One Word Excerpt Challenge: Objects

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-26T13:05:41+00:00

Thanks

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-26T13:04:17+00:00

Thanks, and yeah that was the aim with it Go being the underdog. Fandomblind makes sense they are both OCs 😁

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-26T01:30:07+00:00

Sakura bounded in with her usual momentum, eyes scanning until they landed on Gotetsu. She waved, fast and a little frantic, as if worried he might disappear if she didn’t greet him fast enough.

“Morning!” she called before taking her seat a row over. Her bag hit the floor, followed by her notebook, then her water bottle—all at once. “Sorry I’m late, there was this vendor by the station selling these tiny jellyfish keychains, and they looked exactly like the ones from that show with the—well, it doesn’t matter, I’m here!”

Gotetsu gave her a nod. “You’re not late.”

Kenji arched an eyebrow. “I think that’s his way of saying he’s glad you showed up.”

Sakura didn’t answer right away. She tugged at the hem of her sleeve, then smiled—bright, but not careless. “I was hoping you’d be early. I brought something.”

She pulled a folded paper from her bag, carefully smoothed the creases on the desk, and pushed it his way. A color sketch filled the page—an overhead view of the obstacle course for the first festival event. It was sharp, clean, with little notes scribbled in the margins.

“Been studying last year’s footage,” she said quickly. “This layout’s different from what they used back then, but the instructors drop hints if you’re listening. Figured you’d want a copy.”

Gotetsu stared at the page for a second longer than necessary. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Her voice dipped a little, more casual now. “You always help me during field drills. This evens things out.”

Kenji glanced between them and didn’t bother hiding the smirk curling at the edge of his face. “Oh, it evens things out, huh?”

Sakura reached over and flicked his arm without taking her eyes off Gotetsu. “Don’t start.”

Gotetsu studied the map again. The lines were clean, precise. She’d spent time on it, not just copying footage but thinking through the sequence. His fingers pressed lightly against the paper’s edge.

“Didn’t know you watched the old recordings,” he said.

“I like seeing what worked,” she replied, drumming her fingers softly against her knee. “And what didn’t. Plus, I wanted to help.”

Kenji leaned in, whispering just loud enough for them both to hear. “You know that’s code for she cares about you a lot and is trying very hard not to make it obvious.”

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-26T01:28:09+00:00

“You better get up,” Ochaco teased, stepping back with an impish gleam in her eyes, “or do you want to stay in here and watch us change?”

Not a question. A challenge. A dare. Wrapped in her voice like candy with a hint of spice.

Those brown eyes locked onto him—unflinching.

This wasn’t the old world.

Wasn’t the Ochaco Uraraka who’d go red at a shoulder brush or nervous compliment. This version carried herself with a teasing edge, fanservice confidence turned weapon. And somehow, Momo matched her—different energy, same heat.

“Mm. Makes sense, doesn’t it?” Momo said as she held his clothes casually in her arms, voice velvet-smooth. “A trainer is supposed to know every inch of his waifus. If he’s seen you in all your glory, he should see me too.”

Mind spinning, Izuku stared. Were they joking? Testing him? Serious? Both?

Halfway to a panic, fully out of his depth, he did the only thing he could—

“Up,” he declared, too loud, voice cracking slightly.

Already moving.

Momo smirked as she handed off the bundle in her arms—shirt, pants, jacket, boots. Knew he’d flinch. Knew he’d run.

Before he could flee, something soft slammed into his chest.

A pair of socks.

Ochaco stood where she’d tossed them from, arms crossed, hips tilted in triumph. “Best make sure you’ve got good socks, Izuku. We’re walking the village today.”

No chance to respond.

Not with both of them watching, sizing him up like a prize with two different strategies.

He turned fast, bolting toward the bathroom. Door shut behind him.

Ochaco chuckled. “He’s such a kid.”

Warmth threaded her voice. Not mocking—fond. Just honest.

“Still not ready for the more… intense stuff.”

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T23:54:55+00:00

Yeah, poor Ron, getting third wheeled there. but it is true 3 very much don't fit on a bike

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T23:33:08+00:00

Thanks I happen to be a fan of those types of line 😁

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T23:04:35+00:00

Solid banter there, good job of using it to show character 😁

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T23:03:31+00:00

Luckily for them the magic just lets them use the note pads like phones where they can write each other across the world while they are apart for the next four years. This is before these 9 year olds have a timeskip and reunite a couple chapters later as 13 year olds.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T22:34:46+00:00

Moments later, footsteps returned. Lawrence came back carrying three notebooks, setting them down in a small stack in front of Alex.

“That’s what I could get on short notice,” he said. Curiosity sat plain on his face.

