Chapter 40: "Love, Peace, and Accidental Eye Contact"
In which Kenichi discovers that talking to a pretty girl is more stressful than getting punched by a Ki master.
There are few things in life that make you reconsider all your choices. Sparring with Apachai Hopachai for four hours while wearing a ten-ton suit of muscle-murder might be one of them.
Naruto's body felt like a crumpled ramen cup, and his brain was floating somewhere between unconsciousness and a deep desire for pudding.
He was lying flat on his back, limbs splayed like a pancake that lost its will to rise.
"That was...great," he wheezed, twitching slightly. "I can't feel my legs. Or arms. Or existence."
A soft rumble of a chuckle answered him.
Naruto peeled open one eye and found himself looking up at a mountain disguised as a man—Grandmaster Hayato Fūrinji, aka the kindly grandfather who could yeet a tank across the city if he felt mildly annoyed.
"Rest easy," Hayato said with a warm tone that didn't quite match the terrifying aura that oozed from every cell of his body. "You did well. Very few people survive a warm-up with Apachai."
"That was a warm-up?" Naruto croaked.
Hayato didn't answer. Which, to be fair, was probably for the best.
The gentle giant sat down beside him, folding his arms in the way only a man with planet-sized muscles could. For a moment, they just sat in companionable silence, the breeze brushing across the dojo yard and birds tweeting—probably bets on how long Naruto would live.
Then Hayato spoke.
"I sensed the dragon's energy within you."
Naruto blinked. "You mean Ddraig?"
Hayato nodded. "Yes. The Red Dragon of Domination. A powerful ally... but also a dangerous one."
Naruto sat up slowly, his body creaking like an old house in a thunderstorm. "He's not a bad guy. Just… kind of proud. Like, ridiculously proud. But we talked. He respects me now."
"That's good," Hayato said with a grandfatherly nod. "But be cautious. Pride... is like fire. Warm and useful. But left unchecked, it will burn down everything."
Naruto looked down at his bandaged hands. "I get what you're saying. But that's not me. I've always known I'm not the strongest. Not the smartest. Heck, I used to eat moldy ramen once because I thought it was 'extra spicy.'"
Hayato blinked.
Naruto continued, grinning slightly, "Pride? Nah. That's not my thing. I just want to get strong enough to protect my people. That's it."
The old master studied him, his face unreadable.
Then he smiled. "Good. Stay that way. Stay grounded. That's how real dragons fly."
Naruto leaned back against the training wall, Ddraig humming somewhere inside his soul like a content old lizard sunbathing.
"That guy is wise," Ddraig admitted. "Annoyingly so. Like the kind of dragon who would tell you to floss after burning down a castle."
Naruto chuckled. "Yeah. But he's right. We've got some dangerous people to face. Can't let your pride run the show."
"I'm not the one who charged Apachai while screaming 'KICK ME HARDER, BIG GUY!'" Ddraig deadpanned.
"...Okay, fair."
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Okay, so I've fought giant wolves, taken punches from Apachai that would flatten skyscrapers, and sparred while wearing a ten-ton outfit. But today… today I was training with the most dangerous thing yet.
A beautiful, expressionless swordmaster who could probably dissect a tank using a hairpin.
"Follow," Shigure said, in a voice so soft it made whispering seem like screaming.
So, yeah—obviously, I followed. I'm not dumb.
Weaponry 101: How Not to Lose Limbs
After healing up from my last "accidental body demolition" (thanks, Apachai), I was finally back to full strength. Akisame had force-fed me medicine that tasted like boiled despair, and my muscles had stitched back together with enough protein to build a new cow.
Now, Shigure had taken me to her personal training ground—aka, the Zen garden of DEATH.
It was quiet. Too quiet. There were wooden dummies with swords, traps, swinging blades, and an archery setup that looked like it had last been used by Robin Hood's bloodthirsty cousin.
"You… know kunai?" she asked, watching me with those calm, light purple eyes that seemed to judge your soul without blinking.
"Yeah," I said, spinning one around my finger. "Kunai, shuriken, and smoke bombs were kinda my vibe. I also had exploding tags, but I don't think your insurance covers that."
