Chapter 42: Eggs, Evolution, and Early Conversations
In which breakfast is served, serious talks are had, and Raikomaru develops a taste for toast
The morning sun crept over the pixelated skyline, bathing the city in a warm, golden glow that looked suspiciously like it had been copied from a cheerful video game. Birds—some resembling floppy disks with wings—chirped merrily from data trees, and a few sleepy Digimon shuffled along the streets, still rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. One of them tripped over a parked vending machine. It was that kind of morning.
Inside the small, boxy house from the night before, the trio began to stir.
Naruto was the first to wake, blinking blearily as he sat up and scratched his head. His hair had puffed into something that could only be described as "electrified cactus meets mop." He yawned, stretched like a cat, and immediately fell sideways off the mat with a thud.
"Right," he muttered from the floor, "dignity is for later."
Piximon was already awake, having hovered in the air doing tiny meditation spins. "Good morning," he greeted, as serenely as a tiny pink winged creature could manage. "You fell off again."
"It's part of my morning routine," Naruto replied, dragging himself upright. "Fall out of bed. Question life. Eat food. Save world. In that order."
Raikomaru, ever the silent shadow, simply stepped out of his room, fully dressed, hair combed, and somehow exuding the sort of quiet menace that said, Yes, I'm the calm one, but don't make me angry before toast.
Together, the trio freshened up, which involved an embarrassingly long debate about whether the faucet marked "streaming data" was the shower and whether cold water in the Digital World counted as "virtuously refreshing" or "maliciously evil." After that debacle, and Naruto burning his tongue on a cup of digital tea that tasted oddly like blueberries and static, they headed out.
The streets were livelier now—Digimon going about their business, a Monzaemon selling honey buns from a street cart, and a Tentomon advertising something called "Bug-Gel Massage Therapy" with far too much enthusiasm.
But their destination was clear: Digitamamon's restaurant.
The building stood tall with a cheerful neon sign shaped like a cracked egg wearing a chef's hat. The scent of sizzling oil, spices, and eggs cooked in more ways than nature intended wafted from its windows, luring in customers like moths to a very flavorful flame.
Naruto's stomach growled loudly. "Okay, okay, we'll eat, I get it," he grumbled.
Inside, the restaurant was bustling. Tables were half full, and waiters zipped between them in graceful chaos. Near the back, Matt was helping to serve drinks with the stoic efficiency of a disgruntled librarian, while Joe appeared to be tangled in a mop and apologizing profusely to a mushroom Digimon.
"Classic Joe," Naruto whispered with a grin.
Digitamamon greeted them from the counter with his usual blank expression—he didn't have much of a face to begin with, but his tone was oddly chipper. "Ah, the freeloaders return. I've got a booth for you in the corner. Don't break anything."
"Love you too," Naruto said brightly, and the trio slid into the booth.
Minutes later, plates clinked down—steaming fried rice, golden eggs in digital toast, and something pink and suspiciously wobbly that no one dared touch. Raikomaru eyed it with deep mistrust.
Piximon took a bite and made a thoughtful sound. "Mmm. Tastes like raspberry. And regret."
Matt appeared beside the table, wiping his hands on a towel. "Hey," he greeted, nodding at them. "Joe's finishing his shift. He'll be over in a bit."
"Great," Naruto said. "We wanted to talk."
Matt raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He simply slid into the booth beside Piximon and accepted a cup of tea from a passing Gatomon.
Joe joined them moments later, slightly rumpled but intact. He waved, sat down, and sipped water like someone recovering from battle.
Naruto leaned in. "We need to talk about your crests."
Matt's eyes flicked up, and Joe stiffened.
"You've both got yours," Piximon said plainly. "And with your Digimon, you've already got strength waiting to be unlocked. Have you noticed anything? Changes in them? Emotions you've felt strongly?"
Matt hesitated, looking down at his hands. "Gabumon's been... different. I don't know how to explain it. More focused. Like he's preparing for something. And I've felt—" He faltered. "—I've felt more protective. Like something's coming, and I have to be ready."
