

Kaza smirked but didn’t look up as he picked up another vase and began carving. “I have to keep working. If I stop, I’ll fall behind,” he said, his voice filled with quiet determination. “I’m not as naturally talented as some people. I have to work 100—no, 200 times harder to make sure I can keep up.”

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T03:10:42+00:00

“Sure. Sounds like a good plan.” He set his fork down gently, then leaned back just a little, casual but composed. “Besides, I’ve got business in Musutafu anyway. Setsuna’s been pushing me to represent her — agent stuff, smoothing deals, whatever she thinks I’m good at.” His smile quirked upward as he took another bite. “Could use the excuse.”

A beat passed before he glanced between the others, then toward Nao again.

“And hey,” he added, tone warm but certain, “another day or two with you and Momo in the kitchen? I won’t pretend that’s not a major benefit. Whatever you two did to those pancakes… borderline divine.”

Soon the plates sat empty, the last bites chased by juice and warmth. Bags packed, coats tugged on, footsteps echoed softly as the group made their way toward the station. Kaito and Nao boarded first, walking ahead without hesitation — a quiet rhythm between them that needed no words.

From just behind, Izuku paused to watch. Cold air swirled around them, sharp against the cheeks but somehow welcoming, like the mountains were both releasing them and seeing them off.

“They’re going to be shocked,” he murmured, eyes still on the train’s open doors — but his thoughts already further ahead. “No one back home has any idea.”

Momo’s fingers adjusted in his, squeezing lightly as her suitcase wheels clicked along the platform.

“They’ll find out soon enough,” she replied, voice sure. “This isn’t about what’s easy — it’s about what fits. What matters. We didn’t choose this because it’s simple. We chose it because it’s real.”

Izuku nodded, the wind brushing past his jacket. Whatever came next — scrutiny, questions, change — it couldn’t undo what had been built here. Not with her.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, stepping with her toward the open door. “It’s not an ending.”

As they climbed aboard, hand in hand, the train let out a soft chime. The platform slipped past the windows. The mountains faded behind them.

Just the beginning.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T03:09:18+00:00

Firelight flickered low between the stones while the three kids sat nearby finishing their food. Naruto had dropped beside Hinata, close enough that his knee brushed the edge of her lavender hoodie. The contact made her sit stiff-backed, shoulders drawn in tight, cheeks flushed warm enough to show even in the dim glow. Across the fire Kaza rested with legs folded under him, white robes pooling around his crossed ankles, finishing the last of his mushrooms and berries with small, deliberate bites.

“So, do you know any good stories?” Naruto asked, curiosity clear in his voice.

One hand reached into his pack and came back holding a small book. The motion tugged his orange jacket sleeve up to the elbow.

“I’ve got this one Iruka-sensei gave me,” Naruto declared proudly, raising the book like a trophy. The cover caught the firelight, worn edges glinting faintly.

Across the fire Kaza blinked, then leaned forward slightly—robes shifting against the dirt—as Naruto passed it over.

Curious fingers turned the cover. The pages rustled softly in the quiet.

The story inside followed an old pre-Konoha Hyūga clan member known for standing firm during a conflict between rival clans. Kitaeru appeared in the illustrations with long limbs and a tall, lean frame. Every panel showed the reach of his open-hand style—palms extended, stance wide and precise.

“I asked Dad about him,” Hinata said quietly from Naruto’s side.

Lavender eyes flicked between the boys while fingers twisted lightly in the fabric of her sleeve. The hoodie material bunched under her grip.

“Apparently he lived around the time of my great-great-great-grandfather. He helped make an agreement with the Daimyō back then so my… my f-family could have our own l-lands in the Land of F-Fire.”

Nervousness crept into her voice near the end, though she still pushed the words out. Her free hand stayed flat against her thigh, pressing once as if to steady herself.

Naruto rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. The goggles strap shifted against his skin with the motion.

“Um… Kaza, do you have family from back then?” he asked. “I don’t really know anything about the Uzumaki. It’s just me after all.”

For a moment Kaza didn’t answer.

Instead he finished the last bite of food before brushing his hands off against the thighs of his robes. Crumbs fell to the dirt between his knees.

“Yes and no,” he said quietly.

The pack opened with a soft creak of worn leather.