She didn't smile. Not even a twitch. Which was fine. I took that as a challenge.
Shigure handed me a police baton next. It was longer than a kunai, heavier too, and had more "I'm serious" vibes.
"Not a toy," she said simply.
"Wasn't planning on juggling with it," I muttered… until she threw a kunai at my head so fast I nearly swallowed my tongue.
I blocked. Barely.
Okay, lesson learned.
Training with Shigure was… surreal. She didn't move like a fighter. She moved like poetry, like the kind of quiet, lethal haiku that ends with someone being flat on their back and wondering where their kneecaps went.
I tried keeping up—dodging, parrying, attacking. I even threw in some classic Naruto footwork, chakra-less but still flashy.
She didn't say much, but when I landed a clean parry, her gaze softened for half a second. That was, I'm pretty sure, the equivalent of her giving me a standing ovation.
"Blade… is not just metal," she said mid-session, adjusting my grip on the baton. "Is part of you. Like hand, like leg. You respect it, it fights for you."
That hit differently.
In my old world, we used chakra-infused everything. Here, it was about technique. Respect. Bonding. Like having a sharp, angry pet snake that you swing around in battle.
I nodded. "Got it. No chakra cheat codes. Pure technique. Pure instinct."
She nodded once. That was Shigure speak for "Good job, apprentice."
During breaks, I tried getting her to talk more. She was young, beautiful, and somehow as strong as the rest of the old-timer masters. It was kind of inspiring—and a little intimidating.
"So… how'd you get this strong so young?" I asked between gulps of water.
She blinked. "Training… every day. Since small."
"Sounds lonely."
There was a long pause.
"Had Tōchūmaru," she said, gesturing toward her tiny mouse buddy who was currently balancing a shuriken on its head like a circus act.
I smiled. "Coolest mouse I've ever met."
Still no smile from her… but I swear the corner of her mouth almost twitched. Progress.
Conclusion: Blades, Brains, and Barely Surviving
By the end of the day, I was bruised, sore, and dangerously close to naming my baton out of respect.
Training with Shigure wasn't just about getting better. It was about sharpening your mind, your body, and your bond with the blade. She didn't say much, but every movement, every correction, carried wisdom that hit harder than Apachai on a sugar rush.
She reminded me of home. Of my old world. Maybe that's why I felt most at ease around her.
And if she ever smiled?
I'd probably pass out.
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Kenichi:
Kenichi Shirahama was not a brave man.
Sure, he was here training with martial arts demigods who thought broken bones were just "learning opportunities," and yes, he had willingly agreed to let Akisame use him as a human science experiment… but none of that compared to this moment.
He was going to talk to Miu Fūrinji.
The girl who looked like she walked straight out of a shoujo manga and kicked her way through a shounen one. She was beautiful, powerful, kind, and—for reasons unknown—hadn't yet roundhouse-kicked him for breathing too loudly.
So naturally, Kenichi's brain was screaming every possible worst-case scenario while he approached her with all the grace of a nervous penguin.
Miu was sitting under the shade of a sakura tree at the edge of the training courtyard. She had her hair tied up in a loose ponytail, and her training outfit somehow made her look like the cover model for "Elegant Martial Artist Monthly." She was quietly feeding her pet cats and sipping on tea like this was a peaceful mountain temple and not a dojo of doom.
Kenichi cleared his throat and offered the world's least threatening wave.
"Uh… hey, Miu-san."
She blinked, looked up, and—oh no—smiled.
"Hello, Kenichi-kun," she said kindly. "Taking a break?"
Kenichi nodded so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. "Y-Yeah! I mean, sort of. Akisame-sensei said I could stop screaming for a while, so I thought I'd… you know… inhale oxygen… like people do."
Miu giggled.
Giggled.
Kenichi's brain short-circuited.
"You don't look like the others," Miu said, sipping her tea. "You're… normal. In a good way."
Kenichi blinked. "Really? I mean, yeah! Totally normal. Nothing superhuman here. Just a guy with average strength, average reflexes, and a growing list of hospital bills."
