Chapter 6: ID, Lies, and a Whole Lotta Tech
(In which Naruto skips training, avoids getting arrested, and finally admits he has no idea what he's doing)
So there I was, belly full of crunchy ham spirals and a sense of peace I hadn't felt in, I dunno, six months? I was ready to conquer the day, or at least nap aggressively for the next few hours.
Then it hit me.
"Oh crap," I muttered, sitting up straight.
Raikō tilted his head. "Digestive trouble?"
"No. Worse," I said, groaning. "I missed morning training. I'm slipping."
The last time I skipped morning training, I accidentally punched through a vending machine trying to get an energy drink. It was a long day, full of sparks and a very angry AI cashier.
But now? No mission. No war. No shadow clones to argue with. Just a shiny, sci-fi city and absolutely nothing to do.
I leaned back in the booth and stared at the ceiling holograms showing the weather forecast in six languages. "So… I guess I could just go spy on Dr. Aki now."
Raikō raised one metal eyebrow. "Because idle hands must commit espionage?"
"Exactly."
But as I looked at Raikō, my sarcastic, calm-as-a-cucumber bug-bot who had just gotten a name five minutes ago, something didn't sit right.
This guy — this friend — was built for more than watching me fumble my way through futuristic breakfast menus. He was a battle Medabot, a real one. Designed for tournaments, for fighting, for victory poses and dramatic quotes mid-combat.
It wasn't fair.
"Y'know what?" I said, pushing away my plate. "Forget spying for now."
Raikō's eyes glowed faintly. "Is this character development?"
"Don't make it weird," I muttered.
I stood up, stretching. "If I'm gonna live here, I should probably stop freeloading. Which means earning money. Which means getting good with tech. Which means entering some Medabot tournaments. Which means—"
"You need an ID," Raikō finished, deadpan.
"Exactly!"
Because apparently, this world didn't let you just exist. No ID, no Medafighter license. No Medafighter license, no tournaments. No tournaments, no money, and no access to the tech and files Dr. Aki had locked away behind about a million security walls.
And I mean, sure — I could break in.
But that'd be rude.
Also illegal.
"So," I said, looking around the street filled with hoverboards, ad-drones, and someone walking a mech-dog wearing sunglasses, "we go get me registered."
Raikō glanced around. "Are you forgetting you're technically an undocumented interdimensional alien with zero legal paperwork?"
I waved him off. "Please. I've gotten into ninja academies with worse cover stories."
Then, I paused. "Wait. What if the registration scans for tech integrity or biometrics? What if they scan you and find out you're not from here?"
Raikō gave a soft hum. "That would be… problematic."
"Exactly. Time to go stealth mode."
I tapped my watch, and with a flicker of blue light, Raikō dissolved into particles and vanished into the device. The Medawatch—a fancy wristband that acted as storage, status display, and stylish accessory—gave a soft chime as it synced with his core.
"Let's hope no one's watching," I muttered, slipping my hands into my pockets and whistling as casually as someone trying not to get arrested.
It was time to do the impossible:
Get legal in a world I technically didn't exist in.
And maybe, if I was lucky, win a few fights along the way.
Because the truth was? I wasn't just doing this to spy on Dr. Aki.
I needed a win.
I needed to fight again—on my terms, in a world where I wasn't just surviving, but living.
Also, Raikō had just downloaded an entire battle tactics library and was itching to use his plasma cannon on something that wasn't a trash can.
So yeah.
Let's go get that ID.
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I'm not saying I was nervous, but I may or may not have fake-coughed my way past three vending machines just in case one of them was secretly a facial recognition drone.
Call it paranoia. I call it experience.
"Okay," I muttered under my breath as I walked down the glittering, hyper-clean sidewalk. "If I can hypnotize a demonic warlord into thinking he's a goat, I can definitely fake a government ID."
Ahead of me stood the Neo-Metropolitan Medabot Registration and Licensing Center, a name so unnecessarily long it gave me a headache just looking at the sign. The building itself was a marvel of science-fiction architecture—glowing glass walls, floating signs, auto-cleaning floors, and enough hovering cameras to make a privacy lawyer cry.
And yet… people were going in.
Human people.
"Oh thank Sage," I breathed. "No full-robot staff. I've got a chance."
See, Genjutsu doesn't work on metal. Or wires. Or people with firewall-enhanced cyber-brains. I'd tested it once on a soda machine back at that hover-skate park.
All I got was a soda can to the face.
So yeah, I needed human eyeballs and human brainwaves, preferably attached to someone underpaid and overworked.