Joe nodded. "Gomamon's been training harder. Even waking me up at sunrise to spar with vending machines. I thought it was a caffeine glitch. But... lately I've been thinking more about responsibility. Not just surviving, but being the kind of person who makes sure others survive, too."
Piximon smiled faintly. "That's it. That's your crests talking. Yours is Friendship," he said, looking at Matt, "and yours, Joe, is Reliability. Both are awakening. You're not just evolving your Digimon. You're evolving yourselves."
Naruto leaned forward, voice calm. "If you can get them to Ultimate, we'll have five on our side when Arachne strikes. And with that, we might just stand a chance."
Matt glanced sideways at Joe. "No pressure."
Joe raised his glass. "None at all."
They shared a quiet laugh, light but laced with something deeper—resolve, uncertainty, maybe even hope.
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Breakfast had been hearty. The eggs were fluffy, the toast was buttery, and the suspicious pink pudding hadn't poisoned anyone—an overall success.
But as Naruto leaned back in his chair, watching Matt and Joe return to their shifts and listening to the low hum of restaurant chatter, something stirred within him—not in his stomach (thankfully), but in his mind.
I've been narrow-minded, he realized, fiddling with a fork that had somehow bent itself into the shape of a question mark.
He thought back to the shadows that had clouded his heart the night before. The worries, the doubts, the fear of not being strong enough—it had all twisted his thinking into something small and selfish. But sitting here, surrounded by friends, in a world that made absolutely no sense yet still felt real... it clicked.
I made friends with Raikomaru, a wild Digimon who tried to bite me the first time we met, Naruto reminded himself. I chose to stay and trust Matt and Joe, even though I barely knew them. I can't let fear shrink me. Not now.
Piximon, who had been watching Naruto with the suspicious attentiveness of someone who could sense protagonist character development, gave a knowing nod. "You've learned something important. Fear narrows the heart, but friendship opens doors."
"And also windows," Raikomaru added with the serene tone of a monk who'd definitely broken into buildings before.
Naruto sat up straighter, eyes gleaming. "I'm gonna make friends with every Digimon in this city. If the time comes, I want them to stand with us—not because we asked, but because we're friends."
Piximon actually looked proud, puffing up slightly like a proud mentor-owl. "A noble goal."
Raikomaru leaned in, voice low and secretive. "Start with DemiDevimons. They're chaotic, annoying, and prank-happy. They'll either love you or try to drop a bucket of slime on your head. Or both."
"That... sounds perfect," Naruto grinned, cracking his knuckles.
Piximon chuckled. "Machmon and Rebellimon are easier. Machmon respects speed and guts. Rebellimon, attitude and grit. But the DemiDevimon? You'll have to earn their loyalty through pranks."
Naruto's eyes sparkled. "So... a war of pranks."
Raikomaru nodded solemnly. "It's the only language they understand."
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DemiDevimon:
It began with a banana peel.
Simple. Classic. Effective.
Naruto placed it right at the edge of a data fountain where a trio of DemiDevimons liked to hover and make sarcastic remarks about passersby's outfits. The first victim slipped mid-laugh, bounced off a floating cube, and fell tail-first into the fountain with a plonk that echoed across the square.
The other two stared.
Then one burst out laughing while the other shouted, "Oh, it's on now!"
An hour later, Naruto returned to their safehouse with a bucket on his head, three small feathers glued to his face, and confetti inside his socks.
Piximon didn't say a word. He just floated silently, sipping tea.
Raikomaru handed Naruto a towel. "You've made contact."
Naruto grinned. "They called me 'Banana Boy.' I think that's a good sign."
The DemiDevimon retaliated with vigor. Naruto woke up to find all his clothes replaced with frilly dresses from the Digimon theatre troupe wardrobe (how they'd gotten in remained a mystery). He wore one proudly to breakfast, claiming it made him more aerodynamic.
