The Ninja and the Pervert: A Very Unfortunate Exchange

by Asura435

Summary:

Body-swapped. Mind-blown. Morals… pending

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Chapter 1  – Isekai Is Not for Idiots (Especially Me)
POV: Kid Naruto, Age 13

Let's get something straight right away: the world is weird. Like "talking-toads, giant-snakes, and pink-haired-women-who-can-punch-through-walls" weird. And somehow, I – Naruto Uzumaki, Number One Hyperactive Knucklehead Ninja – keep getting dragged into all the craziest parts of it.

You'd think nearly dying in a fight against your best friend would be the peak of drama. Nope. That's just the prelude.

It all started the day I got out of the hospital. My body still ached like I'd been run over by Akamaru (that's Kiba's dog, who could probably pull a train if you strapped a harness on him). My ribs were sore, my ego was shattered, and don't even ask about my heart. Sasuke – my teammate, rival, friend, and guy-most-likely-to-brood-in-the-rain – had left the village. Not for a vacation. For power. From a snake dude.

And I couldn't stop him.

Even after nearly dying, even after my friends nearly died trying to help… I still lost. I wasn't strong enough.

So, naturally, I did what any traumatized 13-year-old ninja would do: I climbed the Hokage Monument, sat on the head of the Third (he had a wise old face, made a good thinking spot), and started writing a list of all the ways I sucked.

Speed? Weak.
Taijutsu? Meh.
Chakra control? Still can't walk up trees without falling on my face sometimes.
Jutsu variety? Two techniques and a clone army. Great if you're trying to confuse cats. Not so great if you're fighting your best friend with a curse mark.

By the time I was done, I had a list longer than Kakashi's excuses for being late.

But that was the thing, y'know? I needed this. I needed to know my flaws. Because if I forgot – if I just smiled and moved on like I usually do – I'd never get better.

"I want to be as good at taijutsu as Neji," I muttered to myself, watching the clouds drift by, "faster than Kakashi. Stronger than Tsunade. I want a thousand jutsu like Kakashi, and power like the First Hokage."

Dream big, right?

I must've looked like a blonde raccoon writing my doom list on a notebook, sitting up there alone. Until I heard someone behind me.

"Naruto," Jiraiya's voice was unusually gentle, like he wasn't about to drag me off into the wilderness for two years of brutal training. "Time to go. Say goodbye to your friends, then meet me at the village gate. We won't be coming back for a while."

He placed a hand on my shoulder – not heavy, but warm. Like he was saying, You've been through a lot, kid. But we're going to fix this.

I nodded. Didn't trust my voice to not sound like a squeaky duck. My eyes burned, but I blinked hard.

Don't cry.
Don't look back.
You gotta get stronger.

I packed up. Gave Teuchi and Ayame at Ichiraku's a goodbye hug (they tried to feed me twenty bowls, I stopped at ten), waved to Iruka-sensei (he looked like he wanted to cry, too), and said goodbye to everyone else with a smile faker than a Genin's report card.

Then, I returned to my apartment for the last time.

It was small. Cramped. Smelled like instant ramen. But it was mine. I took one last look and tried not to think about how empty it'd be without me.

I closed the door, slung my bag over my shoulder, and took one heroic step toward the stairs—

—and immediately tripped over my own foot, crashed down all six steps like a flailing idiot, and smashed the entire staircase into splinters.

My face met the ground like an old friend. The kind that never forgets your address or your pain threshold.

No one was around, thankfully. My pride might've actually died right there.

I groaned, lying on my back, watching a suspiciously dark cloud float across the sky. "Great start to the journey, Naruto," I muttered. "Real strong hero moment."

But something was off.

There was this… tingling. Not like chakra. Not like pain either. More like the world had hiccupped. I blinked. The sky shimmered for a second like it was made of water.

Then everything went white.

And I was gone.

 

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POV: Issei Hyoudou (currently in Naruto's body)

You ever wake up and feel like something's off?

Like, your blanket's too small, your room smells weird, and your pillow has abs?

Yeah. That was my morning. Except multiply the weirdness by a hundred, throw in a terrifying hobo-uncle pouring water on my face like I was a dying cactus, and a massive headache, and you've got my situation.

I blinked awake to see a man with white spiky hair, red lines on his face, and muscles that looked like they were imported from a pro-wrestling league. His kimono was flapping in the breeze like he'd just walked out of an anime convention, and he was muttering something about "chakra flow disruptions" and "dimensional misalignment."

Naturally, my first reaction was to scream.

"WHAT THE F—? WHO DID THIS? WHY ARE YOU IN MY ROOM?!" I shouted, flailing like a panicked pigeon. My arms felt weirdly short, my voice cracked like I was twelve again, and my whole body felt… wrong.

"Calm down!" the man said, hands raised like he was the victim here. "Naruto, don't let the stress get to you."

"GET OUT OF MY PLACE, THIEF!"

I shoved him, scrambled away, and finally looked around—and that's when the panic really set in.

This wasn't my room. Not my bed. Not my posters. Not even my dimension.

It looked like something out of a historical ninja drama—scrolls, wood walls, kunai stuck in a training dummy. I blinked and saw the mountain view outside the window. There were faces carved into it. Literal faces. Like Mount Rushmore, but for Japanese grandpas.

And then… I looked at the guy again. Massive, buff, wild-haired… definitely a yakuza boss. Had to be.

"What do you want?" I squeaked. "I have no money, please don't hurt me. My family's broke. I'm not even good at sports!"

He squinted at me. "Who are you?"

"I-Issei Hyoudou!"

That seemed to catch him off guard. He looked me over like he was reading the back of a ramen packet. Then he sighed and muttered, "Yamanaka technique…"

I had no idea what that meant, but it didn't sound good.

"Issei, calm down," he said again, this time slower, like I was a scared animal—which, to be fair, I totally was. "I'm not going to hurt you. Look at your body and tell me what you see."

He pulled out a mirror from his sleeve. Just—poof—magic ninja pocket dimension or something. He held it up, and I looked.

And nearly fainted.

Because staring back at me was not Issei Hyoudou, soon-to-be high school student, pervert extraordinaire, and future Harem King.

Nope. It was a scrawny, whisker-faced blonde kid.

"…Is that how I look?" I whispered.

"Yes," he said carefully. "That's Naruto. My student. Do you remember how this happened? Anything unusual?"

"I—I was just sleeping…" My brain was still buffering like a bad YouTube video. "I went to bed in my room, and the next thing I know you're dumping water on me like I'm a bonsai tree."

He groaned quietly. "Okay. Let's not panic. We'll go see a friend of mine—someone who can look into your memories. Maybe we can figure out how to undo this. We need to get you back in your body, and my disciple back in his."

"Undo?" I asked faintly. "Wait, I'm stuck like this?!"

"I didn't say that," he said, but he wasn't making eye contact. Which meant yes.

And before I could protest, he picked me up—literally picked me up like I was a sack of laundry—and carried me out the door.

So there I was. A thirteen-year-old ninja boy with the emotional stability of a paper cup, being carted through an ancient ninja village by a semi-naked muscle wizard.

This was not how I pictured my first isekai adventure.

The town was even weirder up close. Everyone wore these ninja robes, talked about missions, and walked on walls. Like gravity was optional. Kids with headbands were throwing kunai. I saw a dog wearing a vest.

Dog. Wearing. A. Vest.

And here I was, stuck in a kid's body that was probably famous, judging by the way people kept pointing and whispering. My inner nerd should've been freaking out in joy, but instead I felt like I might pee myself.

'Those novels LIED to me,' I thought bitterly. 'No cheat powers. No pretty goddess. No menu system. And definitely no waifu welcoming committee. Just pain, panic, and pubescent anxiety.'

My new kid-body burped. Loudly.

Jiraiya looked down at me. "You okay?"

"…Can I cry now?"

"Hold it in, Issei. We're almost there."

And so began the worst field trip of my life.

 

---------------------------
POV: Issei Hyoudou (in Naruto's body)

By the time we stopped walking, I was beyond exhausted. Not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, spiritually—I had basically hit the panic jackpot.

We entered what looked like a flower shop, but I wasn't stupid. No one needs three types of ninja lilies unless they're hiding something. At the front counter sat a serious-looking man with long blond hair tied back, calm eyes, and the aura of a war general playing flower boy in retirement.

"Inoichi, I need you to check the kid," Jiraiya said, still holding me like I was a firewood bundle. I didn't even fight it anymore. Dignity had packed up and left hours ago.

The man—Inoichi, apparently—blinked at me, then at Jiraiya. "Naruto?"

"No," Jiraiya said, voice heavy. "It's someone else."

Okay, now I was really feeling awkward. The guy at the counter looked confused for a second—then serious. Like lethal serious. His expression tightened, and I felt his chakra or aura or ninja soul power or whatever flare just slightly.

This man wasn't your average florist.
This was a mind ninja florist.

He nodded and motioned us into a back room. It was sterile and quiet, with a faint smell of medicinal herbs and sadness. The moment the door clicked shut, I felt a pulse go through the air—probably some ninja privacy seal.

"Sit down," Inoichi said calmly. I obeyed. I wasn't about to argue with a guy who could turn my brain into scrambled eggs.

He sat in front of me, put his fingers together in some kind of triangle pose, and his eyes turned… eerie. "Mind Transfer Technique—Engage."

I felt a pull. A weird floaty sensation. Like I was made of jelly and my brain was being gently microwaved.

Memory Dive
Apparently, my life was an open book now.

They saw my boring parents, my tiny room filled with manga, the laptop filled with questionable bookmarks, my tragic gym scores, my unspoken love for busty senpais, and my greatest ambition:
Become the Harem King.

…God help me.

But more than that, they saw Earth—our technology, our cities, our lives with zero chakra and lots of internet. And guns. Missiles. Nukes.

When Inoichi pulled back, he looked disturbed.

"Anything?" Jiraiya asked, arms crossed, tension in his voice.

Inoichi exhaled slowly. "He is… Issei Hyoudou. From Earth. A completely normal kid from a normal family. No chakra, no bloodline, nothing. The world he comes from is technologically advanced, but its people are physically fragile. However, their weapons—nuclear devices, bioengineering, information systems—are dangerous. If someone were to bring them here..."

"Let's not think about that," Jiraiya muttered.

Inoichi nodded. "The good news is: the seal on Naruto is intact. The Kyuubi hasn't been disturbed. The bad news... the soul inside this body isn't Naruto's. The memories are fragments—unfocused, unstable, incomplete—because this boy's soul is not harmonized with the chakra network. It's why everything feels off."

Jiraiya looked at me. I flinched. He looked like he'd aged ten years in ten seconds.

"So... can you fix it?" he asked, almost whispering.

Inoichi shook his head. "Unless you can retrieve Naruto's soul and bring it back here… there's nothing I can do. This isn't a possession or a genjutsu. It's a complete soul swap. And worse, it didn't use our techniques. There's no trace of a connection—this was something else entirely."

The silence in the room hit like a thunderclap.

I looked down at my tiny ninja hands. The whisker marks on my cheeks. The little orange jacket. This wasn't cosplay. This wasn't a dream.

It was real.

I was Naruto Uzumaki.
And Naruto Uzumaki was missing.

 

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POV: Naruto Uzumaki (in Issei's body)

I woke up feeling… comfortable.

That was my first red flag.

The bed was soft, too soft. The air smelled like lavender instead of burnt ramen or sweat. No birds chirping, no village bells, no morning training sounds. Just stillness. Darkness.

What the hell?
I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes. The sheets were silky, the pillows plush. This was not my bed. I didn't remember falling asleep, not even training late or getting knocked out by pervy-sage again.

I stood up, a weird heaviness in my limbs. Not tiredness—just… off.

Stumbling toward a door, I found the bathroom. Automatic light? Weird.
I took a piss, washed my hands, splashed cold water on my face, and—

"What the?!"

The mirror showed me someone else.

I froze. That face wasn't mine. Brown hair. Light brown eyes. No whisker marks. No sun-darkened skin or muscular build from years of training. My arms were longer, thinner. My chest looked flat and my abs were just gone.

I looked like a civilian! A teen civilian!
Was this a genjutsu? A transformation jutsu? A trap?

My heart raced. I clenched the counter. Tried to mold chakra—
Nothing.
A flicker, maybe, but it felt like trying to grab mist.

No chakra?
WHAT THE HELL?!

I stumbled back, breathing hard. My head spun. I needed to assess. Akatsuki? Genjutsu? Or worse… something Orochimaru cooked up?

I slipped out of the room, tiptoeing down a quiet hallway. A glance through two open doors showed a man and woman sleeping. Middle-aged. They… looked like me.

My breath caught.

Parents?
Not mine, obviously. But I could see the resemblance.

It made my stomach twist.

Downstairs, I reached the kitchen and scanned the room. Fridge. Modern design. Everything about this place felt wrong. There were no seals, no chakra imprints, no kunai racks or scrolls.

Just magnets on the fridge and a weird little calendar with cats on it.

I opened the fridge, took an apple, and leaned against the counter. Crunch. Juicy. Familiar enough. But my mind was racing.

Where the hell am I? Who did this?

I found a small kitchen knife and tucked it into my pocket. I wasn't planning to fight—but better safe than sorry. Then I slipped out the back door quietly, shoes still on.

The neighborhood was… bizarre.

Paved streets. Smooth sidewalks. Strange houses. Giant metal boxes with wheels lined up like tame animals. There were no chakra flares, no ninja jumping from roofs. Just a faint morning chill, birds chirping lazily, and a distant jogger.

They wore weird clothes. Tight shorts. Flashy shoes.

I stood there on the sidewalk, suddenly very, very aware that I was completely out of place.

This isn't the Elemental Nations. This is another world.
I've been swapped.
Someone else is in my body.

And just like that, I, Naruto Uzumaki, Hero of the Leaf, had become a lost boy with no chakra, no weapons, no allies.

Only questions.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Chapter 2: "The Day I Became a Normal, Freezing, Possibly-Delusional Kid"
POV: Naruto Uzumaki

Let me just say: waking up in a stranger's bed in a weird house, in a weird world, with no ramen in sight and absolutely zero chakra?

Yeah. Not on my bucket list.

At first, I thought it was a prank. Maybe Kakashi-sensei decided to teach me a lesson about oversleeping by throwing me into the weirdest D-rank mission ever. That sounded like something he'd do between reading those gross books and pretending to be wise.

But nope. No chakra. No familiar scents. Just this tall, skinny, shivering body that clearly hadn't been trained to do anything except sit in a classroom and maybe lift a pencil.

I ran through the neighborhood like someone had set my butt on fire. Not because I was being chased—nope—I was just trying to figure out where I was. But the longer I ran, the clearer it became.

This body? It sucked.

My lungs were wheezing like a broken flute. My legs were about as sturdy as two chopsticks taped together. And don't get me started on the cold. Back in the Leaf Village, I'd been out in blizzards wearing basically pajamas and sandals. But this body?

This body was about to cry because the wind nipped at its fingers.

I slowed down, huffing and puffing like I'd just done a thousand pushups with Lee and Guy-sensei breathing down my neck. My arms were wrapped around myself, trying to trap some warmth, but it felt useless.

"I hate this," I muttered as I rubbed my hands together, breath fogging up the air in front of me. "I actually miss the village. The ramen stand. Even Sakura punching me in the head."

Okay, maybe not that last one.

I kept walking and somehow ended up in a park—one of those places you only see in movies with kids playing and parents drinking weird brown drinks in cups. Only, this one was empty because apparently, people in this world sleep in.

I slipped into the public restroom and locked myself in a stall, huddling on the toilet seat like it was my new ninja hideout. It was gross, sure, but it was warmer than outside. I rubbed my hands, trying to summon even the smallest flicker of chakra. Nothing. Not even a tickle.

"This has to be a genjutsu," I whispered, pulling out the little kitchen knife I'd swiped earlier. It wasn't even a kunai. Just a kitchen knife. I felt like the world's worst ninja right now.

I held it up and stared.

"Illusion," I told myself. "It's all fake. This is just like the time Itachi messed with Kurenai-sensei, right?"

Except… I didn't have any of my ninja tools. No seal tags. No sensei. No Fox whispering angry thoughts in the back of my head.

Just me, and the cold, and this frail, boring, twitchy body.

I hesitated. Then—I did something stupid. Very Naruto of me.

I slashed the palm of my hand.

"AHHHHHH!"
Yup. Screamed like a little academy kid.

Blood dripped from the cut—bright red, too real. The pain? A thousand times worse than training injuries. No chakra to dull it. No healing. Just raw, stinging fire across my skin.

The room tilted. My arms felt heavy. My vision blurred like I'd just spun in circles for ten minutes.

This wasn't a genjutsu.

I wasn't in the Hidden Leaf anymore.
I wasn't even Naruto anymore.
I was some scrawny kid named… what was it? Issa? Icee? Ice Tray?

Didn't matter. What mattered was I was stuck.

But I wasn't gonna cry. Not yet.
Because if there's one thing I, Naruto Uzumaki, know how to do—
It's hold on when the world wants to throw you away.

So I took off my hoodie (which was basically paper-thin), tore the sleeve, and clumsily wrapped my hand. Not perfect. Not even good. But I wasn't giving up.

"I'm coming back," I whispered, more to myself than anyone. "Just wait for me, Pervy Sage. Don't give up on me."

-------------------

Here's the thing about stabbing yourself to escape a genjutsu:
Don't.
I know, I know—sounds like basic ninja common sense. But when your chakra's gone, you're freezing your butt off in a toilet stall, and you think you've been yeeted into an illusion by someone named Madara McEvil or worse? It sounds reasonable.

Until someone literally kicks the door open and shouts—

"What are you doing?!"

I blinked through the haze of pain and confusion to see… glitter?

Yup. Glitter.

This girl, maybe sixteen tops, had black twin-tails, sparkly eyes, and the frilliest dress I'd ever seen. Like, "exploded-fairy-costume-meets-princess-who-fell-into-a-party-store" levels of frilly.

She was holding my bleeding hand like it was the most normal thing in the world. Then—poof—warmth spread through me, and the cut sealed up like it was being stitched by invisible threads.

"What the heck?" I croaked, still half convinced I was hallucinating.

She smiled, striking a pose straight out of one of Konohamaru's weird transformation jutsu manga. "Magical Girl Satan Girl, here to the rescue!"

…I stared.

I wish I had a better reaction. A witty comeback. A scream. Something.
But I just stared at her like she'd grown a second head and painted it pink.

'I'm in a different world,' I thought, deadpan.

Because if a girl who looked like a magical clown princess was calling herself Satan Girl and healing people in bathrooms, then yeah, I was definitely not in the Hidden Leaf anymore.

"What were you thinking?" she asked, puffing up like an angry puffball. "You're just a kid! Why would you try to—" She glanced at the knife.

It froze in the air, cracked like a popsicle, and shattered into sparkling bits.

'I am so not in Konoha,' I thought.

I hesitated, then looked away. "I thought it was genjutsu," I muttered, voice low. "Hurting myself was supposed to break it."

That wasn't a lie. Not really.
I just… didn't tell her about the soul swap, the Kyuubi, or the fact that I might've hijacked someone's life by accident.

She watched me for a second with the eyes of someone who could see more than you wanted them to. Like a good teacher. Or a scary aunt.

Then she crouched to my level and smiled again. "Is that so? Well, next time, don't. Or else your parents will cry, and that's way worse than being stuck in some illusion. Promise your big sister, okay?"

Big sister?

My chest squeezed, and I suddenly remembered the people in that house—Issei's parents.
I'd almost… I almost…

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my throat catching. "I'll never do it again."

My hands trembled, but not from cold anymore. From the weight of everything I didn't understand. Everything I'd nearly messed up.

She nodded, brushing a tear from my cheek like she was a real sister. "Good boy."

Then she took my hand and guided me out of the park like it was just another stroll on a normal day. I tried not to look back at the stall. Tried not to think about how weak I'd been.

"Go back home, okay?" she said softly. "Your parents are probably worried sick."

Before I could say anything else—poof—she disappeared in a sparkle-flurry of magic sparkles and logic-defying fashion sense.

I stood there for a while, staring up at the sky.

"I'm going to fix this," I told myself. "Somehow. I'll find a way home."

Because I was Naruto Uzumaki.
And I always kept my promises.

Even the ones I made to glittery devils in toilet stalls.

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POV: Naruto Uzumaki

So here's the thing:
Walking into a house that smells like breakfast and kindness when it's not your house?
Yeah. That's emotional whiplash with a side of scrambled identity.

I opened the front door, shoes muddy, soul heavier than a thousand Rasengans. Inside, the warm smell of eggs and miso hit me like a brick wall of memories I never lived. A woman—tall, gentle, maybe in her thirties—was standing in the kitchen, humming softly.

She turned when she heard me.

"Oh! You're back early, sweetie," she said with the kind of smile you only see in dreams or really cheesy family dramas. "I'm making your favorite—tamago yaki and grilled fish!"

I nodded mutely. Because what was I supposed to say?
"Thanks, lady I hijacked a life from"?
"Sorry I'm sweating through your couch because I ran away thinking this was a genjutsu death trap"?

Yeah. No.

So I did the only thing I could do.
I nodded again. Then I sat down on the sofa like my legs were jelly—because they kind of were—and tried to pretend my brain wasn't spiraling into the void.

The couch was warm. Soft. Clean.
Too clean for someone like me.

And then it hit me—like, really hit me.

This wasn't my body.
This wasn't my mom.
This wasn't my home.

And worst of all? I was pretending to be someone I wasn't. Some boy named Issei. I didn't know his dreams or fears. I didn't even know what he liked for breakfast. And yet here I was, wrapped in a blanket of lies that smelled suspiciously like laundry detergent and motherly affection.

'There are people with powers here,' I thought. 'Magic. That frilly Satan girl… was that real?'

I clenched my fists, which felt way too skinny and soft to belong to me. Even at twelve, I had tougher skin. This body? It felt like someone cast a transformation jutsu with 30% success rate and slapped a teenager filter on me.

'What am I supposed to do?' I thought, as tears prickled at the corners of my eyes. 'I can't fight like this. I can't survive like this. I'm not their son. I don't belong here.'

But still, I had to live like I did.
Because if I messed up, someone innocent would pay the price.
And that? That was something Naruto Uzumaki didn't do.

'I'll wait. Master will come. He'll fix this,' I told myself.
'Until then… I'll survive.'

The warmth of the sofa wrapped around me like a mother's hug—one I hadn't felt in years—and despite my brain screaming a thousand plans a minute… I fell asleep.

I didn't mean to.

I was just… tired.

Tired of holding everything up by myself.

From the kitchen, I vaguely heard the woman's voice—Miki, I think—soft and affectionate.

"Oh my," she said, smiling. "I never thought he'd start training this early. I wonder what happened…"

I felt her gaze for a second—warm, proud, oblivious.

She thought I was her son.

And that just made me feel worse.

I heard her move about, probably making breakfast for the person she thought I was. I didn't deserve it. But I let it happen.

Because in this upside-down world where I didn't even have my chakra anymore…
Eggs and kindness felt like the only things keeping me together.

 

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POV: Issei Hyoudou (Unfortunately Very Awake and Not Dreaming)

So, imagine this:
One minute, I'm chilling in my totally normal, mostly boring school life.

Next minute—BAM!—I'm face-to-face with a scary gorilla of a man named Jiraiya, being fireman-carried across a ninja village like some kind of overly dramatic baggage.

And then—double BAM!—I'm dropped in an office where the woman in charge could crush a watermelon with her... ahem never mind.

"Lady Tsunade," Jiraiya said, setting me down like a sack of rice with unresolved trauma, "we've got a situation."

She didn't even look up. "What is it now? Did you peep on the wrong hot spring again?"

"Worse," Jiraiya said as he slapped a silencing seal on the room like it was duct tape on a disaster. "Naruto's soul has been switched with this boy—from another world."

I waved weakly. "Hi. I'm this boy."

Tsunade stared at me, then at Jiraiya, then back at me. "You're kidding."

"I wish," Jiraiya said, deadly serious. "Unless we find a way to travel to his world, Naruto's stuck over there, and we're stuck with this kid."

I'll be honest. That stung a little.

Now, don't get me wrong. I like being the center of attention—especially when the attention is coming from a super-busty blonde whose angry scowl could probably flatten a mountain. But this was not exactly how I imagined being summoned to a new world. I was thinking more along the lines of "hero's welcome" or "surrounded by cute elves."

Not "accidental soul exchange with a famous ninja."

Tsunade suddenly looked like someone had punched her in the stomach. Her shoulders sagged. Her eyes shimmered.

And okay, yeah—I may be a perv, but I'm not heartless.

So I said, "Excuse me, if I'm alive and well, then that means Naruto's safe. The worst thing he's going to worry about in my world is, like, math class and being mildly average. So you've got time."

Her eyes snapped to mine, and for a second I thought I was about to get thrown through a wall.

Instead, she walked up, picked me up like a doll, and examined me like I was a suspicious meat bun.

"Thanks, kid," she finally muttered. "You're right. We've got time. But what about you? Can you handle this world? Because being Naruto means you're going to be hunted."

I looked up at her. Those... majestic... gravity-defying... never mind.
Anyway, I managed to put on my Serious Face™.

"I can live with it," I said. "I've always wanted a life of adventure."

And—okay, I was also thinking about the legendary harem possibilities, but I wisely kept that part to myself. (Mostly because she could flick me into space.)

"You're one lewd brat," Tsunade sighed as she dropped me like a sack of potatoes and ruffled my hair. "Don't make his reputation worse."

"No promises," I muttered, already imagining my ninja harem fan club. Kunai included.

Then her expression turned full Hokage Mode™. Sharp. Calculating. Scary.
"Train him from scratch," she ordered Jiraiya. "Take it seriously. Use everything. And find a way to bring Naruto back. If teleportation's possible, then world-travel is possible."

Jiraiya nodded. "I'll start collecting info and update you. We'll need all hands on deck."

"Good," she said. Then sat down and looked like the weight of the world just crash-landed on her chest—which was already carrying quite the load, if you know what I mean. (Sorry. Couldn't resist.)

When we left the office, Jiraiya was quiet. Too quiet. The "I'm worried but pretending I'm cool" kind of quiet.

'I hope Naruto's okay,' I thought.

Not just because he seemed like a good guy.

But because if I'm taking his place, I better not screw this up.
Also—harem goals.

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Operation Brain Buff and Body Gains
POV: Naruto Uzumaki (Now Featuring Angst and Eggs)

Let me tell you something nobody warned me about before dropping me into a new body, a new house, and a new world with—plot twist!—actual loving parents.

It's awkward. Like, "eating-breakfast-in-someone-else's-room-to-avoid-eye-contact" awkward.

There I was, sitting cross-legged in Issei Hyoudou's perfectly average bedroom, eating what was easily the best breakfast I'd had in months. Pancakes. Eggs. Rice. Some miso soup. Homemade by the new "mom," who smiled like I hadn't hijacked her kid's soul.

And they thanked me.

"Training hard, huh?" the dad said with a big proud grin.

"You're such a good boy," the mom added with sparkles in her eyes.

I wanted to cry. Or maybe punch a wall. Or both.

Because the truth was… I wasn't their kid. I was Naruto Uzumaki, world-class ninja, future Hokage, ramen connoisseur, and now—apparently—accidental soul swapper.

"Man, this food is so good," I muttered as I devoured the last bite like it had personally insulted me. I was eating double portions to bulk up. I figured the first step in Operation: Become Awesome Again was turning Issei's body into less squish, more smash.

Once the food was gone and my stomach was doing that happy little jig it does after a good meal, the reality slapped me in the face again. Hard.

If Pervy Sage didn't figure out a way to bring me back by tomorrow, I'd be stuck here. Like, permanently.

In a regular body. In a regular world. Going to regular school.

Oh, and did I mention I have no idea how to be regular?

"I gotta do something," I said to myself, pulling out a notebook and scribbling down a list like a man on a mission. It went something like this:

Step 1: Train this body. Get strong. Taijutsu upgrade.
Step 2: Learn martial arts. Bruce Lee this body up.
Step 3: ???
Step 4: Become awesome.

But then I stopped at a terrifying realization.

School.
Issei was a student.
And me? My grades were always… let's call them "passably terrible." And now I had to act like I'd been through an entirely different education system, in a totally different world, using big words like "algebra" and "trigonowhatever."

Cue instant panic attack.

"I'm gonna mess up this guy's whole life," I groaned, grabbing my head like it might stop the incoming disaster. "His GPA's gonna flatline. His social life? Toasted. What if he has a girlfriend?! Oh, man. I'll destroy that too."

I paced the room like a caged animal. "No. No, I can't ask his parents. They'll just get suspicious. I need help. A tutor. A guide. Someone who won't report me for forgetting how to write kanji."

I flopped back onto the bed with a dramatic sigh worthy of an anime protagonist.
"This isn't just about me anymore," I muttered. "I have to study for Issei. His future depends on it. I'm basically babysitting his life."

I stared at the ceiling. A future Hokage shouldn't be this stressed over school.

"Gah! Thinking is not my thing!" I shouted to no one in particular as I jumped up and cracked my knuckles.

Training. Yeah. That was something I could do. No algebra required.

"Time to punch some air and feel better about life," I declared.

With that, I threw on a hoodie, stretched out Issei's noodle arms (soon-to-be-non-noodle), and marched outside to begin training.

Because if I couldn't math… I could definitely kick.

--------------------

Good news: I didn't have to take any midterms.
Bad news: I still inherited the aftermath of barely passing them.

Apparently, Issei had managed to scrape through his exams using the ancient technique of "I'll study just enough so they don't take my holidays away." That meant I—Naruto Uzumaki—got to skip all the stress and roll into a two-week winter break like a king.

A very underprepared, body-swapped, over-thinking king.

But hey, no complaints. It gave me time to think and, more importantly, train.

I put on my joggers (they were way too loose; this body seriously needed some work), layered up with a shirt, jacket, and pants, and stepped outside into the cold morning air. The sun hadn't fully risen, and the temperature bit at my nose, but it was nothing compared to the training fields back home—or climbing a snowy mountain while Kakashi yelled "faster" for the hundredth time.

I started jogging. Nothing fancy. Just getting my blood flowing and memorizing the neighborhood as I went.

That was a trick I learned from years of ninja life—know your terrain. I had to act like Issei, and it would be really suspicious if I got lost going to the local grocery store.

So I ran. Past sleepy houses, closed convenience stores, and flyers flapping in the wind. A lot of them were for things you don't see back home: lost cat, missing dog, karate dojo accepting winter trainees.

That last one caught my eye.

I slowed down, staring at the poster.

"Shinomiya Dojo – Winter Warrior Training Camp – Beginners Welcome!"
"Experienced masters. Safe, guided learning. Strength. Discipline. Honor."

"Discipline, huh?" I muttered.

Exactly what I needed. I couldn't just train this body the same way I trained mine. I didn't know the limits here. If I broke Issei's arm trying a Shadow Clone technique, I wasn't going to get a friendly lecture from Tsunade—I'd get grounded and sent to the hospital.

'I need a teacher. A real one. Someone who knows this world's martial arts. Someone who won't let me wreck this body trying to do a spinning back kick I saw in a movie.'

I made a mental note to check it out later. For now, I kept jogging—past more shops, houses, and even an open manga café. I tried not to look at the suggestive posters in the window. Seriously, Issei…

That's another thing. I had to deal with this guy's reputation.

Everyone who knew Issei Hyoudou thought of one thing: pervert. Like, capital P, bold font, double underline. I couldn't believe the stuff lying around his room in plain sight. Magazines. DVDs. A body pillow that I immediately kicked under the bed.

But… somehow… no one questioned the change in behavior.

Instead of suspicion, I got relieved smiles. Like they were happy their resident horndog had chilled out.

'I'm so glad they're happy instead of asking questions. If anyone started poking too hard, I don't think I could bluff through it.'
I silently thanked whatever cosmic force spared me the awkward interrogation route.

Finally, after half an hour of steady jogging, I made it to the park. It was quiet, peaceful, and mostly empty. The perfect training ground. I took a seat on the cold bench and looked around, my breath forming small clouds in the air.

Trees stood bare. Grass crunched underfoot. A lone crow cawed somewhere in the distance.

My eyes drifted, scanning the area out of habit, and paused for a second—maybe hoping for a miracle.

For her.

Serafall Leviathan.

I hadn't seen her since the body swap, but that didn't stop me from searching. Even now, I scanned the horizon like some dork in a romance anime. It wasn't logical, but… it was instinct.

She had helped me before. Maybe she could help me again.

But no pink magical girl outfit appeared. No sudden burst of magic. Just silence, wind, and winter.

I sighed.

'I can't depend on miracles. Not anymore. If I want to survive here, to protect this body, to figure out what happened and get back—I need to rely on myself.'

That meant training. Learning. Planning.

And maybe… schoolwork.

The horror.

-------------------

After half an hour of jogging that somehow felt like running from a pack of angry ninja dogs, I finally decided to stop. My lungs were screaming, my heart was pounding like I'd just sprinted away from a giant toad, and every muscle in my body felt like it was yelling, "Dude, what the heck?"

I sank onto a park bench, gulped down some water like a camel in the desert, and tried to catch my breath. The cold air burned my throat, but I didn't care—I was alive, and that was something.

After a minute or two, I stood up, legs all wobbly like jelly, and decided it was time to stretch. Because apparently, this whole "new body" thing didn't come with ninja conditioning built-in.

I stretched like a cat waking up from a nap—reaching for the sky, touching my toes (okay, almost), twisting side to side. Ten minutes of stretching later, I felt slightly less like a rusty tin man.

Then I turned my attention to the park's training equipment. Honestly, it looked like a medieval torture device for muscles. Bars for pull-ups, benches for sit-ups, weird machines that looked like they belonged in a spy movie.

"Alright, body, let's do this," I muttered. No fancy jutsu or chakra needed—just old-fashioned sweat and tears.

First up: pull-ups. Big mistake.

I grabbed the bar, pulled with all my might, and… clunk. I barely made it halfway before my arms trembled and I let go like the bar was on fire.

"Come on, Naruto, ten pull-ups. That's nothing for a ninja," I said, trying to psych myself up.

First try: six. Second try: seven. Third try: eight.

I was dying.

Next, push-ups. Twenty? Easy, right? Wrong. My arms felt like noodles after five, and my face turned a weird shade of red as I gasped for air.

Sit-ups? Don't get me started. Twenty of those felt like I was trying to lift a boulder with my abs.

I collapsed on the grass, muscles screaming like I had just wrestled a hundred shadow clones.

"So. Freaking. Pathetic," I grumbled. Yeah, this was not my usual ninja stamina.

But then a little voice inside (okay, it was probably the spirit of Jiraiya yelling "Get up!") reminded me: This isn't your body, Naruto. You've got to tough it out. That kid—you—has to live in this body, face real dangers. You can't afford to quit.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead, gritted my teeth, and got back on the machines. Round two wasn't much better, but I pushed through.

By the time I finished, my arms were shaking so hard I thought they'd fall off, my legs felt like lead, and I was pretty sure I'd invented new swear words.

The third round? Forget it. If I tried that, I'd probably pass out and wake up in a hospital bed wondering what the heck just happened.

I flopped down under a tree, muscles aching, and let out a long sigh. This was gonna take patience.

"I'll work at night," I promised myself. "Slow and steady."

As I sat there, rubbing my sore legs, I couldn't help but laugh a little. Ninja training in a new world? Yeah, this was gonna be one heck of an adventure.

------------------

It had been an hour since I started my "training" session—which mostly consisted of me staring at the sky, trying not to cry because my muscles felt like they were made of jelly. Just when I was about to drift into a nap under the nice shady tree (not exactly ninja-style, but hey, I deserved a break), I heard a small voice.

"Big brother, what are you doing?"

I opened one eye and spotted a little girl standing nearby. She had short brown hair, bright black eyes, and looked like she belonged in a manga about adorable neighborhood kids. She was wearing shorts and a t-shirt—probably freezing but didn't seem to care. A few feet behind her was a boy holding what looked like a badminton racket or some weird stick thing.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to look less like a zombie and more like a human. "I'm resting," I said, giving her my best 'cool older brother' smile.

"You shouldn't sleep outside like that," she warned, tilting her head like she was scolding me. "Something bad might happen."

Heh. Thanks, little kid. You're really putting my ninja instincts to shame here.

I got up and stretched, wincing a little as my muscles reminded me they were not used to this level of torture. "Okay, I won't sleep outside next time. What are you playing?"

"Badminton! Do you want to play?" she asked with a hopeful grin.

I blinked. Badminton? I barely knew the rules for dodgeball, let alone this. But hey, new friends = new opportunities. And any excuse to stop torturing my arms was a good one.

"Sure, but I don't know how to play," I admitted, cracking my knuckles.

Turns out, the little girl was Honoka Shirahama, and the boy with the racket was her older brother Kenichi—who was roughly my age but didn't act like it.

Kenichi was super polite, kinda shy, and definitely not a natural athlete—because after the first game, I totally crushed him. Not to brag or anything, but losing felt pretty good when you're used to feeling useless.

Playing badminton felt… weirdly relaxing? I mean, here I was, a ninja-in-training stuck in some random kid's body, actually having fun with real kids. It was a nice change from shadow clones and saving the world. Plus, the Shirahamas lived just a few blocks away from the park, so I'd probably run into them again.

As I caught my breath and wiped the sweat from my forehead, a little idea popped into my head.

Kenichi looks like he could use some help with school stuff. I thought. And I definitely need someone to help me study because, let's be real, I'm totally lost in this new body.

So, plan hatched: make friends, earn trust, and then strike with a study partnership.

"Hey, Kenichi," I said, trying to sound casual. "Maybe you could help me with school sometime? I'm kind of… behind."

He gave me a surprised look, then nodded shyly. "Sure, that sounds good."

Boom. Deal sealed.

As we packed up our rackets and waved goodbye to Honoka, I felt a little spark of hope. This new life might be complicated, but maybe it wasn't all bad.

And hey—if I could survive badminton, I could survive anything.

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Me vs. Math, Machines, and Mystery Rectangles
POV: Naruto Uzumaki (a shinobi stuck in the 21st century with absolutely no clue how Wi-Fi works)

"Issei, don't push yourself too hard."

That voice—so calm, so mom—came from the living room. I froze for a second, mid-chew on an apple slice, because the last thing I wanted was to sound suspicious. You know how moms have that superpower of instantly knowing when you're about to lie? Yeah, no pressure or anything.

"Yeah, Mom," I said, my voice probably too chipper. "I'm taking it easy. I just made new friends."

Okay, not exactly the full truth—I was trying to take it easy, and sure, I did make some new friends, but mostly because I was desperate to stop staring at the ceiling all day.

Miki, the real mom of this body, gave a soft smile from the couch. "That's good. Are they from around here?"

"Yeah, the Shirahama family," I said, trying to sound casual like I wasn't rehearsing every word in my head. I pulled out a packet of juice and a couple of apples to munch on, hoping food diplomacy would cover any weird vibes.

Miki paused, thinking. "I don't think I've met them before. You should invite them over sometime, okay?"

Smooth, Mom. Way to casually drop social expectations on a guy who's struggling not to accidentally reveal he's not actually your son.

"I will," I said, trying to sound confident as I practically bolted upstairs. A ninja never lingers after a social invitation.

From the living room, Miki chuckled softly and went back to her TV show, shaking her head just a little.

'My son has grown,' she thought, 'and he's making me feel needed again.'

She didn't know the half of it.

------------------------

Okay, so picture this: I'm sitting cross-legged on the floor of Issei's room, sipping on a juice box like a five-year-old while munching apples like they're rations on a solo mission. In front of me? A history book. Not a fun one about epic battles or famous shinobi—nope. Just dry, printed words about dates and treaties and revolutions I didn't even know existed.

If boredom could kill, I would've flatlined ten pages ago.

"This is worse than D-rank missions," I muttered, flipping another page and pretending to care about the Treaty of Versailles. I mean, it didn't even sound like a place you could punch. Where's the drama? The action? The explosions?

Still, I kept reading, half-heartedly highlighting random sentences like I knew what I was doing. I didn't.

Then my eyes wandered around the room and landed on… it.

The mysterious black screen thing sitting on the desk like it was guarding some ancient secret. I had no clue what it did or why it was humming faintly like it was alive, but the book I'd skimmed earlier called it a computer. Not a trap. Not a scroll. Not a chakra-enhanced anything.

A computer.

Apparently, it was a magic box that knew everything—if you knew how to use it. Which, spoiler alert: I didn't. Not even close.

Then there was that smaller rectangle with buttons—some kind of mini version of the big one? Was it a control device? A weapon? A really advanced summoning scroll? I had no clue. So far, I'd avoided touching anything electronic in fear I'd accidentally blow up the house or hack into a government system just by pressing the wrong button.

Don't laugh. That has happened to me once. Long story. Involved a summoning jutsu, a microwave, and a very angry laundry demon.

Anyway, back to the present.

I rubbed my temples and sighed, flipping through more of Issei's schoolbooks. Math? Looked like forbidden Uchiha scrolls. Science? Might as well have been Martian. Even the health book was confusing—I mean, there was a diagram of something called the "nervous system," which I definitely didn't have time to decode.

