Chapter 40: Tea with the Egg in Charge
Naruto and his clones skidded to a halt at the edge of what could only be described as the strangest city he had seen since… well, probably breakfast. After all the smoke, thunder, and general doom they'd been barreling through at full shinobi speed, they had expected charred ruins, ominous music, and maybe a few stray meteors for effect.
Instead, they were greeted with… a suspiciously intact city.
"Okay," one clone muttered, scratching his head, "either we're dreaming, or the apocalypse stopped for a lunch break."
The city was oddly peaceful. Suspiciously peaceful. The kind of peace that made you think of hidden traps, not picnics. Neon signs flickered lazily, cheerful jingle tunes played from broken speakers, and the streets — while empty of chaos — were not empty of Digimon.
There were Machmons idling at street corners, engine revs popping like bubblegum. Rebellimons were parked — literally — by food stalls, arguing over oil grades. Ogremon lounged in the alleyways like they were taking their union-mandated smoke break. Vegiemon waved thorny leaves from their shop windows. DemiDevimons fluttered about like over-caffeinated pigeons, whispering dark gossip and occasionally divebombing each other for sport.
It was, frankly, a ridiculous place.
Even stranger was the smell of food wafting through the air — real, actual food. Curry. Ramen. And was that… waffles?
The trail led them to a park, the greenest spot they'd seen in this part of the Digital World. In the center of it all, like some enchanted teapot in a forest clearing, stood a restaurant shaped like a giant cracked egg — complete with tiny chef's hat on top.
"Digitamamon's Diner," read the sign in looping, slightly ominous cursive.
One of the DemiDevimons flitted down to them, looking as though he'd been plucked from a very stylish Halloween party.
"Oi," he said, flapping his wings with more sass than necessary. "If you lot are plannin' on loiterin', forget it. Nobody breathes here unless the boss says so."
Naruto blinked. "The boss?"
"The Boss," the DemiDevimon repeated with emphasis, as if that made it clearer. "Digitamamon. Runs the joint. Rules the roost. Makes a mean mushroom stew, too. He's in the park—restaurant thingy—like always. You wanna not get stomped by the locals, go say hi. Bring good manners. Maybe a napkin."
With that, the DemiDevimon performed a midair twirl and zipped off, muttering something about newcomers and how nobody reads signs anymore.
"Well," said Naruto, stretching his arms and popping his joints. "You heard the bat. Let's go say hi to this egg-boss and not get kicked out of his salad bar."
The clones gave various noises of agreement — one even pulled out a slightly crumpled bouquet of flowers, just in case this turned into a formal meet-and-greet.
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If the Digital World had tourist brochures — and one shudders to imagine the grammar — the city would certainly not have made the cut. It murmured in that particular way cities do when something is not quite right. Not loudly. Not rudely. Just an unhelpful little hum that skittered along the bricks and gutters like a gossip with cold feet.
Naruto, who'd never been the quiet-and-observant type but was learning fast in this strange new world, crouched near a suspiciously cracked bit of pavement. Nearby, Piximon fluttered about with all the grace of a soap bubble and exactly none of the attitude. Pink sparkles rained from his wand as if someone had left a fairy loose in a first-aid kit. Scrapes sealed. Bruises faded. Even Naruto's aching shoulder gave a suspicious twinge, as if realizing it had been caught complaining too loudly and was now embarrassed.
Leaning dramatically against a lamppost that had long given up pretending it worked, Raikomaru rolled his eyes. Little blue zaps sparked between his fingers like impatient lightning. "This place creeps me out," he muttered. "All these Digimon… violent types. The sort that chew on parking signs and insult your mother. Just… behaving."
TK, or Takeru to anyone who wasn't wearing goggles or a ninja headband, was ten years old and had the sort of face that could make you feel bad for being sarcastic near him. He clutched his Digivice with both hands like it was a cup of cocoa in a snowstorm.
"Vegimon was selling fruit," he said, uncertainly. "Actual fruit. And he gave me exact change. Are we… sure we're not dreaming?"
"DemiDevimon waved at me," added Patamon, sitting solemnly on TK's head like a slightly chubby hat. "And didn't even cackle. He just said, 'Nice weather.' Like some kind of unholy librarian."