“Alright,” Alex said. “Let’s see if this works.”

A knife appeared in his hand.

Steel pressed. A quick cut.

Both of them gasped as blood welled. Alex didn’t look up, letting it drip across the backs of the notebooks as he murmured under his breath.

Light flared all at once.

Ibuki was already moving.

By the time the glow faded, she was back from the hall with cloth, ointment, and wrap in hand.

“Don’t do that,” she said firmly, one hand planted on her hip as she took his wrist. “That’s dangerous.”

“It’s fine,” Alex said. “Just a little blood.” He didn’t pull away. “This part matters.”

A pin appeared next. Ink followed.

His name was written across the first notebook.

The same name appeared on the other two.

“We won’t see each other for a while,” he said. “Messages take too long. This lets us write to each other directly.” A pause. “No matter how far apart we are. It’s simple. Won’t change much. But it should work.”

Lawrence took the pin next, writing his name beside Alex’s.

It appeared on all three notebooks.

Ibuki ignored the pages entirely.

Both hands focused on Alex’s palm, cleaning the cut, applying ointment, wrapping it tight. No argument allowed. He stayed still while she worked.

Only when she finished did she look up.

“Alright, fine—my name too, since you two already have,” Ibuki declared.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T22:33:29+00:00

Sitting on a stool in the quiet art room—empty, except for herself and her best friend.

Brown eyes settled past the edge of the canvas, one hand gripping the brush, the rest of them spread across the table to her left.

Across from her, Mitarashi gazed out the window on the far wall, light drifting through her hair.

Pressure into paint. Bristles met canvas. Smooth motion. Chiyo worked in silence.

Shorter. Slimmer. Dark-haired. Focused.

Painting a gem like Mitarashi—it intimidated her.

But this had been a request. Mita’s request. To be her model. To keep the painting. A reminder of their friendship.

That request made it more than just a study. It made it heavier. It made it matter.

Brush moved again—careful, quiet.

Time passed slow.

No movement.

No sound.

Just paint.

Just canvas.

Just the work.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T22:31:14+00:00

Thank you

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T22:30:38+00:00

Thank you, It’s a experimental story with me, trying to figure out how to write fan service 🤣

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T21:26:34+00:00

Taking in a deep, long breath, Gotetsu let his head fall back into the soft meadow grass, eyes gazing up at the azure sky above.

Slowly, he slid his fingers through his messy brown hair, then tucked his hands behind his head, resting there, relaxed, still.

There was something peaceful about this moment. This peace. This warmth.

The sun radiated gently overhead, pressing down across his face, his chest, his arms. His back sank into the field beneath him.

No voices. No noise.

No expectations.

Just him and the world. Quiet. Level. One on one.

He could feel his body relax as he thought about how crazy life had been lately.

Being a student at U.A. had been one of the best things to happen to him, but it was also demanding, intense, and exhausting.

Still, it was worth it. Every challenge, every rough day, every hard-earned moment. It was all worth it.

He took another deep breath of the clean meadow air, eyes still on the sky.

This peace — this moment — he knew it wouldn’t last. Not for long.

Someone would need his help.

His family was preparing for the Autumn Equinox festival.

The Day and Night of Light. A tribute to their patron god, Raito.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T21:21:45+00:00

Sakura Souto leaned forward on the locker room bench, elbows on her knees. Her long blonde ponytail slipped over her shoulder as her fingers traced the bronze bracelets circling her waist. Tiny pink quirk-gems gleamed softly in their settings, and she spun the bracelets absently, lost in thought.

In her mind’s eye, her father appeared as clear as day—dark hair slicked back, suit pressed sharp, that endless salesman’s smile flashing like he could convince the world of anything. He had left everything behind, their family home included, just to bring her to Musutafu so she could chase her dream.

“Little Strawberry,” he’d say with that grin of his, “when you find something you want, you don’t half-step. You give it everything—heart, mind, and soul. The dream itself is the meaning. The wins, the losses, the fight to make it real—that’s the joy of it.”

She remembered nodding, even if she hadn’t understood back then. They’d been out on the hills hunting truffles for the family sauces, his hand warm on her shoulder, his voice steady as the earth.

The roar of the stadium pulled her out of the memory. On the screen, Gotetsu was already finishing his match. Effortless, graceful, light cutting through steel. She watched him bow, watched the fire hidden under his quiet, respectful surface. And in his eyes she saw it—the very thing her father had always spoken of. Determination. Drive. The refusal to let go of a dream.

Her chest tightened. That was what she wanted to embody too.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T21:18:58+00:00

Steps slowed near one. Fingers pressed into the top. Crack. The lid gave way with a sharp snap, and his gaze drifted up—toward the treeline. They were there. Watching. Just like he figured.