The only thing I managed to understand was from the general studies book, which explained—finally—what a computer was supposed to do.

"A gateway to information," it said.

Great. So it was basically a talking library. But without lips.

'I'll have to ask Kenichi to show me how it works,' I thought, mentally noting to find a way to do it without looking like a total idiot.

I mean, what was I supposed to say? "Hey, can you teach me how to use that black screen thing because I'm a body-swapped shinobi from a different dimension and electronics are scarier than tailed beasts?"

Yeah, nope.

Still, at least I wasn't completely off the mark.

'I was right,' I thought with a smirk. 'There's no way I'm passing anything in this world without a teacher. Or five.'

One thing was certain—I was going to need help. A lot of it. Preferably with someone patient enough to explain how to turn on a computer without calling the fire department.

------------------------

"So I was right in assuming I was going to fail without a teacher," I muttered, dramatically, as if I were some tragic hero on the brink of defeat. Then I stood up like I was about to duel destiny itself. In reality, I took what's known in the Hidden Leaf as the Academy Stance. You know, knees bent, hands up, serious face—but with a juice box still on the desk. Very intimidating.

I stared at myself in the mirror on the closet door. I looked like a guy about to karate-chop algebra in the face.

This was the basic fighting style every shinobi learned at the Academy. And even though I hadn't used it for real in what felt like forever, it was burned into my muscles. Still, there was one teeny-tiny problem: this body—Issei's body—was not exactly battle-ready.

I stretched one leg out, feeling confident.

It trembled.

I threw a lazy punch.

My shoulder popped like a rusty door hinge.

Yeah. I was basically trying to upload high-level ninja data into a potato.

But I wasn't giving up. Nope. That's not the Naruto way.

I went through the easier moves first: stance shifts, basic punches, a few kicks that wouldn't qualify as embarrassing. Each movement was sharp in my head, but my muscles acted like they were learning to dance blindfolded in roller skates.

"Come on, body! You've got legs, arms, and zero kunai wounds. We can do this!"

The key was repetition. Every shinobi knew that. The more you practiced, the more your body stopped thinking and just did. Like how I could eat ramen with chopsticks blindfolded while dodging shuriken. (Don't try that. Very specific training.)

Bit by bit, I started adding in some of my personal flair—the little adjustments I'd come up with during real fights. A sideways step into a spinning elbow. A low duck into an upward palm strike. I even tried my signature "fall-back-then-kick-em-in-the-jaw" move.

It looked more like "fall-back-then-sprawl-like-a-dead-fish," but hey—baby steps.

After an hour of sweating, grunting, and occasionally yelling things like "Ow, my spine!" and "This was easier when I had chakra!", I finally collapsed face-first onto the carpet.

Victory? Sort of.

Defeat? Definitely.

"It's only… twelve?" I croaked, rolling over to see the clock blink 12:03 PM like it was mocking me.

So yeah—half-dead from ninja yoga, and the day wasn't even halfway over.

On the plus side, I hadn't broken any bones, windows, or furniture. On the downside, I was pretty sure my hamstrings were plotting revenge.

Still… there was something kind of nice about it. The quiet. The effort. The tiny progress.

It was like I was building myself up again, piece by piece. Even if the pieces were a little sore and whiny.

'One step at a time,' I reminded myself as I stared at the ceiling and willed my limbs to stop vibrating.

And then I reached for another juice box. Because training might be hard, but hydration is still the number one rule of survival—ninja or not.

--------------------

"What should I do?" I muttered, dramatically flopping onto the bed like I was in a soap opera (I'd just learned what those were, too). "Can't train—my legs feel like jelly. Can't read—my brain feels like jelly. I'm basically a jelly."

I sighed.

Seriously, how did normal teens survive this kind of boredom without throwing kunai at walls?

Then, it hit me.

The TV.

Or as I like to call it, The Mysterious Glowing Box of Unknown Magic That Shows You People Who Are Somehow Trapped Inside.

I'd seen Miki mess with it a couple times—pressing buttons, changing channels like some kind of summoner flipping through parallel dimensions. Ever since I spotted it, I'd been curious. What was it? How did it work? Was it secretly a genjutsu trap?

Only one way to find out.

I ninja'd—okay, walked like a tired human being—down the stairs and peeked into the living room. Empty. Score!

I dove onto the couch like a pro and grabbed the remote. Yeah, I knew it was called that. I was basically a tech genius now.

I pressed the red button like I'd seen Miki do, and bam!—light, sound, drama.

The screen came to life showing some guy crying in the rain while a girl stared dramatically into the distance, clutching a scarf. There were tears. There was music. There were at least three slow zooms.

"What jutsu is this?" I whispered.

After two minutes of watching people dramatically not say what they were thinking, I clicked the arrow button. Another channel. A guy yelling about taxes. Click. A cooking show—interesting, but now I was hungry. Click. A news anchor talking about a cat that stopped traffic.

"People watch this stuff on purpose?" I muttered. "Do they not have forests to train in or dangerous missing-nin to chase?"

Click.

And then…

Boom.

GIANT. FIGHTING. ROBOTS.

Flying through space.

Shooting lasers.

Punching meteors.

"WHAT IS THIS GLORIOUS MADNESS?" I gasped as I sat up straighter than I had all day. My eyes were glued to the screen as two massive metal warriors clashed, their weapons glowing, the background exploding in fireworks of sci-fi mayhem.

"Gundams?" I read the title out loud. "Are those like summoned armor spirits or something?"

I was completely entranced. They had backstories. They had rivalries. They had poses. And don't even get me started on the music. It was like my ninja battles but in space—with better hair.

One episode turned into two. Then three. Then the show changed—and suddenly it was Dragon Ball Z.

"Wait. He just screamed for five minutes and now he's glowing? That's a power-up move?! I need that. I need that in my life."

I sat there for hours, my mouth open in awe, as spiky-haired warriors blew up mountains with their screams and flying kicks.

The television—it was more than just a magic box.

It was a treasure trove of techniques, strategy, cool outfits, and power-up screams. Honestly, I could probably write a thesis on the tactical value of watching anime if I knew what a thesis was.

Upstairs, the front door clicked open and Miki came home.

She poked her head into the living room and saw "Issei" (that's me, still undercover, remember?) lounging on the couch with anime eyes and crumbs on my shirt.

"Back to your usual anime binge, huh?" she chuckled, walking past like this was just another Tuesday.

I gave a nervous laugh and nodded. "Yeah… totally my usual…"

But in my mind?

'So many techniques. So many ideas. So much yelling.'

Yes.

This box… this TV...

Was the greatest sensei I'd ever met.

Well, besides Kakashi and Jiraiya.

Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Welcome to Ninja Bootcamp – Send Help (And Snacks)
POV: Issei Hyoudou, Aspiring Harem King and Unwilling Apprentice of a Pervy Sage

I'll be honest with you—when I said "I want to get stronger," I didn't mean this.

Like, I was picturing something chill, right? Maybe a few push-ups, a "you can do it!" motivational quote, and boom—I unlock some kind of mega dragon harem punch technique or something. But nope.

Jiraiya-sensei, aka the legendary Sannin, aka the man who writes spicy books that I'm definitely not allowed to read (yet), had other ideas.

Painful ones.

The moment we left the village, I thought we were going to go on a noble training journey across the land, maybe have a few heartfelt mentor-student bonding moments, and dramatically beat some bad guys along the way.

Nope again.

Instead, we ended up at the Forest of Death.

"Are we… are we going to die?" I asked, clutching my bag like it was a life raft and I was being dropped into a shark tank.

Jiraiya just grinned at me like this was the start of a fun camping trip.

"We'll be staying here for a week," he said casually, as if he wasn't talking about living in a place where everything tries to kill you, including the grass. "You need to get up to date with things you should've learned by now, so consider this accelerated bootcamp."

Great. Bootcamp. My favorite thing after dental surgery and running into exorcists.

Meanwhile, one of his clones was off playing command center—talking to people like Kakashi-sensei, that spiky-haired cool dude with one eye and a thousand jutsu, and Gai-sensei, who literally screamed youth while doing push-ups with one finger on the side of a mountain.

Also, apparently Minato left behind some kind of secret group? Ninja legacy stuff. I didn't really catch all the details because I was still trying to process the part where we'd be living in the Forest. Of. Death.

I wanted to object. I really did. But Naruto—the other me, or technically the real ninja me, depending on how weird this timeline is—he was already off training hard, flipping through stances and burning off his energy like a workout-obsessed tailed beast.

If he was giving it his all, then I couldn't chicken out.

Even if there were giant man-eating bugs watching me from the bushes.

So I took a deep breath, dropped my bag with an overly confident thud, and declared, "Okay, I'm ready!"

----------------------------

Okay, so here's a little life update: I made a hundred copies of myself and almost died from chakra burnout.

Cool, right?

Let me rewind.

So, there I was, standing in a clearing that smelled like damp trees and regret, while Jiraiya-sensei—the living legend, toad whisperer, and infamous author of books I'm still technically too young to read—looked me dead in the eyes like he was about to explain how to operate a nuclear reactor.

"Listen closely, Issei," he said, folding his arms. "Naruto already knows how to make shadow clones, create a rasengan, walk on water, climb walls, transform into anything, substitute with nearby objects, and enhance his body using chakra."

I blinked. "Is that all?"

"He also has incredible stamina and an ungodly healing factor, but we're not counting unfair advantages today."

Gee, thanks for the encouragement.

"We'll start by catching you up to his basics," he continued, then raised his hands and formed a seal with the calm menace of a man about to change your life and ruin your weekend.

I watched as he formed the Shadow Clone Jutsu sign, and suddenly there was another Jiraiya standing next to him like it was no big deal. It was… awesome. And terrifying. But mostly awesome.

"Now," he said, "make this sign and try pushing your chakra the same way I did."

Easier said than done.

For the past hour, we'd been doing "chakra sensing," which basically meant I sat like a statue while Jiraiya poked my stomach with his chakra until I felt something warm and floaty inside me—kinda like gas, but more magical.

Finally, I copied the hand sign, focused, and… boom.

Hundreds of me. Just… pop, pop, pop! All over the place. A swarm of Isseis, blinking and mumbling, some falling over, one of them already trying to flirt with a tree (classic me).

"Awesome…" I whispered.

"Awesome…" all my clones whispered back.

I nearly passed out right there from the chakra drain. Making that many clones when I couldn't even control my chakra properly was like trying to bench press a car when you've never even lifted groceries.

Jiraiya didn't even flinch. "This jutsu is perfect for information gathering. You can use clones to spy, set traps, or scout ahead. Once they disperse, the knowledge comes back to you."

Okay, now that sounded like a proper anime cheat ability.

"That's so damn cool," I grinned. "It's just like those isekai web novels! I can level up without doing anything!"

"Except," Jiraiya added, "you can't train your body with clones."

Womp womp.

Still, the plan was solid. "You'll train physically with me," he said, "while your clones learn taijutsu from my clone. In a week, you'll know the basics."

"Wait, so I train and I don't get to slack off using clones?"

"That's correct," he said with a grin that could melt mountains.

And that's how my hellish training arc began.

One of Jiraiya's clones marched my army of me's off into the woods like a drill sergeant, barking orders about footwork and punches, while the real Jiraiya stretched and casually asked me to "warm up with five hundred push-ups."

I don't remember much after that except that somewhere between push-up #37 and punch #6, I blacked out, drooled on a tree root, and one of my clones kicked me awake.

Being a ninja was tough.

Being a shonen protagonist-in-training was worse.

--------------------

If you had told me a week ago that I'd be trying to walk on water like some chakra-powered Jesus and end up mouth-to-bark with a log, I would've laughed. Then probably checked your temperature. And then run.

But here we are.

Let's start with how I got into this mess.

"Alright, Issei. Time to learn how to walk on water," Jiraiya said casually, like it was as normal as brushing your teeth.

Spoiler alert: it wasn't. It was the exact opposite of normal. It was anime-nonsense-level magic and physics combined, and I was 100% not ready for it.

We'd left the main training ground (aka Pain City) and walked to a small lake nestled in the woods, peaceful, sparkly, and suspiciously silent—like even the frogs were waiting to laugh at me.

Jiraiya demonstrated, of course. He stepped onto the water like it was solid ground and just stood there with the smug grace of a toad sage who'd done this a thousand times.

"Easy," he said. "Chakra control. Focus it to your feet and adjust as needed. If you lose focus, you'll sink."

I looked down at the water.

It looked cold.

And deep.

And very not-solid.

"Right," I muttered. "Focus chakra to the feet. No problem."

I stood at the edge, did the hand sign for focus (which probably wasn't a thing, but it made me feel more ninja-y), and stepped forward.

SPLASH.

Instant fail. I sunk like a rock with dreams.

"Try again!" Jiraiya called, like this was some kind of summer fun camp.

Attempt #2: SPLASH.
Attempt #3: SPLAAAASH.
Attempt #4: I managed to float for 0.3 seconds before slipping, panicking, and doing a weird tap dance that ended with my face in the mud.

But I was stubborn. If Naruto could do this, so could I. Probably. Maybe.

Eventually, I got cocky.

Attempt #9 was going so well. I had chakra on my feet, I was balancing, I even did a little victory fist-pump. That was my mistake.

KERPLUNK. Down I went, again.

Now, let me explain what happened next, because I'm pretty sure it's going to haunt me forever.

When I fell, I panicked. Like, arms-flailing, mouth-gasping, over-the-top anime-drowning panic. I couldn't see. Water got in my nose. I might've screamed. And then I reached out blindly, grabbed the first thing that floated near me, and started giving it CPR.

Yes. I gave CPR.
To a log.
In front of Jiraiya.
And the toads.
And probably a few squirrels watching from the bushes.

pffft

I heard the unmistakable sound of my teacher choking on laughter.

"Issei," Jiraiya said between snorts, "are you rescuing firewood?"

I opened one eye and realized I was pumping the chest of a damp, algae-coated piece of tree like it was my best friend in a soap opera.

"Live, damn you!" I shouted, just to save face. "You still have so much to give!"

Jiraiya lost it. He was laughing so hard he had to sit down.

So yeah. That was my day.

Training Summary:

Chakra control: 2/10

Water walking: Negative success

CPR skills: Unintentionally solid (if the patient is wooden)

Dignity: Missing in action, presumed drowned

But you know what? Despite the failure, the water up my nose, and the emotional bond I now shared with that log, I was getting closer. Each time, I stayed up just a little longer.

Next time, I'd stand for real.

And next time, I'd make sure the only thing I was saving… was myself.

Maybe.

Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Manuals, Muscles, and the Birth of a Training Pact
From the probably-too-excited brain of Naruto Uzumaki

 

Okay, so here's something nobody tells you when you jump to another world:

They have magic boxes that play moving pictures, show other people fighting, and even let you be the fighter—all without needing chakra. Yeah. I know. I still don't get how it works.

Let me explain before you think I hit my head again.

It all started when I visited the Shirahama family house, which sounds like a dojo but is actually just a regular house—with a dojo next door, because this family is apparently allergic to not training.

Kenichi invited me over after training, saying something like, "Wanna chill?" I thought he meant ice baths. Turns out, it was much cooler.

Their house was normal-ish—comfy couch, smell of dinner in the air, a TV the size of a scroll and... books.

I mean, the dude had more books than Iruka-sensei's office, and they weren't about history or ninja regulations either. They were about martial arts styles, energy points, famous fighters, and even a book called "The 100 Deadliest Moves That Will Probably Get You Expelled from School." (Okay, maybe not the actual title, but it should've been.)

Anyway, Kenichi showed me around his room, and that's when I saw it.

The holy grail.

The sacred shrine of all teens.

The PlayStation.

It looked like a black, shiny toad with a glowing light on its back. And when he turned it on... it sang. Or beeped. Either way, it was magical.

"You've never played a PlayStation?" Kenichi asked like I'd said I'd never eaten ramen.

"Uhh..." I scratched the back of my head. "Is that some kind of training weapon?"

He stared at me for a solid ten seconds like I'd grown a second head.

"Oh," he finally said, putting a hand on my shoulder like I'd just told him my dog died. "Your parents must've been really strict."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded solemnly. Seemed easier than explaining that I grew up eating stale bread and fighting illusion-casting super villains.

Kenichi was cool though. He handed me a controller and showed me how to use it. Left stick moves, right stick kinda looks around, the buttons punch, kick, jump, and... I forgot what the triangle does because my thumb kept mashing everything at once.

Enter: Honoka, Kenichi's ten-year-old little sister.

Now, I've fought demon foxes, giant snakes, rogue ninja, and a pervy sage, but I've never been so thoroughly destroyed by a small child.

We played a game called Street Fighter. I was Ryu. She was Chun-Li.

I thought I was doing pretty well—I landed a few kicks, did a spinny thing—but Honoka?

Honoka transformed into a button-mashing demon princess. Her fingers moved so fast I swear I saw smoke coming off the controller.

"Hadouken!"
"Spinning Bird Kick!"
"KO!"

My Ryu just collapsed. I didn't even know what hit me. Meanwhile, Kenichi groaned beside me, "She does this to me too..."

We bonded over our shared defeat. It's what real warriors do when the smaller, more dangerous warrior in the room annihilates your confidence.

After our gaming humiliation, Kenichi introduced me to something called YouTube, which is basically a jutsu-less genjutsu screen that shows anything you want.

He pulled up videos of martial arts fights—karate, boxing, aikido, some old kung fu movie where a guy used chopsticks to catch flies.

I was in awe.

"This technology... it's got everything," I whispered. "Training styles, techniques, even cooking tutorials!"

I think I almost cried. I mean, back in my world, I had to beg for scrolls or wait for Iruka to let me borrow old academy textbooks. Here? One click and BOOM—knowledge explosion.

It was like having the entire Ninja Library in your pocket... if your pocket came with Wi-Fi.

So yeah. I lost a video game fight to a ten-year-old, discovered an infinite scroll full of training, and realized this world's greatest weapon might not be chakra—it's the internet.

And if I ever go back to the Hidden Leaf... I'm bringing a PlayStation with me.

Believe it!

-----------------

You ever meet someone and think, "Wow, why didn't I meet you earlier?"

That's how I felt about the Shirahama siblings.

One day. That's all it took. Just one day, and I was practically part of the family. Okay, maybe not officially, but Honoka had already tried to get me to do her homework, and Kenichi let me borrow a martial arts manual and didn't cry when I dog-eared the pages. That's family in my book.

We spent the whole afternoon talking. I mean, really talking. Not the "Hi, how are you?" stuff, but the deep ninja conversations like:

"How do you throw a punch without looking like you're trying to swat a bug?"
Or
"What would happen if you tried to do a flying kick off the sofa?" (Answer: You take out a lamp. Sorry, Mrs. Shirahama.)

I didn't have a lot of topics to talk about, to be honest. Most people here talk about school or hobbies or their favorite shows. Me? I have a demon fox sealed in my stomach and a complicated relationship with shadow clones. Not exactly coffee-table conversation.

So, I stuck to what I knew—becoming stronger, fighting better, and not dying. You know, the usual.

And Kenichi? That guy lit up like Lee on leg day.

"I've read a lot about martial arts," he said, flipping open a notebook with so many tabs it looked like a porcupine. "I've got manuals on Muay Thai, Judo, Karate, even a bit of Chinese Kenpo."

My jaw dropped.

"Wait—you read martial arts?"

"Yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "I mean, I don't know them, not really. I've never trained. I'm kinda... weak."

I looked at him. Not in a judgmental way—more like how I used to look at mirrors and wonder if someday I'd be strong enough to not get left behind.

"You know," I said, leaning forward, "we could work on it together."

He blinked. "Huh?"

"Things are easier with friends," I grinned. "Besides, I've got weird techniques and super stamina, and you've got books and... a PlayStation. We'd make a great team!"

He stared at me, stunned. Then smiled.

Like, really smiled. The kind that makes you feel like you just handed someone their first ramen bowl.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Let's do it."

And just like that, a pact was formed.

Not some blood oath or sacred scroll signing—just two boys who wanted to get stronger, sitting in a room full of martial arts manuals, video games, and big dreams.

I didn't say it out loud, but in that moment, I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time.

Home.

-------------------

So here's the situation:

I'm Naruto. In Issei's body. Hanging out with two siblings—Kenichi, who's got the heart of a hero but the fists of a floppy fish, and Honoka, who is ten years old and somehow already more terrifying than most Jonin I've met.

And the three of us just formed a sacred bond—one forged through video games, mutual embarrassment, and the shared desire not to get beat up again.

We were huddled around the living room, surrounded by books, snack wrappers, and the remains of what had once been a soda can before Honoka got mad and crushed it like a beer commercial.

"Okay, hold on," she said, crossing her arms and staring right at me with that tiny big-sister energy. "You're telling me you two want to train to become stronger… by yourselves?"

"Pretty much," I nodded.

Kenichi looked like he wanted to disappear into the couch cushions.

"And you think just winging it is going to work?" she said, slowly raising one eyebrow like a pro interrogator.

"Uhh... well," I started, rubbing the back of my neck like the guilty ninja I technically was. "We were gonna... follow some books and... maybe punch a tree?"

Honoka groaned and flopped backward dramatically.

"You guys are gonna end up in the hospital," she muttered, glaring at the ceiling like it personally offended her. "Look, if you're really serious about this, you should join a dojo."

"Dojo?" I blinked. "Oh yeah! Like that place with mats and yelling!"

Kenichi flinched. "I… I don't know."

Honoka sat up and looked at him, her whole expression softening. "You told me the kids at school were bullying you during judo class, right?"

Kenichi looked away and mumbled something into his shirt.

That got me right in the gut. I remembered being ignored, left out, pushed around… man, that feeling sucks no matter what world you're in.

"But a dojo isn't like that," Honoka continued. "You'd be going with Issei—" she shot me a pointed look, "—who's clearly insane but also kinda inspiring."

"Thank you?" I said, confused but flattered.

"And," she added, standing up now like a chibi general, "I'm joining too."

Kenichi blinked. "Wait, what?"

"I'm not letting you get beat up again," she said firmly. "I'll be there to keep an eye on things. If anyone tries anything shady, I'll bite their kneecaps."

"…that's oddly specific," I said.

"She's bitten me before," Kenichi whispered.

But honestly? I was impressed. Honoka might have been ten, but she had more protective energy than half the ANBU. And deep down, you could tell it wasn't just because she wanted to play martial arts hero—it was because she loved her brother.

I smiled. "You're right, Honoka. A dojo's a good idea. Kenichi and I can't do this alone. We'll find a place, get stronger the right way, and become cool martial arts bros."

Kenichi hesitated, but when he looked at his sister—who gave him the world's tiniest but most powerful thumbs-up—he nodded.

"Okay," he said. "Let's do it."

---------------------

So there I was—Issei's body, Naruto's brain, and a living room that had suddenly transformed into my personal dojo of awkward grunting and half-finished front kicks.

The moment we got back from the bookstore, I made a beeline for the manuals: one on Taekwondo (a.k.a. the land of a thousand kicks), another on Judo (throw your problems over your shoulder—literally), and Karate (where everything hurts and every move has a stance I kept forgetting five seconds later).

Kenichi had gone to grab snacks. Honoka was doing her homework in the next room, occasionally yelling at us to keep it down. And me?

I was sweating through a high kick in front of a paused YouTube video featuring a cheerful dude with a black belt and the smile of someone who didn't get bruises every ten seconds.

"Okay, combo one," I muttered to myself, flipping to the first diagram in the Karate manual. "Step forward, punch, twist, elbow, back kick, yell dramatically—got it."

I attempted it.

The "punch" part? Not bad.
The "twist"? Sort of a half-turn and a stumble.
The "elbow"? Accidentally hit a lamp.
The "back kick"? Took out a suspiciously placed laundry basket.
The "yell dramatically"? Perfect 10. Nailed it.

"Man," I groaned, rubbing my shin, "I miss Kakashi-sensei…"

At least when Kakashi made you suffer, he had the decency to do it with cool eye-smirks and philosophical quotes about teamwork. Right now, the only quote I had was, "Remember to like and subscribe for more martial arts tutorials!" Not exactly ninja wisdom.

I sighed and paused the next video, which had a title like "5 Easy Judo Throws for Beginners That Probably Won't Break Your Spine."

"I'd even take Bushy Brow right now," I muttered, stretching my arms. "He'd scream motivational stuff, and then we'd kick trees until our legs turned to pudding. It would be beautiful."

But no. No Jiraiya to correct my stance and add pervy comments. No Kakashi to point out my chakra flow was off. No Lee to cry tears of fiery passion and get me to do 500 push-ups for failing to pronounce "ossu" correctly.

Just me… a teenage body with way too much energy, three training manuals, and a world where I couldn't use chakra to cheat.

Still, I couldn't quit. I remembered what Jiraiya said—strength comes from pushing forward, even when it's hard. And I had a goal: get strong enough to protect people like Kenichi and Honoka. Maybe even help Kenichi become the version of himself he wanted to be.

I flipped the book again and took a deep breath. "Alright, take two. Combo one. This time, without murdering any furniture."

And so began the second round of my personal training montage.

Sure, it wasn't glamorous.
Sure, I tripped over my own foot.
Sure, Honoka laughed when I accidentally yelled "RASENGAN!" during a spinning kick.

But I kept going.

----------------------

The warm water from the shower hit me like a friendly waterfall after a week in the desert. I swear I could hear angels singing when the steam fogged up the bathroom mirror. After an afternoon of self-taught martial arts mayhem, I was bruised, sore, and convinced that spinning kicks were invented by someone with a grudge against normal human hips.

Dinner was a welcome distraction. Issei's mom had made something amazing—some kind of grilled fish with rice and a miso soup that practically hugged my soul. I tried not to shovel it in too fast, but my stomach was basically rioting at this point.

"Did you have fun at Kenichi's?" his dad asked, looking genuinely interested, which threw me off for a second.

"Yeah," I nodded. "He's got this insane book collection—like, every martial arts manual ever. And his sister Honoka? Better at games than both of us combined."

Issei's mom chuckled. "Sounds like you made good friends."

I grinned. "Yeah. They're cool."

The weird thing was… I meant it.

Back in Konoha, I had friends too, but it had taken me years to build that trust. With Kenichi and Honoka, it was fast. Maybe because they were kind. Maybe because they didn't expect me to be the Hokage's kid or the vessel of some giant chakra monster. I was just a boy named Issei who wanted to get stronger.

And they got that.

Dinner ended, dishes were washed (not by me, thank goodness), and before long I was back in my room with a still-damp head, pajamas, and a Karate Beginner's Manual open on my lap.

Bad idea.

Like, legendarily bad.

Because here's the thing: the body of a teenager who had done push-ups, practiced kicks, mimicked judo throws, and got emotionally invested in a sibling bonding moment does not want to study forms and stances under a warm reading lamp.

But I tried.

I really did.

I propped myself up against the wall, book in hand, determined to figure out the difference between zuki and geri, and what in the world a kiba-dachi was supposed to look like.

"…so the power comes from the hips," I mumbled, eyes blinking in slow motion.

My head drooped. Snapped up. Drooped again.

"Must… learn… reverse punch…"

The words on the page started blurring together like some ancient forbidden scroll protected by a genjutsu of exhaustion.

And then…

Bonk.

The book slipped from my fingers and landed with a soft thud on the futon. My head leaned against the wall. My breathing slowed. Somewhere in my dreams, I was arguing with a cartoon bear about correct kicking posture.

I had officially unlocked a new martial arts form:

Sleep-Fu.
Highly advanced. Only usable by those with no remaining energy and too much ambition.

------------------------

I've had a lot of weird dreams in my life.

Once I dreamt I was stuck inside a ramen bowl and the noodles were alive. Another time, I was chased by a thousand Konohamarus holding explosive tags. But this? This took the cake. Possibly the whole bakery.

I was standing on clouds. Not fog, not mist—literal clouds. All fluffy and squishy like marshmallows, except they didn't taste like anything (I checked).

Above me, the sky shimmered like one of those fancy paintings in Lady Tsunade's office that you're not allowed to touch. Off in the distance, a huge palace floated among the clouds. Like, legit floating. There were also mountains growing out of the clouds, a tree so big it probably had its own weather system, and stairs leading up into even more clouds like someone really wanted their cardio challenged.

"What a weird dream…" I muttered, scratching the back of my head.

Except… I didn't feel dream-y. I wasn't just drifting around like a ghost or flying without reason. Everything felt too real. I could feel the breeze. Smell the clean air. See clearly. Like, who dreams in 4K?

"Am I supposed to be so aware in a dream?" I muttered, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.

And that's when I saw him.

Another person standing just as confused, looking around like he'd lost a shoe and his entire dimension.

He turned to me at the same time I looked at him.

And yeah… we both shouted.

"Issei!"
"Naruto!"

We blinked. And I realized I wasn't in Issei's body anymore.

I was just… me. Blond hair, whisker marks, the whole deal. And Issei looked like his usual self too—tall, spiky brown hair, and that expression that screamed "please don't ask me to run laps."

"Do you know how this happened?" Issei asked, walking toward me across the squishy clouds.

I shook my head. "I don't know. I was reading about karate, blinked once, and woke up here. I figured this was one of those 'sage shows up and gives you wisdom through nonsense' dreams."

"Honestly," Issei said, sighing, "same. I was trying to sleep after a long training day and now I'm here, still confused."

"I'm waiting for Master," I said, stretching my arms and looking around the dream world. "He's gotta be behind this. Or maybe Kakashi. This feels like something Kakashi would do if he learned dream projection jutsu."

Issei sat down on a puffy cloud with a tired grunt. "We've swapped bodies, trained in crazy ways, and now our dreams are co-op multiplayer. I can't tell if this is a blessing or a curse."

I flopped next to him. "Let's just agree that it's a blessing with mood swings."

We sat in silence for a while, watching the floating palace in the distance shimmer like a mirage.

"Do you think we can visit that place?" Issei asked.

"I mean," I said with a shrug, "if it's a dream, what's the worst that can happen? We wake up?"

"True…"

And with that, we stood up, ready to explore Dream World Level 2, waiting for a talking frog, a flaming scroll, or maybe—if we were really lucky—a plate of dream ramen.

Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Chapter 7: So Apparently We're the Main Characters… No Pressure
(In which we get hit with existential truth bombs, and I discover I'm dangerously allergic to fate.)

The journey to the floating palace was kind of… quiet at first. Not in a bad way—more like that peaceful silence you get when walking beside someone who gets it. The clouds squished gently under our feet as we walked, puffing up with each step like we were moonwalking through a bakery.

"So… things on your end?" I asked, glancing at Issei.

He exhaled and plopped down on the nearest fluffy cloud, crossing his legs like we were about to do cloud yoga. "They found it instantly."

I blinked. "They?"

"Jiraiya and his crew," he said. "I mean, it didn't take them long to notice you weren't in your body anymore. Something about your chakra being 'wrong' and your speech being 'too modern.' Anyway, they've got me on a full training program so I don't die and your body keeps growing, even while you're gone."

He held out his hand, and I shook it—firm grip, solid eye contact, the whole ninja-turned-brotherhood vibe. For someone who claimed he wasn't good at this stuff, Issei had become surprisingly dependable.

"Jiraiya's also researching the jutsu used by the Fourth Hokage," Issei added. "You know, trying to reverse it. Apparently, it's a super complicated, borderline banned technique."

I couldn't help but smile. That old perv was annoying, but he never let me down when it really mattered.

"Tell them I'm doing good," I said, grinning. "And training while I stay in your world. You won't mind if I put some time into learning martial arts and becoming, you know… a good student."

Issei gave me that lazy grin of his. "Heh, do what you want. I'm loving this experience, to be honest. Enjoy it on the other side—and just don't turn evil, okay?"

"Deal," I laughed.

Then I hesitated, rubbing the back of my neck. "…Do you know anything about a magical girl?"

He stared at me. "Why? Have you started watching that anime?"

"No," I said slowly, "I met a magical girl."

"…You're serious?"

"Yeah. She healed my hand with some kind of magic. Actual glowing, sparkly, boom magic."

Issei's jaw dropped so hard I could almost hear it crack the cloud beneath us.

"The fuck?" he said, voice hushed like we were in church. "I leave for a few days and now there are magical girls?! I haven't even seen a card trick!"

"Yup," I said with a nod. "Weird world."

"Okay, you have to tell me everything next time we meet," he said, still shell-shocked. "Seriously. This is legendary."

"Got it," I said. "By the way… is there anything I need to worry about? Any friends I should watch out for? Problems? Enemies? Secret evil school cults?"

He shook his head. "Nah. We moved just last year, so I haven't made any close friends yet. Honestly, just chill. If you fail a year, no big deal—my parents won't mind. Happens once, they'll write it off as me being a growing boy or something."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Thanks… and hey, don't die, okay?"

Issei chuckled and reached out his hand. I took it again, this time as a promise between us. His hand was warm, even in this cloud world that had no sun.

"You either, ninja boy."

---------------------

So, picture this: me and Issei, standing in front of a massive, glowing palace that looks like it was designed by a celestial architect with way too much time on his hands. Golden pillars, floating lanterns, and clouds drifting lazily through the open hallways. Basically, it screamed important cosmic business happens here.

We exchanged a look.

"Should we knock?" Issei asked.

I shrugged. "You go first. It's your world technically."

Before he could raise his hand, the doors creaked open on their own with a dramatic whoooosh—like someone had pressed the "cinematic entrance" button.

Out stepped… an old man.

Not just any old man, mind you. This one had a third eye on his forehead, a long staff, chakra beads floating around his neck, and the kind of beard that practically screamed "ancient wisdom and bedtime stories." He floated a little above the floor like the universe had given up on making him obey gravity.

"Welcome," he said, voice calm and wise like he spent his free time narrating documentaries. "I am Hagoromo Ōtsutsuki—the Sage of Six Paths."

Pause.

Me and Issei stared at him.

"Wait, that Sage of Six Paths?" I said.

"You're supposed to be dead," Issei added helpfully.

"Extremely dead," I nodded. "Like, a thousand years ago. History book dead."

The old man chuckled, like we were two puppies barking at a thunderstorm. "I am… still somewhat dead," he said cryptically. "But not enough to stop me from interfering when necessary."

"So you're a ghost with Wi-Fi?" Issei whispered to me.

I didn't answer. I was still trying to process that the Sage of Six Paths had just opened a door for us.

Hagoromo didn't even bother defending his undead status. Instead, he floated past us like it was totally normal to meet legends on cloud palaces. "Come. There's much to explain, and little time."

We followed him inside because, honestly, what else do you do when the godfather of ninjutsu invites you in?

He stopped in the middle of a cloud-etched room where the ceiling looked like a galaxy had spilled across it. Then he turned to us and dropped a bomb:

"I'm the one who swapped your bodies."

Me: "WHAT."

Issei: "Bro."

"Why would you do that?!" I asked, throwing my arms up. "We didn't even sign a waiver!"

"Because," Hagoromo said patiently, "your lives, as they were, had become dangerously unbalanced. Naruto, your destiny was weighed down by pressure and isolation. Issei, your world held no immediate challenges, and you lacked direction. This exchange was… necessary. A positive disturbance in both timelines."

We looked at each other, then back at him.

"So, you're saying you just body-swapped us because you didn't like our character development?" Issei said, eyes wide.

"In less dramatic terms, yes," Hagoromo replied. "This path allows you both to grow in ways your original routes could not. Already, Jiraiya and the others have become more serious. Naruto's absence forced them to act faster. And Naruto… you are now in a world where your strength means little, and you must build yourself anew."

I frowned. "Okay… but what about us? Are we just stuck like this?"

"Not forever," he said. "But for now, this is your path. However…" He raised a hand, and the space around us shimmered. "This place exists between your worlds. Each night, you may meet here. Talk. Spar. Share what you've learned."

Issei raised an eyebrow. "Spar? Like, punch each other?"

"Yes," Hagoromo said. "Iron sharpens iron. You will grow stronger, not just in body, but in understanding. In time, both of your worlds will be better for it."

We stood there, stunned, while the Sage of Six Paths just floated there like this was a totally normal Tuesday announcement.

Issei leaned toward me and whispered, "This is so anime."

"Right?" I whispered back.

-----------------------

Okay. So you know how people say dreams are supposed to be relaxing? Like, floating in the clouds, surrounded by flying unicorns, cotton candy trees, and your crush showing up to tell you you're cool?

Yeah, that is not what happened.

Instead, I was standing in a floating palace that looked like it belonged in an intergalactic wedding catalogue, arguing with a thousand-year-old dead guy who apparently couldn't take no for an answer.

Issei was pacing nearby, muttering something like, "This is insane… magic girls, ninja ghosts… what's next? Talking cats?"

Honestly, same.

We had just been told that some old bearded celestial grandpa named Hagoromo—aka the Sage of Six Paths—had gone and yoinked our souls, switching them like game cartridges, because apparently destiny said our original lives were heading straight into the dumpster fire.

"Okay, slow down," I said, holding up both hands. "Let me get this straight. You just decided to pull a cosmic Freaky Friday on us, without warning, because... you saw a bad ending?"

The Sage of Six Paths—whose beard honestly needed its own zip code—nodded. "Yes."

Issei crossed his arms. "Define 'bad ending.' Like, stubbed toe bad? Or dead-girlfriend-backstory bad?"

"Dead," Hagoromo said flatly. "Painful. Meaningless. And with the potential to drag others down with you. Think… final season of a rushed anime adaptation."

We both recoiled in horror.

"Bro," Issei whispered. "He just compared our lives to that."

"Have some decency, old man," I said. "That's trauma."

But he wasn't done. Oh no. Sage Grandpa had more firepower.

"You had a ninety percent chance of dying young," Hagoromo said. "And in ways that would scar those around you. A painful cycle. Regret. Loss. Cowardice. Wasted potential. I am not willing to let that happen when there is still hope."

Now, don't get me wrong—I'm no stranger to scary odds. I've fought giant snakes, crazy warlords, and Jiraiya's cooking. But ninety percent? That's like… failing the final exam of life hard.

"So wait," I said, frowning. "You're saying we're, like… important?"

"Crucial," Hagoromo said. "In fact, central to your respective timelines."

Issei blinked. "Wait, wait, wait. Does this mean… we're the protagonists?"

I stared at the man. "Like, actual chosen ones?"

"...Yes," Hagoromo said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Cue internal screaming.

Because up until now, I was kinda hoping I was just a background guy with cool hair and a tragic past—not someone who had to carry the narrative on his shoulders.

"You have to be kidding me," Issei muttered. "I thought I was comic relief. Or that guy who's just there for fanservice."

"Nope," I said, letting it sink in. "We're the main characters. Which explains a lot. Like, why random monsters keep showing up to test us. And why every teacher is secretly a badass."

"I'm gonna be honest," Issei said, rubbing his face. "That sounds exhausting."

"It is," I nodded. "Welcome to my world. Literally."

The Sage—because apparently dropping destiny bombs wasn't enough—gave us a totally smug smile. "You may try to undo what I have done. But doing so would invite that ninety percent death rate. You'd be free to try, of course. I won't stop you."

We exchanged a look.

"So basically," I said, "either we go along with your mysterious plan and maybe survive… or we try to go back and get turned into tragic backstory."

Hagoromo nodded serenely.

"Wow," I said. "What a generous offer."

"I feel so empowered," Issei deadpanned. "Thanks, spirit grandpa."

Still, despite the cosmic pushiness, I couldn't lie to myself. A part of me did feel different here. Like this challenge—this switch—was making me sharper. Less dependent on my usual tricks. More… me.

And judging by the way Issei hadn't collapsed in a panic attack after hearing about magic girls and world-ending jutsu, he was growing too.

"Alright," I sighed, finally dropping onto one of the soft, glowy cloud-cushions. "We'll do it. Train. Learn. Be serious. And maybe save two worlds."

"Cool," Issei said. "But we're still calling you Grandpa Beard."

The Sage chuckled. "As you wish."

Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Mornings, Muscle Pain, and Motivational Mumbling
(In which Naruto tries to be productive but his body files a formal complaint.)

Here's the thing nobody tells you about being a ninja: fighting without chakra is like trying to swim with rocks tied to your legs. No speed boosts, no fancy healing, no poof-I'm-behind-you jutsu.

Just your body, your sweat, and the alarming realization that your muscles are about as useful as uncooked ramen.

So there we were—me and Issei, on a literal cloud dojo under the stars—facing each other like it was some kind of anime crossover episode nobody asked for.

"Alright," I said, shaking out my arms. "No chakra. No clones. No magic. Just fists and feet."

Issei smirked, trying to look cool. "How hard could it be?"

Oh sweet summer child.

To be fair, he looked the part—wide stance, raised fists, even a little bounce on his toes like he was in a boxing match.

Then he lunged.

And tripped.

Straight onto his face.

I tried. I really tried not to laugh. But, well… I'm only human. "Nice footwork, Ali."

"Shut up," he grunted, scrambling up with a sheepish grin. "Just testing gravity."

"Pretty sure it passed," I muttered.

We reset, and this time, Issei came at me with a clumsy punch. I dodged, grabbed his wrist, and flipped him over my shoulder using one of the throws I picked up from the Judo for Dummies video playlist. He hit the soft cloud floor with a "WOOF" noise and blinked up at the sky like it had personally offended him.

"How—? I have, like, six clones practicing back home!"

