Chapter 43: Loyalty in a Shell
In which brothers learn that eggs are thicker than they look
The bell above the restaurant door jingled lightly.
It was absurdly out of place. The dainty chime did not belong to a moment like this—where shadows crept before their owners, where the very walls of the city seemed to hold their breath. But there it was, tinkling innocently, as if the digital world hadn't just tilted on its axis.
Digitamamon was already waiting. He had felt her presence long before she entered his city. The way the shadows slithered, the way weak-hearted Digimon trembled behind cupboards and crates—it was as if the code of the city itself had whispered her name.
Arachne.
She glided in, silk cloak rippling, that predatory smile playing along her crimson lips. The air seemed to coil around her like a faithful serpent, invisible but ready to strike.
Digitamamon didn't flinch. He never did.
The shadowy voids inside his eggshell body swirled slowly, calmly. He spoke with the professional tone of someone who had seen far worse monsters try and fail to unnerve him.
"How may I help you?"
She paused, amused. "So polite," she purred. "The evil incarnate, hiding in the shell of a common DigiEgg... running a café. Delightful. Do you greet everyone so formally?"
Digitamamon didn't move. "All guests are equal here. Tea, soup, or conflict—it's all on the menu, if you can pay."
Arachne chuckled and took a seat by the window, one leg draped over the other with graceful menace. Her long fingers idly brushed the silken strands of her hair to the side as she leaned back in her chair.
"No riddles today. I'll be plain." Her voice sharpened like a dagger being drawn. "I want the human boy. The little one with the floppy blond hair. The Patamon clinging to him like a nervous puffball."
Digitamamon's swirling voids didn't blink. But his voice chilled.
"I'm afraid I can't help you with that. The boy is an employee now. Part of the staff."
Arachne's eyes narrowed like a blade being honed.
"Staff? Are you serious?"
Digitamamon nodded once, smoothly. "I take contracts very seriously. Especially labor ones."
Her lip curled. She sat straighter, crossing her arms, her irritation no longer hidden beneath her silky purrs.
"Let's not pretend this is about loyalty," she said, voice low and venomous. "We both know you hoard more credits and resources than most Digital Lords. What's the number, hm? Name your price."
Digitamamon's aura sharpened. He wasn't laughing, but there was the flavor of a smile in his tone.
"It would be better if you clarified your request, so I may offer the answer you desire."
Arachne's smile vanished.
She slowly uncrossed her legs and placed her feet on the floor with a deliberate click. Her eyes gleamed with old power and malice. The spider queen wasn't used to being told "no."
"You're pushing me, Digitamamon," she said softly. "Over a child. A poor deal, even for someone as shrewd as you. Do you truly want to go against me?"
The silence in the restaurant was so thick it could have been sliced and served with jam.
Digitamamon didn't move, didn't tremble, didn't blink.
"I do not go against anyone. I follow the contract."
Arachne exhaled sharply through her nose and leaned back again, studying him with the gaze of a predator not quite ready to pounce—but already bored with her prey's games.
"Then I'll ask you one last time," she said, voice now silk-wrapped steel. "When the web is spun and the city trembles, and your walls fall, will you still be quoting contracts as you're devoured?"
Digitamamon tilted slightly.
"Depends. Will you still be smiling when the check arrives?"
Arachne stood.
"I'll give you time to reconsider," she said sweetly, striding toward the door without waiting for a goodbye. "We both know things in this city don't stay... static."
The door jingled as she left. The sound once again felt oddly quaint.
Digitamamon let the silence settle. Then, softly, to no one in particular, he said:
"They never read the fine print."
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From the side door behind the restaurant's kitchen, three pairs of eyes peeked out like sneaky Meowth at a fish market.
Matt, Joe, and Takeru had stopped pretending to scrub dishes the moment the atmosphere in the dining room had gone colder than Mojyamon's freezer section. The sharp sound of high heels on the tile, followed by the sugary-sinister voice of Arachne, had frozen them mid-pot scrub.
"Is she really here?" Joe had whispered, wide-eyed, a clump of soap bubbles still clinging to his elbow.
"Yeah," Matt had replied, voice tight. "It's her."
Takeru had said nothing, but Patamon had puffed up nervously on his shoulder like a trembling plush toy.
Now they watched through the cracked door as Arachne—beautiful, terrifying, and definitely not someone you'd want to share a dinner table with—made her demands clear.
