Chapter 6: Manuals, Muscles, and the Birth of a Training Pact
From the probably-too-excited brain of Naruto Uzumaki
Okay, so here's something nobody tells you when you jump to another world:
They have magic boxes that play moving pictures, show other people fighting, and even let you be the fighter—all without needing chakra. Yeah. I know. I still don't get how it works.
Let me explain before you think I hit my head again.
It all started when I visited the Shirahama family house, which sounds like a dojo but is actually just a regular house—with a dojo next door, because this family is apparently allergic to not training.
Kenichi invited me over after training, saying something like, "Wanna chill?" I thought he meant ice baths. Turns out, it was much cooler.
Their house was normal-ish—comfy couch, smell of dinner in the air, a TV the size of a scroll and... books.
I mean, the dude had more books than Iruka-sensei's office, and they weren't about history or ninja regulations either. They were about martial arts styles, energy points, famous fighters, and even a book called "The 100 Deadliest Moves That Will Probably Get You Expelled from School." (Okay, maybe not the actual title, but it should've been.)
Anyway, Kenichi showed me around his room, and that's when I saw it.
The holy grail.
The sacred shrine of all teens.
The PlayStation.
It looked like a black, shiny toad with a glowing light on its back. And when he turned it on... it sang. Or beeped. Either way, it was magical.
"You've never played a PlayStation?" Kenichi asked like I'd said I'd never eaten ramen.
"Uhh..." I scratched the back of my head. "Is that some kind of training weapon?"
He stared at me for a solid ten seconds like I'd grown a second head.
"Oh," he finally said, putting a hand on my shoulder like I'd just told him my dog died. "Your parents must've been really strict."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded solemnly. Seemed easier than explaining that I grew up eating stale bread and fighting illusion-casting super villains.
Kenichi was cool though. He handed me a controller and showed me how to use it. Left stick moves, right stick kinda looks around, the buttons punch, kick, jump, and... I forgot what the triangle does because my thumb kept mashing everything at once.
Enter: Honoka, Kenichi's ten-year-old little sister.
Now, I've fought demon foxes, giant snakes, rogue ninja, and a pervy sage, but I've never been so thoroughly destroyed by a small child.
We played a game called Street Fighter. I was Ryu. She was Chun-Li.
I thought I was doing pretty well—I landed a few kicks, did a spinny thing—but Honoka?
Honoka transformed into a button-mashing demon princess. Her fingers moved so fast I swear I saw smoke coming off the controller.
"Hadouken!"
"Spinning Bird Kick!"
"KO!"
My Ryu just collapsed. I didn't even know what hit me. Meanwhile, Kenichi groaned beside me, "She does this to me too..."
We bonded over our shared defeat. It's what real warriors do when the smaller, more dangerous warrior in the room annihilates your confidence.
After our gaming humiliation, Kenichi introduced me to something called YouTube, which is basically a jutsu-less genjutsu screen that shows anything you want.
He pulled up videos of martial arts fights—karate, boxing, aikido, some old kung fu movie where a guy used chopsticks to catch flies.
I was in awe.
"This technology... it's got everything," I whispered. "Training styles, techniques, even cooking tutorials!"
I think I almost cried. I mean, back in my world, I had to beg for scrolls or wait for Iruka to let me borrow old academy textbooks. Here? One click and BOOM—knowledge explosion.
It was like having the entire Ninja Library in your pocket... if your pocket came with Wi-Fi.
So yeah. I lost a video game fight to a ten-year-old, discovered an infinite scroll full of training, and realized this world's greatest weapon might not be chakra—it's the internet.
And if I ever go back to the Hidden Leaf... I'm bringing a PlayStation with me.
Believe it!
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You ever meet someone and think, "Wow, why didn't I meet you earlier?"
That's how I felt about the Shirahama siblings.
One day. That's all it took. Just one day, and I was practically part of the family. Okay, maybe not officially, but Honoka had already tried to get me to do her homework, and Kenichi let me borrow a martial arts manual and didn't cry when I dog-eared the pages. That's family in my book.
We spent the whole afternoon talking. I mean, really talking. Not the "Hi, how are you?" stuff, but the deep ninja conversations like:
"How do you throw a punch without looking like you're trying to swat a bug?"
Or
"What would happen if you tried to do a flying kick off the sofa?" (Answer: You take out a lamp. Sorry, Mrs. Shirahama.)
I didn't have a lot of topics to talk about, to be honest. Most people here talk about school or hobbies or their favorite shows. Me? I have a demon fox sealed in my stomach and a complicated relationship with shadow clones. Not exactly coffee-table conversation.