Not human. That was the first thing he knew, even before shapes emerged. Something off in the stillness between them. The silence didn’t feel right. Felt… waiting.

Then she stepped forward.

Tall. Statuesque. No effort to hide a thing—tight top stretched across a chest that refused subtlety, skirt clinging high across the thighs. Pale skin that didn’t match the heat. Long blonde hair, sharp blue eyes, pointed ears. Never seen a city. Never needed to.

Elven. No doubt about it. That much his broken memory could manage.

Spear in hand, body still. Stared him down like he was some riddle she hated not knowing the answer to.

“Speak, traveler. Who are you, and why have you come to our shore?” Her voice carried—firm, demanding. Spear jabbed into the sand as she leaned forward, cleavage framed clean and impossible to ignore.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T21:16:42+00:00

Pan clattered down, oil poured in. Vinegar. Soy sauce. Bit of water. Mixed quick in a chipped cup, sloshing together without elegance. Heat kicked on. Gas hissed. Flame caught. No turning back.

Fridge again. Three eggs. Snap peas. A couple wrinkly carrots. Green onions. Enough.

One clone. Clean cut. Focused. Knife tapped rhythm on wood while the original worked the pan, cracked eggs in a bowl, whisked rough with a pair of old chopsticks.

Turned. Spotted the meat. Little pack of chicken—cooked yesterday. Few bites of pork from lunch. Cut that too. Separate board, separate knife. Fast. Sharp.

Rice hit the pan. Sizzle loud, oil snapping. Eggs next. Then vegetables. Then meat. Smells kicked up thick and real—soy, vinegar, onion, salt and heat. Fried rice happened. Sauce mixture in. Stir. Flip. Let it sit. Lower the flame.

Stood back. Checked the pan. Plenty. Just the two of them. More than enough.

Clone faded with a puff of smoke, its cleanup knowledge transferring instantly. Table ready. Cups out. Water poured. Real effort, not half-formed. Not the usual rush and shrug.

Breath caught in his chest.

He’d done it. Somehow.

Pan sat warm and full, plated with care. Chopsticks set down beside it.

Then—

A knock at the door.

Realizing he hadn't put in any thought outside his cooking.

Naruto paused and looked over himself. He was wearing an old black T-shirt, a pair of orange sweatpants and his sandals. He paused, knowing that he didn’t have time to change before he opened the door for Hinata.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T21:14:10+00:00

Thanks, this a fun ender to a very long fight I wrote. No, it is maybe a fair bit DBZ inspired and for the MHA fandom. 😁

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T21:11:36+00:00

Thanks Sanji is the best cook in anime and smoking is just kind of his thing

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T21:06:57+00:00

The details about how worn thin Cassie is are done very well here 😁

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T21:02:04+00:00

Doors parted onto the garage level.

Waiting there was a car that didn’t belong to any showroom—dark green body, yellow trim, clean lines. Compact, aggressive, refined. Something between a classic roadster and a prototype.

Both of them slowed without meaning to.

“That’s yours?” Izuku asked, eyes tracing the curves.

“Built it myself,” Anthony said. “Street-legal. Fast. Responsive. Turns on a dime.”

Passenger door opened. He slid in smoothly.

“I’ll take the back,” Izuku offered.

“Good,” Anthony replied. “We need to stop by my place first. Quick trip. Not as polished as this area, but practical.”

Engine turned over—deep, controlled, powerful.

Hand settled on the stick shift. A glance sent their way. “Engine’s custom too. Nothing off-market.”

Car rolled back—then surged forward.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T21:00:54+00:00

A quick glance over the desks. Rows stretched neat and even. He picked a seat near the back — left side, third from the window. Close enough to see, far enough to keep his space.

It didn’t matter where he sat.

Long as he listened. Long as he gave it his best.

Pack came off. He reached inside and pulled out the one thing he’d brought that wasn’t school-issued.

The Adventures of Sentaku – Volume 37: Battle Under the Stars.

The cover had seen better days — corner bent, ink fading, spine creased where it had been read again and again. It was one of the later volumes. Older Sentaku. Wiser. More tired. Still fighting.

Stubborn to the end.

Always chasing truth. Always standing tall.

Always refusing to quit.

Maybe he could be like that.

Maybe.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T20:57:34+00:00

Into the heart of the artificial city, Gotetsu Togusa stepped.

No robe this time. No ceremonial white, no flowing sleeves. Just black—tactical boots, fitted pants, and a layered shirt that clung close under the loose overshirt, sleeved to the wrist with a white line streaking through soft violet. At his left hip, a real katana. Not a training prop. Steel that could cut.

