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.
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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.
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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."