I shrugged, offering him a hand. "Yeah, and I've got five books and a bruised tailbone, but that doesn't mean I can pull off Bruce Lee either. You can't rush this stuff, Issei."

"Then what's the point of clones?!"

"They help you remember the moves," I said. "But your body still has to learn how to move. Timing. Balance. Reflexes. You can't just download that like an app."

He groaned. "So I'm still trash."

"No," I said, pulling him up. "You're better than yesterday."

He blinked. "That… was surprisingly wise."

"Don't get used to it," I said. "The cloud air probably scrambled my sarcasm filter."

We went back at it again. Slowly. Carefully. This time, I showed him how to block properly without punching his own face (yes, that happened), how to lower his stance so he wouldn't fall over like a noodle, and how to breathe without sounding like a deflating balloon.

Honestly, he picked up faster than I expected. Not good yet, but getting there. And every time he stumbled, he just got up again, grinning like he was at an amusement park instead of a boot camp in heaven.

"Man," he said, huffing as we collapsed after the third round, "this is weirdly fun."

I nodded, flopping onto the cloud floor. "Yeah. Kinda reminds me of when I trained with Sasuke. Except you're not a brooding jerk with better hair."

"Rude."

"True."

We lay there for a moment, breathing hard, staring up at a sky filled with shooting stars and glittery galaxies. It was quiet, peaceful. Like the universe paused just to let us catch our breath.

"You think we'll be ready?" Issei asked quietly. "To handle what's coming?"

I closed my eyes. "Don't know. But we'll get stronger. Bit by bit. Kick by kick."

"Punch by painful, face-breaking punch," he added.

I grinned. "Exactly."

-------------------------

"I will share what I learn with you here, so wait for me."

Those were Issei's parting words before his sparkly dream-body turned into stardust and vanished into the misty void of Cloudlandia. Or whatever that place was.

"I'll be waiting," I replied, all dramatic and serious, like I wasn't wearing cartoon pajamas in my dream.

Then—poof—I was back in my room, staring up at the ceiling.

Ceiling fans are weird. Especially after dream-sparring your alternate dimension soul-brother in a sky dojo with a literal immortal judging you from his floating throne.

I blinked, still groggy, but instantly noticed something: I was tucked in.

Perfectly.

There was no way I did that. Not unless sleepwalking-me suddenly developed nurturing instincts and a strong sense of blanket symmetry.

I smiled a little. Thanks, mom.

But then I moved.

And regretted it.

"OW." The sound slipped out before I could stop it.

My arms and legs hurt. Not just sore. Betrayed-by-my-body levels of hurt. Every muscle felt like it had been put through a wood chipper and then rearranged by someone who had only heard of anatomy through interpretive dance.

Lying in bed forever sounded like a pretty decent plan.

But no. I'd made a promise—to myself, to Issei, to all the people counting on me—and if Naruto Uzumaki quit now just because of a little (read: soul-crushing) pain, what kind of hero would that make me?

"I can do it," I mumbled.

Again, louder: "I can do it."

It didn't sound convincing.

Still, I pushed through the ache and swung my legs out of bed. Victory number one. Even if it took thirty seconds.

The journey to the bathroom was like walking on stilts for the first time. But I made it. Washed the sleep from my face, took care of nature's business, and looked at myself in the mirror.

Eyes: tired.
Hair: messier than a ramen bar after lunchtime.
Spirit: still kicking.

I gave myself a nod. Not cool or anything. More like, yeah-we're-both-stuck-in-this-body-so-let's-not-die sort of nod.

Back in my room, I did a light warm-up. Light as in "move and hope nothing falls off." Arm swings, toe touches, a few squats. Every movement came with a side dish of regret.

Then I headed to the kitchen, still in training gear. The morning light poured in through the windows like some overly cheerful motivational speaker, and I squinted at it like it owed me sleep.

The house was quiet. Too early for anyone to be up yet. But my stomach was definitely awake.

I poured myself a glass of juice—orange, with pulp, because I'm not a coward—and grabbed a banana and an apple. Healthy ninja needs healthy fuel.

Juice, gulped. Fruits, munched. Mood? Slightly improved.

Shoes on. Hoodie zipped.

Time to jog.

The early morning air was crisp and cool, brushing against my skin like the world was telling me, "Hey, you survived another night. Good job."

"Alright," I muttered, stretching one last time. "Let's go."

One step, two steps, and soon I was jogging down the street as the sun started peeking out over the rooftops.

Every part of my body protested.

But my heart?

It was all in.

-----------------------------

There's something weirdly satisfying about jogging when the world's still half asleep. The roads are quiet, the air smells like dew and fresh beginnings, and for once, I could pretend I wasn't stuck in the body of a high school pervert with noodle arms.

Okay, former noodle arms. I was working on that.

My goal that morning? Operation: Drag Kenichi Out of Bed.

Because if there's one thing I've learned from being me—it's that no one ever becomes strong by hitting the snooze button.

Kenichi's house wasn't too far from mine. I got there just as the sun was painting gold across the rooftops. I jogged up to the door and rang the bell like it owed me money.

A moment passed.

Then another.

Finally, the door creaked open, and Kenichi appeared, hair all over the place, pillow lines on his face, wearing the universal uniform of a guy who just lost a fight with his alarm clock: a wrinkled T-shirt and total confusion.

"Naruto?" he blinked. "It's not even 6:30."

"That's right," I grinned, hands on my hips. "Perfect training time."

"I didn't agree to training at sunrise!" he whined like a kid about to be dragged to dentist-ninja school.

"Exactly why I came in person." I leaned in, eyes sparkling with very non-negotiable energy. "Let's go."

He opened his mouth to protest again—but fate had other plans.

"Good morning!!"

A blur of energy and sunshine barreled out from behind him. Honoka, in a hoodie and track pants, was already tying her hair into a high ponytail.

"You're going on a run, right? I wanna come!" she chirped, all sparkles and chaos.

Kenichi turned to her in slow horror. "You want to do this?"

"Yup! It's good for your health, Ken-nii! And you need friends who can push you. Issei's so cool and motivated!"

I tried to look humble, but let's be honest—being called cool is like feeding my soul high-grade ramen.

Kenichi slumped in defeat. "Why does it feel like I've lost before even stepping outside?"

"Because you have," I said, slapping him lightly on the back. "Now go change. I'm not letting you skip leg day."

Five minutes later, the three of us were jogging through the streets, Honoka bouncing beside us like a personal cheer squad with unlimited stamina.

"Go, Ken-nii! You can do it!"

"Breathe, Kenichi," I added. "In through the nose, out through the mouth. Try to look like you're not dying."

"I am dying!" he wheezed. "Who does this before breakfast?!"

"Champions," Honoka beamed, jogging backward to face him. "Also Issei."

Kenichi muttered something about betrayal and siblings, but I could see it—he was keeping pace, even if his legs hated him for it. He didn't give up.

And that's what mattered.

As we rounded the park and turned back toward their neighborhood, Kenichi's steps slowed, but his expression had changed. He looked… less tired.

More focused.

Honoka nudged him with her elbow. "You did it, Ken-nii."

He panted. "I… did do it."

"See?" I grinned. "You've got more in you than you think."

We stopped outside his house, and Kenichi flopped onto his front steps like a dramatic anime character who'd just finished a training arc.

"Same time tomorrow?" I asked, wiping my brow.

Kenichi groaned. "You're not serious—"

Honoka raised her hand like she was swearing into ninja court. "I'll make sure he's up!"

Kenichi groaned again.

I just laughed and started jogging back home.

This world might not have chakra.

But it had Kenichi.

And I was gonna make sure he turned into someone who didn't just survive—but thrived.

 

------------------------

Issei's POV:

If there's one thing I've learned in my short time as a temporary tenant of this ninja death world, it's this:

Never interrupt Jiraiya when he's spiraling.

Seriously. The man talks like a prophet, smokes like an exhausted uncle at a wedding, and thinks like a conspiracy theorist with too much time on his hands. And right now? He was in deep.

I sat cross-legged near the training ground, absently poking a rock with a stick while Jiraiya paced back and forth muttering to himself like a rejected movie villain.

"This is too clean… not a single ripple in the seal," he mumbled, puffing smoke from his long pipe. "Soul manipulation, temporal displacement, seal bypass, stealth... Are we dealing with a immortal?"

I paused. Blinked. And immediately burst out laughing.

Because, well... yes. That was exactly it.

Jiraiya froze mid-ramble and turned toward me like a suspicious cat. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing," I said between chuckles. "Just… you're not wrong, per se. You just overthought yourself into the truth."

"What?"

I tossed the stick away and stood up, brushing dirt from my pants. "Okay, so, don't freak out, but Naruto and I meet every night in dreamland. Like, boom—cloud palace, kung fu practice, deep talks about magical girls and ramen. The usual."

His eyes narrowed. "You're telling me you've been in contact with Naruto?"

I nodded. "Yup. And before you ask—no, I can't summon him. No, I can't tell you the coordinates. And yes, he's fine. Probably better than fine, actually. He's thriving."

Jiraiya opened his mouth, closed it, puffed, and then growled through clenched teeth, "Who did it? Who's behind this?"

I shrugged. "That's the punchline, actually. It was the Sage of Six Paths."

Silence.

Not a stunned silence, either. More like the glitch-in-the-matrix kind of pause where you know someone's brain just blue-screened.

"Excuse me?"

I held my hands up. "I know how it sounds. But hear me out, the guy straight-up told us. Appeared in our dream, told us we were both on the highway to doom, and that he hit the emergency reset button before we wiped out. Said something about how the natural flow of things would've ended badly. So this soul swap? Apparently, it's an upgrade."

Jiraiya blinked. Twice. "The Sage. Of Six Paths. The dead, mythical figure from a thousand years ago?"

"Very much not dead," I said, flopping back onto the ground. "Also very glowy. Kind of had grandpa energy, but like, terrifying grandpa energy."

Jiraiya just stood there.

"… You okay?"

He slowly sat down, took a deep drag of his pipe, and muttered, "I should've brought sake."

I tilted my head. "So you're not going to arrest me, or break a seal, or summon a toad to eat me?"

"No," he sighed, smoke curling from his nose. "Because that would imply I understand what's going on. And I really, really don't."

"Welcome to my life," I grinned. "Day one, I got punched through a fence. Day two, I watched a girl summon a water dragon with sparkles. Day three? Found out I'm the new Naruto. I'm just rolling with it now."

Jiraiya pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're taking this very well for someone from a world without chakra."

"Hey, when you're me, you learn to just nod and smile when immortals show up." I smirked. "Also, I can now create clones that beat the crap out of me until I learn how to fight. I'm too sore to panic."

"…You might be the weirdest Naruto I've ever met."

"Technically, I'm the only other Naruto you've ever met," I said with a wink.

He didn't laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

Progress.

--------------------

Let me be real with you.

Shadow Clone Jutsu sounded awesome in theory.

I mean, come on—make a bunch of yourself, send them off to train, let them suffer while you chill, and then poof—download all the gains like a ninja USB drive. Brilliant, right?

WRONG.

So, so wrong.

"Ten," Jiraiya said sternly, holding up both hands like he was warning me about a haunted microwave. "That's your limit. No more than ten clones. I don't care if your chakra can handle more—I'm not cleaning up when your brain melts trying to process twenty people's trauma."

I raised an eyebrow. "Melts? Seriously?"

"I once saw Naruto try to absorb the memory of fifty clones training taijutsu for six hours straight. He passed out mid-chew and drooled on his own sandal for ten minutes."

"…Noted."

So, I did as instructed. I focused, channeled my chakra just like I'd practiced, and with a puff of smoke—

Boom.

Ten orange-clad clones popped into existence like I'd kicked over a cosplay hornet nest.

They looked at me. I looked at them.

Then they grinned.

"Alright, boss," Clone #4 said, cracking his knuckles. "Time to show you just how bad you suck."

Wait. What?

"Hey, hey—aren't you supposed to help me learn?" I asked, backing up.

"Oh, we will," Clone #7 said cheerfully. "Through combat experience! It's educational!"

"Yeah!" Clone #3 shouted. "Trial by pain!"

"FOR SCIENCE!" screamed #8, already sprinting at me.

And that, dear reader, is how I found myself being body-slammed by a perfectly synchronized group of orange lunatics that were technically me. There was punching, kicking, one attempted suplex, and a particularly mean noogie from Clone #2 that I swear knocked a year off my life.

Jiraiya? He just sipped tea from the porch, watching the carnage unfold with the calm detachment of a man who's seen worse. Probably by Naruto. Probably while shirtless.

"Fight smarter, not harder," he called lazily. "Also, block with your arms, not your face."

"THANKS FOR NOTHING, PERVY SENSEI!" I yelled as Clone #6 tripped me into a puddle of mud.

After what felt like several eternities and at least one internal organ being questioned, I managed to land a single punch on Clone #9.

He exploded in a puff of smoke.

And instantly—BAM—I remembered everything he'd just experienced. His angle, his footwork, how he read my posture. It was like plugging a cheat code into my head. Awesome.

Also, exhausting. I almost threw up.

"Welcome to the club," Clone #5 muttered as he roundhouse-kicked me into a bush.

By the time the last clone was gone and the smoke cleared, I was lying on the grass, gasping for air and questioning every life choice that led me here.

Jiraiya walked over, crouched beside me, and offered a water bottle.

"You did good," he said. "Not smart, not fast, and definitely not pretty—but good."

"Are you complimenting me or insulting me?"

"Yes."

I groaned. "I want my high school back. I want pervy books, normal girls, and lunch breaks."

"Well," Jiraiya said with a shrug, "if you survive long enough, maybe you'll get to write your own pervy book."

…You know what?

Maybe I will.

Right after I learn how to punch without crying.

Chapter 9: Chapter 9

Chapter 9: "Magical Girl Radar Activated"
(Featuring one overly affectionate sister and one poor boy who doesn't know what's coming.)

If there was one thing Serafall Leviathan loved more than sparkles, magical girl transformations, and dramatic hand gestures, it was her adorable little sister.

Currently, Sona Shitori—student council president, strategic genius, and part-time long-suffering sibling—was being subjected to the most intense cuddle barrage the Underworld had ever known. Serafall had gone full koala mode, arms and legs latched on like she was trying to become a living backpack.

"Sister, please," Sona muttered, clearly using every ounce of willpower not to sigh. "I have three council meetings, two summoning contracts, and a debate with Sairaorg in the next five hours. I need to go."

"But So-tan," Serafall whined, nuzzling her cheek against Sona's like an affectionate marshmallow. "I'm running low on Sona-energy! Do you want me to collapse in the middle of my Magical Girl Leviathan episode?!"

Sona gave her a flat stare that could kill lesser beings. "Is this really about another anime?"

Serafall paused.

"Well… no. This time, it's about a boy."

"…Excuse me?"

"Not like that, So-tan! Geez, I'm not trying to seduce him. He's, like, 16."

Sona narrowed her eyes. "Go on."

Serafall twirled in the air (after finally letting go of her sister) and pointed an elegant finger toward the ceiling like she was about to shout 'Transformation!'.

"I sensed something strange in the human world. A massive aura, just for a second—strong, ancient, and heavy, like the boss level of a JRPG dungeon. When I went to check it out, poof! Gone. And instead... I found him."

Sona raised a brow. "A teen."

Serafall nodded, now perched upside down on the ceiling because, apparently, gravity was optional for magic nerds.

"Yep! Totally human. Average build, kinda scruffy, but his eyes? Not average. They've seen stuff, So-tan. Real stuff. I'm talking tragedy arc levels of emotional damage. But the weirdest part?"

"I'm afraid to ask."

"He wasn't broken. Not completely, anyway. Like… he'd been shattered, but glued back together with stubbornness and duct tape. There's something big about him. Something fated."

"Or," Sona deadpanned, "you were drawn in by your tragic anime boy obsession again."

Serafall gasped, clutching her chest like she'd been stabbed. "So-tan! I'll have you know that my anime radar is never wrong. And besides, I wasn't the only one who noticed. Something powerful was watching him. Something I didn't even want to poke with a magic stick."

That got Sona's attention. Her brows twitched in quiet concern.

"You're sure?"

Serafall flipped off the ceiling and landed with her usual magical twirl. "Sure as magical girl uniforms defying physics."

"And this boy… is he in Kuoh?"

"That's for you to check. He may or may not yet," she said, poking Sona's cheek. "But I have a feeling if he is not there yet then he'll end up here. Or maybe we'll end up near him. You know how fate works—always dramatic, rarely punctual."

Sona's eyes narrowed. She didn't believe in fate. She believed in data. But even she couldn't ignore Serafall's instincts when they flared like this.

"I'll look into it when I go next week."

"Yay!" Serafall cheered, sparkles practically popping around her. "And if he turns out to be evil, we can blast him with rainbows together!"

Sona sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

But secretly, deep in her pragmatic heart, she was curious too. A mysterious aura. A boy marked by tragedy. And a force even her sister feared.

Whoever this kid was, he might just be the newest variable in the already ridiculous equation that was her life.

And if Serafall was right?

Well… that meant trouble.

Which, in the world of devils, meant interesting.

 

---------------------------------

You know that awkward moment when you're eating breakfast, pretending to be a completely normal Japanese teenager… while secretly being a dimension-hopping ninja legend stuck inside said teen's body?

Yeah. That's been my life for the past week.

Now, to be fair, Issei's family was pretty great. His dad, Gorou, made killer miso soup, and his mom was always smiling, even though I knew I kept acting a little "off" for her precious pervy son.

Which brings us to today's breakfast—steamed rice, grilled fish, and the kind of nervous energy only a former shinobi-turned-teenage-martial-arts-newbie could produce.

I cleared my throat. "Father, I want to join a dojo and learn Karate."

I pulled out the colorful flyer I'd nabbed yesterday. It was bright, bold, and screaming 'BECOME STRONG!' like a video game pop-up. Totally my vibe.

Gorou paused mid-chew. His eyebrows did this little hop of surprise, like he couldn't believe Issei—yes, me—wanted to do anything more physical than flipping through a swimsuit catalog.

He wiped his hands and took the poster, examining it like it might bite him.

"Karate, huh? Well… it's nearby, so that's good." He looked at me—or, you know, Issei's face—with suspicion that was only half-joking. "You know, you've never really been the sporty type. Are you sure about this?"

I sat up straighter. Time to sell it like a boss. "I'm serious about it. I want to be a strong martial artist."

Which was true. But also, like... I really needed to train this body. I'd tried shadow boxing yesterday and pulled something in my shoulder. My shoulder, dattebayo! Not exactly future-Hokage material.

Gorou gave me a slow nod. "Alright. But here's the deal—you don't quit before a month is up. Even if you start hating it by day two, you finish that month. Got it?"

I nodded. "Got it."

In my head, I added: Unless I get pulled into a magical death tournament or the dojo turns out to be run by an evil ninja cult. You know. Normal stuff.

Across the table, his wife gave a small nod too, a soft smile on her face. I think she liked seeing this new determination. Maybe she thought Issei finally had a passion.

Gorou smiled too, shaking his head with the kind of look dads give when they're both proud and confused. "Alright then. Finish your rice and I'll take you there after we're done."

I grinned and shoveled more food into my mouth, trying not to look like a wild animal. That didn't go well.

Behind his smile, I could tell Gorou was wondering what in the world brought this change on.

----------------------------

You know those moments when you walk into a place and instantly know: Yeah. I'm gonna get punched in the face here?

That was me, standing at the threshold of the Iron Defense Style Karate Dojo, feeling very small and very un-punched… for now.

It was only a thirty-minute jog from our place—ten if you let your dad drive and ignore speed limits—and it looked surprisingly normal from the outside. Like a regular building, no flaming dragons or spooky mist or ancient scrolls about forbidden techniques.

But inside?

Inside was another story.

The ka-POW! of fists slamming into pads, the rhythmic HUP! of disciplined breathing, the sound of people suffering through sit-ups in complete unison… It was oddly comforting. Like home.

The air was full of sweat and spirit. And pain. Don't forget pain.

Dad—I mean, Issei's dad, Gorou—walked beside me, arms folded as he took in the scene. He looked impressed, though he tried to hide it behind that classic "concerned parent" look.

Students were doing push-ups with their feet on each other's backs. A pair of burly dudes were sparring like they had a grudge dating back to preschool. One girl was repeating a front kick so fast I thought her leg was a blur.

And then there was him.

Gonzui Kumatori.
Master of Iron Defense Style Karate.
Wielder of Kabuki Face Paint and Fear.

He was over two meters tall (translation: tall enough to dunk me into the Earth's core), and so wide I wondered how doorways survived him. His hair was an explosion of gel and madness, like a samurai and a rock star had a very loud baby. And the face paint—kabuki-style with thick lines—made him look like he was always mid-battle cry.

I did not want to fight this man.
I also really, really wanted to fight this man.

Before I could ask if I was dreaming, the very mountain of a person thundered his way toward us. His smile was bright, which was impressive considering how many people probably peed themselves just looking at him.

"Hahaha! You got some spirit, boy! Of course you can start now!" Gonzui boomed, his voice somewhere between a lion's roar and a festival announcer.

Gorou blinked. "Well, that's settled then."

"Can I start now?" I asked again, not because I was being pushy (okay, maybe a little), but because I was staring at the sparring session like a hungry fox at a ramen buffet.

Gorou gave me a wary glance. "Issei, take care. I'll handle the paperwork. You walk home later, got it?"

"Thanks, Father!" I said with my best "I am totally your responsible son" voice, and gave a polite bow.

Inside, I was like YESSSSS, TRAINING ARC START! 🎉

He nodded once and headed out, leaving me alone in the lair of kabuki martial madness.

Gonzui clapped his huge hands together, the sound echoing like thunderclaps across the dojo.

"Well then, Issei, time to see what your guts are made of! This isn't just about looking cool and throwing punches—this is Iron Defense Style! You'll bleed, you'll sweat, you'll cry for your mother—"

I saluted like I'd seen in cartoons. "I've done all that before breakfast!"

He paused.

Then he laughed like I'd just told the best joke ever.

"Oh, I like you, brat! Let's begin!"

And so I entered the dojo.

Armed with courage.
Fueled by fruit juice.

"Will I learn from you?" I asked, locking eyes with Gonzui-sensei, channeling the purest energy I could muster: Respectfully intense teen who refuses to be intimidated by a wall of muscle and face paint.

For a second, I thought he'd laugh.

But instead, he tilted his head like a curious lion and gave me a once-over. His eyes weren't just seeing me—they were measuring me. Like he was peeling away layers of ego, experience, and childhood trauma just to find out what kind of soul was underneath.

"You've been in plenty of street fights," Gonzui said at last, voice low, gravelly, but not unkind. "But don't let that trick you into thinking you've learned the art of war."

I didn't flinch. I didn't puff my chest out either. Instead, I just nodded once and said, "Yes."

That earned a grin. One of those terrifying but satisfied grins. You know, the kind where you can't tell if someone wants to train you or eat you.

"Good. Forget your pride. Be humble. That's how you grow." He turned to his assistant, a lean man with a clipboard and the eternal deadpan face of someone who has seen too many people vomit during leg day. "Get him dressed."

"Follow me," said Deadpan-senpai, and I trailed after him into the changing room.

The gi was deep blue, fresh and stiff like it hadn't been used for anything more intense than light stretching. The white belt felt strange around my waist—kind of like a lie.

Not because I thought I deserved more.

But because I'd worn titles like Genin, Jinchūriki, Hokage's son... and now I was back to square one.

And weirdly, it felt good.

I stepped into the training hall with my new uniform, looking like a discount action figure version of myself. But I didn't care. Today was about starting from scratch.

Unfortunately, that meant being lumped in with literal toddlers.

"Feet shoulder-width apart!"
"Keep your hands up!"
"Don't look at the mirror—look straight!"

We practiced stances.
Then punches.
Then blocking.
Then stances again.
Then more blocking.
And then walking while punching—which sounds cooler than it is.

It was the same techniques I'd learned in the Academy as a kid, the same routines I'd repeated during training with Kakashi and Jiraiya.

But this time, I wasn't trying to win a fight.
I wasn't trying to show off.
I wasn't even trying to be faster.

I was just… learning.

Quietly. Focused. No yelling. No complaining. Just breathing and movement.

It was boring.
It was repetitive.
It was perfect.

The other kids were huffing and sweating, their tiny legs wobbling from all the squats and stances. I stayed with them, did everything at the same pace, followed the teacher's corrections without a single backtalk.

Three hours passed like molasses.

By the end, my arms were numb, my shirt clung to me like regret, and my knees wanted to secede from the rest of my body. The dojo didn't have a shower, so I just pulled on my hoodie over the sweaty gi and began the walk home.

The sun was lower in the sky, casting long shadows along the sidewalk. The street was quiet, peaceful, almost meditative. I smelled like overcooked effort and teenage pride, but I walked like I owned the road.

Not because I was strong.

But because I knew I was getting stronger.

----------------------

So there I was, sweaty and sore from my first day at Iron Defense Dojo, trudging home like a noble warrior (with mildly aching everything), when I decided to take a different route.

Bad idea? Definitely.
But also… kind of a great one.

The street I ended up on was way more crowded. There were food stalls, music playing from some old radio, and a group of old ladies gossiping like they were the final bosses of a local RPG. I passed noodle shops, some convenience stores, and an alley that probably led to a horror movie.

After a couple of wrong turns, a dead end, and—no joke—a very territorial cat, I ended up stumbling into that scene.

You know the one.
The classic "cool dudes with terrible fashion sense beating up a nerd" scenario.

Three teens. One victim.
One of the bullies had a mohawk that looked like it lost a fight with a weed whacker. Another had hair so curly it looked like he was trying to cosplay broccoli. And the third one? Big. Just… big. Like if a wardrobe grew arms and got into karate via YouTube tutorials.

The kid getting beat up had glasses, a bloody nose, and the expression of someone who seriously regretted choosing this street over literally any other.

Now, I'm not gonna say I'm a superhero.
But I am a shinobi.
And we don't just walk away from injustice… unless it's, like, really late and ramen is waiting. But this wasn't one of those days.

I jogged forward casually, like I wasn't about to drop-kick somebody's future.

Then I launched myself forward and—

THWACK!

Right boot to the Big Guy's butt.
Sent him crashing into a wall like a flying sofa.

The curly-haired one turned around just in time to meet my fist with his cheek.
Not gonna lie—it made a solid crunch noise.

"Get out of here!" I yelled, grabbing the bullied kid by the wrist and dragging him out of the danger zone like some kind of accidental action movie protagonist.

He didn't argue. Just ran like his life depended on it. (Smart move.)

Then, naturally, Big Guy decided to get back up and show me his "skills."

He came in with a straight punch that screamed, "I watched Karate Kid once and now I think I'm Daniel LaRusso."

I stepped to the side, batted his arm away, and gave him a good ol' chakra-free right hook to the nose.

"Gah, fuck. Who the fuck are you?!" he gasped, blood leaking like a bad faucet.

I didn't answer. (Because cool guys don't explain themselves mid-fight.)

Instead, I dodged the curly guy's wild swing, ducked low, and slammed my elbow into his stomach. He folded like origami.

Before he could recover, I spun behind him and locked him in a chokehold.
(Thank you, Iruka-sensei, for the lesson on surprise grapples. Who knew I'd use it here?)

"You guys seriously need better hobbies," I muttered. "Try knitting. Or birdwatching. Something that doesn't involve being massive tools."

Then I shoved Curly into Big Guy, gave him a kick for good measure, and dusted my hands off like it was chore day at the Uzumaki household.

That should have been the end of it.

But no.

"You shouldn't have messed with us!" Big Karate Wannabe shouted like a cartoon villain trying way too hard. "We're part of the Shadow Gang!"

…

Yup.

He actually said Shadow Gang.

I turned slowly, trying to keep a straight face. I really did.

"Cool name," I said, smiling like I wasn't judging every fiber of their existence. "Call them. I'll beat them up too."

Then I walked away before I could burst out laughing.
Because Shadow Gang? Really?

Somewhere behind me, the goons were groaning and spitting out bits of ego.

But I didn't care.
I had a destination. A goal. A path.
Also, I smelled like sweat and pride, and that combo wasn't gonna fix itself.

What I didn't realize was that someone else had been watching.

Not the noodle vendor.
Not the cat.

 

Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Of Sages, Stamina, and Failed Bathroom Escapes
Starring: Issei Hyoudou, accidental ninja-in-training and professional slacker.

Let me tell you something real quick: when you end up as the temporary vessel for a shinobi demigod named Naruto Uzumaki, things get weird. Like, chakra-and-dream-sharing-and-also-training-until-you-puke weird.

But, lucky me, I had Jiraiya. The one and only Pervy Sage. A man with white spiky hair, god-tier writing skills, and a gaze so serious it made me sit straighter just looking at him—unless he spotted a hot girl, in which case he was off like a heat-seeking missile.

We were sitting in a clearing somewhere in this shinobi forest that smelled like fresh dew, grilled fish, and the ever-present scent of sweat. Jiraiya was cooking. Like, actual food. With a fire. On a log. He looked like a camping dad if your camping dad was a legendary ninja.

"Calm down, kid, and talk slowly about your meeting with the Sage and Naruto," Jiraiya said, turning the fish with all the calmness of a man who'd fought giant monsters and lived to grill about it.

I sat down across from him, trying really hard not to act like a starstruck fanboy.

Because, let's be real: Jiraiya was the guy. The myth. The man who wrote Make-Out Paradise. And Make-Out Violence. And probably Make-Out Volume 38: The Kissing Strikes Back. Total inspiration.

"I met Naruto in the dream world," I said, poking at the dirt. "We talked. He looked… strong. And focused. Said he was training and waiting for you to bring him back."

Jiraiya froze. Not like literally froze, but you could feel the moment hit him in the heart. The kind of hit that didn't come from a kunai, but something deeper. He looked down at the fish and didn't say anything for a moment.

Oof. Emotional damage.
I wanted to hug him.
But I also liked having all my ribs in place.

'I'll definitely bring him back,' he must've been thinking.
Classic grandpa energy. Powerful stuff.

"But," I added, "there was something unusual. He met someone. A girl. She used… magic."

Jiraiya's head turned so fast I thought I heard a crack.

"Magic?" he repeated.

"Yeah. She healed him. That's all. I think." I scratched my cheek, feeling awkward. "But… y'know, magic's like chakra's weird cousin, right? It's kinda the same thing in fantasy books and stuff."

At that moment, Kakashi Hatake walked into the clearing, looking like he just strolled off the cover of Masked & Brooding Monthly, with Gai behind him looking like someone had injected caffeine directly into his soul.

"Anything else?" Kakashi asked, like he hadn't just walked in casually hearing my life story.

"Yeah," I said. "Naruto's been training like a maniac. Morning, afternoon, and evening. I'm kind of offended. I didn't know my body could do that. Like—was that stamina always in there?!"

Gai's eyes gleamed. "Do you think he retains a percentage of Issei's stamina?"

Kakashi folded his arms thoughtfully. "Maybe their souls are still connected somehow."

"Oh!" I sat up, realizing something important. "I was in my body in the dream world! So whatever you teach me here, I can pass it to him. Directly. Like a download. Like psychic USB."

That got everyone's attention.
You could practically see the storm clouds of overtraining form behind Jiraiya's head.

"No need to think too much," Jiraiya said, flashing a devilish grin. "Let's just train Issei down to the bone and make this body strong. If Naruto's getting the benefits, then it's win-win."

I laughed nervously.

But inside?

Panic.exe had stopped responding.

As Jiraiya passed the grilled fish around like a generous warlord, I stood up and tried to slither away like the sneaky genius I was.

"Where are you going?" Kakashi asked, one eye glinting.

"Uh… washroom. Nature calls. Urgently. You know how it is."

He nodded. "Be back before breakfast gets cold."

"Totally."

I walked slowly, casually, like I wasn't plotting the world's greatest escape.
Then—zoom. I bolted like a ninja squirrel who'd seen the leaf blower of destiny.

Freedom!
Escape!
Survival!

…

Except.

I was caught in under fifteen seconds.
Apparently, Kakashi had summoned dogs. Again.

Note to self: when trying to escape super ninja teachers, maybe don't try it in the forest they literally trained in their whole lives.

---------------------

Okay, so let me paint you a picture.

Imagine a guy—let's say, hypothetically, me—strapped with enough weighted gear to sink a small ship. I'm talking lead weights on my arms, legs, chest, back, and probably even my self-esteem. Now, add a hyperactive green jumpsuit ninja named Might Gai screaming about the Power of Youth while I try not to pass out during squat number five hundred and twelve.

That's where we were. That was my life now.

No food. No breaks. No mercy.

Just pain. And the distant smell of grilled fish I wasn't allowed to touch.

"Bend the knees, tighten the core, shout your inner spirit!" Gai yelled, eyes sparkling like he just inhaled pure motivation.

Meanwhile, across the training field, Kakashi was chilling under a tree, reading his ever-present Make-Out Paradise while a clone of me was doing hand signs under his lazy supervision.

"Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu!" my clone shouted.

"Too slow. Again."

Back on the other side, Jiraiya had another clone of me reading shinobi textbooks while dramatically pacing around him.

"Chapter three: Stealth Tactics and Trap Detection. Now remember, a shinobi who forgets his basics is a dead one."

Meanwhile, real me was struggling not to die doing pushups with Gai sitting on my back like this was a totally normal Tuesday.

But there was one thing—one dream—keeping me going through all of this.

'This is all for the harem,' I reminded myself, tears mixing with sweat.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up (barely) to see Jiraiya crouching beside me, wearing a grin so unholy it should've come with a disclaimer.

"Issei," he whispered, like a devil promising forbidden power, "work hard, and girls of all kinds will want you."

My ears perked up.
My chakra flared.
My hormones activated.

"It's the norm here," he continued, like he was narrating the Gospel of Groping. "The strong get the girls. Look at Kakashi—he's gotta hide half the time just to keep the ladies from jumping him. And me? I don't chase women. I attract them. So show them what you've got and make me a proud master."

It was evil.

It was shameless.

It was… beautiful.

I felt a sudden surge of life.

"For the harem," I whispered with reverence.

Louder now. "FOR THE HAREM!"

Then, standing tall like a man reborn—weights be damned—I shouted my ultimate battle cry:

"FOR THE BOOBS! MAY THEY BE BIG AND PLENTY!"

A bird flew away in fear.
A squirrel fell out of a tree.
Even Kakashi raised an eyebrow. Just one, though.

Gai… poor Gai.
He looked like he'd just been emotionally punched in the soul.

He froze mid-squat, eyes wide and sparkling—not with youth, but sheer mortification.

"I-Issei-kun," he stammered, "Training should be about inner growth, about forging your will!"

"Yes, Gai-sensei!" I beamed, completely missing the point. "My will is forged from love! I shall become a man worthy of adoration! A man worthy of a thousand curves!"

Jiraiya wiped a tear of pride from his eye. "He's learning."

Kakashi didn't even look up. "He's broken."

And so, the sun set on another insane day of training. I was bruised, battered, and starving. But I had a dream.

And in this shinobi world, dreams were powerful. Even if they involved hot tubs, busty kunoichi, and a book deal.

Because if Naruto could become Hokage…

Then Issei Hyoudou could become the Harem King.

Believe it.

----------------------

Ddraig, the mighty Welsh dragon of old, destroyer of realms, scourge of the ancient heavens, and general mood-killer at parties, was having a bit of a crisis.

You see, he'd spent the last several centuries either sealed in sacred gears, yelling at Albion across dimensions, or—most recently—lounging around in the soul of a slightly perverted teenager named Issei Hyoudou.

It wasn't the most dignified gig for a dragon with a reputation like his, but hey, eternal life has its compromises.

At least Issei, for all his awkward flailing and boob-motivated monologues, was entertaining in a watching-a-cat-stuck-in-a-tissue-box kind of way.

But then something weird happened.

And by weird, we mean world-shaking-soul-swapping-what-the-actual-fireball weird.

At first, Ddraig didn't notice anything too off. Issei was still being loud. Still imagining situations that would get most shinobi smacked with a frying pan. Still talking to himself while running laps with ankle weights like a budget Goku.

But the soul... that was different.

It was brighter.

Stronger.

Also, it didn't scream "teenage perv with delusions of haremhood."

It screamed "traumatized shinobi with abandonment issues and enough chakra to microwave a small continent."

That, as it turned out, was a major red flag.

So Ddraig did what any self-respecting ancient spirit would do: he sat very still, narrowed his big imaginary dragon eyes, and started asking questions no one would answer.

'Okay. Roll call time,' Ddraig thought, his rumbling voice echoing through the spiritual landscape like thunder in a cave.
'One: I'm still in the Sacred Gear. Check.
Two: This is definitely Issei's body. Sort of check.
Three: This is not Issei's soul. Massive red X.'

What finally confirmed it was when the new soul-in-residence did thirty pushups, practiced martial arts—all without once mentioning breasts.

"Blasphemy," Ddraig muttered, scandalized.

This soul was efficient. Disciplined. Dare he say… competent.

That's when it hit him: this wasn't Issei at all.

This was someone else.

Someone far more experienced in combat. Someone more determined. Someone who actually knew what they were doing.

'But if this soul is in Issei's body... where is my human?'

More importantly, why hadn't he noticed the switch? He was an ancient dragon of destruction, not a background NPC!

'How did this happen? Who pulled this off? And why didn't I sense anything?'

The worst part was, he couldn't even leave. Sacred Gear contracts were binding. As in: till death do us part.

Which meant no matter who was in charge of this meat suit, Ddraig was along for the ride. Unless the body kicked the bucket—which, knowing Naruto, was unlikely, unless he walked into an S-rank fight on an empty stomach.

Chapter 11: Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Kicks, Belts, and Ball-Endangering Stretches
(In which Naruto discovers flexibility, yellow belts, and the dangers of overcommitting to a split)

 

Let me just start by saying:
When you're a teenage ninja with a giant chakra fox living in your gut, you sort of learn to ignore weird things. Mysterious growls in the middle of the night? Probably Kurama. Sudden desire to eat ten bowls of ramen in under two minutes? Definitely Kurama.

But this?

This was new.

I was halfway through landing a Hadouken—yes, that Hadouken, don't judge me—and suddenly I heard this voice in my head.

But it wasn't the usual "I will destroy you, Naruto," angry-fox-growl vibe I was used to. This one was smoother. Deeper. Kind of regal, actually. Like a villain right before he blows up the castle.

"I will watch for now and see where this goes. I hope you don't disappoint."

...

Now, most people might freak out at this point. Start throwing purification talismans or run to a priest or whatever.

Me?

I shrugged and kept practicing Chun-Li's Spinning Bird Kick. Priorities, people.

'Nah, that can't be,' I thought, waving off the mental whisper like it was just a mosquito with an ego.

I mean, come on. I already had a talking fox in my belly. What were the odds that another chakra beast or creepy spirit moved in while I wasn't looking? My soul wasn't some open-door policy hotel!

Right?

...

Okay, maybe it was.

Anyway, I got back to business, which currently involved kicking imaginary butt as I tried to copy combos from Street Fighter and King of Fighters. Who says ninjas can't learn from video games?

(Secret: most of my taijutsu inspiration totally came from these games. That and some late-night wrestling shows Kakashi pretends he doesn't watch.)

I was currently copying Ryu's jumping kick into a spinning uppercut and chaining it into a ground sweep like I was born in an arcade.

Right behind me, Kenichi—our group's resident totally normal martial artist guy who somehow ended up in anime ninja land—was watching with the kind of eyes you usually only see on people meeting their idol. Or staring at a puppy that just did backflips.

"Issei, you are so cool!" he said, practically glowing. "How long have you trained?!"

Oh right. I was still pretending to be Issei. Long story short: soul swap, sacred gear, boobs were involved, moving on.

I gave him the ol' confident ninja grin—trademark Uzumaki smirk number 3—and did one final flip to land dramatically.

"This? This is just the easy stuff," I said, brushing imaginary dust off my shoulder like I hadn't just nearly sprained my hip doing Chun-Li's move. "Wait till I get stronger. Then I'll show you the awesome stuff."

He gasped. Like I'd just promised him a sneak peek into the Hokage's secret jutsu library.

Normally, people don't get impressed by my fighting skills. Back in the academy, I was usually the guy dodging punches, not throwing them. Most of the other kids had actual teachers, parents, or cool bloodlines that made them natural fighters.

Me? I had prank skills and a fox roommate who snored too loud.

So yeah, having someone look at me like I was some kind of martial arts superhero?

It felt awesome.

-----------------------

Let it be known: I, Naruto Uzumaki (currently soul-swapped with Issei the pervy dragon host), had found a new obsession.

No, not ramen. Or giant jutsu. Or even boobs, though Issei's body had, uh, instincts about that last one.

This time?

Grappling.

Yes, grappling. Like in judo, wrestling, or those old martial arts movies where the guy in a bathrobe flips five guys without ever standing up.

"Let's try something new," I said, plopping onto the bed like a wise sage about to bestow ancient secrets. "Like grappling moves. You don't like hurting people, do you?"

Kenichi blinked at me, phone still in hand, mid-search. "Huh?"

It wasn't the smoothest pitch, but I was improvising here. Honestly, I was surprised at how fast Issei's body was growing stronger. Not just in that dragon power boost kind of way, but real, grounded strength—like he'd been doing one-arm push-ups since birth.