While walking, I warmed up with a little light practice.
"Nice dog," I said to a guy walking a two-legged bot that barked holographic emojis.
"Thanks," he replied, then froze. "Wait, I don't have a—"
And just like that, the illusion flickered out. Dang. Still needed tuning.
I tried again on a coffee vendor.
"Hey, your shoelaces are untied," I said as I passed, casting a tiny genjutsu ripple.
"Wha—?" The woman actually looked down. "But I'm wearing—flip-flops?"
Progress.
One more, this time on a street performer juggling neon drones.
"You dropped one," I said with a casual wave.
He panicked, flailed, and ended up bonking himself with a drone. The illusion lasted three seconds.
That… was long enough.
"Alright," I said, cracking my knuckles as the registration center doors hissed open. "Let's see if I still got it."
Inside, it smelled like ozone, printer ink, and anxiety.
There were people—thankfully—lining up in front of sleek counters where staff members with visors and tablets handled ID creation. But there were also bots—tall humanoid drones walking around scanning people for contraband tech or illegal mods.
"Great," I muttered. "Robo-narcs."
I got in line, keeping my head down, my chakra calm, and my face set to 'mildly bored teenager.'
As the line moved, I took stock. The registration process involved a scan of your bio-signature, a retinal check, and a basic knowledge test on Medabot safety protocols. Which I absolutely did not know.
But hey.
I had chakra.
I had illusions.
And I had the sheer chaotic confidence of a guy who once faked his way into the Land of Tea's royal palace with a straw hat and a poorly drawn mustache.
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Okay, so I may have slightly, kind-of, definitely lied to a government official.
In my defense, they made it way too easy.
The National Identity Registration Office looked exactly like what you'd expect a building run by bureaucrats who haven't taken a vacation since the invention of breakfast to look like. Beige walls. Flickering screens. The occasional coughing sound from a corner no one dared look at. The only exciting thing in the room was the snack machine blinking "ERROR: TOO MANY COINS."
I took a deep breath and joined the line, my face set to "tired but humble village boy trying to make it in the city." Honestly, I deserved an Oscar.
By the time I reached the counter, I had every detail planned out like a stealth mission—minus the exploding clones. Probably.
The guy at the counter looked like he hadn't smiled since the pre-hologram era. His name tag read CLERK 17, which was both extremely unhelpful and extremely depressing.
"Next," he grunted.
I stepped forward and gave him my best respectful nod. "Good morning, sir."
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Documents?"
"Of course!" I said cheerfully, sliding forward a stack of chakra-illusion-crafted paper made entirely of lies, falsehoods, and about three minutes of pure artistic improv.
As I spoke, I pushed a layer of genjutsu over him—nothing flashy, just a smooth visual-and-sensory overlay that made everything look exactly the way I wanted it to. It had to be subtle, long-lasting, and just real enough to fool both his eyes and the system scanning the documents through his interface tablet.
"Birth certificate: Naruto Uzumaki. Born in a rural zone. Parents: Kushina and Minato Uzumaki. Long-time villagers. School records? Homeschooled. Parents' ID scans? Right here. Address? Apartment 12C, Neospring Complex. Medawatch ID: 558-KAR-RAIK."
The clerk grunted, his fingers clacking away on the keys. "Rural huh? Explains the no-record status. Why move here?"
"Seeking opportunity," I said solemnly. "And to compete as a Medafighter."
He gave me a look. "You got money for city rent, village boy?"
I smiled, pushing a bit more chakra into the illusion. "Let's just say... I've got some lucky breaks."
Clerk 17 gave a slow, tired nod and waved his hand toward the terminal scanner. "Place your hand there. Need to sync your biometrics."
"Scan complete," the system said. "Citizen entry confirmed."
"Congratulations," the clerk said in the dullest tone ever. "You're now a legal resident. ID will be mailed to your registered address. Don't lose it. You'll regret it."
"I'll treasure it forever," I said with a straight face, taking the temporary ID chip he slid across the desk.
As I left the building, I stepped into the sunlight, pocketing the chip like it was made of gold.
"Well," I muttered, "That's one way to beat a background check."
Raikō's voice buzzed through my meda-watch. "You do realize falsifying government identity is a federal crime punishable by deletion, right?"
"Yep," I replied. "But what they don't know won't delete me."
There was a pause. "And the names you gave… Kushina and Minato?"
I smiled, this time a little sad. "Yeah. Just because this world doesn't know them, doesn't mean I'll forget them."
Raikō was quiet for a moment, then said, "A bit dramatic."