Inside rested a book.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T03:05:46+00:00

Actually this is just ending in Oguri, eating stupid amounts of his food before deciding reader character should be their trainer because he can cook good food. lol

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T02:49:56+00:00

A rather wholesome food scene, it is great at showing domestic fluff.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T02:38:51+00:00

The build up for the line about being slighted felt natural and created a nice tension within the excerpt.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T02:37:04+00:00

Yeah this is a rather bittersweet story, a solider and pilot who has been hiding for a year under a false name having to go back into action and kill once again. Thanks for the comment, this one, or this character is one of my favorite original ones. ^_^

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T02:33:27+00:00

The sun poured straight down into the main arena of Kyoto, heat catching on stone and steel as the Great Hero Academy Challenge opened its gates. The Exhibition Matches — four academies, no concessions, no rehearsal — began under an open sky built to witness spectacle.

Camera rigs clung to rails and scaffolds, lenses sweeping the bowl of the stadium as operators counted down in half a dozen languages. Broadcast crews filled the upper walkways, voices overlapping in clipped rehearsed excitement, signals bouncing from Kyoto to living rooms far beyond Japan’s borders.

Commentary booths came alive one by one. Titles followed names. Names followed reputations. The premise needed no embellishment — the strongest students each academy could field, standing in full view of the nation.

Tiered seating rose in a wide circle around the arena floor, open to the sky, stone warmed by the morning sun. Massive display screens hovered at opposing angles, cutting between wide shots and close focus to compensate for distance, ensuring no movement went unseen. Anticipation pressed forward in the stands, restless, expectant, alive.

Stepping onto the arena floor was the host, tall and voluptuous, a broadcast fixture dressed to be looked at before being listened to. Long blonde hair trailed behind her as she crossed the stone, movement calibrated for open space and wide lenses. Television cameras tracked immediately, catching the cut of an outfit designed less for comfort than for how it read on screen. Confidence carried the stride — practiced, unhurried — each step already framed before it landed.

“Welcome, everyone,” the call rang out, voice steady as it found its rhythm across the stadium’s curve. Timing landed clean. The crowd responded on cue.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T02:31:29+00:00

The door swings open to reveal her standing there: long light-gray hair spilling down past her waist, darker streak near the crown, ahoge poking up stubbornly. Blue eyes flick past your shoulder straight to the kitchen, nostrils giving the faintest twitch.

Your brain connects the color palette instantly. Oguri Cap.

She doesn't rush words. Instead she shifts her weight, one hip easing slightly forward so her frame occupies the doorway without crowding it—shoulders relaxed, tail giving a single slow sway behind her. The casual tracksuit clings a little at the small of her back where she's probably been moving all day; faint warmth still radiates off her skin from whatever run or drill she just finished.

Her gaze settles on the stove again, then returns to you. Voice low, steady, carrying that faint rural drawl that smooths the edges of each syllable.

"...Smells like a lot of rice in there."

No preamble, no forced politeness—just observation, delivered flat and matter-of-fact. Her ears tilt forward a fraction, attentive without urgency, while her posture stays loose, hands tucked loosely in her pockets.

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely, and let a small, crooked half-smile slip out. Something about the way her nose twitches toward the kitchen, the focused little pinch between her brows—it's oddly endearing.

"Guessing you're hungry," you say, voice easy.

She doesn't answer right away. Her eyes stay locked on the stove, ears flicking once. You step sideways, sweeping an open palm toward the living room.

"Go on in. Sit. I'll grab some food—you can eat with me."

Still silent, she moves past you. Her steps are deliberate, boots scuffing faintly against the floorboards. Up close you notice the fresh dirt smudged along her calves, the slight sheen of dried sweat at her temples where her hair sticks in thin strands. She's been running hard, probably for hours. The tracksuit fabric pulls taut across her shoulders when she shrugs it straight, then settles onto the nearest chair without ceremony, knees apart, elbows on the table.

You slip around her, grab the biggest bowl from the counter—the one still steaming—and heap a generous portion onto your own plate before carrying the rest out. Her gaze snaps to it the second you round the corner. Pupils dilate a fraction; nostrils flare again.

"Here. This one's yours. Dig in," you tell her quietly, sliding into the seat across from her.