Joe gulped. "She wants you," he said to Takeru, who already knew.
"Should we… y'know… do something?" Takeru asked quietly.
Matt shook his head, eyes narrowed. "Not yet. Let's see what Digitamamon does."
And that's when it happened.
Digitamamon said no.
Flat out. No hesitation. Not a blink from the swirling blackness in his shell. He just stood there, calm as a cucumber in a pressure cooker, telling Arachne that Takeru was an employee now, and therefore, off-limits.
Joe blinked. "He—he refused her. I thought he'd just… sell us out or something."
"Same," Matt admitted, stunned.
They watched the rest of the scene unfold—Arachne's fury, her attempts at negotiation, her icy threats—and through it all, Digitamamon remained as immovable as ever, a digital egg with nerves of titanium.
When the door finally jingled and Arachne swept out in a storm of offended silk, the three boys stood in stunned silence behind the kitchen door.
Joe broke it first.
"Okay, I was wrong. He's not a soulless capitalist egg. He's a contractually moral capitalist egg."
Matt nodded slowly. "He really did stick to the deal."
Takeru was still watching the now-empty dining room with wide, thoughtful eyes.
"Maybe... he's not as bad as he looks," he said softly.
Patamon, ever the optimist, flapped his wings happily. "Told you so!"
Digitamamon, somewhere in the kitchen behind them, called out without looking up from a sizzling wok:
"If you're done spying, get back to work. The lunch rush doesn't care about life-or-death standoffs."
The trio jumped, then laughed—half out of nerves, half out of relief—and scrambled back into the kitchen.
Takeru grinned to himself as he grabbed a stack of menus.
Digitamamon wasn't just a boss now.
He was someone they could trust.
Even if he did smell like burned soy sauce and mystery oil.
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Arachne was not pleased.
In fact, she was insulted—and that was never a good thing when it came to beings whose hobbies included webbing up forests and hanging her enemies like baubles on a tree.
Her heels clicked with renewed menace as she left the restaurant, each step echoing her fury through the cobbled streets of the city. The wind dared not blow in her path, the shadows seemed to shrink from her touch, and the few Digimon brave—or foolish—enough to glance her way quickly looked elsewhere, pretending to be fascinated by very interesting cracks in the pavement.
Royalty, she thought bitterly. I am digital royalty. A terror etched into folklore. A nightmare whispered into data streams. And yet…
And yet, a walking egg had the audacity to tell her "no." Not just refuse, but with the stone-faced indifference of a being who thought customer service outweighed fear. Digitamamon, of all creatures. That walking omelette with a dark heart and a pan for a soul.
She clenched her fists, her long nails glinting. Truth be told, it made sense. He wasn't just some overgrown Tamagotchi with a food truck. No, beneath that swirling abyss of a shell was a power deep and old—one that had refused to chase destruction, and instead chose capitalism, which some might say was worse.
He could have become a Mega. Maybe even something more. But that would've made him a threat the Dark Masters wouldn't allow to live. So instead, he cooked. He waited. And in that choice, he survived.
She hated him for it. Because it meant she couldn't simply overpower him.
As she reached the edge of the city gates, a familiar chakra stirred. Her eyes flicked sideways.
On a quiet street, not far from the bakery with the strangely nervous Elecmon, stood three figures: Naruto, Raikomaru, and Piximon. All three had been watching her—not with fear, but with open tension, like kids who knew the final boss had just appeared in their safe zone.
Naruto didn't flinch as she approached.
She smiled. It wasn't kind.
"Do you really think it'll work?" she purred, her voice as smooth and dangerous as poisoned honey.
Piximon hovered a little higher in caution, Raikomaru's eyes narrowing as his electric mane bristled faintly.
"You think using Digitamamon against me will change things?" she asked, tilting her head like a curious cat cornering a mouse.
Naruto said nothing. He didn't need to. She could read their plan like webbed strands—faint, clever, but ultimately tangled.
"I was never serious when I fought you," she said lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "That was me playing. Testing."
Then she leaned forward, just slightly, and her voice dropped to a cold whisper.
"But now… now you'll see why they call me the Hunter in the Dark."
Piximon huffed, arms folded, wings fluttering.
"And what, exactly, are you hunting? The World's Most Dramatic Cloak Award?"
Naruto grinned, arms crossed. "You sure talk big for someone who ran off when things didn't go your way. Maybe next time, you can fight without hiding behind your creepy shadow minions."