'Didn't think this body would get that strong so fast,' I mused, flexing a bit. Yeah. Not bad.

Issei must've been a late bloomer—or maybe my soul was rubbing off on the muscles. Either way, I'd take it.

I'd been flipping through a Judo manual earlier (thank you, shadow clones and public libraries), and it hit me: grappling was awesome. No flashy explosions, no collateral damage, no Rasengan to the face. Just technique, leverage, and throwing people like sacks of rice.

Very ninja. Very cool.

'If I'd known more martial arts back then, I probably wouldn't have had to Rasengan every problem into a crater,' I thought, scratching the back of my head.
'Might've saved some buildings… and villagers' fences… and at least three ramen carts.'

In hindsight, I probably should've asked Kakashi-sensei for more jutsu meant to capture enemies, not just vaporize them. But hindsight is 20/20, and I was more of a "wing it and yell loudly" type back then.

Just then, Kenichi perked up. "Issei, I got a video showing some cool grappling moves!" he said, practically bouncing.

I smiled, genuinely grateful. "Kenichi, how about you try learning with me?"

He paused. "Eh… I don't like getting hurt, so I'm okay just watching."

I gave him a knowing look. "Your choice. But I'll tell you this—you're missing out. It feels real good knowing you have the power."

And I meant it.

There's something special about that moment when your muscles move just right and someone twice your size is suddenly flying through the air. Not out of anger. Just control. Confidence.

And power used right.

I sat beside Kenichi, watching the video with him. Some old judo tournament stuff. Flips, locks, holds—the works.

Kenichi snuck a glance at me and chuckled. "You're weird, Issei. It's like you're from some ancient era or fantasy where everything's decided by physical strength."

I grinned. "Maybe I am."

Because, well… he wasn't wrong.

----------------------

Four days.

That's how long it had been since Naruto Uzumaki—ninja extraordinaire, ramen aficionado, and now part-time high schooler named Issei—crash-landed into this weird, boob-filled dimension.

And somehow, in four days, he'd become a leaner, meaner, and sore-all-over version of himself.

He stretched his leg up high, balanced perfectly on one foot. "Okay," he muttered. "Let's go for the split again."

He lowered.

He lowered some more.

Then—

"ACK! Nope, nope—NOPE!" Naruto yelped, nearly falling face-first as he grabbed his groin protectively. "Still not happening. Sorry, future flexibility. Not today."

Progress was great and all, but not at the cost of the family jewels.

Despite near-split mishaps, his training was intense. He had built a schedule tighter than Kakashi's wallet and followed it like it was his ninja code.

Wake up.
Stretch until his limbs cried.
Eat like a starving lion.
Train until his sweat had sweat.
Eat again.
Punch trees, punch the air, punch Kenichi's practice dummy.
Sleep like a rock (but with dreams of becoming the fastest person alive).

It wasn't exactly glamorous, but it worked. Issei's body, once a little soft around the edges, was already sharper and tighter. Muscles were showing. Speed was increasing. He still wasn't Guy-sensei fast (because who is?), but he was definitely faster than your average pervy teen.

And he could now throw a high kick without toppling over like a baby giraffe.

Progress!

At the dojo, Naruto was making waves.

He'd earned his yellow belt in three days flat. THREE.

Even Kenichi—sweet, nervous Kenichi—had gasped loud enough to make a passing grandma drop her groceries.

The master, Gonzui, had started side-eying him more like a hawk than a teacher. Testing his patience. Giving him the same move over and over until most students would've collapsed from sheer boredom.

But Naruto wasn't "most students."

He'd shadow-cloned through a thousand D-rank missions. He could scrub walls, chase cats, and mow lawns until the sun exploded. Repeating a move ten thousand times?

Child's play.

At the park, he'd been seen throwing punches into the air while muttering, "Dempsey roll… weave, slip, counter…" like a Hajime no Ippo fanboy. His kicks were inspired by Chun-Li and Cammy, and his footwork was starting to look like a real mix of ninja bounce and street brawler shuffle.

"Speed is everything," Naruto reminded himself, sweat glistening as he shadowboxed.
"Lee taught me that. Kakashi proved it. And Sasuke... well, Sasuke made me feel like a slow turtle with a hangover."

He wasn't going to be just strong.

He was going to be fast and strong—like his dad, the Yellow Flash.
No, faster.

He wanted to blink and have his enemies already defeated. Leave them confused and unconscious like, "Wait, was that a delivery boy or the reaper?"

Even Kenichi wasn't safe from Naruto's energy.

"Come on, you don't need to fight. But you do need to be able to carry your groceries without wheezing," Naruto had told him, pushing a pair of dumbbells into his hands.

Kenichi groaned but complied. "Fine, but if I get buff, I'm still not joining any tournaments."

"Deal," Naruto grinned. "But at least you'll have abs in your school ID photo."

And so, on the fourth night, Naruto sat on his bed, sore but satisfied. Kenichi was beside him, already snoring softly after doing ten whole pushups (which was apparently a record).

"I'm getting stronger," Naruto thought. "And faster. And maybe even... wiser?"

He paused.

Then tried the split again.

"AAAAA—NOPE."

Chapter 12: Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Of Trash Cans, Flying Knees, and Tactical Nut Punches
(Or, "Just Another Day in the Life of a Totally Normal High Schooler... with a Dragon in His Soul")

Okay, so here's a rule of thumb I live by: If ten dudes with spiked brass knuckles corner you in an alley, you do not stick around to ask questions.

Unless you're me, Naruto Uzumaki.

...Which, actually, I guess is the opposite of what I did.

I was on my way back from the dojo, tired, sore, and carrying a bag of steamed buns I'd been fantasizing about for three hours. I was already halfway into a dream where the buns were doing a victory dance in my mouth—when I heard it:

"It took us a long time, but finally, we have you."

Now, I don't know about you, but that's not the kind of thing you want to hear in a dark alley.

I turned around and blinked.

There were ten of them. Maybe eleven. Honestly, I was too busy counting brass knuckles and piercings to focus. One guy had blue hair that looked like he lost a bet with a hair dye demon. And the leader? He had the aura of someone who watched too many gangster movies and thought "yup, that's me."

"I think you've got the wrong guy," I said carefully, eyes scanning the alley. Trash cans? Check. Narrow walls? Check. A steel staircase that could double as a launch pad? Double check.

"Shadow Gang!" Blue Hair roared like he was in an anime opening. "Punish the bastard for the disrespect!"

The others roared back. I think one guy even cracked his neck for dramatic effect.

Great. I was too tired to deal with cosplay thugs today.

So I did the logical thing.

I kicked over the trash cans and ran.

"BASTARD! Where did you drop your BALLS?" someone shouted.

I laughed. Loudly.

Because tactical retreat wasn't cowardice. It was strategy. And more importantly, I didn't want to crush any bones accidentally. Humans here broke like glass dolls if you so much as sneezed too hard in their direction.

But I was also Naruto Uzumaki.

And if you chase me long enough, I will turn around.

I juked left, faked right, and pulled a full U-turn mid-sprint.

"Surprise, punk," I muttered and hit the lead guy with a double-palm strike right in the chest.

My foot planted like a tree trunk. My palms slapped like thunder.

The poor dude flew backward like Team Rocket getting launched out of Konoha, crashing into his buddy like a stack of bad decisions.

"Whoa, two for one," I said, blinking.

I didn't wait.

As the second guy stumbled, I planted my foot and spun into a rising roundhouse—right into his jaw. His feet left the ground like he was auditioning for the Rockettes.

The third guy lunged, and I welcomed him with a flying knee to the face.

We crashed to the ground, and I rolled on top, only for another dude to kick at me.

Missed by an inch.

His reward?

The Ancient and Sacred Nut Punch of Konoha.

He screamed.

I grabbed his hair mid-scream and swung him backward, adding a boot to the spine for good measure. He flopped like a fish and didn't get back up.

Four down. Six to go.

They circled me now. Classic formation. Small opening left in the back—an obvious bait trap.

"Okay," I muttered, cracking my knuckles. "You guys want the buns? Come take them."

Spoiler alert: they didn't want the buns.

They wanted pain.

Unfortunately for them, they got both.

--------------------

 

You know that feeling when you win a fight and your body's still buzzing, your blood's pumping, and your brain thinks you've turned into some sort of martial arts demigod?

Yeah. That's what we call Victory Drunk.

It's not real alcohol, but it hits you just as hard. And trust me—the hangover sucks.

So there I was, surrounded by the remnants of the oh-so-edgy Shadow Gang, feeling like I just unlocked Super Saiyan mode. They circled me, but none of them stepped forward.

I smirked.

Big mistake.

"Screw this," I said out loud and took a bold step forward, fists raised.

One of them panicked and lashed out with a straight kick—good instincts, bad aim. I caught his leg and yoinked him forward, sending him crashing into two of his teammates like an awkward game of human bowling pins.

"Strike!" I grinned—right before I turned just in time to see a punch coming from my left.

I parried it (thanks, Master Gonzui), and returned the favor with a left jab to his jaw. The guy staggered. I followed up with a kick to his gut and used the momentum to bounce myself backward, not to retreat, but to avoid the guy creeping up behind me.

Smart move.

Mostly.

Except the guy I collided with had spiked brass knuckles on his back. Who does that?! Who makes armor for muggers!?

Pain exploded through my spine. I bit down hard, swallowing the scream as blood ran down my shirt. My vision flared red. The taste of iron hit my tongue.

"That's it," I muttered through clenched teeth. "You wanna play rough?"

I let the anger boil. I could feel my strength slipping past the leash I kept on it—like trying to hold back a wild beast with a ribbon.

I let one punch fly.

Right cheek. Full strength.

The guy's body twisted midair before he crashed into a pile of crates. Probably lost a few teeth on the way.

But no time to admire my handiwork. Another one got cocky and kicked me in the chest.

Bad move.

I grabbed his leg mid-kick and twisted.

He howled like a banshee.

"Freakin' scum," I hissed as the blood continued to trickle down my back. "Don't test my limits."

At that moment, only one guy was still standing—the leader.

Mr. Blue Hair. Mr. I-Watched-Tokyo-Gangs-once-and-decided-to-start-one.

He'd been hanging back the whole time, watching me like I was a bug under a magnifying glass.

He finally moved.

And pulled out a gun.

I blinked. "Wait—hold up, is that a—"

POP! POP! POP!

Rubber bullets slammed into my arms and chest. Each one felt like a slap from an angry gorilla.

"OW! OW! WHAT THE HELL—" I shouted, throwing up my arms and staggering back. "This is cheating!"

No more thinking. I lowered my head and charged.

I ran straight at him, arms raised to block my face, the way I saw Lee do during his warm-ups. The rubber bullets kept hitting, but I pushed through the pain until—
WHAM!

I crashed into him and tackled him to the ground. I didn't waste a second. Got my arm around his neck, locked in a chokehold, and started squeezing like my life depended on it.

Because, uh... it kinda did.

Then I felt it.

ZAP!

A jolt of electricity shot through my side, like someone shoved a lightning bolt into my ribs.

"Oh COME ON!" I shouted, as my limbs went jelly.

The stun gun had slipped out of his pocket. The dude was slick and dirty—classic combo.

My grip faltered. But just as he thought he was getting the upper hand—

BAM!

I kneed him in the face so hard his nose made a sound like a wet pretzel.

While he reeled, I scrambled up, kicked the stun gun out of reach, and followed it up with a solid boot to the stomach for good measure.

He doubled over.

I didn't stop.

"Next time I need to be careful," I muttered, breathing hard, pain screaming in every inch of my body. "These guys... they might've actually killed me."

That thought hit harder than any of the punches had.

I gave him one last kick for the road.

Then I ran.

Not limped. Not walked.

Ran.

Straight toward the nearest busy street, where there were cameras, crowds, and definitely fewer spiked knuckle psychos.

I didn't feel bad.
Not for a single one of them.

----------------------

"You were good."

The voice came right as I limped out of the alley, still high on adrenaline and pain, trying not to think about the blood sticking to my back like hot glue.

I turned.

It was Shogo Kitsukawa—brown belt, prodigy of the dojo, always calm, always watching. The guy had the sort of presence that made you feel like he was reading your soul like an open book.

"Thanks," I said, trying to sound like I wasn't half-broken. "You going to give me a hand?"

"Heh, why not?" he said with a grin, sliding beside me and wrapping my arm over his shoulder. "But next time, let's fight. I want to see how good you really are."

"You're on," I said, even though one of my legs was barely working, thanks to those damned spikes.

Every step was a reminder of how close I came to losing a kidney to a human cactus.

As we walked slowly toward the main road, he gave me a sideways glance.

"Not going to take pictures and call the police?"

That made me pause. I hadn't even thought of it. My first instinct had been to win and leave—not to escalate.

"Uh…"

Shogo chuckled. "Good. If you'd called the cops, this whole thing would've spiraled. Guys like Loki? They don't play by rules, but they have rules. You break the street code, and you don't just get beat—you get buried."

I blinked. "...You make this sound like some sort of mafia soap opera."

"It kinda is," he shrugged. "You want to keep your pride and stay alive? Don't involve weaklings. And don't play unless you're ready for consequences."

I nodded slowly. This was more than just a fight. It was... a world. And I'd walked into it with fists flying.

"Who was that persistent bug?" I asked, thinking of the cheating bastard with the rubber bullets and stun gun.

"That's Loki," Shogo said, lips curling. "Leader of a small gang. Rich punk. Doesn't like fair fights—likes to win. That's it. Guy's got resources, eyes on the street, and no shame."

"Didn't I already mess him up?"

Shogo raised an eyebrow. "You hurt him. That's different from beating him. Nobody dies in these games—usually. It's not about murder. It's about control. Territory. Power." He smirked. "A man's romance."

I couldn't help but chuckle at that one. "Man's romance, huh?"

"Dangerous game," he added, "but it's beautiful if you can keep up."

I looked around the street—people going about their day, unaware of the chaos hidden just beneath the surface. The idea of underground turf wars, of unspoken rules and invisible borders... it lit something in me.

"I like it," I said. "So, who's the boss around here?"

"No one I know of," Shogo replied.

That answer settled weirdly in my stomach.

Good. That meant there was room.

"Okay," I grinned. "Can you grab me some bandages?"

Shogo nodded and jogged to a nearby corner store. Meanwhile, I ducked into a public washroom, cleaned up as best I could, gritting my teeth through every sting of the cold water. When he returned, I wrapped myself up like a half-mummified martial artist.

The two of us walked a little further together until the road split.

"Next week in the dojo," Shogo said with a calm smile before turning off.

I watched him walk away, the weight of the street game starting to settle on my shoulders. This wasn't over. In fact, it felt like something was just beginning.

And I'd just taken my first real step into a world that didn't need heroes—
Just people who could stand their ground and take a hit.

Chapter 13: Chapter 13

Chapter 13: How to Start a Gang and Lose at Othello
(From the Journal of Naruto Uzumaki, Future Local Gang Lord and Possible Othello Champion)

You know those days where everything seems fine—like birds are chirping, the sun is shining, and your friend hasn't accidentally told you about underground crime syndicates that could erase your existence like you're an embarrassing search history? Yeah. That was not today.

"Issei, you need to be careful about that. Don't you know how scary the Yakuza can be?" Kenichi said in his super-serious voice. The one he uses when he's about to drop terrifying facts like a horror podcast. "They're hidden in plain sight. They're in politics, real estate, media—probably your dentist too. They could make you disappear and turn your funeral into a sushi party."

I blinked. "...Okay, first, that's not helping my anxiety. Second, you have way too much information on this."

Turns out, Kenichi's room was basically a conspiracy theorist's paradise. Books, files, probably a hidden drawer of tinfoil hats. I'd asked one innocent question about gangs and now I knew five different ways to make someone vanish—none of which I ever wanted to test. Ever.

He was even ordering more books. Because I showed interest. What kind of nerdy madness had I unleashed?

I tried to listen—really, I did—but halfway through a tragic story about a ramen shop guy who got on the wrong side of the mob (which, honestly, sounded suspiciously like a movie plot), my brain checked out and started spiraling.

I wasn't scared for myself. I mean, if I had my old body—chakra-filled, frog-summoning self—this would've been a Tuesday. But now I was stuck in a teenage body that came with aches, homework, and a depressing limit to how high I could jump.

And most of all, I was scared for them.

Kenichi. Honoka. The dojo folks. This weird little slice of life I'd found in this world.

I couldn't let anything happen to them.

That's when my eyes drifted to the poster on Kenichi's wall. Right between Shaolin Training for Kids and How to Build Confidence Without Getting Punched was a poster of Hitman Reborn.

A mafia anime.

Something clicked. Something... beautifully stupid.

"I can make my own gang," I whispered like some Disney villain just realizing he had a magic lamp. "And conquer this area. If I rule it, nothing can hurt them."

Yes. That was it. I'd be a boss. I'd protect them the only way I knew how.

With overwhelming force, charisma, and possibly matching jackets.

"Issei, what are you thinking?" Kenichi asked with the wary tone of someone who had seen me think before and regretted it deeply.

I turned to him with what I assumed was a calm, thoughtful smile but might have looked like the Joker auditioning for a rom-com.

"Nothing much. Just that we should get more friends, so we can have more fun and play more games."

Translation: Recruitment begins tomorrow. Bring snacks.

Before Kenichi could interrogate me further, his little sister Honoka burst into the room like a sugar-powered missile. "Big brother! Let's play!"

She hopped onto the bed with zero concern for personal space or impending gang wars. Honestly? She was adorable. Tiny, energetic, and already smarter than both of us combined.

She was like the little sister I never had. (No offense, Hanabi. You're great too. But Honoka doesn't punch my solar plexus when she loses.)

"Come, you demon," I said, striking my most heroic pose. "Today, I shall vanquish you in Othello!"

"Oh hero," she said with a dramatic gasp, "you shall know defeat once again!"

She dove onto the bed like a true warrior.

Kenichi sat at the edge of the chaos, smiling. "I'm next."

We played. We laughed. I lost, twice, and maybe pretended I let her win. (I didn't.)

And for a little while, I forgot about gangs, Yakuza, or dangerous decisions.

Just three people, a board game, and a whole lot of yelling about black and white discs.

Kenichi watched us like he was studying a strange new species. Maybe he was. After all, I wasn't normal. I was Naruto Uzumaki.

And I was going to protect this new life.

Even if I had to become the king of delinquents to do it.

--------------------

Some conversations start normal. Like, "Hey, what's for dinner?" or "Do you think sensei will notice if I skip training for a week?"

This was not one of those conversations.

We were perched on a tree branch—because apparently sitting on actual chairs is too mainstream for us. The breeze was cool, the view was solid, and nothing had exploded in the past ten minutes. A miracle, really.

That's when Issei, who was sitting beside me like a wise old squirrel, said:

"So you're telling me, I might be a Don when I come back home?"

I tilted my head. "Yeah?"

"Damn, bro, that's so lit! I never even thought of that! I'm gonna walk into my school like, 'Yo, bow before your boss!'" He jumped up like a kid who just found out his favorite anime was getting a sequel. "Now I can act like a boss!"

I had to laugh. The guy was basically vibrating with excitement. Like someone had plugged him into a chakra battery and then given him a double shot of espresso.

"Thanks," I said with a smile. "I'll try not to get in trouble while you're living your Don fantasy."

"No problem, bro! You gave me this amazing body—now I gotta aim for something big. I mean, how can I not?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Like what? You gonna open a ramen empire?"

"Pfft. Bigger." He crossed his arms, puffing out his chest. "I'll become the emperor of the continent before we switch back!"

I blinked. "You sure about that?"

"One hundred percent! With this body? Dude, the only limit is imagination. I can feel it—my training's already getting insane. Shadow clones, healing factor, ridiculous chakra reserves? I'm basically a cheat code wrapped in blond hair."

He was flexing now. Not in a "look at my muscles" way, more like "witness the glory of this cosmic gift" way. Honestly? He was kind of adorable when he got this hyped.

"Bro, you have no idea how much this body levels up. It's like, in the time it takes you to finish a bowl of ramen, I've already learned three new jutsus. One day's work feels like months if I use shadow clones right!"

I whistled. "Wow. That's actually impressive."

"Right? Like, I'm doing months' worth of training every day. I'll be able to punch mountains by the time I'm seventeen!"

He was practically glowing with self-confidence. Or chakra. Possibly both.

But I had to ground him a little.

"Calm down, Issei. Don't let it get to your head. There are people out there who'll actually kill you if you go showing off like some overpowered anime protagonist."

He shrugged. "I know, I know. I won't go full shonen. But this place… this little break from the madness? It's the first time I've felt really free."

And I got that. I really did.

Back in our world, things were always life-or-death. Wars, demons, world-ending threats. Here, things were simpler. There were no tailed beasts rampaging across villages. Just friends, games, weird conversations in trees, and dreams of mafia glory.

We sat in silence for a moment, the kind of comfortable silence where you don't need to fill the air with words.

Then Issei added with a grin:

"Also, I've decided our gang needs a name. Something cool. Something dangerous."

I gave him a sideways look. "Like... what? Shadow Storm? Ramen Raiders?"

"No, no! That's too food-themed. How about... The Nine Blades? Sounds edgy, right?"

I groaned. "Bro, if we go with that, people are gonna think we're cosplayers who got lost on the way to a convention."

"Okay, okay, work in progress. But I am getting jackets. That's non-negotiable."

I snorted. "Fine. But mine better have a fox logo."

------------------

Sometimes, you just want a peaceful afternoon. Sit on a tree, talk about dreams, maybe throw in a few anime references. But nope. That's not how Uzumaki Naruto and Issei "Let's Get Serious" Hyoudou operate.

It started with a single line. Harmless enough.

"Hmm… I guess so. Wanna fight?" I said, jumping back with a grin.

And just like that, the bromance turned into a battleground.

Issei cracked his knuckles and his neck with an exaggerated, villain-level growl.

"Bro, let me apologize in advance—but you will be tasting the dust once we're through!"

The dramatic energy was strong with this one.

I laughed. "Issei, I've been doing this kind of fighting since before you were stealing glances at Rias's thighs. A week of shadow clone training doesn't make you a taijutsu master."

He didn't reply. Just grinned like a madman and took a stance. I could respect that.

Since we were in the dream world—our personal training ground with no death, no rules, and a lot of yelling—holding back was pointless. The stats were equal. The pain was real. And the healing was instant. So why not break a few bones?

I dashed forward, low to the ground like a chakra-powered baseball slide. My move caught him off-guard—he was expecting something flashier, probably a Rasengan to the face. Instead, I slipped under his defenses, grabbed his leg mid-fall, and twisted.

"AGH—FUCK!" Issei bit his tongue and hit the ground like a sack of potatoes.

I didn't let up. I vaulted up the tree, launched off a higher branch, and came down like a thunder immortal with my knee pointed squarely at his back.

CANNON STRIKE!!

It sounded better in my head. Still, his spine made a crack that echoed through the woods. Issei groaned and flopped like a broken marionette.

"You okay down there?" I asked, already walking away.

No answer. I assumed that meant he was just catching his breath… or blacked out for a few seconds.

While he rebooted, I got to work. I summoned a single clone and held out my hand.

The Rasengan spun to life, but…

"Still need two clones to stabilize it," I muttered. "Tch. Not good enough."

I tossed the ball of chakra. It whomped into the ground and exploded like a chakra grenade. Satisfying? Sure.

"But not cool enough," I said, squinting at the smoke cloud. "I want to shoot it. Like—" I made finger guns. "Pew pew. Beam. Laser. Ki blast. Something flashy."

I focused, imagining a gun firing a bullet. Tried to push the chakra through my palm like it was a barrel. But my chakra—stupidly massive as it was—refused to play along. Instead of shooting, it puffed. Like a party balloon letting out air.

"Seriously?!" I growled. "Why is chakra like this?!"

And then… WHAM!

A punch slammed into my face and launched me into a bush like a ragdoll.

"Wha—?!"

I rolled to my feet and looked up. Issei was grinning. His arm… stretched. Like a certain rubbery pirate.

"HOW did you—?!"

"Beat me again and I'll tell you," he said smugly. Then—WHOMP—his arm extended again and I barely jumped back in time.

"Oh, you're gonna regret that."

"Don't care!" he shouted, arms swinging like helicopter blades. "Gomu Gomu Barrage!!"

I barely dodged as fists rained down like meteorites.

"STOP COPYING ANIME POWERS!" I yelled, hiding behind a tree.

"NEVER!!"

Chapter 14: Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Mount Me Not, You Perverted Gum-Gum Wannabe
—In which secrets are shared, faces are smashed, and farewells fly faster than fists

"Beat me again for the secret!" Issei grinned like a maniac, his body suddenly bulking up like a boss fight transformation scene from some overhyped anime. A massive fist came flying at me.

I didn't hesitate. I leapt onto his arm like it was a bridge in a Mario game. Plan A was to run up his arm, punch him in the jaw, shout something cool like "Believe it!", and then do a flip for style points.

But Issei—being Issei—cheated.

POOF!

One moment: hulk-sized gorilla man.
Next moment: back to regular-sized punch gremlin.

I took a chakra-charged jab straight to the gut. My world did a lovely little spinny-spin.

But I caught his arm mid-spin, twisted around, and slammed my elbow right into his nose with a satisfying CRACK.

"Well, I got you down again," I said, grabbing him in a headlock. "So… where's my prize, oh mighty loot box?"

Issei tapped out dramatically, wheezing. "Okay, okay, jeez. It's… basic transformation jutsu."

…
...
That's it?
Seriously?

"Wait, wait—you're telling me you just used Henge no Jutsu? The same one we used to prank teachers in the Academy?" I asked, baffled.

"YES!" he practically squealed. "Bro, I can't believe you guys haven't used this to its full potential! Do you know how amazing this skill is? I mean, forget turning into a sexy girl—you can turn into ANYTHING. Your own arm, a sword, a missile! With enough chakra control, the sky's the limit!"

I blinked. "You're not wrong… But seriously? That's your big secret?"

"Oh, and don't forget this—" POOF!

Suddenly, I wasn't holding him.

He had substituted with me. Now I was the one in the headlock, and Issei was laughing his butt off.

"Substitution Jutsu, baby! Ultimate escape move. Precision-based, focus-heavy, and totally underrated. I've trained more with this jutsu combo than you've probably ever done in your life. So…" he grinned. "How does it feel to be mounted?"

"Wha—no—HEY!" I started to protest, but too late.

He smashed my face into the dirt with all the grace of a falling refrigerator.

"ISSEI!!"

I planted my chakra-infused hands into the ground and pushed, launching us both into the air.

Gravity paused. Time slowed. And I spun into the nastiest crescent kick this side of the Hidden Leaf.

"GET OFF ME!"

My foot smacked into his ribs, and he went flying down the tree like a sack of flying regrets.

From there, it was chaos.
Punches, flips, midair kunai dodges, accidental Rasengan blasts, a surprise log or two from substitution, and even an awkward moment where Issei turned into a tree and I hugged him thinking it was real.

(We do not talk about Tree Hugging Incident #12.)

Eventually, we collapsed under a tree. Bruised. Bleeding. Breathless. And laughing like idiots.

Issei looked up at the sky and sighed. "So… this is it, huh?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "Time's ticking. You go back to your world. I go back to mine. But hey…" I grinned and reached out a fist. "We both got stronger."

He bumped it with a tired smile. "Thanks, bro. For everything. For this body. For the chance. And for not literally killing me just now."

"Pfft, that kick was barely at 50%."

We both laughed again. There was no sadness. No epic music. Just two bros, under a dream sky, being… well, us.

"Try not to mess things up too bad in my world," I joked.
"Only if you try not to be a loner idiot in mine."
"Deal."

We stood. The dream began to fade.

And as Issei turned away with a cocky grin and a wave, he called out—

"Next time we meet, I'm gonna be Emperor of the Continent!"

"Yeah, yeah. And I'll be Hokage with laser Rasengans!" I shouted back.

---------------------

There's something about waking up sore in someone else's body that just screams, "You made bad choices last night."

Maybe it was the ten thousand chakra-powered punches.
Maybe it was getting bodyslammed into a tree by a pervert with rubbery arms.
Maybe it was the fact that technically, my name right now is Issei Hyoudou, and my current hairstyle is so spiky it probably breaks fire codes.

Whatever the reason, I woke up sore, sweaty, and slightly confused about whose dream this was. And the first thing I heard—right before the dream world finally poofed away—was Issei saying,

"I asked God for a bike, but I know God doesn't work that way. So I stole a bike and asked for forgiveness."

He grinned like he'd just cracked the secrets of the universe. Then he disappeared in a flash of light like some kind of budget anime prophet.

Me? I just lay there thinking:

"Huh… That's either the dumbest thing I've ever heard—or the most genius."

It took my half-functioning, chakra-depleted brain about thirty seconds to decode the true wisdom behind Issei's words. Basically:

"Do whatever you want, and just ask for forgiveness later."

Issei-style morals. The same guy who invented the "Emergency Sexy Jutsu Diplomacy" method of getting out of punishment.
(Don't ask. It involves a clone, a bucket of glitter, and zero dignity.)

Still, the idea kind of stuck with me. I mean, if you think about it... nobody ever got to be Hokage by playing it safe. Maybe it was time I started being a little more dangerously Naruto.

I sat up with a groan that sounded like someone stepping on a toad. My back was screaming in seventeen different ways, and my arms felt like noodles that had been boiled, fried, and dropkicked.

"I will do my best today," I muttered, trying to sound motivated.
Instead, I just sounded like a motivational rock.

Then reality hit.
I was still in Issei's body.

Cue dramatic internal screaming.

Now don't get me wrong—Issei's body is, like, top-tier sturdy. Dude can tank a freight train and flirt with a devil at the same time. But I missed my own body. My chakra. My blonde hair. My froggy wallet. My face.

Why did we do this again?
Right. The bet.

We made a bet:
Whoever becomes a "Don" or "Emperor" first wins.
Loser becomes the other's slave for a month.
(No take-backs, no loopholes, and definitely no sexy jutsu cheating.)

So now I was trapped in his world, in his body, chasing my dream of becoming a Don.
(Which is basically a cool boss guy who wears expensive suits, has loyal followers, and maybe owns a private ramen yacht or something.)

But after yesterday's battle, training, and general idiocy, my body needed a break.

I rolled out of bed (fell, really), pulled on some clothes, and decided:

"Let's just jog. No death matches today. Just… breathing, stretching, and surviving this bizarre life choice."

It was 6:00 a.m. The sky was still yawning. Most people were still asleep or dreaming about cookies or taxes or whatever normal people dream about. Me? I was jogging down the sidewalk of a world I didn't belong in, wearing someone else's skin, chasing a goal I wasn't entirely sure how to define.

But I ran anyway.

The air was cool. The city was quiet. And even though I felt like an overcooked rice ball, I smiled.

"Do your best, huh?"

Yeah. I could do that.

-------------------

While Naruto was tying the laces of his running shoes and planning a relaxing day of light stretches, chakra control, and possibly a few bites of toast with too much jam, someone else was not exactly thinking about yoga.

That someone was Loki—self-declared genius, part-time schemer, and full-time sore loser.

Loki was not pleased. Not one bit.
Naruto had slipped through his fingers the last time—narrowly, infuriatingly. He'd almost caught the menace. Almost.
And in Loki's book, "almost" was just a fancy word for "utter failure."

"He got lucky," Loki muttered as he paced in front of his underlings, a jagged-toothed smile twitching with suppressed rage. "But this time… oh-ho, this time, we're not leaving it to chance."

He had a plan.
A brilliant plan.

More goons.
Better coordination.
And, most importantly, a net.

Yes, a net.
Not the metaphorical kind—the actual, old-school, rope-and-weighted kind you'd expect pirates or overly enthusiastic zookeepers to use.

"He always runs. So this time… we catch him before he gets the chance."

But while Loki was planning all this with the dramatic flair of a villain with too much free time, Naruto was stretching under the early morning sky.

Something felt… off.
His chakra was calm. His muscles ached only slightly. The street was quiet. But still—his gut whispered: danger.

Naruto wasn't stupid.
(Not anymore. He'd graduated from "reckless idiot" to "slightly paranoid genius.")

He didn't know why his instincts were flaring like this, but when you've been hunted by homicidal snake-men, possessed by tailed beasts, and body-swapped with a perverted wannabe emperor, you learn to trust your sixth sense.

So when it came time to head to his training spot, Naruto did not take the usual road.

Nope.
He zigged instead of zagging.
Hopped a wall. Slid down a rooftop.
Walked through an alley that smelled like expired ramen.
And finally—doubled back through a noodle shop's backdoor to make sure he wasn't being tailed.

Meanwhile, Loki's team was ready.
They had stationed themselves in Naruto's usual shortcut—hidden in bushes, disguised behind signboards, one guy even pretending to be a particularly suspicious-looking old man selling newspapers.

The net was in place. The trap was perfect.

"Any moment now…" Loki whispered with anticipation.

One minute passed.
Then two.
Then five.

Nothing.

No Naruto.
No jogger.
Not even a bird.

Just silence… and the growing realization that their prey had outfoxed them. Again.

"He didn't show," one of the minions muttered, already sweating.

Loki's eye twitched.
The wind blew the net slightly—like it, too, was mocking him.

"This is war," Loki growled. "Now it's personal."

And so, as Naruto jogged in peace with his headphones in and a light bounce in his step, he had no idea he had just sidestepped an ambush by the slimmest thread of caution.

He just hummed along with the music, thinking,

"Man, I'm really getting good at this survival stuff."

Meanwhile, miles away, a very grumpy thug of mischief was plotting Plan B:
Two nets.
Because obviously, one wasn't enough.

Chapter 15: Chapter 15

Chapter 15: The Secret Art of Friendship and World Domination (Maybe)
From the journal of Naruto Uzumaki (currently trapped in Issei's body and still pretending not to freak out about it)

Okay, let's get one thing straight before we go any further: fighting ten guys with weapons is not how you should spend your free time… unless you're me, in which case, it was Tuesday.

I was limping into the dojo—like, cool action hero limping, not grandma-who-forgot-her-vitamin limp—when I ran into Gonzui-sensei. If you don't know Gonzui, imagine a bear got a black belt and learned to smile. That's him. Terrifying aura, massive muscles, and the kind of mustache that could slice steel.

He took one look at me, and his thick eyebrows did a little concerned wiggle.

"Issei, what happened to you?" he asked. (Reminder: I'm Naruto inside Issei's body. Long story. Body swap. Magic. Don't ask.)

I flashed my most charming, pain-filled grin.

"I fought ten guys with weapons yesterday and they got me with some hits."

(Which was a super humble way of saying "I survived a boss fight while low on health and still looked cool doing it.")

Gonzui gave me this look. The kind dads give when they're proud but also wondering why you're like this.

"Well done," he said, placing one dinner-plate-sized hand on my head. "Next time ask your seniors for help to take care of the street scum. I have great expectations of you, so take care of your body."

Great expectations.
Let me tell you, when you've spent most of your life being looked at like a walking disaster waiting to happen, those words hit harder than any Rasengan.

"Thank you, teacher," I said, trying not to sound like I was about to cry. "I wanted to ask if I could have a spar with Shogo. We promised each other yesterday."

(Yes, that Shogo—the tall, stoic dude with the scary punch and the not-so-secret heart of gold. We're bros now.)

Gonzui's eyes drifted down to my bandaged foot and shoulder. I could see the internal debate. His eyebrows did a whole emotional dance routine.

'He's hurting, but I'm here to make sure no one dies, so it's fine,' he probably thought. (I like to think I can read minds sometimes. Especially big, burly teacher minds.)

"You have my permission," he finally said, patting my head again like I was a puppy who'd finally learned to sit. "But take care of your body."

And just like that—boom. Instant motivation boost. +10 to Spirit. +20 to Confidence.

Here's the thing: Gonzui might look like he wrestles bears for breakfast, but he's nothing like Kakashi-sensei back in Konoha.
Don't get me wrong—I love Kakashi… kind of. But the guy's idea of encouragement was showing up late, reading romance novels, and saying "You'll figure it out" while we nearly died during training.

Gonzui? He cares.
He watches. He teaches. He gives actual advice. And in just three days, he'd done more for my self-esteem than most people in Konoha outside of the Ichiraku ramen guy and Iruka-sensei.
Like seriously, I wanted to give the man a hug. (Didn't. Because, you know, cool factor.)

'This world is a lot friendlier than my own,' I thought, as I joined the other students.

They were already doing warm-ups, stretching their arms, legs, and occasionally cracking their necks like background thugs in martial arts movies. I joined in, sore but determined.

------------------------

Sparring when your body feels like a chewed-up ramen noodle is not recommended by any physician, ninja, or common sense.
But hey, since when have I ever listened to any of those?

After the morning practice—which I heroically survived, thank you very much—I was warmed up, slightly less sore, and definitely overconfident. Which is the perfect combo for doing something dumb like fighting Shogo.

He showed up just as I finished my stretches, like a rival character in a manga who always shows up right when you're emotionally ready.
Brooding aura? Check. Serious expression? Double check.

"I hope you had a good night's sleep," he said, standing like a final boss in sweatpants.

"I did," I grinned. "And I had a very good dream. I want to talk to you about it after the spar."

And by dream, I didn't mean the weird ramen-themed nightmare I had last night. I meant the dream.
Of having my own gang. A loyal, powerful squad of misfits who listened to me, protected each other, and maybe, just maybe, wore cool jackets with symbols on the back.

The image alone was so cool it made my spine tingle like I'd just unlocked a secret move.

Shogo raised an eyebrow like I'd said something slightly insane but not unexpected.

"Meh. I'll lend you an ear if the spar is up to standard."

"You already know it will be," I shot back, flicking my gaze to the watching students and instructors.

The dojo was suddenly quieter than usual. Everyone knew this wasn't just another friendly round of tag-your-opponent. This was Naruto Uzumaki's (well, technically Issei's) first real spar—and I was ready to prove myself.

The instructor gave the usual rundown: no serious moves, no illegal hits, no breaking bones unless it's really cool. (Okay, maybe not that last one.)
I took my place in the ring, bouncing lightly on my feet. My left foot still throbbed. My shoulder felt like someone had jammed a senbon in it and twisted. But I didn't let it show.

The signal rang out.

I exploded forward.

Right foot, push.
Left fist extended.
It looked like a basic jab, and Shogo saw it—too easily, if I'm honest. He stepped in like I expected. But what he didn't expect?

The low kick to his shin.

Boom.
Contact.

I saw his eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in pain. He threw a punch—straight, but rushed. I stepped into it, caught it with my arm, and punched his arm at the joint. Not a clean hit, but solid enough that it stung.

"Too close, separate!" someone barked.

We both stepped back, sweat on our brows, breathing shallow.

The crowd was silent.

Shogo rubbed his arm, grinning.

"Don't go easy on me. I like this fight," he muttered. "Don't mind getting beaten."

I nodded, heart thudding, not from fear but from pure hype.
He wanted a real fight?

Then so did I.

The rest of the spar was a blur. My body hurt like crazy, but it moved the way I wanted it to. I focused less on what I couldn't do and more on what I could. Every punch was calculated. Every kick followed a pattern I drilled for hours. I compensated for my sore foot by adjusting my stance. I faked with my good shoulder so my bad one could sneak in jabs.

I was fighting smart. Like Sasuke, but without the emo.

In the end, I stood over Shogo, panting, grinning like an idiot.

Victory.

Sweet, sweat-soaked, muscle-cramping victory.

-----------------------------

Gonzui stood at the edge of the dojo floor, arms folded across his broad chest, his usually stern expression softened by something close to admiration. The match had ended, but his mind replayed every second of it—Naruto's feints, the perfectly timed low kick, the way he absorbed Shogo's attacks like he'd been doing this for years.

Most boys at this stage were still figuring out how not to trip over their own feet. Naruto, however—well, Issei, technically—was moving like a veteran. Like someone who'd learned to fight not through drills and kata, but through survival.

'No hesitation before action… every step purposeful. He doesn't fight like a student. He fights like someone who's seen real battles.'

Gonzui's gaze narrowed slightly as he watched Naruto bow to Shogo and help the boy up. That awareness, that instinct—it wasn't something you taught. It was something earned, usually the hard way.

Physically, Naruto's body still had room to grow. He was lean, wiry, and clearly dealing with some recent injuries. But his movements had flow—smooth, economical, deceptively relaxed. Even injured, he moved better than most of the black belts under Gonzui's care.

'That's the mark of someone who's trained beyond the dojo walls. Maybe even fought for his life… more than once.'

It was a strange thing, to feel both pride and a sliver of something else—inadequacy. Gonzui wasn't a prideful man, but he had believed for the longest time that no one in the current generation would surpass him so quickly.

Yet here was a teen, in a borrowed body, already slipping past the edge of his reach. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon.

'He'll surpass me… not because he's stronger, but because his instincts are sharper. The only thing I might have over him by then… is brute strength.'

And even that wouldn't last long, not with Naruto's work ethic.

Gonzui sighed through his nose and straightened his back, feeling the tension in his muscles. He wasn't angry. If anything, he felt challenged—like a spark had lit something inside him that had dulled over time. A part of him that remembered what it was like to want to be better, to push limits, to chase after someone just out of reach.