So, I stuck to what I knew—becoming stronger, fighting better, and not dying. You know, the usual.
And Kenichi? That guy lit up like Lee on leg day.
"I've read a lot about martial arts," he said, flipping open a notebook with so many tabs it looked like a porcupine. "I've got manuals on Muay Thai, Judo, Karate, even a bit of Chinese Kenpo."
My jaw dropped.
"Wait—you read martial arts?"
"Yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "I mean, I don't know them, not really. I've never trained. I'm kinda... weak."
I looked at him. Not in a judgmental way—more like how I used to look at mirrors and wonder if someday I'd be strong enough to not get left behind.
"You know," I said, leaning forward, "we could work on it together."
He blinked. "Huh?"
"Things are easier with friends," I grinned. "Besides, I've got weird techniques and super stamina, and you've got books and... a PlayStation. We'd make a great team!"
He stared at me, stunned. Then smiled.
Like, really smiled. The kind that makes you feel like you just handed someone their first ramen bowl.
"Yeah," he nodded. "Let's do it."
And just like that, a pact was formed.
Not some blood oath or sacred scroll signing—just two boys who wanted to get stronger, sitting in a room full of martial arts manuals, video games, and big dreams.
I didn't say it out loud, but in that moment, I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time.
Home.
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So here's the situation:
I'm Naruto. In Issei's body. Hanging out with two siblings—Kenichi, who's got the heart of a hero but the fists of a floppy fish, and Honoka, who is ten years old and somehow already more terrifying than most Jonin I've met.
And the three of us just formed a sacred bond—one forged through video games, mutual embarrassment, and the shared desire not to get beat up again.
We were huddled around the living room, surrounded by books, snack wrappers, and the remains of what had once been a soda can before Honoka got mad and crushed it like a beer commercial.
"Okay, hold on," she said, crossing her arms and staring right at me with that tiny big-sister energy. "You're telling me you two want to train to become stronger… by yourselves?"
"Pretty much," I nodded.
Kenichi looked like he wanted to disappear into the couch cushions.
"And you think just winging it is going to work?" she said, slowly raising one eyebrow like a pro interrogator.
"Uhh... well," I started, rubbing the back of my neck like the guilty ninja I technically was. "We were gonna... follow some books and... maybe punch a tree?"
Honoka groaned and flopped backward dramatically.
"You guys are gonna end up in the hospital," she muttered, glaring at the ceiling like it personally offended her. "Look, if you're really serious about this, you should join a dojo."
"Dojo?" I blinked. "Oh yeah! Like that place with mats and yelling!"
Kenichi flinched. "I… I don't know."
Honoka sat up and looked at him, her whole expression softening. "You told me the kids at school were bullying you during judo class, right?"
Kenichi looked away and mumbled something into his shirt.
That got me right in the gut. I remembered being ignored, left out, pushed around… man, that feeling sucks no matter what world you're in.
"But a dojo isn't like that," Honoka continued. "You'd be going with Issei—" she shot me a pointed look, "—who's clearly insane but also kinda inspiring."
"Thank you?" I said, confused but flattered.
"And," she added, standing up now like a chibi general, "I'm joining too."
Kenichi blinked. "Wait, what?"
"I'm not letting you get beat up again," she said firmly. "I'll be there to keep an eye on things. If anyone tries anything shady, I'll bite their kneecaps."
"…that's oddly specific," I said.
"She's bitten me before," Kenichi whispered.
But honestly? I was impressed. Honoka might have been ten, but she had more protective energy than half the ANBU. And deep down, you could tell it wasn't just because she wanted to play martial arts hero—it was because she loved her brother.
I smiled. "You're right, Honoka. A dojo's a good idea. Kenichi and I can't do this alone. We'll find a place, get stronger the right way, and become cool martial arts bros."
Kenichi hesitated, but when he looked at his sister—who gave him the world's tiniest but most powerful thumbs-up—he nodded.
"Okay," he said. "Let's do it."
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So there I was—Issei's body, Naruto's brain, and a living room that had suddenly transformed into my personal dojo of awkward grunting and half-finished front kicks.
The moment we got back from the bookstore, I made a beeline for the manuals: one on Taekwondo (a.k.a. the land of a thousand kicks), another on Judo (throw your problems over your shoulder—literally), and Karate (where everything hurts and every move has a stance I kept forgetting five seconds later).
Kenichi had gone to grab snacks. Honoka was doing her homework in the next room, occasionally yelling at us to keep it down. And me?
I was sweating through a high kick in front of a paused YouTube video featuring a cheerful dude with a black belt and the smile of someone who didn't get bruises every ten seconds.
