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."
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"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.
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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.
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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.
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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.