'This is no time to rest on old victories. If I don't improve, I'll be left behind… and that's not the kind of teacher I want to be.'

He stepped away from the mat and gave Naruto a nod of silent approval, a rare gesture from a man like him.

Yes, this boy had potential—too much for one dojo. But as long as Gonzui could keep up, even just a little longer, he would give everything he had to guide him.

Because one day, when Naruto stood at the top, Gonzui wanted to know—he helped him climb there.

 

------------------------

Okay, so I may have just formed a gang.

I mean, not the bad kind of gang. No shady deals, no creepy tattoos, and definitely no sitting in dark alleyways brooding like we're in some second-rate soap opera. More like… a crew. A team. A band of future legends.
(That sounded cooler in my head.)

It all started after I mopped the dojo floor with Shogo.

Okay, technically, we were sparring, and technically, I was fighting through enough bruises to qualify as a walking grape. But I won, and that's what mattered. Shogo, to his credit, didn't pout or sulk. He leaned against the wall like a stoic warrior… who'd just been body-checked by a baby boar.

"Man, that was embarrassing. I thought I could do better," he said, rubbing his arm and flashing the kind of smile that said, 'Let's pretend I didn't almost cry during that block.'

"You'll get better. Just need more practice," I said helpfully, while also praying he didn't realize my knee was on fire.

"No need to butter me up. Speak."

Uh-oh. He saw right through me. I'd been practicing my casual friend voice, but apparently, I was still coming off like a used cart salesman.

So, I dropped the act.

"I was thinking of starting my own group. You know, a crew. And I want you in."

He blinked. Hard. Like I'd just asked him to marry me or join a cult. Honestly, the reaction was kinda flattering.

"And why should I join?" he asked, arms crossed like some final boss NPC.

I grinned. "Because we're friends. And it'll be fun. We get to spar whenever we want, challenge higher-ups who wouldn't even look at us otherwise, and maybe… just maybe, make some waves."

I swear, Shogo lit up like someone had promised him front-row tickets to a fighting tournament and an unlimited ramen buffet.

That's when I knew—I'd said the magic words.

"We'll spar daily to improve our strength and skills," I added, sealing the deal with a fist bump of destiny.

He took my hand in a surprisingly dramatic fashion. "Deal. But I won't be left behind, so don't get comfy."

I shot him a smirk. "Good. Because my dream requires more power than you can imagine. So let's see if you can keep up."

Spoiler: I had no idea if I could even keep up with myself. But it sounded cool, and that's what mattered.

With our new bro-deal sealed in sweat and slightly bruised egos, I turned to spar with the others. We weren't a gang yet—not officially—but I had my first member. Shogo. Loyal, punch-happy, and already on board.

Step one to world domination: Complete.

Next step? I don't know… maybe cool jackets?

Or pizza.

Probably pizza.

Chapter 16: Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Allies, Bruises, and a Side of Rope
(A Ninja, a Street Punk, and the Start of an Empire)

 

Shōgo Kitsukawa was what you might call a contradiction in motion.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and built like a steel wall with legs, most people assumed the moment they saw him that he was just another angry meathead looking for someone to break. His dark blonde hair was always spiked up like he had challenged a lightning bolt to a duel and won, and his piercing blue eyes gave off the kind of quiet intensity that made you think twice about even breathing in his direction.

Clothes? Simple, but iconic. A white sleeveless shirt that showed off his carved arms, faded blue jeans, clean white sneakers, and a red jacket—one with the sleeves ripped off, not torn by accident, but on purpose. Like even his fashion wanted a fight.

They called him Berserker. Which was funny, considering Shōgo almost never lost his temper. He wasn't the yelling, table-flipping kind of brawler. No, he was the storm that arrived quietly, stared you down, and then dropped you with a single, brutal strike. Calm. Silent. Dangerous. Like if Zen had abs and could punch through concrete.

He rarely spoke. He was always chewing bubble gum. Even during fights. Especially during fights.

He didn't care much for rules or clubs, but boredom was a cruel mistress. So he'd joined the local dojo—not for discipline or honor, but because it was a place where people were allowed to punch each other without legal consequences.

And for a while, it was fun.

Then it got repetitive. Too easy. Everyone here moved the same. No imagination, no hunger, just drills and ego. Shōgo had already steamrolled through most of the students and was starting to think about quitting.

Then Issei Hyoudou walked in.

At first glance? Laughable. Skinny kid, average height, didn't look like he could punch through wet paper. But something about him triggered Shōgo's instincts. The kind of thing that couldn't be explained—just felt. He wasn't sure what it was, but this kid had a scent of danger on him. The kind of danger that wasn't loud or proud. The kind that grew in silence and hit like a truck when you weren't looking.

The first spar had confirmed it.

Issei—who was, in truth, Naruto wearing a different body—had moved with a speed and sharpness that surprised even Shōgo. He had flaws, sure, and his body was clearly still catching up to his spirit, but his technique... it was refined. His reactions were tight. No wasted motion. And most of all, there was fire behind his eyes. Not anger. Not arrogance. Just... a warrior. Someone born to fight and get stronger.

Shōgo hadn't gone all out. Why would he? The difference in physical power was still enough to tip the scales in his favor. But even holding back, he knew: if this kid kept growing like this, he'd be a monster soon.

The idea didn't scare him.

It excited him.

And then Naruto—Issei—made him an offer. A gang. A group. A team with no restrictions, where they could spar and push each other and maybe even shake up the city's pecking order.

Shōgo had agreed. For now. Not because he cared about gangs or power.

But because it sounded fun.

And if there was one thing Berserker loved more than bubble gum and silent brooding, it was a fight that made his blood pump and his instincts scream.

Naruto Uzumaki—whoever he truly was—might just be the first real challenge he'd had in a long, long time.

-------------------

You know those moments in life where you think you're gonna get a peaceful walk home, maybe grab a soda, hum a little theme song like you're in a cool action movie?

Yeah, not my life.

The moment I turned the corner from the dojo, I felt it—the classic "you're-about-to-get-jumped" tingle on the back of my neck. And sure enough, there he was: Loki. No, not the Norse god (though that would've been cool), but the greasy-haired punk who had been trying to start something with me for a week straight.

And this time? He brought friends. Twenty of them. All looking like they were auditioning for the part of "thug #3" in a low-budget martial arts movie.

Baseball bats, pipes, wooden swords—you name it. It was like they looted a prop shop and decided today was the day they'd finally catch the new kid.

"Get him!" Loki shouted like an anime villain who'd never won a single episode.

I didn't wait.

Look, people like to say things like "fight with honor" or "face your enemies head-on." I'm a ninja. We throw sand in your face and disappear into the trees. So obviously, I bolted like a startled squirrel on caffeine.

But not without my trusty pouch.

You see, most kids carry gum, keys, or maybe a half-eaten granola bar in their pockets. I carry pebbles. Not just any pebbles—strategically selected, chakra-balanced, precision-grade throwing pebbles. Iruka-sensei would've cried tears of joy if he saw my form.

I ran, ducked into an alley, turned, and unleashed the wrath of the Hidden Rock Style™.

Thwip!
One pebble flew through the air and bonk! — right into the forehead of a guy who looked like he bench-pressed dumpsters for fun. He collapsed like a sack of potatoes with mild brain freeze.

Another guy got hit right in the chest and tripped over his own bat. Two more went down after bumping into each other trying to dodge me. It was like watching a really bad flash mob go wrong.

The rest started getting smart—finally—and took cover behind trash cans and corners like we were in a game of urban hide-and-seek.

That's when I had an idea. A very Naruto-style, half-brilliant, half-insane idea.

I darted toward the busy part of town.

Now, normally, dragging twenty gang members into a crowd is the fastest way to end up on every security camera and banned from convenience stores forever. But I wasn't planning a public brawl. I was planning a public performance.

We walked.

I slowed down. They slowed down.

We blended into the crowd like awkward tourists pretending they weren't following me with murderous intent. I even caught one of them pretending to look at a restaurant menu while holding a lead pipe like it was a baguette.

I waved at a grandma walking her cat (yes, her cat—on a leash—don't ask) and smiled like nothing was wrong.

And then... I ducked into a narrow alley.

They followed, of course. Because some people just don't learn unless you teach them—with pebbles.

Round Two: Begin.

I turned mid-sprint, flicked two stones straight into the legs of the front guy, and laughed as he crashed into his buddy behind him like human dominoes.

I wasn't just running for my life anymore—I was enjoying this. Every bounce off the wall, every throw, every duck and dodge—it was a dance. A ridiculous, dangerous, awesome dance.

Was it smart? Absolutely not.

Was it fun?

Oh, totally.

By the time they were down to about eight guys still chasing, I was grinning like a maniac.

I was Naruto Uzumaki.
Shinobi. Fighter.
And right now?

Public menace with a pebble pouch.

------------------

Okay, so maybe technically, I shouldn't have enjoyed that fight as much as I did. But come on—twenty guys, some wild parkour, and a pouch of pebbles that turned into ninja shuriken? That's top-tier entertainment in my book.

By the time I tied up Loki like a burrito with legs, I was sweaty, a little scuffed, and grinning like a fox who'd just raided a chicken coop.

"Man, that was fun. Don't you think so?" I said, admiring my rope work and casually plopping down beside him like we were old pals at a summer camp.

Loki didn't respond right away. Hard to blame him. His face looked like he'd lost a one-on-one with a ceiling fan, and his jacket was missing a sleeve—probably somewhere near the third dumpster we'd knocked over during the chase. Still, the guy had spirit. He was glaring up at me like he was the one who tied me up.

"I'll get you next time," he muttered. "You've got nothing else to use against us."

Oof. Confidence. I liked that.

"Listen, buddy," I said, brushing a leaf off my shoulder. "You can try all you want, but you're not beating me. So how about something smarter? You've got moves, you've got gadgets, and from what I can tell, you actually enjoy being in control. What if we work together?"

Loki raised a bruised eyebrow, clearly suspicious. "Are you trying to trick me?"

"Nope," I replied, dead serious for once. "I want to build something here. A team. A crew. Call it what you want—but I'm planning on becoming the strongest in this whole region, and I could use someone like you. Smart, sneaky, maybe a little unhinged."

He stared at me like I'd just offered him a unicorn. For a second, I thought he might spit at me or shout or try to headbutt me like a sore loser. But instead, he blinked, hard, and just… stared.

That's when I knew I had him thinking.

To be fair, I get it. When we first met, I probably looked like someone who couldn't win a fight with a wet paper bag. But now? After our little dance through alleyways, rooftops, and fruit stands? Loki knew I wasn't just some loudmouth kid.

"He's strong but not stupid," I imagined him thinking. "And improving fast. He fights dirty, smart, and smiles like a lunatic while doing it. Not a bad ally to have…"

Finally, he said, "Okay. I agree. But if this is some kind of game, you better show me proof—something solid—within a week."

I grinned. Not because I had something ready, but because I knew I'd find something. I always did.

"Great," I said, standing up and dusting off my pants. "Two days from now, we hit another group. You get me a list of targets and we'll make a plan."

That's when he gave me a real name.

"My name is Kyoichi Takame," he said, cool as ever. "Just give me your number. I'll send the details."

I paused. "Yeah, no. I don't trust you enough for that yet. Meet me here tomorrow at this time. I'll bring a friend. And the name's Naruto Uzumaki."

Then I untied him. Because I'm nice like that. And also because tying someone up and then leaving them in an alley is not great for building trust.

As I walked away, I could feel his eyes on my back. Not the angry kind, though. The curious kind. The "is this kid insane or a genius" kind.

Probably both.

Behind me, I heard him mutter, "I hope this investment is good."

Same, buddy. Same.

But if he thought I was done surprising him, oh boy… he hadn't seen anything yet.

Chapter 17: Chapter 17

Chapter 17: "Mom Talk and Body Swaps"
(Or: How I Accidentally Became Someone's Son)

Okay, so I've fought demon beasts, trained with pervy sages, and led a war or two. But none of that prepared me for…
Mothers.

I opened the door to Issei's house (still not used to calling it "home") and was immediately greeted by the warm, cozy smell of dinner cooking and the sound of a laugh track coming from the TV.

There she was—Miki Hyoudou—sitting cross-legged on the couch, eyes glued to some overly dramatic soap opera. The kind where people cry in slow motion while clutching roses and dramatically shouting, "NANI?!?"

She looked so… peaceful. The kind of peaceful you don't see in my world, where peace usually ends with a kunai to the ribs.

"Welcome home, sweetie!" she called out cheerfully, not even turning around.

Yeah. That hit me right in the heart.

For a moment, I just stood there like a statue with a bag full of emotional baggage. It had been easy to ignore before—pretend everything was just temporary. But now that I knew the truth, that Issei was safe in my world and that we could switch back if we tried…

Well, the guilt hit me like a Rasengan to the chest.

This woman—she wasn't just any mom. She was his mom. And she loved him. Really, truly loved him. Not the strict, yell-when-you-fail kind of love I used to think moms had. No, hers was softer. Protective. She'd been through stuff. Two miscarriages, I'd overheard once by accident. Issei was her miracle.

And here I was, pretending to be him.

"Hey… Miki-san?" I said awkwardly, walking into the living room.

She glanced over and smiled. "Hmm? You only call me that when you're feeling polite—or when you've broken something."

I smiled sheepishly. "No, nothing's broken… but I do need to tell you something. And it's going to sound weird."

She paused the show. Okay, progress.

I took a deep breath. "I'm not Issei."

Silence.

Then laughter. "Pfft! Okay, what is this? Is it one of those prank videos? Are you filming me right now?" She looked around like a hidden camera crew might pop out from behind the curtains.

"No," I said firmly. "I mean it. I'm… not him. My name is Naruto Uzumaki. The real Issei and I swapped bodies somehow. He's in my world right now—my ninja world—and I'm here."

Another silence. This one longer. More cautious.

Her eyes narrowed, searching my face, and for the first time since I got here… she really looked. Like, stared into my soul kind of looked.

"...This is a joke, right?"

I didn't laugh. I didn't even blink.

"Miki," I said softly. "Your son is okay. He's safe. He's with good people. I would never let anything happen to him. But I… I couldn't keep lying to you. You love him too much. And you deserve to know."

I half-expected her to scream. Or cry. Or run to grab a broom and chase me out.

But Miki Hyoudou… she didn't do any of that.

She just leaned back against the couch, exhaled shakily, and asked:

"Is he in danger?"

I blinked. "What?"

She looked at me, this quiet strength in her eyes now. "My son. Issei. Is he in danger right now?"

I shook my head. "No. He's with people like me. He's learning, growing. And probably eating way better food than I am."

She actually smiled a little. "Then… I guess I can accept it. You're not joking. Are you?"

"No."

She nodded slowly, her hands trembling just a little in her lap. "Then I'm glad you told me. As long as my boy is okay… I can deal with strange."

My mouth fell open. This woman was too calm.

"I—are you sure? Like, I just told you aliens swapped your son with a ninja from another dimension!"

She gave me a long look. "Sweetheart. I raised Issei. You think I haven't already considered that something weird like this would happen eventually?"

I… had no response to that.

But inside, a knot in my chest finally loosened.

She smiled again, this time more genuinely. "So… Naruto, huh? Welcome to the family. Just don't eat all the snacks and we'll be fine."

"…Yes, ma'am."

And just like that, I gained a mom.

Sort of.

-------------------------

 

You ever faced a raging tailed beast?
You ever been punched through a mountain?
You ever had to explain to a determined mom that you're a dimension-swapped ninja who can throw a Rasengan the size of a house, and that high school might not be your thing?

Yeah. That was nothing compared to what came next.

After I told Miki the truth—and somehow lived to tell about it—I thought maybe she'd give me a day off or let me do my ninja thing in peace.
Spoiler: she did not.

She narrowed her eyes, crossed her arms, and shifted from warm and understanding to full "Mom Mode." You know the look. The one that says "I've forgiven you, but now it's time for life planning."

"So…" she said slowly, "what are you planning to do now that you're in Issei's body?"

I blinked. "Uh… fight bad guys? Train hard? Build an army of loyal allies and eventually take over this whole area's underground fight scene?"

She gave me the look. You know the one. The kind that makes even shadow clones want to disappear.

"Try again."

"…Eat more ramen?"

"Try. Again."

I sighed and rubbed the back of my head. "Look, I get it. You're worried. But I'm a ninja. School's… not really my thing."

Her eyes sharpened. "You're in Issei's body now. And Issei is a student at Kuoh Academy. Do you know how much we paid to get him in there?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. A lot?"

"A lot," she emphasized, raising a finger like she was ready to use it as a jutsu. "And I'll be honest with you, Naruto—Issei isn't a genius. We worked hard to support him. So even if you're some hotshot warrior in another world, while you're here, you're going to finish his schooling. And get good grades. And eventually find a sweet girl and get married."

I stared. "...Married?"

She nodded with scary determination. "Yes. I want grandchildren. Issei's not getting any younger."

"I'm sixteen!"

"That's not an excuse," she replied, dead serious. "My friends already have grandchildren. Do you know how embarrassing that is for me at our coffee group?"

I couldn't believe it. I'd fought gods. Actual gods. And yet I felt more helpless now than ever before.

"Miki-san, don't you think that's a bit much? I'm already juggling a body swap, a secret identity, and a turf war. Can't we start with just… passing math?"

She looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "So you admit you're behind in math."

"...Darn it."

She smiled smugly. "Good. Then it's settled. You'll attend school like a normal boy, no skipping. I don't care if you're fighting gang leaders at night or summoning chakra or whatever—during the day, you are a student. And someday, you will be a husband."

I opened my mouth to protest again, but something stopped me.

She was smiling. And despite the pressure and expectations, it was a smile full of hope and warmth.
It was the kind of smile I never had growing up.

She wasn't trying to trap me—she just wanted her son, even if I wasn't exactly him, to have a chance at a good life.

So I smiled back, scratched my cheek, and said, "Alright… I'll go to school. I'll study. I'll even try not to blow anything up."

She gave a happy little nod. "Good boy."

"But the marriage part… that's gonna take some time."

"I've already made a list of potential candidates," she replied cheerfully, pulling out a pink notebook.

I choked. "YOU WHAT?!"

"Don't worry, I only included girls with good grades and stable family backgrounds."

"Oh no."

I had fought ninja, battled mad yakuza, and even survived Kakashi-sensei's training.

But this?

This was the real boss battle.

And it was only just beginning.

--------------------

So, remember how I survived telling Miki that I'm not her real son?
Yeah, that was the easy part.

Because right after that heartwarming moment where she forgave me, blessed me, and demanded grandchildren, she hit me with:

"And what is this about gangs that you've been mentioning?"

Oops.

Cue the record scratch in my head.
Cue the mental image of my future flashing before my eyes.

I did what any honorable shinobi would do when caught red-handed.

I laughed awkwardly and said, "Did I say gangs? Haha! I meant, um, game—like dodgeball gangs! You know, teens who… organize… group sports."

Her eyes narrowed with the intensity of a Byakugan-wielding tiger mom.

"Don't play with me, Naruto. I'm not dumb. What kind of gangs?"

I sighed. Time to ninja up and tell the truth.

"Well… There are these student gangs in the area. Teen fighters, turf wars, the usual delinquent stuff. They're not exactly organized crime, but still kinda scary. And, uh… I decided to take over them."

"...You what?"

I held up my hands like a guy explaining why there's a frog in the rice cooker. "It's not what it sounds like! I'm not doing it for power. Or money. Or anything illegal! Honest!"

She stared at me. "Then why?"

"Training!" I said quickly. "I'm using it as live field training. I mean, I'm stuck here, right? No missions, no chakra network, no giant talking toads. So I figured if I'm gonna improve and be ready for real threats, I might as well practice by organizing the chaos. You know… unite them under one banner, stop them from doing dumb stuff, get stronger in the process."

Miki looked like she was deciding whether to call the police, a therapist, or both.

"You're telling me… you're becoming a gang boss... for training?"

"Yes."

"To fight… what? Neighborhood bullies?"

"I don't know!" I blurted out. "But there are things in your world. Dark things. Dangerous things."

She crossed her arms. "Like what?"

I paused. Took a breath. "I met a magical girl on my first day."

That got her attention.

"Magical… girl?"

I nodded. "Pink dress, sparkly wand, the whole thing. She saved a cat. Then punched a guy into a wall. I think she was human. But I felt it—chakra, or mana, or something. There's definitely magic in this world. Hidden. So if there's one magical girl, there could be demons. Spirits. Maybe even otherworldly threats."

She blinked. "So your logic is: since there might be magical beings… your solution is to conquer teenage street gangs?"

I smiled innocently. "Efficient, right?"

She stared at me for a long moment, then sighed and sat back on the couch like I'd just told her I was starting a career as a circus juggler. "Why couldn't you just be obsessed with video games like a normal boy…"

"Video games don't make you faster or stronger," I replied, sitting on the armrest beside her. "But building a network of fighters, gaining battle experience, earning loyalty—that helps. I'm not doing this for fun, Miki-san. I promise."

She glanced at me, then away, then sighed again. "You're still going to school."

"I figured."

"And if you get arrested, I'm not bailing you out."

"Fair."

"Also… wear a helmet."

"...Why?"

"Because if you get hit in the head again and lose any more brain cells, I'll have to homeschool you."

"Noted."

She looked up at me, her eyes softening just a little. "Just… be careful, alright? I already lost two kids before Issei. I'm not going to lose a third, even if he's… borrowing a new personality."

I swallowed. That hit harder than any kunai. I didn't have a real mom growing up, not really. But in that moment, I understood why people said mothers were the strongest beings in any world.

"I'll be careful," I said softly. "Promise."

She nodded. "Good. Now go wash up. Lunch's in twenty."

"Yes, ma'am."

And just like that, Naruto Uzumaki—future Hokage, shadow ruler of local teenage gangs, and magical-girl-spotter—went off to eat curry and try not to get grounded by the fiercest woman he'd ever met.

Chapter 18: Chapter 18

Chapter 18: "Study Group of Punches & Parkour"
(Or: I Learned Muay Thai From YouTube and Beat Up a Tree)

After a lunch that almost ended with Miki-san threatening to enroll me in military school, I decided I needed a little fresh air and low-stress bonding time. You know, something casual. Chill.

So obviously, I met up with my martial arts training buddies to study ways to beat people up more effectively.

Enter Kenichi Shirahama—a guy with the muscles of a ramen noodle and the heart of a lion cub. He had this whole "earnest underdog" thing going on, which honestly made him more relatable than half the shinobi I'd met. He wasn't strong yet, but he was trying hard, and more importantly, he didn't give up.

And then there was his little sister Hanako—cheerful, spunky, and frighteningly determined to make her brother "cool." Honestly, she reminded me of Konohamaru if he had pigtails and weaponized guilt trips.

We met at our usual spot in the park—just a dusty clearing with a tree stump, some grass patches, and a suspicious number of pigeons that were either spying on us or plotting their own gang war.

Kenichi waved as he pulled a tablet out of his backpack. "Hey, Naruto! I got the footage. Took me forever to find high-res clips of elbow strikes from six different angles."

Hanako beamed. "I told him to download more grappling this time. We keep losing to big guys who do ground stuff!"

"Appreciate it," I said, plopping down beside them. "Let's get started."

We sat like ancient scholars of violence, watching videos of Muay Thai fighters slicing air with their knees, taekwondo masters defying gravity, and judo practitioners folding opponents like laundry. There was even a full playlist dedicated to baton control techniques used by riot police. (Kenichi had labeled it "Naruto's Future Stick-Fu".)

"So here," Kenichi said, pausing the video as a man twisted an attacker's wrist and spun them into a chokehold, "if you control the elbow and pivot your stance—"

"—you can drop their center of gravity and flip them without brute force," I finished, already mimicking the motion with a wooden kunai in hand.

Yep, ever since Loki and his goons tried to gang-up ambush me, I'd upgraded my schoolbag. It now had:

Wooden kunai (for sneaky deflections and style points),

A police-grade training baton (for respectable violence),

And my secret weapon: steel-plated shoes.
Stylish. Durable. And capable of turning a basic roundhouse into an orthopedic emergency.

"You've gotten way too good at this," Hanako said, eyes wide as I copy-spun a taekwondo kick and landed in stance.

"I learn fast when people are trying to stab me," I said with a grin. "Plus, muscle memory helps when your actual body's been dodging shuriken since you were six."

Kenichi tilted his head. "Do you ever wonder if we're the only ones doing this?"

"You mean training for underground street dominance in a peaceful Japanese suburb?" I asked. "Nah, totally normal."

Hanako giggled. "It's more fun than cram school. Besides, if we get strong, maybe we'll have a better future, right?"

There it was. The heart of it. We weren't just goofing off in the park learning MMA from grainy footage. We were building ourselves up—together.

Kenichi wanted to stop being pushed around. Hanako wanted to protect her brother.
And me?
I wanted allies. People I could count on. A team, even if it was made of underdogs and overenthusiastic siblings.

We spent the next two hours copying stances, doing bodyweight drills, and hitting the tree stump with focused strikes. I even let them try on my steel shoes (which were two sizes too big for them, and Hanako tripped into a bush—10/10 effort).

 

----------------------------------

After soaking in enough martial arts videos to qualify for an honorary black belt in YouTube Studies, it was time to take theory into painful practice.

That meant sparring. Real hits. Real sweat. Real flying bodies.
(Okay, maybe just one flying body, and it may or may not have been Kenichi.)

We'd already agreed this wasn't going to be one of those gentle kata demonstrations where we bowed politely and tapped each other like porcelain dolls.
Nope. This was war.
War with foam pads, wooden sticks, and steel shoes that only one of us was allowed to wear. (Hint: it was me.)

Hanako got the light version, of course. She was only twelve. Plus, the last time Kenichi accidentally poked her with a stick, she cried for twenty minutes and made him buy her melon bread for a week.
So this time, she practiced evasion, timing, and what she called her "secret technique" — which was really just her throwing pebbles at our feet while giggling.

"Distraction is part of battle strategy!" she said proudly.

Kenichi and I, however, had no such mercy clause.

"You sure about this?" I asked, twirling my wooden kunai. "We don't stop until you drop."

Kenichi gulped. "I'll be fine. Probably. Maybe. I read that pain is temporary—"

"—and glory is forever," I finished for him, smirking. "Alright then. Let's go, Shirahama."

We squared off.

Kenichi opened with a front kick. It was... slow. Predictable. The kind of move a sleep-deprived ninja would dodge in his dreams. So I side-stepped, tapped his leg, and sent him tumbling to the grass with one light shove.

Hanako clapped. "Nice fall! That was... almost graceful!"

Kenichi groaned and rolled to his feet. "Okay. Again!"

And so we went again.

He attacked, I defended. He struck high, I ducked low. Occasionally, I let him hit me—just enough for him to feel it: the rhythm, the adrenaline, the rush of not getting overwhelmed.

But mostly, he got bruised.
Not hospital-level bruised—I'm not that mean. But definitely "gonna-sleep-on-his-side-tonight" level.

And yet… he kept getting up.

"Again."

Whack.
"Again."

Thud.
"Again."

Eventually, I slowed my hits and let him land a combo. A real one. His right jab connected, and his knee strike followed up with actual impact.

"Nice!" I said, rubbing my ribs. "That one kinda stung."

Kenichi stood there panting, bruised but grinning. "Seriously?!"

"Yup. That was a B-minus. Maybe B-plus if you stopped closing your eyes when you punch."

"You close your eyes when you—?"

"Never."

We both laughed.

Hanako brought us water bottles and snacks, like the good team manager she pretended not to be.

"You did great, big bro," she said, handing him an ice pack shaped like a bunny.

"I feel like a training dummy."

"Strong training dummy," I corrected. "Most people freeze when they feel pain. But you kept going. That fear? It's your biggest enemy. The moment you stop fearing pain, you start fighting for real."

Kenichi looked at me with a face full of bruises and hope.

"You really think I'm getting better?"

"You're not just getting better," I said, clapping his shoulder. "You're becoming someone who won't back down. That's rarer than any fancy technique."

He grinned, wincing slightly. "Then tomorrow… we go again?"

"Definitely," I said. "Just maybe tape your ribs this time."

As the sun dipped low, casting golden light over the park, I felt something solid and warm inside.

This wasn't just a sparring session.

It was the start of something real—bonds forged in effort, sweat, and the occasional thrown pebble from a twelve-year-old girl.

 

---------------------

After our epic sparring session — which involved one bruised Kenichi, one pebble-throwing menace named Hanako, and me totally not going easy on them (wink wink) — we flopped down on the grass like tired little warrior pancakes.

The sun was setting, casting one of those perfect anime-filtered glows across the park, and I figured it was the perfect time to casually bring up something completely insane.

I mean, that's how people normally do it, right?

"Hey," I said, sitting back and tossing a twig in the air, "what if, like… ki and magic were real?"

Kenichi blinked at me, suspiciously. "…Like, in real life?"

"Yeah. Totally hypothetical." I smiled in that innocent way that says "I definitely don't have a secret agenda or a demon fox soul."
"Just curious, you know? Like, if someone wanted to… I don't know… unlock their inner ki or channel their magic chakra energy powers or whatever, how would they even start?"

Kenichi tilted his head. "Why do you sound like an isekai protagonist trying not to blow his cover?"

"…Do I?"

"Yes."

Hanako snorted. "You do. But it's fine. I always knew you were weird."

Look, she wasn't wrong, but the point was: I needed answers. I couldn't exactly scream, "Hey! I'm a ninja in someone else's body trying to figure out if this world has hidden chakra sorcery or if I'm just doomed to fight with wooden sticks and Google martial arts forever!"

That's not normal conversation material.

So I had to be sneaky. Like a spy. Or a raccoon stealing snacks.

Kenichi scratched his head. "Well, if we're talking anime rules—which I take very seriously, by the way—there's usually three ways people unlock magic or ki or whatever."

"Hit me," I said, pretending not to be way too interested.

"One," he held up a finger. "Bloodline or destiny. You know, the main character has some ancient dragon spirit sealed in his left pinky toe or something."

"Check," I muttered under my breath. Thanks, Kurama. Wherever you are.

"Two, intense training with a master who gives you vague advice like 'feel the energy' and then smacks you with a stick when you don't."

"Sounds like half my childhood."

"And three…" He held up a third finger with a dramatic pause. "Life-or-death battle where you suddenly scream and go supernova."

I raised an eyebrow. "So... the 'scream-until-it-works' method."

"Exactly!"

Hanako chimed in while munching on a melon bread, "Sometimes there's also the emotion unlock thing. Like you feel love, or rage, or really really need to protect someone and BOOM—power unlocked."

I nodded slowly. "So… what if someone hypothetically felt a weird pull in their stomach, like something's waiting to burst out but can't? Not indigestion, I swear."

Kenichi looked thoughtful. "Then you probably need to meditate. Or punch more trees. Anime logic says something like that unlocks your energy points."

Hanako raised a finger. "Or fall into a cave and find a magical scroll."

"That too."

I laughed, though part of me really considered falling into a cave just to see.

We sat in silence for a bit after that, letting the wind brush through the grass and leaves like a lazy lullaby. It was peaceful. For once, I wasn't thinking about murdery teenagers, dimensional problems, or accidentally stabbing people with wooden kunai.

I looked at them — two normal kids, tired from training, dreaming of getting stronger.

I liked that.

I liked them.

"Thanks," I said, leaning back with my hands behind my head. "I mean it."

"For what?" Kenichi asked.

"For being weird with me."

Hanako smiled. "That's what friends are for."

And as we lay under the orange sky, I thought: maybe, just maybe, this world did have magic. Not flashy spells or glowing energy beams (yet), but in the way people connected.

Still, I was definitely punching a tree tomorrow. Just in case.

 

Chapter 19: Chapter 19

Chapter 19: How to Fail at Unlocking Superpowers (Gracefully?)
From the still-very-human POV of Teen Naruto (in Issei's slightly less useless body)

Once Kenichi and Hanako waved goodbye—Kenichi limping and Hanako still chirpy like she hadn't just kicked her brother in the face—I plopped down on the park bench like I was 80 years old and had just finished climbing Mount Everest.

Time for the real training.

No more "punch until you're stronger" stuff. No more "watch YouTube and mimic Muay Thai fighters who could break me in half with a sneeze."

Nope. I was going full anime protagonist now.

Which meant… unlocking energy powers.

Ki. Mana. Spirit energy. Anything with a glow and the potential to explode stuff.

I closed my eyes, crossed my legs, and took a deep breath.

My chakra system—the real one—was back in my original body, probably somewhere training with frogs, dodging kunai, or flexing in the mirror. Meanwhile, this body? Issei's? It was… well… a human's. Soft. Kinda squishy. Definitely not made for Rasengan-level energy output.

But… it was changing.

Not something you'd notice in a school photo, but from the inside? Yeah, this body was not normal anymore. I could feel it—muscles that responded too well to training, senses sharpening little by little, reflexes that twitched before my brain did.

My soul was rewriting it, line by line.

That meant something, right?

So, logically, if I couldn't access chakra, maybe I could touch the source of chakra.

Y'know, the raw stuff. The spirit energy and physical energy that combine into chakra. Maybe I could skip the middleman?

Problem: I had never, in my life, used spirit or physical energy by themselves. That's like asking a chef to cook a dish with raw ingredients he's never seen without using a recipe or, you know, fire.

Still, I was Naruto freaking Uzumaki.

Well… Naruto temporarily inside Issei's slightly perverted, still-growing body.

Close enough.

I sat there and focused.

"What would Goku do?" I muttered.

Goku would scream a lot and raise his power level. Maybe punch the air a few times.

I tried that. Nothing happened.

"What about Ichigo?" I whispered.

Ichigo would probably die, talk to a sword, or unlock something mid-emotional crisis.

That… sounded harder to replicate. I didn't have a talking sword. Just a stick. And a few bruises.

"Okay. Fairy Tail? That's pure magic energy."

I concentrated again, this time trying to feel anything. A breeze. A tingle. A whisper of "you're special, Naruto." Give me a sparkle. A floating rock. Even a mosquito that glows.

Nothing.

Just me, the grass, and one very unimpressed squirrel in a tree.

I sighed and leaned back, staring up at the dusky sky.

Truth was, I couldn't feel it. Not yet.

My body still wasn't past that invisible "human" threshold. Sure, I was stronger than before. Faster. But I was still on the wrong side of the "my aura glows now" line.

I had to push further. Harder. Smarter.

No chakra? Fine.

I'd master whatever this world could offer. Spirit energy, ki, magical aura, or some weird combination of all three. If it existed, I'd find it.

Even if I had to meditate under a waterfall, spar with gangs, read comic books, or scream into the sky like a maniac.

I was Naruto. And if the universe was gonna make it hard?

I'd punch it. With glowing fists. Eventually.

For now, though… I sighed and stood up.

"Guess it's time to go home and not burn dinner."

-------------------------

Okay, so there I was. Alone. Hungry. And standing in front of the most confusing piece of human technology since the invention of the bidet.

The microwave.

Now don't get me wrong—back in the Hidden Leaf Village, I've faced terrifying enemies: monsters made of hate, giant snakes, the entire Akatsuki. Heck, I once fought a literal god with chakra lasers.

But this…
This box of mysterious buttons and radioactive humming?

This was my true enemy.

I eyed it with suspicion. The microwave glared back with its judgmental little display screen, flashing:
"12:00"
…forever frozen in time like it was mocking me.

Miki had kindly left a note on the fridge:

"Dinner's in the fridge, sweetie. Just microwave it for 2 minutes. ❤️ —Mom"

Sweet. Simple. Innocent.

A lie.

I pulled the plate out of the fridge. It was nicely wrapped in plastic, labeled "Curry + rice." I swear I felt a heavenly choir somewhere in the background.

Curry. My old friend. My fuel. My love.

I peeled the plastic back just a little and popped the plate into the microwave. Now for the real mission:

Programming it.

I tapped the "Time Cook" button. Nothing happened.

I tapped it again. Beep. Progress!

Then I typed 2… 0… 0.

So far, so good.

I hit Start.

Nothing.

No beep. No hum. Just… disappointment.

I glared. It glared back.

"Okay," I whispered, rolling up my sleeves like I was about to arm wrestle the Fourth Raikage. "So that's how we're playing it."

Eventually, I hit a combination of buttons that started the countdown—and the microwave whirred to life. Victory!

I waited like a hawk. I mean, Miki trusted me to not burn down her house, and after the earlier "gang unification strategy" and talk of magical girls, I didn't want to push my luck.

Then…

BEEP BEEP BEEP.

I yanked open the door and was hit with a blast of steam. I lifted the plate like it was a sacred artifact.

Mission. Accomplished.

Well, almost.

The rice was perfect.

The curry? Ice cold in the middle.

Of course.

I sighed and put it back in for another 30 seconds, this time remembering to stir it.

As I finally sat down at the table, I realized something weird.

It felt like home.

Yeah, the table was different. The curry didn't have the exact same spice mix I loved. The microwave was an actual gremlin in disguise.

But the quiet? The normalcy? It reminded me of the nights in the Leaf—after training, after chaos, just sitting down with Iruka-sensei or with a warm bowl of Ichiraku ramen.

And even though this wasn't my body, or my world… I felt grounded.

Maybe I wasn't ready to unlock mystical powers yet.

But I'd conquered a microwave.

And that, my friends, is still a victory.

------------------

Dreams are weird.

One moment you're full of curry and snuggled up in bed, and the next you're floating in an endless moonlit field that smells like ramen and faint existential dread.

Classic Sage of Six Paths dreamscape.

I looked down and, yep, I was in my real body. Whisker marks? Check. Chakra humming through me like warm lightning? Double check. Cool wind rustling my ninja robes dramatically even though there were no trees in sight? Triple check.

And right in front of me, leaning against a floating boulder like it was a perfectly normal bench, was Issei Hyoudou—back in his usual dorky form.

"Yo," I greeted, plopping down beside him.

"Hey," he mumbled.

Yup. Something was off.

Usually, dream-Issei was all wide-eyed and full of curiosity like, "Bro, are shadow clones just spiritual NFTs?" or "Do ninja get dental?"—but tonight he was quiet. Kinda... mopey.

"I told your mom," I said casually, giving him a side glance.

His head snapped up. "You what?"

"Not everything!" I said quickly. "Just… the important bits. That you're safe. We switched. That you're in my world, training with a living legend and building up muscle the size of my ego."

He snorted. A little. Then sighed. "She… believe you?"

"She took it better than some Hokage took invasion news," I said. "Didn't freak out. Just asked how you were and whether you were in danger. Then told me to make sure you don't skip school and—get this—told me to get a girlfriend."

"…She would," Issei muttered, rubbing his face.

There was a silence between us. Not the awkward kind. The heavy kind. The kind that settles in your chest when the adrenaline fades and reality catches up.

"Do you miss them?" I asked softly.

He didn't answer right away. Just stared up at the dream stars.

"I didn't think I would," he said finally. "I mean, I always kind of took them for granted, y'know? Like, my mom nags me about socks. My dad forgets my birthday sometimes. But now that I'm not there…" His voice cracked a little. "I dunno. I even miss Dad's dumb dance moves when he thinks nobody's watching."

I gave a small smile.

"Yeah," I said. "I wouldn't know. Never met mine until I was fifteen. Then found out they were legendary heroes and sealed a demon fox in my gut. Fun times."

Issei blinked. "Oh. Wow. That's... dark."

"Meh," I shrugged. "I turned out okay. I mean, emotionally damaged but charming."

He chuckled weakly, then looked over. "Think we'll really get back?"

"We will," I said firmly. "You've got guts. I've got experience. And I'm working on the whole ki-spirit-magic-mumbo-jumbo thing."

"Oh yeah," he perked up slightly. "Did you figure anything out?"

"Not much. I was hoping you could ask Jiraiya how to unlock ki or spirit energy without a chakra system. I mean, chakra's made from spirit and physical energy, right? So maybe if we start from the base…"

"I'll ask him," Issei nodded. "He's mostly been making me run laps and dodging killer frogs. It's like ninja P.E."

"Wait till he teaches you the 'research' method," I muttered with a grin.

Then the dreamscape began to ripple.

We both stood up. It was time to go back to our own bodies.

As we faded, I gave him a thumbs-up. "Hey, tell my world not to fall apart without me."

"And you tell my mom," Issei called, "that her son's still awesome—even if he's stuck in a shonen action arc."

I laughed.

"Got it."

And just like that, the dream ended—leaving behind a quiet, strange warmth in my chest.

Chapter 20: Chapter 20

Chapter 20: Of Sake, Senpai, and Secret Suffering
From Issei's Point of View — In which we learn that training your body is fine, but training your heart takes sake, soft lighting, and scandalous company.

Look. I'm not saying I was going to have a mental breakdown. But if I had to do one more lap around that giant frog swamp while being chased by a toad the size of a delivery truck, I was going to sit down, scream, and let the amphibian eat me.

That's where I was mentally.

Thankfully, my savior came in the form of a white-haired, big-grinned, legendary pervert-slash-sensei-slash-novelist: Jiraiya of the Toad.

He watched me trip over my own feet during dodging drills and said, with all the solemnity of a wise sage, "Kid, you need to get laid—uh, I mean, relax."