He responded by rigging up a Digi-slime launcher above their hideout, which drenched them with glittery goo the moment they opened their trapdoor. Their furious screeches could be heard across the city.
It was, according to Raikomaru, "a declaration of prank-love."
The pranks escalated. Duct-taped floating furniture. Whoopee cushions encoded into sound files. A holographic dancing Naruto that appeared every time someone tried to open a menu screen.
By now, most of the city had taken sides—some cheered for the DemiDevimon, others placed bets on the human newcomer. Even Digitamamon had installed a "No Slime" sign in his restaurant after three unfortunate incidents.
Piximon shook his head but smiled nonetheless. "This chaos... is oddly productive."
As the sun set, Naruto stood in the square, arms crossed, waiting.
The DemiDevimons swooped down, as always, cackling and preparing for mischief. But instead of slime or glitter bombs, Naruto held out a box.
Inside: prank supplies. Whoopee cushions. Fake Digivices. Slippery goo. Glow-in-the-dark fangs.
The lead DemiDevimon squinted at him. "What's this? A trap?"
"Nope," Naruto said cheerfully. "A gift. I figured—if we're gonna prank each other into the ground... we might as well do it as friends."
A pause. Then—
"We're still calling you Banana Boy."
"Deal."
They snatched the box, examined the contents, and then, with evil giggles, fluttered off into the night to torment a nearby vending machine.
Raikomaru appeared beside Naruto, arms folded. "You've won their respect. And possibly their eternal torment."
Naruto smiled. "That's what friendship's all about."
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Machmon:
It started, as most ridiculous ideas in Naruto's life did, with confidence and exactly zero adult supervision.
After his heart-to-heart with Piximon, after remembering how his strength came not just from power but from his ability to reach others, Naruto had decided it was time to stop brooding and start building.
If they were stuck in this city, then he'd make the city his. One friend at a time.
He'd already gotten a gang of DemiDevimon hanging around him like chaotic bats in training. But the Machmon? Those guys were speed incarnate, and if Naruto wanted their respect, he had to speak their language.
So he did what any sane, mature Digi-destined ninja would never do.
He turned into a real, full-sized, gleaming red-and-black sports bike.
Raikomaru nearly dropped his steamed bun when he saw it.
"Piximon," he said, staring at the sleek motorcycle now revving proudly in front of him, "do you see what I see?"
Piximon, hovering beside him with a blank expression, nodded slowly. "I see Naruto. As a bike. With chrome plating."
The motorcycle revved in agreement. A headlight flickered like a winking eye. The words "Believe It!" were stamped across the side in graffiti-style kanji.
Raikomaru walked around the vehicle, tapping it with a clawed finger. "How is this even biologically possible?"
"I gave up understanding after the ramen summoning," Piximon said tiredly.
The Machmon arrived minutes later.
It was like a biker rally had been summoned with a racing whistle. Chrome blurs shot through the alleys, digital engines screamed, and the street filled with the roar of rubber, exhaust, and competitive grins.
Then they saw him.
A perfect, custom-built sportbike sitting in the middle of the plaza, idling like a king awaiting his challengers.
"…What in the Server Savanna?" one Machmon muttered.
"Is that… is that a human?"
"No way. That's some next-level evolution."
Naruto's headlight flashed once, then he revved—loudly.
The Machmon crowd collectively tilted their helmets in respect.
"Well, well," said their leader, whose neon-blue flames shimmered along his tailpipe. "Looks like we've got ourselves a challenge."
The terms were simple.
One lap around the city's inner circuit.
No cheating. No boosting. No dirty tricks.
"Winner gets ultimate bragging rights," the leader Machmon declared.
Naruto revved once.
Then twice.
Then, with a screech of tires and a laugh echoing from his exhaust pipe, he took off.
The Machmon followed, but no one—not one of them—had expected what came next.
Because Naruto wasn't just fast.
He was terrifyingly fast.