"Dark Attribute Digimon," Piximon murmured. "Usually the sort that prefer throwing furniture rather than hosting brunch. Something has them tamed."
Naruto straightened, brushing dust off his pants. "Then we find out what. And politely knock on its door. Or, y'know, kick it open if things get spicy."
They moved as a tight little group — Naruto in front, TK flanked by Raikomaru and the ever-silent-but-sparkly Piximon, with Patamon doing his best to appear braver than he felt by flaring his ears importantly.
The park came into view like an awkward secret — dry trees, half-alive grass, and an unsettlingly clean footpath paved in cracked tile. They followed it past broken benches and crooked lamp posts until they reached a clearing, where something altogether ridiculous awaited them.
It was a restaurant.
Not a crumbling ruin or a suspicious dungeon. A restaurant. Nestled beside a glowing pond that looked like a screensaver, it had warm golden lanterns, a neat little patio, and two massive Leomon in spotless aprons standing out front like polite bouncers at a very exclusive bake sale.
A sign swung gently above the door, flickering as if trying to remember how to spell:
Eggshell Haven — All Guests Welcome... Once.
"Subtle," Naruto muttered.
TK slowed to a halt. "Should we… just walk in?"
"Would be rude not to," Raikomaru said, though he eyed the Leomon like they might throw breadsticks at him.
The door creaked open with the kind of dramatic timing that made Piximon twitch.
And there he stood.
Digitamamon.
His shell gleamed like obsidian. His eyes glowed a peaceful, definitely-not-sinister green. Inside the hollow of his egg-body, shadows swirled like they were gossiping about your haircut.
"Visitors," came the voice, smooth and polite like an expensive napkin. "I've been expecting you. Come in. The table is already set."
Patamon fluffed his ears nervously. "He's strong. Really strong."
Naruto gave TK a reassuring pat. "Don't worry. We're just here to talk. Maybe eat. Hopefully not be eaten."
Piximon, unusually silent, hovered low. His eyes narrowed, glittering faintly.
And so, with the grace of people who were about to do something deeply unwise, they stepped through the glowing threshold, into the lair of a mysterious restaurateur who may or may not have ambitions of egg-shaped world domination.
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The restaurant, despite its ominous name and location in a city that looked like a villain's playground, was surprisingly cozy. Lanterns floated in mid-air, flickering like lazy fireflies. The table was round, polished, and far too large for the group—but somehow, they all found themselves nestled comfortably in soft velvet chairs with steaming bowls of something fragrant before them.
"Wait—Matt? Joe!?" Naruto blinked, leaning forward as two familiar figures, dressed in slightly-too-small waiter uniforms with little bow ties, approached carrying trays stacked with dishes.
"Surprise," Joe said wearily, placing a plate of golden-fried something-or-other in front of him. "Welcome to the Digital Underworld Café. Would you like your water sparkling, or just mildly regretful?"
Matt didn't even try to hide the scowl. "He made us wear aprons. Aprons. With little eggs on them."
Digitamamon, who was lounging like a very round sultan at the head of the table, let out a low chuckle that sounded like a bowling ball rolling through velvet. "Oh come now, you're both quite good at it. Especially Joe. His soup stirring is practically hypnotic."
Naruto leaned over to Raikomaru, whispering behind a hand, "Are they being… held hostage with aprons?"
Raikomaru shrugged. "I think they're just employed. Very unhappily."
Still, Naruto frowned. It didn't sit right. Seeing Matt and Joe, both proud and capable in their own ways, reduced to serving under some egg-shaped overlord was... awkward, to say the least.
Digitamamon, sensing the shift in mood like a cat catching a breeze, narrowed his green eye-slits. "I don't deal in unfair agreements," he said smoothly. "These two sought sanctuary. I provided it. In exchange, they work. That's the deal. Nothing here is free — not the food, not the shelter, not even my fabulous personality."
He struck a dramatic pose, which was difficult to appreciate when you were an egg with stubby legs.
Naruto tapped his fingers against his plate. "So you want something from us too. Figures." He looked around at the others — TK was busy buttering a roll, Piximon was eyeing the salt shaker suspiciously, and Raikomaru was silently daring his soup to try and bite him. No one exactly looked ready to strike a bargain with the local mafia egg.