Next thing I knew, we were dressed decently (which for me was very new), heading toward a cozy lantern-lit bar with the subtle, casual name of The Silken Petal.

Now, here's the thing. In my world? I'm a nobody. Girls either ignore me or treat me like I'm radioactive. In this world?

I'm the student of Jiraiya the Gallant.

And if Jiraiya is the rockstar, then I was the opening act—and the ladies were totally here for it.

The moment we stepped in, the atmosphere shifted like some rom-com anime moment: warm lighting, soft music, beautiful women turning their heads, eyes sparkling with curiosity. One even giggled and whispered something to her friend. I'm pretty sure it was "He's kind of cute in a lost puppy way."

I can live with that.

Jiraiya took the lead, naturally. One wink and the hostesses were practically arguing over who got to sit next to him. We ended up at a booth with three ladies—one at his side, one at mine, and one who floated between us like some flirty fairy of fun.

And for the first time in weeks?

I relaxed.

We drank. Nothing too strong for me (Jiraiya insisted I "pace myself, young grasshopper"), but enough to feel warm in the face and looser in the shoulders. I told a few exaggerated stories about "missions" I'd done with the Pervy Sage. Jiraiya laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world and added just enough spice to make me look cool.

The girls giggled. One asked me to tell her more. The one next to Jiraiya fed him grilled skewers like some sort of spicy princess. And I started to get why Naruto liked hanging around ramen shops and open bars so much. It wasn't just the food.

It was the peace.

"So," Jiraiya said, between pouring sake. "Still feeling like training's eating your soul?"

I blinked, then looked at the table full of half-empty plates, the sparkle in the hostess's eye beside me, and the faint hum of music.

"…Maybe not so much right now."

He grinned. "Good. Remember this feeling. Power's no good if you forget why you're chasing it."

I didn't answer immediately.

Because I was thinking.

Why was I chasing it?

Sure, I wanted to go back home. Be strong. Not be the weakling. But more than that…

I didn't want to be the guy who just watches everything. The bystander. The one who dreams big but never leaves the starting line.

Naruto had tossed me into the deep end of another world, and instead of drowning—I was swimming. Sort of. Splashing wildly. Flailing with style.

But still moving forward.

I took a sip of my drink and smiled at the hostess. She smiled back. Jiraiya leaned back and cracked a joke that made everyone laugh.

And for a moment?

Yeah. Life was good.

--------------------

Okay. So I'm not proud to admit that while the world burns in magical wars and chakra conspiracies, my number one goal in life is still to become the Harem King.

But hey, everyone needs dreams, right?

For some people it's climbing mountains. For others it's finding inner peace or saving the world.

Me?

I just want to be smothered in glorious, heavenly, affectionate boobs.

Big ones, soft ones, comforting ones. The kind that make you want to cry tears of joy because you know God is real and she's thicc.

So, sitting there in The Silken Petal, watching Master Jiraiya get pampered by two gorgeous women who clearly thought he was the reincarnation of cool, I had a lightbulb moment.

This man—this legend—was living the dream.

And here I was, his spiritual student, spiritually dry.

Sure, I was technically in Naruto's body. But I had used the Transformation Jutsu to look like my original, super-hot, anime-protagonist self. Even the girls at the table were starting to take notice, which was a good sign the transformation had maxed out its effect.

I leaned in, serious as death. "Pervy Sage."

Jiraiya arched a brow. "Hmm?"

"I want… guidance. On building a harem."

A silence fell. Not dramatic. More like "this is the most respectful thing I've ever said in my life" kind of silence.

Jiraiya didn't laugh. Didn't scoff. He took a deep breath, set his sake cup down, and turned to face me with the expression of a man who'd waited his whole life to be asked that exact question.

"My boy," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder, "you have no idea how long I've waited to hear those words."

I'm not gonna lie—I teared up a bit.

He continued, "First of all, forget everything those cheap rom-com animes told you. Harems aren't about tripping over girls into boobs and magically earning love. No. A true harem is like building a garden. Each flower has different sunlight needs. Each one blooms in its own season. And if you neglect them, they'll wither and leave."

Wow.

That was… unexpectedly poetic.

"And secondly," he said, "you have to figure out who you are. Not the pervert you pretend to be. The man underneath. Women can tell the difference."

That one stung a little, not gonna lie.

He paused, then smirked. "But if your heart's true, and your ambition firm, and your pillow game strong… I, Jiraiya the Gallant, shall take you under my wing."

"Sensei!" I cried, clutching his sleeve with the emotion of a romance drama protagonist.

"Student!" he grinned, gripping my hand like we were brothers-in-perversion.

The girls around us clapped. One said, "Aww, that's kind of sweet."

And just like that, the dream didn't feel so far off anymore.

The path to Harem King wasn't just about chasing boobs.

It was about understanding hearts. Including my own.

Still… the boobs were a very strong bonus.

-------------------

Okay, so here's the situation:
I, Issei Hyoudou—proud aspiring Harem King—had just received the blessing of the legendary pervy sage himself.

That's right. Jiraiya-sama. Naruto's master. The man who wrote Make-Out Paradise, survived wars, trained literal demigods, and still found time to be smothered in boobs and sake.

And now he was taking me under his wing.

But…

Apparently, I had the charm of a confused puppy and the seductive skill of a wet sock.

"You have potential, sure," Jiraiya said as he adjusted his robes and smoothed back his ridiculous mane of hair. "But potential means nothing if you walk up to a girl and ask her her cup size before her name."

"Okay, fair," I muttered.

So there we were, still in The Silken Petal—the kind of classy bar where everything smelled like perfume and possibility. The lights were soft, the music mellow, and the women way out of my league.

"Observe," Jiraiya said, cracking his knuckles like a master preparing to carve a sculpture. "Lesson one: read the atmosphere. Don't crash in like you're desperate. Be the breeze, not the bulldozer."

And just like that, he locked eyes with a tall, elegant woman at the bar. She looked like she belonged on a fashion magazine cover. Jiraiya strolled up like he had plot armor in a romance anime.

He didn't start with a line. Oh no.

He picked up a napkin, gently set it in front of her, and said, "Forgive me, but it would be a crime not to give beauty its proper stage."

She laughed. Laughed. Like she was genuinely charmed. Then they started chatting, and within seconds she was twirling her hair and smiling like she was back in high school.

I was floored. "He's like a reverse ninja. He just sneaks into their hearts…"

Jiraiya came back a few minutes later, the lady's number in hand and her perfume trailing behind him like victory smoke.

I blinked. "Was that Genjutsu?"

He chuckled. "No, kid. That was confidence, timing, and sincerity. Girls can tell when you're trying too hard, and they really know when you're not seeing them as people."

I scratched my head. "But… isn't this all about being smooth?"

"Being smooth is about respect," he said, wagging a finger. "Flirting isn't about tricking someone. It's about dancing with them. Teasing, listening, giving them a moment where they feel like the main character."

Mind. Blown.

"So… how do I practice that?"

Jiraiya smirked and pointed toward a nearby waitress. She was cute, had an easy smile, and was heading our way. "Step one: go ask her if she's having a good night. Don't ogle. Don't be weird. Just… talk."

I swallowed hard. "Right. Talk. Like a normal human being. Not a hentai protagonist."

"Exactly."

So I stood up, fixed my collar, made sure I didn't have wasabi on my face, and walked up to her.

My heart was pounding like a taiko drum.

"Hi," I said. "Sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to say thanks. You've got a really kind vibe—it makes the whole place feel relaxed."

She blinked. Then smiled. "That's sweet of you to say. Thanks!"

Boom.

My first non-creepy compliment.

"Uh, I'm Issei," I added, almost forgetting my name.

She gave a little wave. "Nice to meet you, Issei. I'm Emi. Enjoy your night, okay?"

I nodded and walked back to Jiraiya, who gave me a proud nod and tossed me a grape like I was a performing seal.

"Well done," he said. "You didn't combust. You didn't drool. And most importantly, you made her smile."

"Baby steps," I said, sitting down and feeling oddly… mature.

"Next time," he said, "we'll cover humor, voice control, and the lost art of romantic confidence."

My grin spread wider than a Devil's contract.

At this rate, I was going to earn that Harem King title—the right way.

Watch out, world.

This king's learning how to charm.

Chapter 21: Chapter 21

Chapter 21: Gangs, Bikes, and Bad Ideas
From Teen Naruto's Point of View — Featuring leather suits, schoolyard turf wars, and the worst-kept secrets ever.

You ever have one of those mornings where you wake up, eat microwaved leftovers, and then go out to meet a rich biker in an alley?

Yeah. Me neither. Until now.

Loki was already waiting for me when I jogged into the alley behind the convenience store—the one with graffiti that looked like a clown had exploded against the wall. He was leaning against a very expensive-looking black sports bike, wearing a custom leather racing suit that probably cost more than my whole apartment complex.

He looked like he was posing for a Calvin Klein photoshoot.

"You're ten minutes late," he said without even glancing at me.

I raised an eyebrow. "We never set a time."

He just tossed me a file like he was too cool for logic. Typical Loki.

I caught it, opened it, and immediately saw mugshots—like, high school mugshots. Someone had gone full FBI-mode on this. There were charts, territory maps, and bios. It was like Pokémon cards, but for teenage gang leaders.

"These are the active gangs in the city," Loki said, like he was giving me a debrief for a secret war. "The ones that operate at the school level. Meaning they're all students like us. Don't underestimate them."

I flipped the page.

The Valkyries – All-girls squad led by Freya. Wield weapons. Look like they walked out of a Kill Bill scene.

Combat Sumo – Bruisers led by Thor. Yes, that Thor. Literal muscle mountains.

Predator – Gang of martial artists led by Kisara. Deadly, fast, stylish. Probably drinks bubble tea with blood in it.

There were a few other names too. Small fry. But what caught my eye was the section marked "Lone Wolves."
One stood out.

Berserker.

A one-man army. No gang. No backup. Just raw power and a tendency to wreck faces.

"Who's the strongest?" I asked, still flipping.

Loki pulled off his sunglasses dramatically (seriously, who wears sunglasses in an alley?) and said, "Freya's Valkyries have the best coordination and gear. But in terms of raw strength?"

He tapped the page with Berserker's name.

"This guy. Hands down. I want you to defeat him. You don't have a gang yet, so forget Freya. Go for a statement victory."

I looked down again.

There it was. The grainy photo of Shogo. Aka Berserker. Aka the dude who already tried to punch my soul out a week ago.

"…Uh," I said, handing the file back, "hate to break your evil master plan, but Shogo's already part of my gang."

Loki blinked. "What?"

"Yeah. He joined. It was a whole thing. I may have broken a bench in the process. Anyway—he's with us now."

There was a long pause.

Then Loki groaned and rubbed his temples like I'd just told him his evil twin was dating his crush.

"You're messing up the story structure," he muttered.

"Sorry," I said with a grin. "Didn't realize we were following a villain-approved narrative arc."

He sighed again, then looked up with a smirk. "Fine. Then that means you need to be the statement. Take on one of the gang leaders. Publicly. Freya, Kisara, or Thor."

I blinked. "That escalated quickly."

Loki revved his bike. "Greatness doesn't wait for slow plots, Naruto. Think fast, act faster."

And just like that, he roared off down the alleyway, leaving behind the smell of burnt rubber and expensive cologne.

I stood there for a moment, file still in hand, feeling the weight of the turf war pressing down on my shoulders.

School gangs, huh? Weapons, territory, one-man war machines…

Looked like my peaceful high school life was officially dead.

And honestly?

I was kinda excited.

------------------------------

Loki—also known as Kyoichi Takame to the world of normal people who filed taxes and went to parent-teacher meetings—revved his bike and disappeared into the city's veins of concrete and neon. His destination: the hidden headquarters of the Shadow Gang, a rising name in the city's chaotic underbelly of student-run turf wars.

Born into wealth and raised with a silver spoon sharpened into a blade, Kyoichi wasn't just some bored rich kid playing delinquent. He was a trained black belt in karate, with a solid grasp of grappling arts to boot. But despite his formal martial background, Loki preferred to fight dirty. He liked weapons. Knives, chains, batons—anything that gave him an edge before his opponent could blink. It wasn't about honor. It was about results.

His real weapon, however, was information. Loki was a self-declared detective, digging up secrets like buried treasure, and using them like knives hidden behind his back. That was how he'd risen so quickly—by knowing his enemies before they knew themselves.

And that was how he had files on every major player in the school-level gang scene: Freya and her Valkyries, Thor and his Sumo squad, Kisara's martial arts gang, even solo monsters like Berserker.

But then came Issei Hyoudou—or as the guy now insisted on being called, Naruto Uzumaki.

He didn't fit any mold Loki had seen before.

Naruto fought like a warrior born, every movement primal and precise. His brawls with Shogo (aka Berserker) and others weren't just beatdowns—they were statements. He had power, raw and uncut, the kind of thing that made people follow.

But Loki wasn't looking for strength alone.

He was watching for ambition.

Naruto had it—that fire behind the eyes, that hunger to rise, to change the board. Yet power and ambition didn't make someone a leader. Results did. Decisions did.

Loki wasn't interested in working with people who could be conquered. If Naruto showed weakness—if he proved to be all bark and no empire—then Loki already had the metaphorical knife sharpened for his back.

That's how the game worked. Alliances weren't made. They were measured.

Riding into the underground parking lot of his gang's headquarters—a sleek, high-tech hideout hidden beneath one of his family's unused office buildings—Loki stepped off his bike with theatrical flair.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and built like a runway model with a vendetta, Loki was hard to miss. His light blue hair stood up in the front like a wave frozen mid-crash, while the rest was combed neatly back. His dark trench coat swayed around his legs like a villain's cape, black gloves completing the look.

He walked into the war room where his lieutenants were already waiting, screens lit up with gang movements, school news feeds, and dossiers.

"Keep an eye on Uzumaki," he said casually, tossing his gloves on the table.

One of his goons raised an eyebrow. "You think he's a threat?"

Loki smirked. "I hope so. Otherwise this game's going to get real boring."

He turned toward the large digital board on the wall, where the city's map glowed softly.

"And when things get boring," he added, eyes narrowing, "I start stabbing."

---------------------

If you ever find yourself stuck in another guy's body, living in a world that feels like someone mashed up High School Musical, Tokyo Revengers, and Dragon Ball Z—first of all, I'm sorry. Second, don't be like me and try to pick a gang fight by tossing a stick in the air like it's a divine message from the immortals.

Spoiler: the immortals don't care. And even if they did, they have terrible aim.

With Loki off zooming away on his overpriced murdercycle like he was auditioning for Fast and the Furious: Schoolyard Drift, I was left standing in the same shady alley, trying to plan my next move. Technically, I was in Issei Hyoudou's body, but let's be honest, that meat suit was looking more and more like me every day. Chalk it up to my Uzumaki soul punching the gas pedal on evolution. Kid was getting jacked just by housing my chakra-starved energy.

Anyway. Focus.

Three gangs. Three headaches. One me.

I jogged through the park, which was pretty chill if you ignored the pigeons that kept giving me judgmental side-eyes. I needed to pick a target. Someone to challenge. Someone to beat up, preferably in dramatic anime fashion, so I could start building my own gang of misfits and walking tropes.

Freya's Valkyries were an all-girls gang with actual weapons. Like—actual weapons. Sickles, staffs, chains. I wouldn't be surprised if someone had a flamethrower tucked in a schoolbag. Fighting them sounded like trying to speedrun your way through Dark Souls with a wooden sword and no pants.

Thor's Combat Sumo gang, on the other hand? Less complicated. Bunch of dudes built like angry refrigerators who charged at you with the power of collapsing vending machines. But hey, at least they believed in fair one-on-one fights. That was nice. Terrifying, but nice.

And then there was Kisara. Her Predator gang was basically her plus a bunch of martial artists who were decent, but nothing too scary. She had the smallest army out of the three, but I've learned the hard way that the quiet ones usually have the meanest kicks.

I stopped under a shady tree in the park and squatted down on the dirt path. With the grace of a scholar—or possibly a bored raccoon—I used a twig to write down the three gang names in big, messy kanji on the ground:

Freya
Thor
Kisara

Then I stood up, held the stick like it was a sacred relic from the Temple of Dumb Decisions, and tossed it straight into the air.

Now, in my head, this would go something like: stick lands perfectly on the ground, pointing heroically at one of the names, and boom—destiny chosen.

What actually happened?

The stick went whoosh up. Spun in the air like a drunken propeller. Then smacked me in the forehead and bounced off.

"Ow! Seriously?" I muttered, rubbing my head while a squirrel nearby made what I'm pretty sure was a judgmental chirp.

Round two. I tossed it again. This time, it didn't hit me—but it landed between two names, like the universe couldn't make up its mind either.

"Okay, okay, how about… best two out of three?"

Five stick throws later, the score was:

One vote for Freya

Two votes for Kisara

One stick lost to a passing dog

And one landed in someone's bento box

Clearly, this method wasn't working.

I flopped down on the grass, sighing like I was carrying the weight of the ninja world on my shoulders (which, to be fair, I kinda was). I closed my eyes and tried to imagine each fight.

Freya's gang would be chaos. Loud, flashy, and with bonus flying metal.

Thor's group would be like getting hit by sentient mountains.

Kisara… that one felt the most doable. Not easy—nothing in this weird world was ever easy—but manageable. A good first step. A statement.

Plus, I kinda wanted to meet this Kisara girl. Rumor had it she was tough, proud, and gorgeous—which honestly described half the girls I ever fell for.

I cracked one eye open and grinned at the sky. "Alright, Kisara. Ready or not, here comes your new favorite rival."

The squirrel from earlier stared at me from a nearby branch, probably thinking this idiot's gonna get kicked in the face.

And honestly? Probably.

But hey—if you're gonna get kicked, might as well look cool doing it.

Chapter 22: Chapter 22

Chapter 22: Trees, Kicks, and Parkour Ninjas
(Now with 78% more sweat and 100% more foam-padded trees)

Let me tell you something about jogging: it's not my thing.

Sure, as Naruto Uzumaki I've chased more bad guys than I can count, raced through forests like a caffeinated squirrel, and carried people on my back like some kind of budget superhero. But running for the sake of running? Voluntarily? Yeah, that's a whole different beast. Especially when you're doing a ten-mile jog while stuffed into someone else's body.

But hey, cardio is important when you're planning to challenge a girl who can probably kick your head off your shoulders.

So there I was, jogging through the morning mist in the body of Issei Hyoudou, trying to look all cool and mysterious like I was training for a showdown in The Karate Kid: Multiverse Edition. I had already made my decision—Kisara was the one. Not in the romantic way (yet), but as my first real challenge.

I was mid-stride, fantasizing about dramatic slow-motion battle sequences and perfectly timed one-liners, when I heard footsteps catching up behind me.

"Issei!" Kenichi waved, huffing slightly but managing a grin. Beside him was his little sister, Honoka, who somehow looked like she had energy for ten more miles and a dance-off.

I slowed down a little to let them fall in step. "Yo, Kenichi. Honoka. Thought you guys were sleeping in."

"Nah," Kenichi said between breaths. "You've been running every morning for days now. I figured if I want to catch up, I'd better start chasing."

"Plus," Honoka chirped, "Kenichi said he wanted to talk to you about a girl!"

I almost tripped. "Wait, what?! I never said—Honoka!"

She giggled like she'd just handed me a live firecracker. Kenichi's ears were bright red, but he kept running like a trooper.

"Actually," he admitted, "I did want to talk about Kisara Nanjo."

Bingo.

I raised an eyebrow. "What about her?"

"She's in my school," he said. "Third-year. Taekwondo champion. People say she's a bit of a firecracker—prideful, hates being underestimated. But she's not a bad person, you know? Just… tough. Like she has something to prove."

Sounded exactly like my type of opponent. Which either meant I was about to earn a rival… or a free trip to the chiropractor.

"Are you really planning to fight her?" Kenichi asked, genuine concern in his voice.

I grinned. "Of course. But don't worry, it's not about winning or losing."

Kenichi blinked. "It's not?"

"Nah. Look, failure's not the end. As long as we're breathing, we've got chances to stand up again. Losing just means you've still got room to grow. Besides, it's way more fun when you get to fight someone strong."

Kenichi went quiet for a second. Then he smiled.

"You know… that actually makes a lot of sense."

Honoka gave her brother a proud look and nudged him in the ribs. "Told you he was cool."

In the past twelve days, Kenichi had gone from crying about scraped knees to throwing legit punches and facing his fears. He still blushed when a girl looked at him too long, but hey—progress is progress. He even stood straighter now, like he finally believed he belonged in his own skin.

He looked down the road, then turned to me with a determined spark in his eyes.

"Issei," he said—well, Naruto in Issei's body, but close enough—"I want to fight with you. Not just cheer from the side. I want in. We're friends, right?"

I blinked.

Then I grinned.

"Best friends."

We did the whole dramatic fist bump thing, the kind that sends off sparkles in anime and probably caused a minor earthquake in the squirrel community nearby.

Together, we kept running down the path, not just training—but getting ready.

For Kisara. For whatever came next. For glory, defeat, and everything in between.

And I wasn't alone.

Because this wasn't just my story anymore.

---------------------

You know that feeling when you've just finished a ten-mile run and your body's like, "Alright champ, we're done now, right?"
Yeah… I ignore that feeling.

Because in my book, the jog is just the appetizer. The real feast starts when the muscles are warm and the sweat is dripping into your eyes so you can't see the next punch coming. That's how you grow. Or die. But mostly grow—hopefully.

So after the jog, I planted myself in the middle of our little park training ground and took a deep breath. The breeze was nice, the birds were chirping, and the foam-padded tree that looked like it had been attacked by an overzealous pillow company stood proudly in front of us.

Time to dance.

"Alright," I said, shaking out my arms and legs. "Let's warm up with a combo set. Just follow along—unless you want to be kicked in the face."

Kenichi gulped. "Following along sounds good."

I grinned and launched into the flow. My body—well, Issei's body—moved through the strikes like water. A jab from boxing. A roundhouse from Muay Thai. A low sweep from Karate. Elbow smash. Judo grab. Grappling spin. Then back to a snap kick with a Taekwondo flair.

My feet barely touched the ground twice in the same spot. I flowed from strike to strike like a leaf in a river—if that leaf had trained with master assassins, wrestled bears, and had a weird obsession with spinning midair.

Kenichi and Honoka tried to keep up. Emphasis on "tried."

"Ugh—ow!" Kenichi yelped as his elbow bounced off the foam-padded tree and rebounded into his own stomach. "That looked way easier when you did it."

"It's like a video game," I said, tossing him a water bottle. "You gotta level up your combo meter."

Honoka, who was smaller but surprisingly fast, did a pretty decent spinning back kick that landed with a thump on the tree trunk. "I got three hits in a row!" she chirped, beaming like she just won a gold medal in sass-fu.

"Nice work!" I called back, twirling into a blade-drawing motion with my wooden practice sword. "That's triple your record from yesterday."

She stuck out her tongue. "I'm gonna beat you one day, Mister Ninja!"

I chuckled. "If that day ever comes, I'll retire and open a ramen shop."

After the martial arts practice came the next part of my totally unofficial, mostly-made-up-but-totally-effective training regime: parkour.

I vaulted over a bench, spun off a low branch, and used the back of a slide as a launchpad to flip into a roll. Parkour's not just for stylish social media clips—when you're a ninja, staying still in a fight is a great way to collect bruises. Or broken bones. Or a big ol' Game Over sign.

Kenichi followed behind, a little clumsy but determined, while Honoka zoomed past him like a caffeine-powered squirrel.

"C'mon, Kenichi!" Honoka called back, sticking her tongue out mid-vault. "You're getting left behind!"

"I'm—trying—not—to—die!" Kenichi puffed, tripping slightly over a swing set before regaining his balance and diving over a picnic table.

We regrouped under the big tree after twenty more minutes of intense movement. Kenichi flopped onto the grass like a boneless fish, Honoka did cartwheels in the background, and I wiped sweat off my face with the edge of my shirt.

"That," Kenichi wheezed, "was brutal."

"That," I corrected, "was breakfast."

He looked up at me with wide, betrayed eyes. "We're still training?"

"Of course. Real fights don't wait for snack breaks. And besides—"

At that moment, my stomach growled so loudly that the squirrels looked up from their nuts like I was about to steal them.

"…Okay, maybe we deserve a snack break."

Kenichi slumped in relief.

We sprawled out on the grass with water bottles and energy bars, watching the clouds go by.

-------------------------

After our parkour ninja madness and high-kick tree therapy session, we called it a wrap for the morning. Kenichi limped away mumbling something about an ice pack the size of a watermelon. Honoka declared she was "totally not tired" right before tripping over a root and faceplanting into a bush. I gave her a thumbs up as she waved from inside the foliage.

As for me, I headed home with one goal in mind: shower, breakfast, dojo.

Step one: Shower.
There's something about hot water after training that hits different. It's like your muscles are screaming, "YES! Finally, mercy!" while your brain goes, "Hey, good job not dying today."

Step two: Breakfast.
Cereal, eggs, toast, and a protein shake that tasted like chocolate-flavored regret. But hey—ninja fuel.

Step three: Dojo time.

By noon, I walked into the same dojo where I had fought Shogo—the guy who practically tried to fold me into origami last week. He stood in front of a heavy punching bag, hands wrapped, drenched in sweat like he'd been punching bricks for fun. Probably had.

"Yo," I said, tossing him a water bottle. "We survived each other. That's a win, right?"

Shogo caught the bottle one-handed and cracked a small smile. Which, for him, probably meant he was feeling downright cheerful.

"Barely," he said.

We sat near the wall mats, the air still thick with dojo sweat and the smell of resolve (and maybe old socks).

"So," I began, "I've been thinking about our fight. You were holding back, weren't you?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he took a sip from the bottle, staring at the wall like it had offended him in a past life.

"I was serious," he finally said, "partially."

"Partially," I repeated. "As in 'I could've ended you but decided not to'?"

He glanced at me, expression unreadable. "I would've won if I'd gone all out. But that's because Issei's body wasn't built like mine. Physically, you were at a disadvantage."

I nodded, not offended. It was true. I mean, I wasn't used to this body yet. Still had more 'pervy anime protagonist' vibes than 'fist-through-concrete' energy.

"But," Shogo continued, "your skills… they were better. That's what really matters. And you're improving fast."

I grinned. "Means a lot coming from Mr. Punches-Through-Walls."

He smirked slightly. "Don't let it go to your head."

I leaned back against the wall. "So… does that mean you're not joining my gang?"

He tilted his head. "I already said yes. I'm in."

Relief hit me like a roundhouse to the chest—just, you know, the good kind.

"But," he added, raising a finger like a teacher about to deliver bad news, "I'll leave if it stops being fun."

"Fun?" I blinked. "This isn't dodgeball club. This is gang turf stuff."

He leaned forward, his eyes lighting up with that lowkey battle maniac energy. "I like fights that push me to the edge. If your gang gives me battles that let me use everything I've got—then I'm game."

I paused, then broke into a wide grin. "Oh, you will not be bored. Trust me. I'm all about the challenge."

He nodded slowly, satisfied. "Then we're good."

We sat there for a moment, two teens who could technically be expelled for assault and battery by lunchtime, bonding over the mutual love of honorable beatdowns.

Sometimes friendship is forged in ramen shops.
Sometimes it's in awkward confessions.
And sometimes… it's in trying to suplex each other into tatami mats.

Chapter 23: Chapter 23

Chapter 23: Bruises, Boasts, and Big Wall-Punching Energy
(Featuring: One Very Buff Sensei, One Very Beaten Teen, and One Very Honest Berserker)

Let me tell you something real quick—getting thrown across a dojo ten times in a row? Not as fun as it sounds. Unless you're me, in which case it's basically Tuesday.

Shogo and I had been sparring for the past hour, and by "sparring" I mean he was using me as a crash-test dummy while I tried not to kiss the ceiling again. He wasn't going full-out berserker mode, but he was serious enough that I had to learn fast.

Good news? I was actually getting better.
Bad news? My everything hurt.

"Time!" I gasped, rolling onto my back, panting like a fish out of water. "Five-minute break or I fake my death."

Shogo cracked his neck and wiped sweat off his brow like this was just a casual warm-up. "You're improving," he said. "Slower than me, obviously, but still."

"Gee," I wheezed, "thanks for the encouragement, Captain Confidence."

But truth be told, he wasn't wrong. With every punch I dodged, blocked, or ate like a breakfast burrito, I felt the rhythm building inside me. It was like my soul—the real me, Naruto—was waking up more and more inside Issei's body. Each loss, each bruise, was just... proof that I was getting closer to syncing completely.

"Hey," I asked, sitting up with my arms draped over my knees, "what do you think of Gozui-sensei?"

Shogo raised an eyebrow. "The karate master? The giant with the death stare and arms like construction cranes?"

"That's the one," I said with a grin. "He's kind of a beast. I like him. He's old-school, but he actually teaches stuff well, y'know? No ego, just strength."

Shogo shrugged, taking a sip from his water bottle. "He's strong. Seen him fight a few times."

I tilted my head. "You think you could beat him?"

Without missing a beat, Shogo said, "Easily."

I blinked. "Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah." He leaned back against the wall. "I've seen how he fights. Predictable, heavy punches, solid form, but I'm faster, more technical. I'd outmaneuver him and break his stance. End of story."

I stared at him. "You do realize Gozui literally punched through a concrete wall because someone scratched his motorcycle, right?"

Shogo nodded calmly. "Yeah. But walls don't punch back."

Okay, fair point.

"But," he added, "I don't disrespect him. He's a real martial artist. Just... old-school. He peaked already. Guys like him don't evolve anymore. Guys like us? We're still leveling up."

I looked down at my bruised knuckles and scraped elbows and smirked. "Yeah... leveling up with every painful XP drop."

He actually chuckled. "Exactly."

It hit me then—Shogo wasn't just strong. He was aware. He understood the game, the styles, the flow of combat like some people understand chess. The guy probably even dreamed in combos.

Still, it didn't change the fact that I respected Gozui-sensei like crazy. The man was two meters of focused rage and wisdom wrapped in a gi. One time, he got so mad during a spar that he threw a motorbike. Not metaphorically. Literally. Threw. A. Motorbike.

I saw it.

"Guess that means I've got a long way to go," I said.

Shogo looked at me and shrugged again. "Not as far as you think. You're catching up fast. Maybe too fast."

I raised an eyebrow. "That supposed to be a compliment or a threat?"

He smirked. "Both."

I laughed, flopping back down on the mat. "Man, I love training days."

Even if I'd probably have to crawl home. Again.

 

-----------------

In the world of martial arts, there's a special kind of fear that comes from realizing your opponent could probably snap a vending machine in half just to get a soda. That's the vibe Gonzui-sensei gave off. The man looked like a pro wrestler fused with a kabuki actor—tall, absolutely jacked, and rocking white-and-red face paint like he was heading into battle or a very intense theater performance.

Naruto (still in Issei's teenage body, mind you) had seen a lot of strange things in his life. Demons, chakra beasts, the occasional interdimensional war... but Gonzui's hair? That was a new one. Styled like little wings on either side of his head, it bounced with every step he took. Like angry eyebrows made of hair.

After wrapping up another brutal spar with Shogo—where Naruto collected bruises like trading cards—he approached the sensei, still catching his breath.

"Sensei Gonzui," Naruto said with a grin, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Think you could spare a round with me?"

Gonzui's painted eyes sparkled. "You ask as if I've been waiting for it." He gave a hearty laugh that rumbled like a stormcloud. "Come, Issei! Let us clash fists like men and kabuki warriors!"

Naruto blinked. "...Sure! Let's go with that."

They moved to the center of the dojo. The students watching from the sidelines shuffled back instinctively, already familiar with what happened when Gonzui got going. Last time, someone asked if his paint was cosplay and he kicked through a wall.

"Remember," Gonzui said, taking his stance with one open palm and a clenched fist behind it, "a dojo is sacred ground. But today, it shall also be a battlefield."

Naruto cracked his knuckles. "Bring it on, old man."

Big mistake.

WHAM.

Before he could blink, Gonzui was in front of him. Naruto barely raised a block before he was flying through the air, skidding across the polished floor like a mop with legs.

"Okay," Naruto groaned, "respect the face paint. Got it."

The spar was... one-sided, to say the least.

Gonzui moved like a bear on nitro. Every punch felt like a freight train loaded with regrets. His kicks were fast, wide arcs of raw force, and his footwork was so precise Naruto half-wondered if the man secretly moonlighted as a ballet instructor.

But Naruto wasn't one to back down. No matter how many times Gonzui flipped him like a pancake or sent him spinning like a top, he kept getting up.

After one particularly gnarly slam, Naruto rolled and launched himself with a sweeping low kick. Gonzui jumped, but Naruto followed with a rising elbow that actually landed.

"HA!" Naruto shouted triumphantly. "Tagged you!"

Gonzui grunted. "Impressive! But not enough!"

CRACK.

Naruto was pretty sure the punch that followed briefly knocked his soul into next Tuesday. He landed on his back with a groan, blinking at the dojo ceiling.

"You learn fast," Gonzui said, offering a hand. "But you're still in the oven. Give it time, and you will be the flame."

Naruto took the hand and stood, wobbling a little. "Thanks. So... I'm like, what, halfway baked?"

"You are the batter," Gonzui said solemnly. "But tasty batter."

Shogo, from the side, facepalmed. "Why do you always make things weird?"

Gonzui flexed dramatically. "Because weirdness is the seasoning of strength!"

Despite the soreness, Naruto couldn't stop smiling. It wasn't just about strength. It was about learning. And Gonzui-sensei? He wasn't just a martial artist. He was a giant, both literally and in spirit.

As the class wrapped up, Naruto bowed to him with deep respect. "Thanks for the fight, Sensei."

"You honor me," Gonzui replied, bowing back. "Now go. Rest. Grow stronger. And maybe ice your ribs."

Naruto nodded, already feeling the bruises forming under his shirt. Worth it. Every blow.

After all, he'd just gone toe-to-toe with a Master.

------------------------

You'd think after getting tossed around by a kabuki-powered karate master, I'd want to spend the rest of my day lying in a nice, soft bed, preferably with a bucket of ramen and a small army of masseuses.

But nope. This was war. Arcade war.

So there I was—Issei, but also Naruto, inside a body that had way too many hormones and not enough stamina—lounging in the bath like a king of sore muscles. I soaked until my fingers went all pruney and I was half-asleep imagining ramen-shaped clouds. Then I remembered: today was Kisara day.

Now don't get me wrong. I like Kisara. I've never actually met her, but she kicks people for a living, which earns automatic respect. According to Loki (yes, that Loki, the chaos guy who's always annoyingly dramatic), Kisara and her crew—the "Three Musketeers of Feet-Fu"—would be hanging around an arcade.

So after lunch (two bowls of curry, a meat bun, and a questionable soda that may have been radioactive), I met up with Kenichi and Shogo at the park.

Kenichi was stretching like we were about to run a triathlon instead of going to battle inside a building filled with claw machines and neon lights. "Are we sure this is a good idea?" he asked, nervous but clearly trying to sound brave. "I mean... Kisara doesn't exactly talk things out."

Shogo grinned, hands behind his head like he'd just won the lottery. "That's the point, Kenichi. She kicks things out. Much more fun."

I gave them both a grin that I hoped looked cool and not like someone who just got dropkicked by Gonzui that morning. "Look, we're not going there to destroy her or anything. Just a friendly brawl. With honor. And mild concussions."

Kenichi looked unconvinced. "I still don't know why I'm coming."

I clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Because we're friends. And friends challenge terrifying high-kicking queens together."

"Also," Shogo added, "you need the XP."

Kenichi blinked. "The what?"

"Experience points, bro," Shogo said, walking ahead toward the arcade. "How are you going to level up if you keep skipping boss battles?"

Kenichi mumbled something about normal people not needing to "level up" to survive gym class, but he followed.

-----------------

They jogged toward the glowing neon lights of the arcade like heroes about to face a raid boss.

Inside, Kisara was totally owning Dance Dance Revolution. Her feet flew over the arrows with lightning speed. If you didn't know better, you'd think she was auditioning for some ninja dance squad. She had the perfect mix of cool and fierce—bright green eyes flashing, maroon hair sticking out from under a green cap, and torn jeans that practically screamed "don't mess with me." And those boots? "Like a weapon," she said once. Yeah, Naruto wasn't about to argue.

Kisara's three musketeers were chilling nearby, duking it out over Street Fighters. First up was Kozo Ukita, the Judo guy. Tall, lean, scar under his chin, wearing sunglasses like he was auditioning for a gangster movie. He enjoyed tossing people around—literally. Then there was Ikki Takeda, the Boxer, who looked like he walked straight off a fashion runway with silver-blue hair, bandaged wrists, and a blade of grass perpetually hanging out of his mouth. Finally, Taichi Koga—the Capoeira master—laid-back and breezy with a cool headband and a smirk that said, "I'll stab you in the back and smile about it."

Naruto stepped up with Kenichi and Shogo close behind. The musketeers stopped their game, eyes narrowing like they smelled trouble.

"Hey, you. This is our turf," Ukita said, voice low and threatening.

Koga swaggered forward, all smirks and casual menace. "You wanna challenge Kisara? Back off before you get hurt."

Naruto's grin turned mischievous. "I'm here to challenge her, actually."

Koga tried to push him out of the way, but Naruto was too quick. With a smooth sidestep, he palmed Koga's face. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to say, Don't mess with me.

The arcade went silent. Even the DDR machine seemed to pause its beat for a split second.

Kisara stopped dancing and turned, eyes sparkling with challenge. "You must be crazy—or confident. Which is it?"

Naruto smirked, heart pumping. "A little of both."

Kenichi whispered nervously, "Maybe we should've brought snacks instead of fists."

Shogo just cracked his knuckles again, ready for the real fight.

Because this was no ordinary arcade showdown. This was a boss battle. And Naruto was ready to press Start.

Chapter 24: Chapter 24

Chapter 24: Battle Crazy and Bubblegum
(Or: That Time the Berserker Was Just the Sidekick)

The arcade lights glowed like a battlefield under a disco ball. The musketeers froze the moment they locked eyes with Shogo—a.k.a. the Berserker. And not the cool anime kind. No, this was the real-world version: a bubblegum-chewing, muscle-packed menace who fought like the world owed him an apology.

Ukita paled slightly, already reaching instinctively for his judo belt like it was a security blanket. Takeda tensed, his jaw clenching around that perpetually cool blade of grass. Even carefree Koga, who usually strolled into fights like he was walking into a beach party, stiffened and dropped the swagger.

It wasn't just PTSD. It was survival instinct.

Last time Shogo had dropped by, the fight had been so one-sided, the arcade had closed early, the trio had spent a week in the hospital, and someone swore the dance machine still had a dent shaped like Ukita's shoulder.

Everyone on the block knew the Berserker.
Tall, ripped, wild-eyed, with an unnatural love for chaos and fights. If he walked into a room, you either prayed you weren't his target or offered him snacks.

Kisara's emerald eyes narrowed. "What do you want?" she asked, planting one boot with a heavy thud on the dance platform.

Clearly, she thought Shogo was leading this little squad of destruction.

Shogo casually blew a pink bubble and popped it with a smirk. "Me? Nah. I'm just here for the show." He tilted his head toward the real star.

Issei.

Now that made the gang stare.

"Wait... you're following him?" Takeda asked, eyes squinting as if Issei was a hidden final boss in disguise.

"Seriously?" Ukita muttered. "Is this guy secretly the Emperor of Street Fighter or something?"

Koga just stared. "He's handsome. That's suspicious."

Kisara studied the stranger carefully. And yeah—Issei was good-looking. But more than that, there was a dangerous spark in his eyes. That same battle-hungry gleam she'd seen in the Berserker before. Except this one smiled while carrying it, which somehow made it worse.

He looked... seasoned. Like he'd been training for years. Not a single wasted movement in his stance. Confidence practically dripped from him.

What Kisara didn't know—what no one knew—was that this body had only been trained for a month.

But hey, when you're Naruto in a teen body, a month was practically a shonen anime timeskip.

Still, Kisara wasn't about to be impressed by just swagger and muscles.

She crossed her arms. "Alright, hotshot. Why do you want to fight?"

Issei smiled. "Because I want to challenge the top fighters in the region. And after I beat them, I plan to absorb their gangs into mine."

There was a pause. A heavy one.

Then Kisara burst out laughing.

"Oh wow. You think you're in Dragon Ball Z or something?" she said between chuckles. "Do you think you're gonna beat up everyone and suddenly become king of the school? What, you gonna go Super Saiyan next?"

Issei shrugged. "Not yet. Maybe next arc."

That made Shogo snort. Kenichi facepalmed.

Kisara grinned, not unkindly. "You're confident. I'll give you that. But let's see how you handle my guys first." She gestured at her musketeers, who looked much less enthusiastic about the idea.

"They're my sub-leaders. If you want to challenge me, you go through them."

Issei nodded. "Sounds fair."

"You're seriously okay with fighting all three?" she asked, raising a brow. "Outside. Now."

He rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. "I want to convince them of my strength. What better way than a friendly brawl?"

Kisara smirked. "Alright then, battle maniac. Let's go see if your confidence has fists to back it up."