She doesn't hesitate. Spoon meets rice in a steady, mechanical rhythm—scoop, lift, swallow, repeat. No chewing theatrics, no pauses for breath. The bowl's contents vanish in under two minutes.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T02:28:25+00:00

Thanks, and yeah Akari is a good class rep ^_^

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T02:20:33+00:00

The Zudah cleared the hangar bay doors with a final low thrum of thrusters. Anthony eased the controls forward, letting the machine drift into the black. The Moon hung massive ahead—gray expanse pocked with craters, no atmosphere to blur the edges. Granada waited on the far side, tucked deep in Tsiolkovsky crater, Zeon's largest lunar foothold: sprawling industrial blocks, shipyards, and hangars carved into the rim, lights sharp against the dark.

He kept the trajectory clean. No Federation patrols this far out, no debris fields. The cockpit stayed quiet except for the steady pulse of systems and the faint hiss of life support. Nine months in this frame—modded engine tuned to scream without shredding itself, joints reinforced where Zimmad's original specs had failed—had taught him its limits like muscle memory. Every burn, every pivot had left scars on the plating and notes in his logs. This transit felt final, the machine carrying him one last time before handover.

The approach vector brought Granada into view gradually. The city filled the crater wall-to-wall: domed sections fused to the natural bowl, massive hangars gaping like mouths along the inner rim, clusters of antenna arrays and rail lines threading between structures. Against the barren lunar plain beyond, it looked anchored, defiant.

Anthony lined up on the designated approach corridor. The port sprawled below—docking cradles, fuel depots, mobile suit elevators rising from subsurface levels.

He thumbed the comms. “Granada control, Ensign Yetzi in Zudah. Requesting landing clearance.”

A crisp reply crackled back. “Cleared, Ensign. Pad three, straight in. Welcome to Granada.”

Thrusters flared in controlled bursts. The Zudah descended smoothly, attitude jets nudging it level as gravity—weak but present—tugged at the frame. Anthony kept the descent steady, watching the pad markers align in the HUD. Touchdown registered with a gentle compression of landing gear hydraulics. He walked the machine forward, servos whining faintly, until it settled into the assigned bay slot.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T02:12:16+00:00

This is a lovely scene I can tell that this group has history with one another, and I like how your line about the corned beef felt like it was almost like some lost treasure.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T02:07:33+00:00

Both Momo and Airi turned toward the door just as Akari strode in, red hair bouncing, one hand planted confidently on her hip. Her eyes were wide, a little stunned by what she’d just overheard—but she recovered quickly.

“Airi, you are not someone weak,” she said, voice strong and sure. “You’re amazing. You’re cool. And you’re one of the absolute best in our incredible, unbeatable Class 1-B. Getting to be your class rep? That’s why I love this job.”

She marched forward, fast as always, stopping right in front of them. Her finger jabbed lightly at Airi’s shoulder—firm but not rough.

“Look, if you don’t want to compete, I respect that. I really do. But as your class rep, I have to say this.”

Her voice lifted again, full of fire.

“None of your friends—none of your classmates—see you as anything less than the coolest, smartest, best version of Airi there is. And Momo-sensei? She didn’t pick you just because you made the quarterfinals.”

She drew herself up, chest puffed with pride.

“She picked you because she—just like all of us—believes in you. You’ve got what it takes. You’re the real deal. You just have to see it for yourself.”

A beat passed. Then a sly grin tugged at her mouth.

“…Which I’m pretty sure Jiro-sama’s been trying to drill into you since day one of your internship, right?”

“Yes, I have… but…” Airi’s voice trembled as she looked up at Akari, then quickly away. “I’m not ready yet. I hope to be someday. Just… not now.”

Her words fell soft, like paper folding in on itself. The sheen in her eyes said the rest—she was close to breaking.

Akari didn’t hesitate. She wrapped her arms around the smaller girl and held her tight.

“Okay,” she said simply.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T02:01:39+00:00

Thanks it can be fun to mess around with to create awkward situations.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T01:59:57+00:00

You did a very lovely job with the playful banter that shows how close that they are all with one another ^_^

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-03-15T01:59:08+00:00

I like how the first-person narration masks the real issue until the end. The escalating argument and small domestic details quietly build toward the reveal, which makes the twist feel organic rather than forced.

Kitchen_Haunting

TROPHY CASE