He drifted corners with ease, chakra stabilizers keeping him balanced as he cut through digital wind. His tires spat blue sparks. His body—somehow—shimmered with faint golden-orange chakra, pushing his speed beyond even Machmon levels.
He blazed past stands, zipped up walls like gravity was a suggestion, and leapt rooftops just to flex.
By the time he slid through the finish line—doing doughnuts on the spot for style—the Machmon had only made it halfway.
The leader stopped beside him, panting and sparking from the effort. "You… what are you?"
Naruto transformed back into his human self with a wide grin and a stretch of his arms. "Just your friendly neighborhood Hokage."
The Machmon crowd erupted into wild cheers.
"You're insane!"
"He's perfect!"
"Adopt me!"
Raikomaru facepalmed. "I leave him alone for one night…"
Piximon, for once, was smiling. "Let them have this. He's building allies."
That night, Naruto returned to their shared house exhausted, limbs aching in strange ways, and a huge grin on his face.
Raikomaru handed him a cup of juice. "Feel better?"
"Much," Naruto groaned, flopping onto a cushion. "My thighs are going to hate me tomorrow."
Piximon chuckled. "You now have an army of pranksters and a gang of biker-dragons. Not bad for one day."
Naruto closed his eyes, content. "We'll save this world. One ridiculous friendship at a time."
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It was a fine digital morning.
Rebellimon was flexing unnecessarily hard—every gear squeaking and engine puffing smoke as he slammed a massive steel fist into the ground. Naruto somersaulted over the crater it created, his feet glowing with chakra, hair windswept, and shirt somehow half-torn like an action hero. Piximon floated nearby, dodging stray debris with graceful ease, occasionally zipping in to bonk someone for "sloppy form."
Raikomaru roared into a flaming tackle, Naruto dodged sideways, and Rebellimon howled, "THIS! IS! PEAK! MANLINESS!"
"I dunno," Naruto teased mid-air, "I feel like I've still got more chest hair than you—"
BOOOOOOONNNNNNGGGGG!
A great metallic hum rolled across the sky, like a massive bell had been struck from the heavens. The sparring stopped mid-pose. Even Rebellimon's exhaust froze.
The city's air turned sharp. The kind of sharp that tickles the back of your neck and whispers, "Danger is here."
Piximon blinked. "That's the city's entrance alarm…"
"No…" Naruto's voice had changed—calmer, lower. "It's not just any visitor."
He didn't wait for the others. With one chakra step, he zipped up the nearest roof and looked toward the city gate.
She was already inside.
Arachne did not walk.
She glided.
Each step she took, the sound of her heels—click, click, click—was like a countdown. She didn't so much move through the street as claim it. Her long, silken black hair flowed like liquid night, and her eyes—mysterious purple pools—danced with mischief and promise of venom.
She was clad in black and violet, her arms wrapped in elegant silk sleeves, and her legs long and lethal. Tiny threads of glistening web trailed behind her like a bridal veil of danger.
Digimon along the street froze. Some gasped. Others ducked behind crates.
She turned her head slowly, her smile wicked and far too friendly.
"Good morning, darlings," she purred.
Naruto gritted his teeth from his perch on the roof. His hand tightened into a fist.
She didn't bother looking around for confrontation. She didn't need to.
She knew they were watching.
And she loved it.
Naruto leapt down from the rooftop and landed beside Piximon and Raikomaru, who had already descended. The street was eerily quiet now. Rebellimon was still frozen mid-flex behind a cart.
"I've got a bad feeling," Raikomaru muttered.
"You should," Naruto said, his tone still serious. "She's not here to sightsee."
They watched as Arachne strolled confidently through the main boulevard. When she reached the square outside Digitamamon's restaurant, she paused—turning slightly, letting the wind flick her cloak back just enough to show the elegant blade-web contraption strapped to her thigh.
Then she looked up.
Straight at Naruto.
Their eyes locked.
She smiled, slow and knowing, then turned back and walked into the restaurant like she owned the menu, the kitchen, the furniture, and possibly even the walls.