As they all started walking toward the exit, Shogo popped another bubble and grinned at Kenichi.

"Told you this'd be fun."

Kenichi groaned. "I should've stayed in the bath."

----------------------

The arcade doors swung shut behind them with a soft click, the neon glow giving way to the dim, flickering streetlamp at the mouth of the alleyway. The quiet hum of the city surrounded them, just enough to mask the storm that was about to erupt. This wasn't a battle for glory or fame—it was a statement.

Kisara crossed her arms and leaned against the graffiti-tagged wall, her eyes sharp and focused. Shogo stood beside her, chewing bubblegum like he was watching a movie trailer. Kenichi lingered near the entrance, hands stuffed into his pockets, nervously scanning the area for any unwanted onlookers or the dreaded wail of a police siren.

In the center of the alley, Naruto—wearing Issei's body like a well-fit cloak—stood face-to-face with Kisara's trio.

Ukita the Judo master.
Ikki the boxer—fastest of the three.
Koga the capoeirista, fluid and tricky.

They weren't just Kisara's lieutenants—they were the kind of fighters who could win regional tournaments if they felt like signing up. Their teamwork was honed through dozens of street fights, and they'd long since stopped underestimating challengers. Especially after what happened with Shogo.

But Naruto wasn't like Shogo. He didn't radiate menace. He radiated confidence—the kind that made you question if you were the fool for doubting him.

And then the fight began.

Ukita surged forward first, like a tank in motion. His goal was simple: grab, slam, and end it quick.

But Naruto met him halfway.

A rising knee—fast and sharp—forced Ukita to cross his arms in a block, absorbing the blow with a grunt. It wasn't enough to stop him, but it stalled him, and that was all Naruto needed.

Ikki was already there, throwing a textbook straight punch meant to knock a head back. Koga followed with a high kick, the heel of his foot arcing downward with the grace of a guillotine.

But Naruto moved like water. Like fire. Like everything at once.

He headbutted Ukita without warning. There was a sharp crack—forehead to chin—and Ukita stumbled. Naruto dropped to his back, using Ukita's thigh as a brace. His legs coiled like springs.

A sweep.

Naruto's foot slammed into Ikki's left leg, the angle perfect. Ikki staggered, footing thrown off as his punch went wide. Koga's axe kick came down like a hammer, but Naruto wasn't there anymore.

He pushed up with both hands, muscles rippling from the sudden motion, and tackled Koga mid-air. The momentum was too much for the capoeirista to control.

They hit the ground. Hard.

Koga let out a wheeze as Naruto landed atop him, pinning him briefly before rolling off and springing to his feet like a gymnast.

It had been less than ten seconds.

Kisara blinked. Shogo grinned.

Kenichi's mouth fell open. "…He tackled Koga out of the air."

-----------------

The alley buzzed with tension—half shadows, half sweat. Kisara had stopped leaning against the wall. Kenichi's breath caught in his throat. Shogo's gum popped, a wide grin spreading across his face.

The first round was over.

Now came the real fight.

The moment Naruto stood tall again, the energy shifted. He cracked his knuckles—not for intimidation, but to wake up. If these guys were going to take him seriously, then fine. No more warm-up. No more holding back. This wasn't sparring.

This was a statement.

Ikki and Ukita flanked him from both sides, fast and heavy. Koga, as expected, kept distance like a hyena circling a lion, waiting for scraps or a clean shot. But even a coward had claws when the fight dragged on long enough.

Ukita roared and charged like a freight train, arms ready to snatch Naruto and suplex him into the pavement. Ikki weaved in at the same time, fists flickering like twin pistons aimed at Naruto's ribs and jaw.

Naruto didn't retreat.

He stepped into Ukita's charge, twisting his body and planting his foot hard. The judo fighter reached for his shoulder—but Naruto rotated, grabbing Ukita's wrist mid-motion and swinging him over with raw strength.

Ukita's body slammed into Ikki, and both stumbled back.

"Don't move like you're in a schoolyard," Naruto said, voice calm, eyes gleaming. "This is a battlefield."

They didn't respond. Ukita lunged again, and Ikki darted around the left, fists snapping out like fireworks. Naruto dodged left, ducked a hook, raised his elbow just as Ukita closed in—

CRACK!

Ukita caught an elbow to the chin and reeled.

Ikki managed to land a punch to Naruto's side, but the instant contact was made—

BOOM.

Naruto twisted into the blow, using his full momentum, and drove his palm into Ikki's stomach. The boxer bent double, spittle flying, eyes wide.

Naruto didn't stop there.

He spun, grabbing Ikki's wrist mid-fall and kicking out with his heel—a punishing sweep that smashed into Ikki's ankle and sent him crashing into Ukita's knees. The two tumbled in a heap.

Koga tried to sneak in with a spinning kick while Naruto was focused—classic backstab coward tactic. But Naruto heard him before he saw him.

He dropped low.

Koga's leg sailed overhead—and Naruto's elbow smashed into his inner thigh as he passed.

Koga screamed. His balance collapsed. Naruto stood, pivoted, and thrust his knee into Koga's stomach so hard the guy left the ground.

And then—with an explosion of motion—Naruto spun and hammerfisted Koga mid-air, sending him crashing into a trash can.

The alley fell silent for a beat. The only sound was the rustle of distant traffic and Koga coughing in a metal bin.

Naruto's chest rose and fell steadily.

Three elite-level student fighters—down, bruised, dazed.

But they weren't unconscious.

Ikki staggered up, bleeding from the lip, eyes focused now—furious and respectful. Ukita's stance was shaky but upright. Koga… stayed down. As expected.

Ikki growled, spit blood, and raised his fists again. "You… you're a monster."

Naruto grinned, brushing dirt off his shoulder. "Nah. I'm just hungry."

He darted forward again, this time a blur of motion.

He blocked a jab with his forearm, countered with a strike to Ikki's collarbone. Ducking under a desperate swing from Ukita, he hooked his arm around the judo fighter's neck and used him as a shield, forcing Ikki to hesitate.

Then, with precision, he hip-tossed Ukita into Ikki, and the two collapsed once more.

Dust filled the alley.

And when it cleared—

Naruto stood in the center. Alone.

The trio were groaning, trying to sit up. Not unconscious. Not out of commission forever. But finished for today. Bruised. Probably fractured. Humbled.

Naruto turned to Kisara and grinned. "Still think I need DBZ powers?"

Kisara stared, lips slightly parted. That same glint—Shogo's glint—burned in his eyes.

She didn't answer.

Shogo? He just chuckled and blew a bubble with his gum. Pop.

Chapter 25: Chapter 25

Chapter 25: Join My Totally-Not-a-Gang Gang
(Where I Recruit with Punches and Philosophy)

 

Kisara didn't get impressed easily. Sure, guys liked to puff their chests and throw a few punches, but when it came to actual martial arts? Real, disciplined, trained technique? Most of them flopped harder than a goldfish on a trampoline.

But this guy—this Naruto-pretending-to-be-Issei guy?

He had moves.

One moment, her three musketeers—Ikki the Flash Fist, Ukita the Human Bulldozer, and Koga the Capoeira Prince (or at least the Capoeira Sidekick)—were forming a deadly triangle formation. The next, they were reduced to a pile of groaning limbs and bruised pride.

Kisara watched it all with her arms crossed, expression neutral… but her eyes? Definitely curious.

This wasn't a regular schoolyard brawl. Naruto fought like he was dancing with chaos and somehow leading the choreography. His style was—what's the technical term?—a mashup of everything. He had the footwork of a boxer, the throws of a judoka, and the unpredictability of someone who'd probably fought a tiger on a tightrope just for fun.

She tilted her head as he casually stretched after flooring Koga for the third and final time.

"Self-taught?" she muttered under her breath. "Or a master's Frankenstein monster of every martial art ever created?"

The idea should've been ridiculous.

It wasn't.

Then, he looked at her.

That look. Not the sleazy kind. Not the smug "Oh, you're next, little lady" garbage. It was the kind of look you gave a rival before a match—curious, challenging, and above all, respectful.

That got her attention.

Kisara was used to being underestimated. A girl in a mostly guy-dominated underground scene? Please. Most of her fights started with someone saying "Are you lost, sweetheart?" and ended with someone swallowing their molars.

But this guy?

He didn't see her as weak.

He saw her as worthy.

Which made it all the more satisfying when she cracked her knuckles, stepped forward, and said, "Now that you've beaten up my boys, I can't just let you walk away without breaking something."

Naruto—still wearing that smug, battle-high grin—chuckled like she'd just offered him dessert after dinner. "I don't mind," he said. "But that's only if you can hit me."

He bounced on his feet now, eyes alive with excitement. "I hope you're faster than those guys. I'm really hoping for those legendary kicks of yours."

Kisara smirked.

"Oh, don't worry," she said, stepping into stance. "You'll be tasting one in three seconds or less."

"Bold claim."

"Back it up?"

Naruto gave her the universal fighter's nod. The "let's dance" signal.

Shogo, off to the side, bit into a new stick of gum with glee. "Oh, this is gonna be good," he mumbled through bubbles.

Kenichi whispered, "Should we… stop this?"

Kisara's foot blurred through the air so fast the wind snapped Kenichi's collar.

He wisely shut up.

Naruto dodged by millimeters, eyes wide with anticipation. "Okay… okay… This is more like it."

And just like that, the alley became an arena.

Two warriors. One alley. No rules.

Just mutual respect, flying kicks, and the distinct possibility of a dislocated jaw.

---------------------

The alley wasn't made for epic showdowns. It was narrow, littered with trash cans, old posters peeling off the walls, and one very confused stray cat who immediately dipped as soon as the first kick shattered the sound barrier.

Kisara struck first.

Her roundhouse kick sliced through the air, and Naruto ducked under it by a hair's breadth, the hem of his shirt fluttering from the pressure.

"Fast," he muttered with a grin, "but not fast enough."

"Then stop smiling and try dodging this!" she snapped.

She twisted mid-air, using her momentum to deliver a hook kick that came at Naruto from the opposite angle. He leaned back with a fluid spine bend—Matrix-style—and planted one hand on the ground, flipping back to safety.

"Okay, okay," he said, landing on his feet. "I felt the wind on that one. Points for drama."

They circled each other, breath misting slightly in the cool night air. Kisara's eyes narrowed, studying him.

"Mixed style," she said. "You copy moves like a parrot or just addicted to fighting?"

Naruto smirked. "Why not both?"

She lunged.

He stepped in.

Their fists collided in a cross-counter—her straight punch to his elbow deflect and palm strike—both twisting off to avoid the follow-up. Kisara sent a low spinning sweep. Naruto hopped it, aiming a Muay Thai knee down from above. She leaned sideways and spun her heel up for a spinning back kick, barely missing his ribs.

CLANG! Her foot hit the side of a dumpster instead, denting the metal.

Naruto whistled. "You sure that thing wasn't aimed at my head?"

"I missed on purpose," she lied.

"Uh-huh."

Then they both moved—fast.

Naruto charged with a Baji Quan shoulder strike, forcing her back. She vaulted off the wall, used it to spin, and countered with a flying side kick straight toward his chest.

BOOM!

He crossed his arms and skidded back, boots digging grooves into the dirty concrete.

"Oof—okay. You've definitely broken boards with that."

Kisara landed and shook her leg loose. "I break ribs with that."

"Oh, so we're flirting now?" he teased.

She snorted. "Only if you stay standing."

They took the fight upward.

Kisara leapt to the emergency stairs, Naruto following right behind her like a shadow. They sprinted up the zigzagging metal structure, trading elbow strikes and kicks on the go. Naruto tried to grab her from behind into a judo hip throw, but Kisara jumped mid-grapple and kicked off the railing, flipping over him and landing three steps higher.

She spun around, fire in her eyes. "You like heights?"

"I prefer rooftops. Better view."

She charged him from above, leaping off the stair platform with a double kick aimed at his chest and head. Naruto caught the first with his forearm, ducked the second, and responded with a low inside leg kick, knocking her foot out from under her.

But she rolled with it, using the momentum to twist and try for a heel hook takedown on his ankle.

"Tricky girl," Naruto grunted, hopping back, and using the rail to flip over her.

They landed in the alley again, both crouched, panting, bruised.

Kisara wiped blood from her lip. "You're not bad… for a weirdo."

Naruto popped his neck with a grin. "You hit like a truck… for a girl."

She stood. "Sexist and smug? That's it. I'm breaking something."

"Oh, you've already cracked my pride."

They lunged again.

Naruto aimed for a Muay Thai clinch, trying to trap her arms. Kisara slipped it and countered with a triple kick combo—mid, high, low. He blocked two but took the third to his thigh with a wince.

"Cheap shot," he hissed.

"Smart shot."

He ducked and drove in close with a shoulder tackle, smashing her into the alley wall. She gasped but answered with a headbutt that rattled his skull.

They staggered apart, bruised, scratched, panting.

Then—laughter.

"You're nuts," Kisara said, breathless, a grin breaking through.

"You're violent," Naruto replied, equally amused.

They both straightened up. The tension simmered, but now something else bubbled beneath it—respect.

"You still wanna keep going?" she asked, brushing her hair from her face.

Naruto rolled his shoulder. "I mean, I haven't seen your real finisher yet. Still holding out hope for a spinning dragon kick or something."

Kisara raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I'm saving it for a real opponent."

"Ouch."

From the sidelines, Shogo bit his gum so hard it popped like a firecracker. "This is better than pay-per-view," he muttered.

Kenichi, pale and horrified, whispered, "This is illegal, right?"

The alley was quiet now, both fighters still standing, both grinning.

And somehow, both thinking the same thing:

I want to fight this person again.

-----------------------------

The night air was thick with tension—and maybe a little blood.

Kisara wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, glaring at Naruto with a grin that said, "I'm not done."

Naruto rotated his shoulder, wincing slightly. "That headbutt of yours… you hiding steel plates in there?"

"Just a thick skull," she shot back. "Want another taste?"

He chuckled. "You read my mind."

Round two. Fight.

They clashed again, a flurry of strikes that would've made a choreographer cry from joy—or stress. Kisara launched a sidekick, her foot cutting through the air like a blade. Naruto parried with a downward elbow, then spun into a backfist, grazing her cheek.

She answered with a cartwheel kick, using the wall to give it an extra angle. Naruto slid low, avoiding the arc, then used a leg sweep that made her stumble—but not fall.

"You're slippery," she muttered, regaining balance.

"I moisturize," he quipped.

She lunged, aiming to end it. Her fastest combo yet—a high feint into a low roundhouse, then vertical axe kick from above—was brutal. It was also beautifully executed.

But Naruto's instincts had gone beyond textbook moves.

He ducked the high feint, stepped into the roundhouse (which clipped him but didn't stop him), and just before the axe kick landed, he used her momentum—grabbed her leg mid-fall and spun her into a judo throw, slamming her to the ground with a sharp thud.

"Guh!" Kisara grunted, air leaving her lungs.

But she wasn't done.

She twisted on the ground and aimed a heel strike at his face. Naruto narrowly avoided it, jumped back, and gave her the room to stand.

Kisara rose slowly this time. Her chest heaved, one leg trembling from fatigue. Sweat glistened across her forehead, and her lip had a cut that matched the bruise forming on Naruto's cheek.

"We keep going," she growled, "I'm going to actually kill you."

Naruto, breathing heavier now, shook out his arms. "Fair warning… I might enjoy it."

With a yell, she charged.

But Naruto didn't meet her halfway. He waited. Focused. Calm.

As Kisara leapt with another flying kick, Naruto stepped aside—not to dodge, but to control. He caught her leg with both arms, spun on his heel, and delivered a brutal Muay Thai elbow to her ribs.

Crack.

She cried out in pain, and before she could react, Naruto slipped behind her and wrapped her in a grappling lock. Not to choke—just to stop the movement.

"Tap out," he whispered into her ear.

"Never," she hissed back, trying to twist.

"Stubborn," he said, tightening the hold.

"Let—go—!"

Then Naruto gently swept her legs and laid her on the ground like he was setting down a wild tiger. He crouched next to her and gave a tired grin.

"That's game."

Kisara glared up at him, half in pain, half in… awe?

"You... win," she admitted through gritted teeth.

From the side, Shogo whistled. "Well. That was terrifyingly romantic."

Kenichi blinked. "Did he just… gently defeat her? Is that a thing?"

Kisara groaned. "Shut up, both of you."

Naruto stood and extended a hand to her.

She looked at it for a moment. Then took it.

He helped her up, her hand still in his. "You're strong," he said sincerely. "That was the most fun I've had in a fight in a long time."

She raised an eyebrow. "You say that to all the girls you suplex into the concrete?"

He grinned. "Only the special ones."

She rolled her eyes but didn't let go. "Next time I'm breaking your nose."

He laughed. "I'll wear a helmet."

-------------------------

Let me just say, if someone had told me earlier today that I'd be fighting a lightning-fast Taekwondo queen in a narrow alley, with fire escapes rattling above and the scent of old ramen wafting from a nearby dumpster, I'd have asked if this was some kind of weird side-quest.

But here I was.

Standing in the aftermath of a full-blown mini-battle royale, bruised but grinning like an idiot, while Kisara—Queen of Kicks and Arcades—looked at me with suspicion and just a little bit of intrigue. Her gang, AKA the Three Not-So-Musketeers, stood nearby nursing their sore muscles and wounded pride.

"So…" I stretched, cracking my neck like the main character in a martial arts flick. "Wanna join my gang?"

Kisara blinked at me. "You just beat up half my team and now you're trying to recruit me?"

"Technically," I said, "I beat up all of your team. You included." I gave her a lopsided grin. "That counts as a proper job interview in delinquent culture, right?"

She didn't laugh. Not at first. She just narrowed her eyes and tilted her head slightly. "What's your real goal, Issei? You're not just collecting fighters for fun, are you? What happens when you've got all the gangs under you? Arcade tournaments every weekend? Giant turf war dodgeball matches?"

Okay, that did sound kinda awesome.

But I shook my head. "No, it's more than that." I let the smile drop for a second. "You know how it is, right? Most of the guys running around with these gangs… they're not bad people. They're just… lost. Angry. Waiting for something or someone to give them a reason to be better."

Kisara crossed her arms, listening but not yet buying it.

"I want to be that reason," I said. "I want to gather these guys, guide them, train them—not just to be better fighters but better people. Some of them are only one punch away from ending up in real crime. Real gangs. And I don't want to sit back and watch that happen when I can do something about it."

Kisara's brows rose just slightly. Her gang muttered behind her. Ukita blinked. "Wait… that's… really mature."

"Yeah," Ikki whispered. "He doesn't look smart enough to come up with that."

"I heard that," I called over my shoulder, then turned back to Kisara.

"And hey," I added with a smirk, "I also want to practice leadership. I'm not just punching people for the cardio, y'know?"

That earned a snort. She was trying not to laugh.

"But," I said, stepping closer, "there's another reason. One I'm not ready to say yet. Not unless you join me and show me your spirit first."

She stared at me for a beat. I half-expected her to laugh in my face and roundhouse me back to Monday.

Instead, she sighed and brushed her hair back. "You're weird, Issei."

"Thank you."

"But… you're the kind of weird I could maybe work with."

Did I just get a yes?

She held out her fist. "Don't expect me to bow or call you boss or any of that junk. But if you're serious, I'll walk with you a bit. See where this crazy road goes."

I bumped my fist to hers. "Deal. We'll make this gang cooler than a Ramen Festival in winter."

Koga muttered, "That sounds… kinda lame."

"It's a work in progress," I shot back.

And just like that, the girl with the fastest kicks in town and the arcade gang joined the cause.

Step one: unite the gangs.
Step two: train them up.
Step three: prevent a generation of delinquents from becoming actual villains.
Step four: ...profit? No, wait. That's not right.

Anyway. I had a crew now. And the real mission was just beginning.

Chapter 26: Chapter 26

Chapter 26: "Burgers, Bruises, and a Very Familiar Name"
(Where We Learn Our Gang is Named After Anime Supervillains)

Let me set the scene for you: a group of bruised, sweaty teens with limping pride, hunched over plastic arcade chairs, surrounded by blinking lights, retro game music, and the sweet, healing aroma of grease-soaked fries.

In other words, paradise.

Ukita was using a bag of frozen nuggets as an ice pack. Ikki was sipping a milkshake through a bent straw like it held the cure to all injuries. Koga was sulking in the corner with ketchup packets for company. And me? I was lounging in the middle booth like a benevolent overlord, nursing a sprite and victory.

Kisara sat across from me, chin propped up on one hand, expression sharp. "So, fearless leader," she said, stealing one of my fries without shame, "you've recruited us, beat us up, and dragged us into your grand mission of redemption. But you haven't told us one thing."

I blinked. "Is it how I get my hair to look this good after a fight?"

"No."

"How I learned to fight like a mini Bruce Lee with ADHD?"

"No."

"Then it has to be—"

"The gang's name," she cut in. "You never told us what we're called."

Oh. Right. That.

I sat up straight and cleared my throat with all the drama of a magician pulling a rabbit from his hoodie. "The name… is Akatsuki."

A pause.

Then: "The Red Dawn."

Another pause. This time with extra blinking.

"Isn't that… from an anime?" Ikki asked slowly, like he was solving a crime scene.

"Yeah," Koga muttered. "Pretty sure those guys tried to blow up the moon or something."

"It's a name from a legendary mercenary group," I said, ignoring the snorts and slowly raising my burger like a sword. "They were made up of the strongest fighters, united not by nation or family, but purpose. They hunted monsters… and became legends."

"Yeah, and half of them were monsters," Ukita said around a fry.

Kisara leaned back, arching a brow. "So you're telling us our new identity is stolen from anime villains?"

I shrugged. "Rebranded. Think of it this way—we take the name and give it a new legacy. Less moon-exploding, more delinquent-saving. Same dramatic flair, though."

"I do like dramatic flair," Kisara admitted. "And we are kind of walking anime characters already."

"Exactly!" I pointed at her like she just discovered the cure for math. "We're the new Akatsuki—The Red Dawn that brings change. And fries."

"Okay," Ikki said with a sigh. "But I'm not wearing a cloak with clouds on it."

"I mean, I wasn't gonna force you…"

"…Unless?"

"…Unless we're doing a photoshoot."

Kisara laughed for real this time, and something in the group shifted. Like bruises and punches had turned into trust and potential.

We were no longer just a group of fighters. We were Akatsuki. Not the destroyers of worlds, but the rebuilders of futures.

And for now, we'd start with a burger, a bond, and maybe a team-up match in Street Fighter.

-------------------------

 

"So," Kisara said, one leg slung over the other like she was running a job interview and not still sipping soda with a bruised lip. "You got a name. Cool. Dramatic. A little nerdy. But what about your base of operations?"

I blinked mid-fry. "Our what-now?"

She rolled her eyes. "Your base. Your lair. Your hangout spot that doesn't include rusty swings and old men yelling at clouds. Please tell me you've thought of that."

I scratched the back of my neck. "Well… the park's got great trees. Excellent pigeons. Very scenic."

Ukita helpfully added, "There's a vending machine that sometimes gives you two drinks."

Koga muttered, "And that one bench isn't that broken."

Kisara gave me the look. You know the one. The really? face all girls learn at birth. "So basically, no base. You're a gang of ambitious squirrels."

"Okay, ouch, but… fair."

She sighed dramatically and slid a folded paper across the table like she was giving me a map to Atlantis. "There's an abandoned construction site near the river. Used to be part of an old mall project. Good space, sturdy walls, mostly abandoned except for raccoons."

I took the paper like it was a sacred scroll. "Wait, are you offering us your place?"

"I'm offering to share it. Don't get cocky, Red Dawn." She gave a sly smile. "Think of it as a co-op of chaos."

"That," I said, tapping the table like a contract had just been signed, "is the most generous and coolest offer I've ever received from someone I punched in the face."

Kisara raised her soda. "To mutually-assured bruises and new beginnings."

We all clinked cups. Even Koga. Though he still looked suspicious of the raccoons.

Later, as we limped toward the new base-to-be...

Kisara jogged ahead, still way too energetic for someone who'd been kicked into a dumpster twenty minutes ago. "So, fearless leader, what's the plan for the other gangs?"

I tilted my head. "Well, first I figured we keep it peaceful—offer alliances, maybe a cookout?"

She snorted. "Freya's group would probably stab you with a fork at the cookout. You know they fight like they're doing interpretive dance with knives, right?"

"Yeah, they use weapons and formation tactics. Definitely tougher to deal with directly."

"So go for Thor first," she said. "Their leader's a literal sumo wrestler. Strong, sure, but slow. You could dance around him like a fly with caffeine addiction. Plus, if he's out, Freya loses muscle backup."

I grinned. "So your strategy is: pick off the tank, weaken the support."

"Exactly. It's like a boss fight. You clear the minions and soften the raid leader."

"Are we... nerds?" I asked, staring at her.

She didn't hesitate. "Absolutely."

I was starting to really like Kisara. Not like that, don't get weird. But battle nerds? Those were rare and beautiful creatures.

As we arrived at the old construction site, I stood on a pile of bricks, wind blowing through my hair dramatically (okay, it was probably just a passing garbage truck but still), and declared:

"This shall be the new Akatsuki headquarters! From here, we shall plan battles, train our minds and fists, and maybe, just maybe, find a working microwave!"

Kisara clapped slowly. "Yeah, yeah. Just clean out the raccoons before naming anything."

----------------------------

So, turns out Kisara wasn't kidding about the base.

Except… she was wrong about one thing. It wasn't raccoons. Nope. The place was crawling with cats. Fuzzy, lazy, purring, occasionally sassy cats.

And that's when Kisara dropped the real bomb.

"Oh yeah," she said casually as she scratched a smug black-and-white cat behind the ears, "did I forget to mention I'm a cat person?"

"Person with cats, or…" I hesitated, eyeing her head suspiciously. "Should I be looking for ears?"

She smirked. "That's for you to find out, fearless leader."

I decided I wasn't ready for that kind of quest and stepped inside the actual base — and immediately had to pause. Because, uh, it was basically heaven.

There were arcade cabinets against one wall — classics and modern titles. There was a legit kitchen with industrial microwaves (plural), a stocked fridge, and someone frying eggs like we weren't in a gang hideout. There was a gym area with punching bags and weights, a half-court basketball setup, a foosball table that looked like it had seen actual war, and even a cozy PlayStation corner with beanbags and anime posters.

"This… is not what I expected," I said, turning in a slow circle.

Kisara walked past me, tossing a towel to a guy bench-pressing a suspiciously shaped Hello Kitty weight. "What, you thought we all sat in the dark and plotted crimes like Saturday morning villains?"

"Well… yeah. A little."

She gave me a look like I'd just insulted her cat's fashion sense. "We're The Predators, not psychos. We hang out. We chill. We fight when necessary, but mostly this place is just a safe zone."

"You guys even have a football goal. That's not a gang thing. That's a PE class thing."

"Exactly. We're not criminals. We're just awkward kids who happen to know martial arts, have rough pasts, and too much free time."

I blinked. "So you're basically anime side characters who formed a club."

"More like anime main characters who haven't had a plot arc yet."

Touché.

Kisara motioned to a guy with green hair hunched over a PlayStation controller like it held the secrets of life. "That's Mondo. He thinks with his fists but has the reflexes of a ninja squirrel. That's Reina over there — she looks sweet, but she's a black belt and once suplexed a vending machine for stealing her change."

"Respect," I whispered.

And yeah, despite the bruises still fresh on all of us, everyone here looked… happy. Goofy. Like this was the first place they could breathe.

Ukita wandered in and immediately joined a foosball game like he'd been born for it. Shogo was already scoping out the gym like he'd found a new religion. Even Kenichi was making awkward small talk with a girl who had a scar on her jaw and a lollipop in her mouth like it was her weapon of choice.

Kisara leaned beside me and asked quietly, "Still think you're just leading a gang?"

I looked around and… honestly? No.

This wasn't a gang. This was a family in waiting. A bunch of outcasts trying to find a place that didn't kick them out for being weird, strong, emotional, or just plain too much.

And now… they were my people, too.

"So what do we call the new setup?" Kisara asked. "Still Akatsuki? Even with all the PlayStations and microwave popcorn?"

I nodded with a grin. "Yeah. Akatsuki. The Red Dawn. Every dawn starts a little weird. Ours just happens to involve cats and foosball."

One of the cats meowed like it agreed.

--------------------------

You know how you expect certain things from your life? Like, maybe a pop quiz or a late-night ramen run or even the occasional run-in with a guy who thinks shirt buttons are optional and has fists the size of small cars.

But what you don't expect is to be walking through a cat-infested gang hideout-turned-hangout with the Queen of Kicks herself, while she grills you like an underqualified teacher on parent-teacher night.

"So…" Kisara said as we strolled past the PlayStation zone (where Ukita was currently losing to a smug twelve-year-old in Street Fighter), "how exactly did you end up with the berserker on your side?"

"Shogo?" I asked, pretending not to wince at the memory of his punches. "Yeah, good question. Still figuring that one out myself."

Kisara gave me a sideways glance, the kind that said you're either lying or you just forgot your own origin story. "No offense, but I didn't think Issei had it in him to make that guy listen, let alone follow."

"Oh, I completely agree," I said with a grin. "Honestly? Shogo could crush me like a paper cup if he wanted to. He's definitely on Gonzui's level… maybe stronger."

She raised an eyebrow. "And yet here he is, following you around like a pitbull with a new favorite chew toy."

"He saw something," I said, and even I was surprised by how honest I sounded. "Potential, maybe. Or just a chance for some chaos that's not completely aimless. I think… he liked that I wasn't afraid of him."

Kisara was quiet for a second, then smirked. "So basically, he likes the vibes."

"Exactly! Big guy's a vibes-based follower. Very modern of him."

We passed through the gym section, where someone was attempting to deadlift with absolutely horrible form, and I had to physically restrain myself from jumping in with corrections. Kisara glanced over at me again, more serious this time.

"Well, let's see what you can do, then, leader." The word leader came out half-tease, half-test. "Just don't expect me to approve if you start pulling dirty stuff. No crime, no extortion. I won't let you drag this place into something rotten."

I nodded. "Don't worry. I didn't come here to become a villain. Or a shady businessman. Or, like, the final boss of a yakuza game."

"Good, because you don't have the wardrobe for it."

"Rude but fair."

We reached a quieter part of the base, somewhere between the foosball warzone and the questionable beanbag meditation corner. I leaned against the wall and looked out at the rest of the gang, some laughing, some sparring, some feeding tuna bits to a smug-looking calico.

"I just want to guide them," I said, my voice softer now. "Not all of us are built for school and desks. I mean, I have to study… for reasons," (that reason being my life is a whole lie and I have ninja knowledge to keep fresh), "but these guys? They'd never make it that way."

"So what? You want to run a fight club?" Kisara asked.

"Kind of. But legal. With tournaments, martial arts dojos, training videos. Actual structure. We could turn our strength into a career — security, bodyguards, maybe even stunt work. YouTube channels, sponsorships…"

Kisara blinked at me. "You just described a financially responsible path to channeling violent tendencies."

"I am full of surprises."

"You are a surprise," she muttered, almost like she didn't mean to say it out loud.

I grinned. "Look, all I ask is a little faith. If they follow me, I'll lead them somewhere that doesn't involve jail time or ending up as some mid-tier villain's disposable lackey."

She nodded slowly, like she wasn't entirely sold, but also like she wasn't not sold either. "I'll be watching you, Boss."

"That better be a friendly watch. I don't need another person trying to roundhouse me through a wall."

Kisara smiled — the kind of smile that made you think you'd passed a test without realizing you were taking one.

"No promises," she said.

And just like that, I knew I had her.

Not just her strength. Her trust. Her belief. And if I could win her over, maybe — just maybe — I could make something real out of all this madness.

Chapter 27: Chapter 27

Chapter 27: "How to Spot a Magical Cat and Win Her Over with Snark"
(In Which Naruto Talks to a Cat and Somehow Gets a Nickname Approved)

At 8 p.m., the streets were as quiet as a ninja after curfew.

Naruto, still in his Issei disguise — which he was really starting to get used to, despite the… awkward reputation — strolled through the sleepy neighborhood. The only light came from the occasional flickering streetlamp and warm glows behind curtained windows. The city had a peaceful vibe to it, the kind that made you forget about delinquent fights, berserker training sessions, and the fact that Ukita nearly burned the base microwave again trying to make instant curry.

Kenichi had already bailed earlier. Something about "strict parents" and "not wanting to die." Understandable.

So Naruto walked alone now, his thoughts drifting somewhere between battle tactics and wondering what Kisara's hair would look like if she ever tried a ponytail. (Important things.)

And then he saw it.

A black cat. Sitting dead center on the sidewalk. Staring at him like it had just judged his entire soul and found it mildly entertaining.

Now, most people would go "Aww, kitty!"
Naruto? He squinted and muttered, "That's an amateur-level disguise. You might want to drop the act."

Because, of course, the cat wasn't a cat.

The cat blinked. Slowly. With the kind of sass that said excuse me, who do you think you are?

Naruto crouched down and scooped her up before she could bolt. "I'm talking to you. Why are you observing me?"

Inside the cat's mind, alarm bells were ringing.
'Okay, he is definitely on to me.'

And yes, she was absolutely spying.
Her name was Kuroka — part-time magical observer, full-time demon cat with a flair for dramatics and an unhealthy addiction to napping on rooftops. She'd been in the city for a while, sniffing around after catching the scent of a high-ranking devil. But what really caught her attention was this guy.

Naruto.
Well, Issei-but-not-Issei.
He was… weird. In a fascinating, kind of dangerous, "this guy might accidentally start a war and somehow win it with friendship and raw guts" sort of way.

He had no mana. No magical energy. Zilch.
But he knew things. Things he shouldn't. Like how to call her out of a transformation.

"How did you know?" she asked finally, tail flicking.

"Your eyes gave you away. Cats don't usually look at people like they owe them money," Naruto said, holding her up like Simba in The Lion King. "So what do you want?"

"Nothing." Her voice had that teasing lilt that meant 'I'm lying, but you won't catch me.' "You're just… interesting. Or are you the shy one now?"

"Nah." He started walking again, casually carrying her like a fuzzy handbag. "Just curious. What are you, and how did you transform your body?"

"I'm a demon cat," she said proudly, stretching in his arms. "It's called magic. Something you clearly don't have."

"That's rude."

"Also accurate."

Naruto rolled his eyes as she climbed on top of his head, purring like she owned the place. Which, judging by the way she made herself comfortable in his hair, she probably did now.

"I wasn't asking to learn it," he said. "Just wondering. Are there more magical beings here?"

"What are you going to do about it?" she asked, tail curling lazily over his forehead.

"Nothing. Thought it'd be cool to meet them."

Kuroka blinked.
That was… not the answer she was expecting. No begging for power, no wild theories, no screaming. Just a genuine "oh neat, I'd like to say hi."

It was weird.
But in a nice way.

"If you entertain me enough," she said, swishing her tail dramatically, "I might let you meet some."

"I'll try to match your standards, cat," he replied dryly.

"Call me Kuro."

"That's not better than cat, so I shall call you… Cat."

"Rude."
She batted his head playfully. "Fine, call me Kuroko."

"Better." Naruto grinned. "Now tell me, Kuroko — are there any other magical animals I should know about? Like, I don't know, a talking duck? A flamingo with a sword?"

"Only in your dreams, boy."

"Figures."

So they walked on — one boy, one magical catgirl disguised as a snarky furball — under the dim lights of the city. Two weirdos, in perfect company.

-------------------------

Let me be honest with you — if someone told me a week ago that I'd be walking down a quiet Japanese street with a talking cat on my head who also might be a magical girl or a demon or both, I probably would've laughed and then punched them.

But here I was.

And the cat was winning.

"So," I said casually, like someone not getting dragged deeper into a magical rabbit hole, "about that magical girl thing you mentioned. What was her name again? Serafluff?"

Kuroko — the now-official name of my feline headache — snorted. "Serafall. Not Serafluff. Though I bet she'd love that name. Sparkles and glitter and all that cutesy magical girl energy."

"Oh cool, so she is a magical girl?"

"Maybe."
She stretched luxuriously across my head like she owned both my scalp and my soul. "Or maybe she's a baking instructor from Hokkaido who moonlights as a pop idol and battles evil seaweed spirits with a wand shaped like a ladle."

"…Are you making this up?"

"Am I?" she purred. "Maybe you're making this up. Maybe this is all a dream. Maybe you ate expired ramen and now your subconscious is just creating a really weird anime filler arc."

"Okay, rude."
Note to self: cats are chaos goblins in disguise. Possibly literal ones.

I tried again. "Alright, let's talk about the Ki stuff. I know I'm not supposed to have magic or mana or whatever, but I do feel something when I fight. Like this burning inside me. That's Ki, right?"

Kuroko paused, and for a second, I thought she was going to give me an actual answer. She sat up on my head like a queen preparing to deliver royal wisdom.

"Find Ryozanpaku," she said solemnly.

"…And?"

"That's it."

"That's not it. That's like if I asked you how to find treasure and you just said 'Ocean.'"

"Well, I'm a cat. I don't do exposition dumps. Go find a talking parrot for that."

"I will find a parrot just to spite you."

She swatted my forehead gently with her paw. "You're cute when you're frustrated."

I sighed and looked up at the night sky. The stars were out, and the moon looked like it was laughing at me. Probably in league with the cat.

"So Ryozanpaku. You're not going to tell me what it is?"

"Nope."

"Is it a restaurant? A dojo? A theme park with really buff mascots?"

"Only one of those is correct, and I'm not saying which."

I groaned dramatically. "You are the worst tour guide ever."

"And yet," she said smugly, curling back into nap mode, "you keep listening."

Okay, she had a point.
I didn't know why, but there was something about her — and the things she said (or didn't say) — that tugged at the part of me that wasn't just curious, but hungry. Hungry to know more. To be more.
I couldn't explain it, but when she said "Ryozanpaku," it felt important. Like my instincts went: Yes. That. Go there.

Also, the way she said it made it sound like the dojo equivalent of a boss battle.

"You sure you're not some kind of magical messenger animal who's supposed to lead me to my destiny?"

"Maybe," she said with a smirk I could feel in my hair. "Or maybe I'm just bored and you walk in straight lines better than most pigeons."

"Again, rude."

We kept walking under the city lights. Me, pretending I wasn't being low-key manipulated by a sarcastic magical cat. Her, acting like she wasn't secretly impressed by how much I noticed.

She didn't say it out loud, but I think she was testing me. Seeing if I'd freak out. Break. Beg for power. But I didn't want power handed to me. I wanted to earn it. I had people counting on me now — Shogo, Kisara, heck, even Kenichi — and maybe this Ryozanpaku place would help me figure out how to do that.

"I'll find it," I said quietly.

"I know you will," Kuroko replied.
Still smug.
But a little softer.

-------------------

So, here's the thing:
When a talking cat disappears right before you get home and your front door is suspiciously unlocked even though you're sure you locked it, it's fair to say the universe is setting you up for something weird.

Spoiler alert: I was right.

I stepped into the house and immediately heard the sound of teacups clinking, polite laughter, and my mom being her usual cheerful self. That might not sound alarming, but considering she was hosting guests — actual guests — I immediately knew something was wrong.

She only brings out the good tea set if someone important is visiting… or if she's guilt-tripping me for not cleaning my room.

"Issei!" she called from the living room. "A girl from your school came to visit! Isn't that nice?"

A girl? From school?

For a second, my brain rebooted with sparkles and romance flags, and I wondered if maybe this was finally one of those cliché slice-of-life harem anime moments. Y'know, the ones where a shy beauty comes over to confess her feelings and give me homemade bento while whispering "Senpai~"?

Narrator voice: It was not that.

I walked in and saw two girls.

One had sharp violet eyes behind stylish glasses, black hair tied in a perfect ponytail, and an aura that screamed "vice president who knows how to kill you in ten ways with a paperclip." That was Tsubaki.

The other girl — the one with the short dark hair, unreadable poker face, and posture so straight it could slice diamonds — looked like someone who knew exactly how many steps she was from total world domination. That was Sona Sitri, Student Council President of Kuoh Academy.

Also known, apparently, as the girl here to talk to me.

"Uh," I said. Because I'm very eloquent when blindsided. "Hi?"

Sona gave me a crisp nod like I was a spreadsheet she mildly approved of. "Hello, Hyoudou Issei. I apologize for the unexpected visit."

My mom, bless her clueless soul, looked like she was about to cry from joy. "Issei! You never told me you had such polite friends! I'll go make cookies!"

That was her version of 'I'm dying from secondhand pride.' I didn't have the heart to tell her I had no idea who these people were.

"Actually," Tsubaki said sweetly, adjusting her glasses with the exact amount of menace you'd expect from a Bond villain intern, "we'd like to speak to Issei alone, if that's okay."

"Of course, dear!" my mom chirped. "I'll be in the kitchen! Call me if you need anything, sweetie!"

She left… and that's when the weird zing of energy ran through the air.

I turned back and saw Tsubaki's hand lower from a subtle gesture, her eyes glowing faintly for a second. She'd hypnotized my mom.

They hypnotized. My mom.

I almost decked them both right then and there.
Like, instincts flared, chakra stirred, adrenaline hit red alert. A tiny voice inside me went full Shinobi Mode like: they're threats — eliminate them.