"Says the guy who quotes literature and lectures me like Kakashi."
"Touché."
With that, I slipped into the bustling street crowd, now just one more legal citizen in a futuristic city full of tech, secrets, and battles waiting to happen.
Medafighter Naruto Uzumaki had officially entered the ring.
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You ever just wander into a place looking for a chill time and end up smack in the middle of an explosion-fueled gladiator match?
No? Just me?
Figures.
It was around noon, the sun was doing its usual job of trying to roast the entire city alive, and I'd just finished the soul-sucking bureaucratic ordeal of becoming a "legal citizen." Honestly, I deserved a medal. Or at least a massive bowl of ramen. But instead of heading to a restaurant, I decided to swing by the local Medabot school that Ikki went to—you know, just to observe the educational system and totally not snoop.
And wouldn't you know it, I showed up right in time for lunch battles.
Yep, you heard me. While normal kids get sloppy sandwiches and cafeteria pizza, these kids? They get firepower.
I was leaning casually on the chain-link fence surrounding the school's sports ground when Raikō, my Medabot buddy, chimed in from my watch.
"You do know that the school probably doesn't allow unauthorized adults to loiter during school hours?"
"Relax," I whispered, "I've got a student ID now."
"You forged it this morning."
"Details," I said.
Raikō sighed. "I'm beginning to think I'm the morally sound one in this friendship."
"Beginning?" I asked. "I thought that was clear from day one."
Out on the field, two Medabots were already squaring off: one, a sleek and flashy feline-type with lightning-bolt ears and enough sass to probably start a punk band—Peppercat. The other, a towering lion-themed behemoth with a feathered mane, a thick frame, and guns the size of vending machines—Warbonnet.
The humans behind them? Just as intense.
One side had Samantha, a girl with wild eyes, a permanent smirk, and an aura that screamed "I have punched people for less." She wore her school uniform like it was a war banner and cracked her knuckles like she was going to fight with her Medabot if it came to it.
The other? Zenkichi Hitoyoshi—yep, that Zenkichi. Cool, calm, and built like a martial arts instructor moonlighting as a philosophy major. His school uniform was crisp, but his eyes were sharp. He had the "student council general affairs manager" energy down to a T.
"This is gonna be good," I said, crossing my arms.
"BEGIN ROBO-BATTLE!" the referee called, and just like that, chaos got a front-row seat.
Warbonnet roared—a real, echoing, thunderous lion roar—and launched a Range Shooter blast that ripped through the air like a tank shell.
Peppercat zipped sideways, fast enough to leave a streak of lightning behind her. "Try harder, Furball!" she yelled in that sharp, glitchy voice Medabots sometimes had.
Samantha grinned. "Keep dancing, Peppercat!"
"Focus, Warbonnet," Zenkichi commanded. "Tension Up."
Warbonnet's headdress lit up like a bonfire, the feathers glowing with a faint blue light. And then it moved. Like—really moved. For something that looked like a tank with a mane, it was suddenly fast.
"Oh boy," I muttered.
They clashed in the middle of the field—claws versus cannon, speed versus strength. Each time Warbonnet fired, Peppercat dodged just in time, leaving burn marks on the grass. Each time Peppercat struck, Warbonnet blocked with an armor-plated paw.
"I didn't think school fights were this intense," I whispered.
Raikō buzzed. "This isn't just a fight. This is a turf war."
"What?"
"Samantha's under the banchou of the school—the rebel queen. She leads the roughs. Zenkichi's the enforcer of the system. This battle isn't about who's stronger. It's about who controls the student body."
I blinked. "Wait, this is political?"
"In a very teenage way, yes."
The battle peaked when Peppercat leaped onto Warbonnet's back, charging up her Electroshock.
"End it!" Samantha yelled.
But Zenkichi was ready. "Shoot Barrel—vertical."
Warbonnet tilted its cannon up, point-blank, and fired.
Peppercat was thrown high into the air, smoking but not down. She twisted midair and landed on all fours, hissing.
Both Medabots were panting now, sparks flying. But neither was out.
Then—the bell rang.
Lunch period over.
"DRAW!" the referee shouted.
Samantha groaned. "Seriously?! I was just getting warmed up!"
Zenkichi calmly adjusted his collar. "School policy. No battles past lunch. Unless you'd like to take this to the after-school tournament?"
Samantha narrowed her eyes. "Oh, we're definitely taking this to the Rockers later."
Zenkichi smiled. "Then I look forward to hearing about it. You'll need all the warm-ups you can get."