Arachne's smirk twitched. Just a little.
Then her eyes narrowed, and her attention flicked back to Naruto.
"You… You're different," she said thoughtfully, ignoring the other two. "There's something about you. Not just your strength... but your aura."
She stepped closer, a curious glint in her eyes. "You're not like them, are you? Not a typical digimon. No… you're something older. Wilder. You're a legendary type, aren't you?"
Naruto's expression didn't change, but the air grew heavier.
"I have a proposition," she continued. "Why waste your time with these children? You're powerful. You and I—we could reshape this world. Together."
Piximon narrowed his eyes and floated a little higher. Raikomaru growled low in his throat, crackles of red lightning sparking across his fur.
Naruto stepped forward.
"I don't work with people who murder the innocent," he said plainly.
Arachne tilted her head. "Such morality. How quaint. But let me ask you something, Hokage-child... What's the point of all your noble ideals when this world resets? Again and again. Every story, every sacrifice—wiped clean. Forgotten. Doesn't that make you wonder if your choices even matter?"
Naruto's fists clenched at his side. His eyes burned—not with fear, but fire.
"Maybe the world resets," he said. "Maybe it all starts over again and again… but that doesn't mean I stop trying. Because every person I save, every friend I protect—that matters. Even if the world forgets, I won't."
Piximon gave a proud little snort. "That's right. And if you come back here with your webs and your drama, we won't be running."
Raikomaru added with a sneer, "We'll cut those strings you dance on."
Arachne laughed softly—musical, amused, menacing.
"Think it over," she whispered, turning on her heel. "Because next time, there won't be any warnings. You'll be either by my side…"
She paused, looking back with glowing crimson eyes.
"Or you'll be the appetizer."
With that, she vanished into the shadows beyond the gate, leaving the scent of roses and blood behind.
Piximon sighed.
"She is way too dramatic."
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The trees whispered around her as she walked, the wind sliding through the branches like silken threads. The city behind her shrank in the distance, a monument of defiance—Digitamamon's cold refusal still echoing in her ears. But Arachne wasn't angry.
She was intrigued.
Her heels no longer clicked against stone. Now, they moved silently across moss and root as she stepped into the shadowed forest beyond the city limits. Insects chirped low and steady. Wisps of digital fog clung to the bark like a shroud.
And yet, her mind was far from the forest.
"I don't work with people who murder the innocent."
Naruto's voice echoed in her head, clear, unwavering, unflinching. A human looking child with the shape and soul of something ancient. There was power in him—undeniable and raw. She could feel it pulsing beneath his words, hiding just under the skin like a blade kept beneath velvet.
He was something else.
"So rare…" she thought, her lips curling into a smirk as she stepped through the shadows. "A humanoid being with that much force at the Champion level… like a minor immortal among lesser spirits."
The Olympus XII… the Holy Order… her own rival, Minervamon—all beings like her, with forms akin to the humans of the real world. That design didn't come by chance. In the digital world, such Digimon were crafted, born from human legends and ideas so powerful they manifested in code. They weren't just data—they were symbols.
And Naruto?
Naruto was a walking contradiction. Light-hearted, filled with hope… and yet laced with shadow. The type to make friends with tricksters like DemiDevimon and race with Machmon just for fun. The kind to risk himself for others in a world that would chew him up and spit out his bones.
But all beings of light—true light—had darkness.
It was simply a matter of time.
"Perhaps… I should help him find it."
She could see it already—Naruto's dark form. Twisted by rage, tempered by sorrow, wreathed in storm. A fallen protector turned avenger. He would be magnificent.
And if he survived the transformation?
Then maybe, just maybe, he'd be worth keeping.
A servant? Possibly.
A pawn? Useful.
A partner? Delicious.
She finally reached the edge of the forest.
There, waiting like obedient little shadows, stood her army—rookie, champion, ultimate levels kneeling at her presence. Insectoids, dark beasts, and serpentine programs crawled from the brush, waiting for her command.
Her web was ready.
Digitamamon had chosen morality over survival. Bold. But foolish.
"Let's see how far that egg is willing to go to protect his precious little principles."
She sat upon a dark throne woven of data silk and bone. Her fingers tapped against the armrest. Each motion calculated. Each thought a strand pulled taut.
"Soon," she whispered to the shadows, "we'll test his contract."