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"I'm not doing this because I want to," Hotarubi was quite clear in how he felt still behind the counter in a noodle bar, pulling a "Don't care as long as ya don't get any dirt in your noodle," His old mentor quipped at him. Hotarubi made a sound of disgust. Always on and on about the dirt. Him being made of earth and working where he did made the man nervous, and he was not polite about it. Hotarubi pulled at his apron, tightening it around his waist as he had for years before. Either way, attached the anti-hair mesh to cover the top of his head, and he got to work. Money was money, and he wanted to do something that wasn't ninja-like, for purely selfish reasons. Between his last entrance to the academy several years earlier, and today being in the academy: Hotarubi had worked here. He liked to believe his noodles were fantastic, but his mentor and "noodle master" never liked it. But, that was a man who had been doing it for four decades. "I need Lanzhou," his high, nasally voice penetrated through the restaurant, and there were several people eating: they would be able to hear the man clearly. "Hai." Hotarubi's monotonous voice, equally as loud and without tone. Underneath the counter he pulled out a mix of dough that had been done - but not pulled. He got to work.