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.
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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.
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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.