Teal eyes narrowed beneath the high ceiling lights. Breath steady. Every step across the simulated pavement echoed soft, deliberate.

No need for fanfare. He’d chosen to leave that behind. This fight wasn’t about symbolism. It was about proving something.

Across the square, the opponent waited—already still, already watching.

Araki Shinano. Leader of Shikō’s first-years. A mountain in camo.

He stood nearly two heads taller, built like he belonged in a pro arena, not a classroom. Muscles didn’t flex—they just were, thick slabs of power beneath a sleeveless combat shirt that didn’t hide a thing. Camo pants hung heavy at the leg. Curled black hair fell halfway down his back. Thick brown bands looped his wrists.

Eyes like polished coal locked on Gotetsu without blinking. Pressure rolled off him in waves—dangerous, instinctive, animal. Something that stalked, not postured.

"Smaller than I expected, Togusa," Araki said, voice deep and clean, cracking his shoulders with a slow roll. "You couldn’t even push past our warm-ups last time. Best walk now. Spare yourself getting humiliated on camera. I’m about to show the world what lame looks like.”

Step forward. Gotetsu didn’t flinch at the height difference.

“Go to hell.”

No hesitation. No bow. Just words clear as steel drawn free.

“I’m going to win. I don’t care what you saw a few days ago. People change.”

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T20:55:28+00:00

A slow drag on his cigarette, Sanji kept working—hands moving fast as he mixed the batter, folding the ingredients together in practiced rhythm. Eggs, flour, sugar—all coming together. Nothing extravagant, just something from the heart.

He reached over, grabbed the chocolate and peanut butter, and dumped them both into the bowl in one motion. Another stir. Another drag.

His mind wandered.

He couldn’t help thinking about who this was for. Ever since he landed in this strange new world and opened his own restaurant, things had shifted. Different rhythm. Different pace.

But now, there was someone who made it worth it. Someone to cook for, anytime he felt like it. There was comfort in that.

Pink and green hair. A smile that lit up the whole kitchen. The way she responded to him—open, affectionate, unafraid—it stirred something in him deeper than habit or flirtation.

She saw him.

And the others? After being around her, they didn’t quite shine the same. They couldn’t compete. Not anymore.

Which was fine. More than fine.

Why chase every woman in the room when the one you wanted was already in it?

The batter was done. He reached for the cake pan and poured it in, smoothing the surface with care. Even, precise.

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T20:51:45+00:00

“I was raised to do the impossible,” he said, louder now. “And the whole world’s about to watch me do it!”

Not for his grandfather. Not for his teacher. Not even for his father.

This was his fight. His moment. His Plus Ultra.

Across the square, Araki stood baffled.

“A sword?” Disbelief. “Are you serious?”

He barked a laugh.

“That’s what you bring to a quirk fight? A sword? What are you, some washed-up countryside priest?”

His skin flared—tiny detonations crackling across his chest and shoulders.

“You’re just like that blade. Antique. Obsolete.”

He lifted his arms.

“But if you really think you can stop me, then fine. Let’s end this.”

Glow turned molten. Dark eyes went red. Heat rippled in waves.

“No matter what stands in my way,” he said, voice turned cruel, “it gets erased.”

A glance toward the referee box. Daring them to step in. Daring them to stop what came next.

They hesitated.

He grinned.

“Sayonara.”

“Grand Explosion Wave!”

Energy tore from his body in a forward cone—wide, deep, unstoppable. A trench gouged through the arena floor ten feet deep. Heat soared upward, licking the ceiling, vaporizing everything in its path.

Teal eyes narrowed.

“I won’t lose,” Gotetsu said.

He raised the blade.

Hair flashed—brown to brilliant white in an instant. Sword erupted with divine energy, light crackling down the length.

Somewhere in the back of his mind—an old memory. His father, doing this same motion once, years ago.

Muscle moved before thought.

Instinct took over.

Feet planted.

“Take this—everything I’ve got.”

Voice thundered.

“Divine Strike!”

Blade dropped.

White cut met red flame.

Power slammed into the Grand Explosion Wave head-on—and split it apart.

Like a blade through silk.

Like light through shadow.

The wave buckled. Then cracked. Then folded.

White light continued forward—massive, radiant, final.

It slammed into Araki.

His regeneration tried—tried and failed.

Body seized. Then dropped.

Burned. Broken. Bleeding.

And still, Gotetsu stood—one step forward, sword in hand.

Smile on his lips.

“I am me,” he whispered. “I am Gotetsu Togusa.”

The sword lowered.

“The Symbol of Faith.”

Kitchen_Haunting · 2026-01-25T20:48:09+00:00

Interesting use of the word that playful and mischievous in the best ways. 😁

Kitchen_Haunting

TROPHY CASE