Digitamamon sipped something from a tiny porcelain cup without lifting it — the liquid floated into the shell and vanished. "Give me an offer I can't refuse."
Naruto's brain offered absolutely nothing. No money, no army, no ancient digital artifacts hiding in his pockets. "Alright," he said at last. "Let's cut the nonsense. What do you want?"
The egg leaned forward, his voice suddenly silkier than a Meowth's fur. "Simple. I want warriors to serve me. Just a handful of strong, loyal tamers who'll defend the city if anything nasty stumbles in."
Naruto raised an eyebrow. "And if we don't want to be soldiers?"
Digitamamon shrugged—or at least made a shrugging motion with his shell. "Then go fetch something shiny. Old relics. Lost treasures. The usual digital doodads. You do that, and you eat here for free. Maybe even get the deluxe suite."
Raikomaru blinked. "There are suites?"
Digitamamon nodded proudly. "With hot springs. And throw pillows."
TK perked up. "Ooh."
Joe let out a long sigh as he ladled soup into another bowl. "Careful. That's how he got us."
Matt, handing out spoons, added under his breath, "I'm still haunted by the throw pillows."
Naruto leaned back in his chair, one hand rubbing his chin. "So either we become your champions… or your treasure hunters."
Digitamamon gave a wink that was far too smug for a being with no visible eyelids. "Exactly. And remember, I do serve dessert."
There was a moment of silence.
Then TK whispered, "What kind of dessert?"
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Naruto cleared his throat and leaned slightly forward, putting on the kind of smile one wears when trying to charm their way out of a homework assignment. "Before we jump into a life of servitude or potentially explosive archaeology, could we—er—have a little chat? With Matt and Joe?"
Digitamamon, lounging like a pampered egg on a velvet stool, tapped his claw lightly on a gold-rimmed teacup. "Of course, of course. I'm nothing if not hospitable." He swiveled—quite impressively, for something round—and floated off with all the grace of a very smug balloon.
Once he was out of earshot (or so they hoped), Matt immediately dropped his serving tray on the nearest table. "Okay. Listen. Do not agree to relic hunting. I mean it."
Joe nodded, taking off his apron like it offended him. "He's right. We tried that. Once. Nearly got fried, frozen, and flattened before we even made it past the front gate. The relics are hidden in places that are... well, let's just say not friendly."
Naruto frowned. "But if we don't do that, the other option is becoming bodyguards."
"Exactly," Matt said grimly. "Which is exhausting, but at least it doesn't involve being chased by a sandstorm made of lasers."
Joe sighed and pointed his spoon at Naruto. "But you've got one huge advantage we didn't. You're Naruto. You're practically a walking army. And you've got Piximon—an Ultimate-level Digimon. That alone gives you more firepower than we ever had."
Piximon gave a modest flutter, polishing his spear with a napkin. "Pixi~."
TK, who had been unusually quiet until now, shifted in his seat and said, a little shyly, "Um... Patamon can evolve to Ultimate too."
The room went still.
Matt's jaw dropped. "Wait. What?"
Joe dropped his spoon. "He can what?"
Patamon, who had been sipping juice from a curly straw, gave a sheepish little flutter of his ears.
"Yeah," TK said, scratching the back of his head. "We kind of... figured it out on the way here."
Joe stared at him as though he'd just admitted to being a secret Digimon Emperor. "You're ten."
TK shrugged innocently. "It just happened."
Joe looked like he was having an existential crisis in slow motion. "I'm 15 years old. I have three medical certifications. I eat a lot of bran. And a ten-year-old is stronger than me."
Matt, on the other hand, just stared at his little brother in stunned silence. His face cycled through confusion, disbelief, amazement… and then, oddly, sadness.
TK noticed. "Matt?"
Matt blinked quickly, then smiled and pulled him into a rough hug. "I'm proud of you, squirt. Really. You've grown up so much." His voice was a bit tight, a little hoarse. "Guess… you don't really need your big brother to protect you anymore, huh?"
TK hugged him back. "I'll always need you."
For a moment, even Naruto didn't have anything to say. Which was a rare event.
Then Joe cleared his throat loudly. "Right. Well. Before this turns into a tearful family reunion and someone breaks into song—let's figure out what we're doing. Because one way or another, we've got to deal with Humpty Doom sitting out there with a dessert menu."