But I didn't move. Not because I was scared — please, I've faced berserkers, angry cats, and Kisara's kicks — but because they could've taken me out the moment I walked in… and they hadn't.

So, I stayed still, eyes sharp.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"We're here to talk," Sona said coolly. "About what you are."

Wow. Straight to the point, huh? I respect that. Also, mildly terrified.

"What I am?" I echoed. "Pretty sure I'm human. Teenage. Hopeless at math. Terrible at being normal. That sum it up?"

Chapter 28: Chapter 28

Chapter 28: "Devils, Deals, and the Death of My Afternoon Plans"
(In Which I Almost Become a Magical Girl and Get Offered a Job by Satan Jr.)

You ever have one of those conversations that starts off weird and just keeps leveling up until you're no longer sure if you're in a fantasy anime or a particularly aggressive school recruitment ad?

Yeah. That was this.

Sona Sitri — Student Council President, Queen of Ice-Cold Glares, and, apparently, part-time Devil Princess — sat in my living room like she owned the place, sipping tea that my mom made with innocent joy.

"We're here to talk," she said smoothly. "About what you are."

Cue dramatic pause.

Okay, I'm not proud of this next line, but it kinda just came out.

"What I am?" I blinked. "Pretty sure I'm human. Teenage. Hopeless at math. Terrible at being normal. That sum it up?"

Tsubaki didn't laugh. She glared at me like I just insulted her entire bloodline.

"You are also a Sacred Gear holder," Sona said, ever composed. "Which might be twice critical."

My brain: Twice critical? Is that some kind of RPG stat or—?

Sona continued before I could meme out loud. "Your Sacred Gear, while minor, is irrelevant. What matters is that my sister believes you're special."

Okay. Not ominous at all.

"I've been observing you," she added, voice calm like she wasn't casually admitting to stalking, "and I can say with certainty: no human becomes that strong in one month. Your soul is far too powerful for that body. Spiritual energy is leaking from it."

Pause.

I took a moment to absorb that. My soul's leaking, apparently. Which probably explains why I've been feeling weirdly tingly and occasionally glowing in the mirror. I thought it was puberty but nope, turns out it's mystical radiation.

"Okay," I said slowly. "So your sister is a magical girl and my spiritual energy is leaking. Still not hearing why you're in my house."

I blinked. "Wait. Are you inviting me to become a magical girl?"

Tsubaki's eyes narrowed so hard I thought I heard a snap.

"Act with respect, Issei Hyoudou," she snapped.

"Hey, you're in my house," I retorted. "I'm not the one who waltzed in, brain-jacked my mom, and dropped soul bombshells over tea."

Sona lifted a hand. "It is of no matter, Tsubaki. I do not like such titles either."

She turned back to me, her expression unreadable. "And yes. I am here to invite you to the magical world."

And then she said it.

"Issei Hyoudou… would you be willing to become my subordinate?"

Boom.

I stared.

Like, actually stared. Because this girl — this calm, calculating president — had just asked me if I wanted to join her demonic MLM plan or something.

"…Interesting," I said carefully. "But what's the cost?"

She didn't flinch. "I will make you a devil. You will gain magical powers, longer life, and protection under my peerage."

Hold up. Did she just say make me a devil?

I leaned back and threw up my hands. "Yeahhh, hold that thought. I'm not giving up my humanity. I mean, I barely figured out how to be a human. Becoming a devil sounds like a level 99 side quest."

Sona didn't even blink.

She'd expected that answer. Like, fully prepped for me to turn her down. This was not her first recruitment rodeo.

"In that case," she said, adjusting her glasses, "I have an alternative offer."

She leaned forward, eyes sharp and calculating.

"You stay human… but work for me. As my agent in the human world. I'll give you resources, protection, and grant you anything you desire."

…

Okay. That was different.

"Anything?" I repeated slowly. "Like, anything-anything?"

"Within reason," she said.

"No monkey's paw loopholes?"

"No tricks."

Man, why did this feel like a video game NPC giving me a super rare side job? All that was missing was the glowing exclamation mark over her head.

"So," I said, scratching the back of my neck. "Let me get this straight. You're offering me: magic powers, a devil president boss, and the ability to keep my soul without selling it?"

"Correct."

I leaned back again. "…You got a pamphlet or something?"

She actually smiled.

Just a tiny one.

"I'll send the paperwork."

Because of course becoming part of the magical world came with forms.

--------------------

Look, I'm not saying I'm a genius negotiator or anything — I once tried to trade half my lunch for a pencil — but even I know when someone's offering a deal that sounds too good to be true. Magic powers? Devil status? Lifetime protection plan with a fancy girl boss?

Yeah, I've read this manga. I know how that ends.

So I took a breath, leaned forward, and said the five most suspicious words in the history of anime:

"How about this instead?"

Sona blinked. That was the most emotion I'd seen from her all day. Tsubaki actually tensed, like she thought I was going to pull out a water gun loaded with holy water.

"I'm not going to be anyone's subordinate," I said calmly. "But we can be allies. When needed, I'll act as your subordinate — as in, mission-specific, mercenary-style. You give me a task, I do it. You pay me based on the difficulty."

Pause for dramatic effect. (I might've imagined background music.)

"But before any of that," I added, "I want to know if you can help me control this spiritual energy thing. And teach me magic. Real magic. Not card tricks. Not disappearing rabbits. Like... the actual magical stuff."

Sona stared at me for a moment. Not like she was angry. More like she was evaluating me with the intensity of a chess master about to lose a bishop.

She adjusted her glasses and said, very slowly, "You surprise me."

Yeah, that's fair. I surprise myself sometimes.

"You're not under any magical pressure," she continued, half to herself. "Not intimidated. Not seduced. Not even confused."

"Hey, I'm always a little confused," I corrected. "But I fake it well."

Sona smiled. It was tiny. Almost invisible. But it was there. That little twitch of lip that said, 'Huh. This guy's not a total idiot.'

"I see that you're unconvinced about my intentions," she said at last. "Very well. I'll be honest with you. My goal is to create a society of equality within my species — something like what humanity has aspired to."

That made me raise an eyebrow.

"Wait, humanity achieved equality? When did that happen? Was I out sick that day?"

Tsubaki frowned at me. Sona actually chuckled.

"…Nonetheless," she said, "your terms are acceptable. Let us make a contract according to your stipulations. We will be allies. And you will act as a mercenary — for hire — with clear compensation."

She extended her hand toward me. Not in some devilish magical vow kind of way. Just… a handshake.

"But," she added, "I hope you'll still consider my initial offer. Truly becoming part of our world. A peerage. A team."

I looked at her hand.

Then at Tsubaki, who was still staring at me like I was a weird bug they'd accidentally invited indoors.

Then I shook.

"Deal," I said. "But just so you know… I still want a cool magical outfit. I hear magical girls get great capes."

Tsubaki groaned. Sona just smiled again — slightly wider this time — and let go.

And just like that, I'd accidentally become a freelance magical agent for the most powerful teenage devil in Kuoh.

…Man, I really need to start reading the fine print on my life decisions.

 

---------------------------

So, turns out magic isn't all sparkles and shouting "EXPLOSION!" at bad guys.

It's math.

Literal, terrifying, honor-student math.

Sona Sitri, bless her academically overachieving heart, stood in my living room like a magical TED Talk presenter. She adjusted her glasses, motioned to Tsubaki, and suddenly there was a whiteboard where there absolutely had not been a whiteboard five seconds ago.

Tsubaki had brought it from… somewhere. Devil storage magic? Pocket dimension? IKEA?

"Magic," Sona began, writing in big, tidy characters on the board like the world's most intense cram school teacher, "is not a miracle. It is a phenomenon. Something that is calculated, formulated, and executed based on cause and effect."

"Okay," I said slowly. "So it's like… science with extra steps?"

"Correct," she nodded, as if I'd passed some kind of entrance exam. "Magic is essentially the art of knowing: 'If I do this, then this will happen.' It requires understanding of energy — where it comes from, how to convert it, and how to shape it into results."

She listed off types of magic like a Pokémon professor: Norse magic, Fairy magic, something-something-pantheon-magic… I was halfway through wondering if there was a Fire-type or Water-type when she spun around and looked at me seriously.

"Even humans can learn it," she said. "Some are born with a knack, others must work harder. You — Issei Hyoudou — must first understand which energies flow most naturally through you. Magic from immortals? Elemental magic? Or perhaps a more ancient force?"

I raised a hand like a nervous student.

"Uh… Is there a cheat code version? Like a shortcut menu or 'magic.exe' I can download?"

"No," she said flatly. "This is not a video game."

Tsubaki gave me the same look a cat gives a clumsy human. You know the one. Pure judgment.

Once Sona finished her explanation (with very satisfying marker squeaks and some truly terrifying diagrams), she handed me a book.

It was thick, dusty, and had "MAGIC FOR DUMMIES" written on the front in sparkly silver script. The subtitle might as well have read: "Because You Clearly Need Help."

"This," Sona said, "is your first step. Read it. Understand it. Try the basic exercises. If you are suited to magic, we will know soon enough."

"Wait," I said. "So I read this, then what? Do I get a wand? A familiar? At least a cool transformation sequence?"

"...You may get a nosebleed if you try too hard without training."

Comforting.

It was getting late — the kind of late where normal people are in pajamas and not forming magical pacts with demon honor students — so Sona and Tsubaki got ready to leave.

Before stepping out, Sona looked over her shoulder.

"We'll be around more now," she said, a hint of amusement in her otherwise calm voice. "Since we're allies."

"Oh great," I said, lifting the heavy book with both hands. "Does this come with a student discount on brain cells?"

She didn't answer.

But I swear Tsubaki smirked.

After they left, I plopped on my bed, opened the book, and read the first line:

"Magic begins with intent."

...I intended to survive this nonsense.

Chapter 29: Chapter 29

You'd think after a day full of spiritual leaks, magic math, and devil deals, I'd get a quiet night's sleep. But nope. My brain had other plans.

I found myself standing in the dream world again — a place that looked suspiciously like that weird ramen stand near the train station, only floating in the middle of a starry void. Naturally.

"Yo!" Issei waved at me like we were meeting for coffee and not in the metaphysical realm of subconscious bonding. "Took you long enough. Thought you died or something."

"Only my dignity," I groaned, plopping down beside him. "You would not believe the day I had."

He grinned like a kid expecting gossip. "Hit me with it."

So I told him.

About how I finally took down Kisara — the terrifyingly hot delinquent queen of the neighborhood. How her gang now served me, under the totally-awesome-and-not-at-all-ominous name: Akatsuki. Issei's eyes widened at that part like I'd just said I'd married an idol.

"You absorbed her gang?!" he sputtered. "Dude! I've been ogling her since middle school! You're living my shounen fantasy!"

I shrugged with all the fake humility I could muster. "What can I say? She kicked me through three walls before we had a bonding moment."

Then I told him about the weird talking cat — you know, just casual dream talk. The one that dropped the name Ryozanpaku like it was supposed to mean something. Still no clue what it is, but if a magical cat says it's important, I'm listening.

And then — because the universe was clearly on caffeine — I got a surprise visit from Sona Sitri, the local student council president, part-time devil, full-time honor student, and — apparently — the sister of that magical girl Kuroka had hinted at.

I told Issei about her proposal, how she tried to recruit me as a devil, and how I turned her down but agreed to be a freelance magical mercenary instead.

Issei just stared at me for a full ten seconds, his jaw slowly falling open.

Then:

"Bro. You met Kisara, and Sona Sitri in one day?! You're not a ninja. You're a dating sim protagonist!"

I held up a finger. "Correction: I didn't date any of them."

"Yet," he muttered darkly, crossing his arms. "I'm telling you, man, you're gonna end up with a girlfriend before me — and you're the guy who punches people for fun."

I smirked. "Don't worry. You've got your training arc, right? How's that going?"

Immediately, Issei's face lit up like a festival lantern. "Oh! I finished my beginner training today! Master Jiraiya said we're finally moving out of the Tutorial Forest™."

"Nice!" I grinned. "Where to?"

"Dunno yet, but as long as it's not that one forest and not that one bar, I'm thrilled."

Fair. After a month of the same trees and the same bartender giving you that look every time you broke another stool? Anyone would be excited.

He leaned in closer, whispering like a kid sharing treasure map details.

"And guess what? Jiraiya-sama finally started my harem training."

I blinked. "I'm sorry — your what training?"

"Harem training," he repeated proudly, like it was a college course. "Says it's good for my soul health. Gotta expand emotionally, connect with women, you know? Bond deeply."

I raised an eyebrow. "By deeply, you mean…"

"I've only been cuddling with the bar waitresses," he said quickly. "Nothing... advanced yet."

"Right. Baby steps."

We both laughed, and for a moment the void felt less void-y. Just two guys, joking around in a dream dimension, talking about gangs, magic, devil girls, and harem goals.

You know. Teenage stuff.

Before we drifted off into deeper dreams, I gave him a pat on the back.

"You'll get your adventure, Issei. Just don't let Jiraiya get you arrested."

"No promises," he grinned.

Once we'd finished trading stories like old pen pals in the void, Issei leaned in, eyes gleaming with that rare mix of excitement and seriousness that only came when he was talking about cool power stuff.

"Alright, listen close," he said. "Jiraiya dropped some wisdom bombs on me today — real foundational stuff about Ki and Spirit energy."

I perked up. Finally, something to explain why my soul felt like it was bench-pressing cars while my body still got winded climbing stairs.

"Turns out you were right," Issei continued. "Ki? Totally locked behind a peak human achievement wall. You gotta have your body as strong as your soul — or at least not completely dragging it down — before Ki'll even consider unlocking."

"Figures," I muttered. "Like asking a Ferrari engine to run in a tricycle frame."

"Exactly!" he said, snapping his fingers. "That's why Master Jiraiya told me to keep training my body. No shortcuts. Ki's like trying to control lightning with wet spaghetti arms if you're not physically ready."

"Gross mental image. But accurate."

He nodded sagely. "But here's the kicker — spiritual energy? That one's tied to your soul, and it's already off the charts, dude. Your soul's pushing your body forward like a turbo booster strapped to a lawn mower."

That... was actually way too accurate. I'd been feeling off lately. Stronger, faster — but also like I was one sneeze away from blasting a hole through the fridge.

"Spiritual power increases with experience, knowledge... or y'know, devouring souls," Issei added, with a casual shrug that made me give him a look.

"I'm not out here soul-snacking, bro."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm just telling you the lore."

He grinned, but then his expression sobered again. "Here's the key: Chakra keeps both Ki and Spirit in balance. It's why people like you — chakra users — naturally grow in both areas. It's like a feedback loop. Your spiritual power is already overclocked, so if you can focus and will it properly, you can start doing things that would normally need magic."

"Like illusions?" I asked, eyes narrowing.

"Exactly. Illusions, spiritual constructs, barriers — all that cool stuff. But here's the problem…"

He gave me a serious look.

"You haven't activated it yet. It's just leaking. Dormant. Unfocused."

"Great," I muttered. "So I'm walking around with a leaking battery that could be a laser cannon."

He chuckled. "Pretty much. But there is a way to jumpstart it."

"Hit me."

"Either you get a magic user to send a pulse of magical energy into your body to sync it — like an awakening shockwave — or..." He trailed off.

"Or?" I prompted.

"You take a massive, overwhelming shock — something extreme enough to trigger your soul-body synchronization through sheer trauma. Y'know. Classic shounen awakening rules."

"...So either Sona zaps me with a spiritual taser," I deadpanned, "or I get hit by a truck."

"Hey, 'Truck-kun' has a reputation," Issei said with a grin. "But yeah. Basically."

I rubbed my temple. This was so far above normal human problems. Like, how do you even explain this to a school counselor?

"Thanks, Issei. Seriously. That helps a lot."

"Anytime, bro," he said, giving me a fist bump.

We floated there in the dream world, two future powerhouses trying to figure out how not to explode from within.

One thing was clear though —
If I wanted to master my spiritual power, I either needed a magical friend…
…or I needed to find a lightning storm and some bad decisions.

----------------------------

Issei's POV

Issei woke up with the sun barely peeking over the horizon, the morning air thick with mist and the scent of dew-soaked foliage. The Forest of Death wasn't exactly the most welcoming bed & breakfast, but after a month, it felt weirdly like home. Well… a home where everything wanted to kill you.

He sat up slowly from his makeshift sleeping mat, wincing from phantom soreness. Sparring with Naruto in the dream world always left his body tired even if it didn't show any bruises. He glanced at his hands — Naruto's hands. Still transformed. With a quick breath and a puff of smoke, he returned to his true self.

"Aaaah~" he groaned, stretching. "Another beautiful morning in trauma camp."

He did his usual full-body stretches — not just because Gai-sensei would say "youthful warriors must greet the sun with a battle cry," but because Jiraiya would literally dropkick him if he was caught sleeping past six. Again.

After his joints popped and he got the blood flowing, he headed down to the river. Breakfast time. As always, he started with fishing — old-fashioned way, bare hands and quick strikes. He snagged three decently sized fish before a rustle in the brush caught his attention.

"Oh, hey, breakfast part two."

A pair of giant snakes slithered too close and were promptly handled with an explosive tag trap he had set nearby. One hiss and a boom later, they were de-fanged, tied up, and on their way to the campfire. On the way back, he snagged a young deer with a well-aimed kunai.

"Forest diet: 90% protein, 10% guilt," he muttered.

By the time he made it to the campsite, he had a decent haul. Within fifteen minutes, the fire was lit, the fish were sizzling, and he was humming the Ichiraku Ramen jingle as he flipped meat on the pan.

And like clockwork, they appeared.

Jiraiya, Kakashi, and Gai materialized like ghosts — or more accurately, hungry predators that had scented prey. One moment the woods were quiet, the next they were perched around him like he was running a ninja IHOP.

"Smells good," Kakashi said, eye smiling as usual.

"Ah! Youthful prey! You have conquered the wilderness once again!" Gai gave a thumbs up, his teeth practically sparkling.

Jiraiya, as usual, didn't say much right away. He just sat, sniffed, and looked proud. Proud of the food. Proud of the routine. Proud of him.

"Alright, spill it," Jiraiya said once breakfast started. "What did Naruto say?"

Issei grinned. This was the part he looked forward to. Naruto was more than just a best friend — he was a shared treasure among them. They treated news about him the way fangirls treated celebrity gossip.

"He told me about Kisara," Issei said while chewing some roasted fish. "Took her down, absorbed her gang, and renamed it Akatsuki."

Kakashi let out a low whistle.

"Also got recruited by the student council president — turns out she's a devil. Name's Sona Sitri."

At that, both Jiraiya and Kakashi leaned in like gossiping aunties. Gai just looked confused.

"A devil?" Kakashi echoed. "That's new."

"Not just a devil," Issei added. "The sister of that magical girl we saw last month."

"Oh, I like this plot development," Jiraiya said, rubbing his hands. "Romance? Rivalry? Inter-dimensional seduction?"

"Heh," Issei chuckled, but then pouted slightly. "Honestly, Naruto's surrounded by babes again. Kisara, Sona… It's not fair. Man's just walking into harems like he ordered them off a menu."

Kakashi blinked at him.

"You're literally being trained by Jiraiya and me. What were you expecting?"

That was true, but still!

With a dramatic sigh, Issei leaned back, hands behind his head. "Alright… speaking of which… Can I, uh… meet a kunoichi? A hot one? Y'know, for motivation?"

There was a moment of silence. Gai looked horrified.

"Youth should be focused on growth and integrity, not such impure thoughts!" he declared, eyes blazing.

"Boooo," Issei muttered.

But before Gai could launch into a speech, Kakashi placed a hand on Issei's shoulder like a cool uncle about to give forbidden wisdom.

"Don't worry, Issei," he said, voice low. "Your request is… reasonable."

Jiraiya's grin was so wide, it looked like it might crack his face.

"Finally, my boy. Finally. I was beginning to worry. We can start phase one of the 'Harem Heart Awakening Technique' tomorrow."

"You named it?" Issei blinked.

Jiraiya's eyes sparkled. "Of course. You're my legacy."

Gai wept into his hands.

Kakashi pulled out a brochure — where did he get that? — titled: "Top 10 Villages with Beautiful Kunoichi: A Shinobi's Dating Guide."

---------------------

The playful atmosphere shattered like glass.

Issei blinked. "Wait, what?"

Jiraiya's hands, once clasped gleefully at the prospect of starting harem training, now rested grimly on his knees. Kakashi's posture straightened, no longer relaxed. Even Gai stood quietly, his youthful glow muted by gravity.

"You heard us," Jiraiya said, his voice low. "A death match. You versus a real enemy shinobi. No rules. No help."

"...But why?" Issei asked, his voice unsteady.

Kakashi answered, his tone soft but firm. "Because the world doesn't care how good your heart is, Issei. When steel meets flesh, when chakra burns through bone… either you live, or you die. This test isn't just about strength. It's about resolve."

Issei lowered his head, gripping his pants. His knuckles turned white.

"Can't I… just train more?"

"You have trained," Jiraiya said. "For a whole month. And you've done well. But theory isn't battle. If we send you out there without ever knowing if you're ready to kill, we might as well write your obituary now."

The silence that followed was deafening. No jokes. No teasing. Just three veteran shinobi looking at him with the weight of war behind their eyes.

Then… flip.

Kakashi opened a special scroll-bound book with a dramatic flourish. On each page was a perfectly rendered photograph, chakra-sealed to preserve it — vibrant, detailed, immortal-tier images.

Issei blinked. "…What is that?"

"Motivation," Kakashi replied. "The legendary beauties of the ninja world. If you survive, if you succeed, you get to pursue one of these women someday."

Issei leaned in despite himself. The first image: Shizune, in a medical outfit that left little to the imagination, kneeling beside a wounded ninja with a gentle smile.

"Sh-She's a medic?" he squeaked.

Kakashi nodded solemnly. "And a loyal one. Will patch your wounds and scold you after."

Next: Pakura, fiery hair blowing in the wind, a kunai in one hand, and sand melting around her. Her eyes were fierce — a predator's gaze with model features.

"Y-Yes, I would die to be with her," Issei mumbled.

Flip. Samui. Icy, busty, stunning. Her face deadpan, her figure anything but cold. Arms crossed, thighs barely hidden by her Kumo uniform. Tactical and tempting.

"W-Wait, is this allowed—?"

"Shh." Kakashi flipped again.

Mei Terumi. Red lips. Smoldering eyes. A seduction incarnate with lava release and confidence dripping like honey. She stared at the reader like she knew you were already hers.

And finally: Yugito Nii. Golden hair, sharp chakra claws, and a body built like a dancer and a hunter combined. She smirked at the viewer as if to say: Chase me, if you dare.

Issei's jaw dropped. His pupils were dilated like he had been hit with a genjutsu of desire.

"This is your reward," Kakashi said coolly. "Survive and grow stronger, and one day, you'll be worthy of even asking one of them on a date."

"You're manipulating me," Issei muttered, eyes still glued to the scroll.

Jiraiya shrugged. "Absolutely."

Gai finally spoke, reluctantly: "...Even the fires of youth need fuel."

Issei stood up, his fists clenched with renewed purpose.

"Okay. I'll do it," he said. "I don't care if I get cut or broken — I'll survive. For Shizune. For Pakura. For Samui. For Mei. For Yugito."

He struck a pose worthy of an E-ranked protagonist making his first S-ranked declaration.

"AND ONE DAY… I'LL KISS THEM ALL!"

Jiraiya and Kakashi saluted in approval. Gai fainted dramatically in the background.

"Alright," Jiraiya grinned. "Suit up. The death match begins at dusk."

Chapter 30: Chapter 30

Chapter 30: "How to Die for Love and Possibly Glory"
(In which Issei learns armor is hot, chakra is loud, and enemy ninjas do not respect your dream girl list.)

Issei had trained for this. He'd meditated. He'd done crunches. He'd eaten forest snakes and cried about it later. He'd been punched in the spleen by Jiraiya, kicked into rivers by Gai, and emotionally destroyed by Kakashi's passive-aggressive "hmm" sounds.

Now, finally, it was time.

And he was wearing chainmail underwear.

Okay, not exactly underwear, but the mesh armor under his tunic did cling a little too close in places no teenage boy should ever feel protected by cold metal.

Still, it looked cool. That's what mattered. Issei had gone full fantasy-knight-ninja hybrid with his outfit: reinforced dark blue armor plating disguised as normal cloth, black gauntlets on both arms that could block kunai and catch arrows mid-flight, and a helmet that made him feel like a Spartan warrior who watched too much anime. His boots were deceptively flexible despite being made of chakra-infused alloy—basically steel socks. He clanked faintly when he walked, which ruined the stealth vibes but added +10 intimidation if the enemy happened to be a chicken.

Jiraiya gave him a pat on the back before tossing him into the wilderness like a proud but wildly irresponsible parent.

"Remember, kid! Die well or don't die at all!"

"Thanks, sensei. Wait—what?"

Too late. The trio of terrifying teachers vanished in a literal puff of smoke, leaving Issei alone in the rocky mountain range outside of Konoha. The jagged cliffs and gnarled trees didn't exactly scream "easy first mission." More like "you may be eaten by wolves or fire jutsu."

According to the mission briefing—read: Jiraiya's half-drunken rambling over grilled fish—there was an enemy shinobi prowling these cliffs. Possibly a spy. Possibly a murderer. Possibly someone who just really hated the Leaf Village's trees. Either way, they'd been spotted nearby, and if they saw Issei looking like an armored cupcake? Well, they'd definitely try to kill him.

Great motivation.

Issei crouched low near a rock and took a deep breath. He'd been training with his chakra control—less "wild waterfall" and more "functioning hosepipe" now. Slowly, he released a sonar pulse, spreading his chakra like ripples in a pond.

Whooom.

The sensation rolled out across the land, echoing over stones, trees, and animal dens. It was like tapping a tuning fork and waiting to hear the world sing back. Within seconds, he "felt" movement about two miles away—fast, controlled, ninja-level stealth. Bingo.

...Also, probably now aware that he was here.

"Oops."

Issei grinned nervously and stood, cracking his knuckles. "Well, let's make it worth their time."

He leapt out of hiding just as a figure darted into view, a blur of dark cloth and silver weapons. Without hesitation, Issei fired off a chakra bullet—more like a condensed energy baseball—and sent it rocketing toward the enemy with all the finesse of someone who passed chakra targeting practice by sheer willpower and dumb luck.

BOOM.

The enemy dodged it like they were playing dodgeball on steroids. A swirl of smoke exploded around them, obscuring everything.

Then—shk-shk-shk.

Kunai.

Lots of kunai.

Issei's eyes widened as he ducked behind a boulder, the knives thunking into stone all around him. His helmet vibrated with impact.

"Yup," he muttered, pressing his back against the rock. "This is fine. Everything's fine. Totally normal ninja day."

Another kunai whizzed past and clipped his gauntlet, sending a shock through his arm.

"Okay, maybe not fine."

He peeked over the edge just in time to see a flash of red fabric in the smoke. His heart thumped—not with fear, but excitement.

Not because he liked being attacked, but because—somewhere deep in his dumb, hormonal brain—he imagined a dramatic victory scene where he'd land in front of Pakura or Yugito, bloodied but heroic, armor glinting in the moonlight, and she'd whisper, "Wow. You're so brave."

Then maybe—just maybe—a kiss.

For now, though?

Ducking and surviving would do.

-------------------

The moment Issei saw the enemy's uniform, he knew this wasn't going to be a polite spar with rules and maybe tea afterward. No, this was an Iwa shinobi, dressed in all-black with that not-so-charming village insignia like a flashing neon sign saying, "Hi! I hate your village and I'm here to break your bones!"

And not without reason.

Issei had heard the stories from Kakashi—the Third Great Ninja War, the Fourth Hokage, Minato Namikaze becoming a yellow blur of doom that wiped out whole Iwa platoons in minutes. It was safe to say Iwa had beef. Massive, juicy, full-course kage-level beef with Konoha.

Which meant this guy? Not here for hugs.

So Issei didn't waste time with any anime-style speeches. No "I'll show you the power of friendship!" stuff. Nah. This was a kill-or-be-killed kind of day.

His chakra flared around him like an overclocked engine, humming and rippling through his limbs. Bones hardened. Muscles tightened. His vision sharpened like someone had cranked up the resolution. And just like that—

BOOM.

He launched forward, breaking the sound barrier like it was bubble wrap. Mach 10? Please. Try Mach 30. He zipped past trees, kicking up a shockwave, and the mountain forest behind him groaned in protest.

The Iwa ninja's eyes widened—and then narrowed. Because to Issei's massive disappointment, the guy didn't fall over and die dramatically. No, he just kept up. A full-on chunin—experienced, hardened, and not the kind of person to be impressed by flashy chakra tricks.

"Great," Issei muttered. "I finally get a fight and it's with the one guy who didn't skip leg day."

With a hand sign and zero hesitation, Issei created ten clones, all bursting into existence like chakra fireworks. They scattered with ninja precision, flanking the enemy from every side like a pack of wolves.

He himself went for a frontal assault. Predictable? Maybe. But also dramatic. Issei was nothing if not a showman.

Except the enemy had home-ground advantage. With a stomp of his foot, the earth rippled—literally—and rose in jagged spires to block Issei's path. The stone shifted like it was alive, bending to the Iwa ninja's will.

"Oh, we're playing Minecraft jutsu now?" Issei scoffed.

No biggie.

He sprouted wings.

Because why walk on dirt when you can fly like a chakra-powered angel of stylish doom?

The wings weren't for show—they were razor-sharp constructs made of solidified chakra. He flapped them once and let loose a storm of feathers, each one enhanced to slice through steel like it was sushi paper. They rained down like a bladed blizzard from above.

The enemy wasn't impressed.

In an instant, the Iwa ninja threw up a massive earth dome, shielding himself from the onslaught. It took the brunt of the feathers and even withstood the surprise clone attacks that followed. For a moment, it looked like Issei had him pinned down.

Then—

KRAK-BOOM!

The dome exploded.

Yes. Exploded.

Rocks and debris flew everywhere like a mini volcano, taking out five of Issei's clones in a single burst. One of the remaining ones screamed "WHY ME?!" before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

Worse yet, Issei himself caught a stone spike to the side—not deep, but enough to send him tumbling in midair with a yell.

He crashed behind a boulder, gasping. "Okay. Ow. That's new."

Before he could even shake off the dirt, the enemy was on the move again. Fast, lethal, and clearly planning to end this before Issei could pull another stunt.

And that's when panic hit.

His chakra surged wildly. Instinct overrode training. And before he could even think about it—

Issei screamed.

But not just any scream.

This was a sonic blast, powered by raw chakra and panic-induced adrenaline. It tore through the air like a banshee wailing into a microphone the size of a house.

WAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!

Birds exploded out of trees miles away. Rocks cracked. A nearby squirrel passed out from terror.

The Iwa ninja took the full blast head-on and was flung backwards, skidding across the ground like a tossed action figure, crashing into trees and probably questioning every life decision that had led to this point.

-------------------

After unleashing a sonic blast that could've doubled as a dragon's scream or a metal band's final encore, Issei stood panting, watching the Iwa ninja's limp form halfway embedded in a tree trunk. Smoke curled from the scorched earth, the squirrels had gone into hiding, and somewhere in the distance, a hawk was rethinking its life choices.

"Alright, that's gotta be it," Issei muttered, brushing dirt from his shoulders. "Cue dramatic walk-away."

But Issei had learned enough from Naruto's stories to know the Number One Rule of Ninja Battles™: never trust a quiet body.

So instead of getting too close himself, he did the smart thing and ordered two of his remaining clones forward like ninja paramedics. "Go check the pulse, guys. I'll be over here... emotionally supporting you from a safe distance."

The clones crouched by the unmoving body, poked it, checked the wrist, and one gave him a thumbs-down.

"No pulse," one said. "I think he's—"

WRONG.

Because the second the words left his clone's mouth, two hands erupted from the dirt, like a horror movie with a bad budget and no warning.

GRAB.

They latched onto Issei's ankles with chakra-enhanced strength, yanking hard.

"NOT TODAY!" Issei yelped, switching places with a nearby clone using a swift substitution jutsu. The clone exploded into smoke as the real Issei landed safely on a tree branch.

From the sky, another clone dive-bombed like a living missile, a glowing Rasengan in hand.

"Special delivery!" the clone shouted—and SLAMMED it into the dirt.

BOOM.

The ground shattered. Debris rained. Trees swayed. A fresh crater formed with all the subtlety of a meteor strike.

But the enemy?

Gone. Again.

The Rasengan had missed, and the ninja had pulled another disappearing act—literally swimming through the earth like a chakra-powered mole. Issei recognized the move: Earth Release: Underground Fish Projection, an Iwa signature technique that let its users become one with the ground.

"Okay, that's cheating," Issei muttered, flaring his chakra and taking to the sky again. He spread his chakra wings and summoned a glowing blue barrier around his body like a personal force field.

Just in time.

Because the next second, dozens of stone spikes erupted from below like angry stalagmites trying to impale a passing bird. They slammed into his barrier one after the other, but none could pierce it.

"Nice try, but I've got plot armor," Issei grinned, holding his position midair.

He wasn't worried. Not really.

The truth was, this guy didn't stand a chance in a battle of stamina. Issei had way too much chakra, like he'd accidentally been given the energy budget for an entire ninja battalion. A simple chunin? Not going to outlast him.

But Issei didn't want a hollow win—some slow, boring "stand back and flex chakra" kind of win. That was lame. Naruto would call it lazy.

So instead, he substituted with a boulder, because apparently those were lying around like fashion accessories in the mountains, and dashed in low and fast, tossing kunai rigged with explosive tags like he was trying out for the Shinobi Olympics: Demolition Event.

KABOOM! KABOOM!

The kunai exploded on impact, launching dirt, fire, and possibly a squirrel into the air. And then—

Out of the smoke, the enemy burst forth, charging with chakra burning through his limbs.

Clash time.

No more hiding. No more tricks.

It was taijutsu time.

The enemy's form was sharp—grounded, balanced. Judo. That old-school, grab-you-and-flip-you martial art that could throw you across the village with a well-timed tug.

Issei grinned. "You wanna grapple, huh?"

He cracked his knuckles and settled into a kickboxing stance—feet light, hands up, one knee bouncing. His training with Gai and Naruto paid off as he snapped forward with a spinning heel kick, forcing the enemy to duck.

A palm strike came for his ribs.

Issei blocked.

A sweep came for his ankle.

He hopped.

They moved like dancers with a grudge—blow for blow, feet shifting, dirt flying. Where the Iwa ninja tried to close in and lock him down, Issei used momentum and distance, jabbing and striking in short bursts like a chakra-powered boxer.

"You're good," Issei said, ducking under a shoulder throw and countering with a chakra-enhanced uppercut that sent the Iwa ninja skidding back.

"But I watch MMA. And I've got a secret weapon."

The Iwa ninja raised a brow.

Issei raised a fist.

"I'm not wearing normal boots."

And then he roundhouse-kicked the enemy across the jaw with a pair of steel-toed, chakra-boosted fashionable death shoes.

------------------

At first, Issei thought he was winning.

He was midair, exchanging kicks and punches, chakra crackling along his limbs. He even landed a spinning back-kick that made the enemy stumble.

Then the enemy smirked.

That should've been his clue.

"Done already?" the Iwa ninja said, his voice suddenly confident—too confident. "That was cute. But I've had harder fights against academy brats."

Before Issei could reply, the man blurred forward.

WHAM.

A crushing palm strike to the sternum knocked the wind from his lungs.

Then—

CRACK!

His left wrist twisted at an unnatural angle as the Iwa ninja expertly locked it and snapped it with a judo joint-break.

Issei screamed in pain, but it was drowned out by the rush of adrenaline.

The enemy didn't stop.

He grabbed Issei's shoulder and hip-threw him into a boulder. The rock shattered from the impact.

Before Issei could recover—

POP.

Two fingers. Snapped like twigs.

Issei gasped, rolling away, but the ninja was already behind him.

"Let me show you how a real shinobi fights."

KRAK.

Both his forearms were broken in one swift move—pinned underfoot, stomped with chakra-enhanced force. His clones were gone. Substitution failed. Chakra barrier shattered.

The world blurred through his pain. Agony exploded with each breath, and his healing factor struggled to keep up.

He could barely stand.

But in that haze of pain, one thought burned bright:

If I lose… my parents could die. My friends could die. I'm the hero. I'm supposed to win.

That thought became a spark.

That spark caught fire.

And from the depths of his soul—
the Kyuubi answered.

A calm, ancient fury surged through him like a tidal wave. Chakra erupted from his body, burning red-orange, licking at the air like foxfire. His broken bones realigned. His wounds sealed.

His pupils slit. His fangs lengthened. His claws sharpened.

One Tail. Cloaked. Kyuubi Mode.

Issei rose slowly, the ground trembling beneath his feet.

The Iwa ninja stepped back for the first time.

"You—what the hell are you?" he whispered.

Issei's voice came out deep, distorted, and terrifyingly calm.
"I'm the main character."

Then he moved.

Issei vanished with a burst of speed. One moment he was there, the next—

THUD!

He appeared behind the Iwa ninja, grabbed his leg mid-turn, and slammed him into the earth with the force of a meteor strike.

Then he picked him up again by the back of his collar and hurled him across the valley, watching the man skip off the ground like a stone across water.

The enemy tried to stand.

Bad idea.

Issei was already there.

BOOM.

A chakra punch to the gut caved in the earth around them.

The ninja coughed blood. His ribs cracked.

With a howl, Issei leapt into the sky, creating a massive Rasengan, infused with Kyuubi chakra. It spun wildly, roaring with foxfire and wind.

"Try grappling this," he growled—and dived.

The enemy made an earth dome.

Cute.

Issei tore through it.

The Rasengan collided with the enemy's chest.

KA-BOOM.

A crater formed ten meters wide. Dust exploded outward in all directions. Trees were uprooted. Birds fled.

When the smoke cleared there was nothing left of the enemy except blood.

------------

The dust had barely settled.
The valley was eerily quiet. Craters, shattered stone, and broken earth told the story of the battle—but the real war now raged inside Issei's chest.

He stood over the body, steam rising off his skin, Kyuubi cloak flickering out. The rage was gone. Victory was his.

But it didn't feel like victory.

His knees buckled and he dropped to the ground, panting. The shaking started in his fingers, then spread to his arms. His breath hitched.

He had nearly died.

He'd felt his bones break. Heard his own screams. He'd felt powerless—and for a brief, terrifying moment, he hadn't thought he'd make it.

The fear hit him like a second punch to the gut.
His breath grew shallow.

This was just a test… and I almost died. What if I wasn't good enough next time? What if I really fail?

Then—like a breeze parting storm clouds—
poof!

A puff of smoke.

Three tall figures appeared before him.

"Yo," said Kakashi, flipping his book shut. "You alive?"

"I knew you would make it, youth!" cried Gai, sparkles in his teeth and a very unnecessary thumbs-up.

Jiraiya knelt beside him, serious for once. "You did well, kid. Real well. That chakra control, those instincts… you're already close to where Naruto was when he vanished. Maybe not in personality, but in sheer potential? You're right there."

That should have made him feel better.

It didn't.

The panic was still in his chest, wrapping around his lungs like a python. "I almost died…" Issei whispered. "I… I didn't want to die."

"Then remember that feeling," Kakashi said quietly. "That fear? That's not weakness. That's survival."

"YOSH! Let it sharpen you like the flames of youth forging a blade!"

"Gai, please not now," muttered Jiraiya.

Issei sat there, nodding shakily.

And then—

WHUMP.

A soft pressure hugged him from behind, warm and—uh—very much woman-shaped.

Arms snaked around his chest, and he felt the undeniable sensation of a very affectionate chest press against his back. His mind short-circuited for a second.

"W-what…?" he stammered.

A teasing voice purred in his ear. "Not bad, rookie. You gave me a few good bruises."

Anko.
Dressed casually now, with her trench coat open and that ever-present smirk on her lips, she leaned into him like a satisfied cat.

"I—Wait. You were the enemy ninja?!"

"Guilty," she said, not sounding sorry at all.

Jiraiya chuckled behind him. "Surprise. That wasn't some Iwa spy. That was a test—your final one. And Anko volunteered."

"Volunteered," Kakashi added, "and might've enjoyed it a little too much."

"Had to hold back most of the fight," she said playfully, poking his ribs. "But once you started showing off those tails, I figured I'd stop pulling punches. Looks like you needed a wake-up call."

"You broke my arms!" Issei gasped.

"They healed," Anko said, completely unapologetic. "Besides, you should've seen your face when you activated Kyuubi's chakra. Whew. Gave me chills."

Gai wiped a tear. "Such a beautiful show of fiery spirit!"

Issei wasn't sure whether to be mad, impressed, traumatized, or… slightly turned on. His body chose to blush deeply and freeze.

"You… hugged me," he mumbled.

Anko winked. "You looked like you needed it. And don't worry, perv—if you ever fight me for real, I won't go so easy next time."

She ruffled his hair and walked off like she hadn't just shattered his bones, pride, and emotional stability in one afternoon.

Issei looked at the others. "Was that… normal?"

Kakashi shrugged. "For Anko? That was practically romantic."