She laughed again, softly. "That's why I like talking to you. Everyone here is so focused on power and training. Sometimes… it's nice to just talk."
Kenichi took that compliment and taped it to his soul.
After a few moments of comfortable silence, she added, "I didn't always want this life, you know. Martial arts, fighting… it was just what I grew up with. I wanted to try being a normal girl—go to school, hang out with friends, eat parfaits without worrying about burning the calories by kicking boulders in half."
Kenichi nodded solemnly. "That actually sounds amazing."
"You get it," she said, smiling at him. "That's why I think you're brave."
"W-Wait… me? Brave?" he stammered.
She nodded. "You're doing all this even though you weren't born for it. You're not like Shogo or Kisara. You struggle, but you keep going. That's bravery too."
For one shining second, Kenichi felt like he could lift a mountain. Or at least not fall over from anxiety.
"Thanks, Miu-san," he said with a smile. "That… means a lot."
They shared a moment of peace.
And then, as fate would have it, a loud crash sounded from the other side of the dojo.
"KENICHI!" Akisame's voice echoed like doom. "NAP TIME'S OVER. BACK IN THE PRESSURE PIT!"
Kenichi paled. "Oh no. Not the pit again…"
"Good luck," Miu said with a soft giggle.
Kenichi ran off, bruises and all, heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with fear for once.
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Ukita:
Ukita was not known for his subtlety.
He was built like a wrestler, talked like a wrestler, and let's be honest—fought like someone who thought "strategy" was just a type of sandwich. But for all his rough edges, Ukita had one defining trait that made him truly unique among the battle-hardened gangsters and budding Ki-warriors:
He cared. Especially about her.
So, as he limped his way across the training yard—still sore from Akisame's medieval science experiments—he kept glancing toward the far corner of the courtyard where Kisara was training under Ma Kensei's sharp, calculating eye.
Kisara was mid-combat. Legs flew, hair snapped with every pivot, and sweat traced elegant arcs across her determined face as she performed a high-speed combination of spinning kicks. Ma Kensei danced around her with impossible grace, poking nerve points and correcting her stances faster than she could blink.
"Too slow! That's not a Taekwondo kick, that's a polite suggestion!" Ma barked, half-teasing, half-terrifying.
Kisara didn't talk back. She just gritted her teeth and threw another kick, faster, sharper.
From the sidelines, Ukita winced—not at her form, which was honestly amazing—but at the sheer punishment she was taking. And still going.
After a brutal session, Ma Kensei finally waved her off. "Break time. Rehydrate, then we'll work on your footwork again before your legs fall off."
Kisara plopped down onto a bench, grabbed a towel, and started chugging water like a champion.
That's when Ukita casually strolled over, trying very hard not to look like he'd been watching the whole time.
"Yo," he grunted, scratching the back of his neck. "You, uh… survived?"
Kisara glanced up, smirking. "Barely. You look worse though. What did Akisame do this time, turn you into a human spring?"
"Barrel bath," Ukita said solemnly. "It was boiling. I think I saw a carrot floating in there."
Kisara snorted, a real laugh escaping. "Thanks for checking in, Ukita. That's sweet."
He shrugged. "You looked like you needed a breather. Thought I'd say hi. You know… friend stuff."
Kisara blinked, then nodded warmly. "Yeah. You're a good friend."
Ukita felt something soft and warm settle in his chest at her words. She didn't know it, but that little line—that single confirmation—meant the world.
He didn't need to be her hero, or her rival, or even her number one sparring partner. He just wanted to be someone she could count on. And if that meant cheering her on from the sidelines, making sure she drank water, and maybe scaring off a creep or two?
Then yeah. That was more than enough.
"Alright," Ukita said, stepping back with a goofy grin. "Kick Master Ma's butt for me. I'll go let Akisame boil me some more."
"Good luck, musclehead," Kisara called back with a smirk.
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A.N,. I hope you guys can comment and leave a review. The story has 40 chapters now and there are only two reviews. Knowing what people think, helps a lot.