"Okay, combo one," I muttered to myself, flipping to the first diagram in the Karate manual. "Step forward, punch, twist, elbow, back kick, yell dramatically—got it."
I attempted it.
The "punch" part? Not bad.
The "twist"? Sort of a half-turn and a stumble.
The "elbow"? Accidentally hit a lamp.
The "back kick"? Took out a suspiciously placed laundry basket.
The "yell dramatically"? Perfect 10. Nailed it.
"Man," I groaned, rubbing my shin, "I miss Kakashi-sensei…"
At least when Kakashi made you suffer, he had the decency to do it with cool eye-smirks and philosophical quotes about teamwork. Right now, the only quote I had was, "Remember to like and subscribe for more martial arts tutorials!" Not exactly ninja wisdom.
I sighed and paused the next video, which had a title like "5 Easy Judo Throws for Beginners That Probably Won't Break Your Spine."
"I'd even take Bushy Brow right now," I muttered, stretching my arms. "He'd scream motivational stuff, and then we'd kick trees until our legs turned to pudding. It would be beautiful."
But no. No Jiraiya to correct my stance and add pervy comments. No Kakashi to point out my chakra flow was off. No Lee to cry tears of fiery passion and get me to do 500 push-ups for failing to pronounce "ossu" correctly.
Just me… a teenage body with way too much energy, three training manuals, and a world where I couldn't use chakra to cheat.
Still, I couldn't quit. I remembered what Jiraiya said—strength comes from pushing forward, even when it's hard. And I had a goal: get strong enough to protect people like Kenichi and Honoka. Maybe even help Kenichi become the version of himself he wanted to be.
I flipped the book again and took a deep breath. "Alright, take two. Combo one. This time, without murdering any furniture."
And so began the second round of my personal training montage.
Sure, it wasn't glamorous.
Sure, I tripped over my own foot.
Sure, Honoka laughed when I accidentally yelled "RASENGAN!" during a spinning kick.
But I kept going.
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The warm water from the shower hit me like a friendly waterfall after a week in the desert. I swear I could hear angels singing when the steam fogged up the bathroom mirror. After an afternoon of self-taught martial arts mayhem, I was bruised, sore, and convinced that spinning kicks were invented by someone with a grudge against normal human hips.
Dinner was a welcome distraction. Issei's mom had made something amazing—some kind of grilled fish with rice and a miso soup that practically hugged my soul. I tried not to shovel it in too fast, but my stomach was basically rioting at this point.
"Did you have fun at Kenichi's?" his dad asked, looking genuinely interested, which threw me off for a second.
"Yeah," I nodded. "He's got this insane book collection—like, every martial arts manual ever. And his sister Honoka? Better at games than both of us combined."
Issei's mom chuckled. "Sounds like you made good friends."
I grinned. "Yeah. They're cool."
The weird thing was… I meant it.
Back in Konoha, I had friends too, but it had taken me years to build that trust. With Kenichi and Honoka, it was fast. Maybe because they were kind. Maybe because they didn't expect me to be the Hokage's kid or the vessel of some giant chakra monster. I was just a boy named Issei who wanted to get stronger.
And they got that.
Dinner ended, dishes were washed (not by me, thank goodness), and before long I was back in my room with a still-damp head, pajamas, and a Karate Beginner's Manual open on my lap.
Bad idea.
Like, legendarily bad.
Because here's the thing: the body of a teenager who had done push-ups, practiced kicks, mimicked judo throws, and got emotionally invested in a sibling bonding moment does not want to study forms and stances under a warm reading lamp.
But I tried.
I really did.
I propped myself up against the wall, book in hand, determined to figure out the difference between zuki and geri, and what in the world a kiba-dachi was supposed to look like.
"…so the power comes from the hips," I mumbled, eyes blinking in slow motion.
My head drooped. Snapped up. Drooped again.
"Must… learn… reverse punch…"
The words on the page started blurring together like some ancient forbidden scroll protected by a genjutsu of exhaustion.
And then…
Bonk.
The book slipped from my fingers and landed with a soft thud on the futon. My head leaned against the wall. My breathing slowed. Somewhere in my dreams, I was arguing with a cartoon bear about correct kicking posture.
I had officially unlocked a new martial arts form:
Sleep-Fu.
Highly advanced. Only usable by those with no remaining energy and too much ambition.
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I've had a lot of weird dreams in my life.
Once I dreamt I was stuck inside a ramen bowl and the noodles were alive. Another time, I was chased by a thousand Konohamarus holding explosive tags. But this? This took the cake. Possibly the whole bakery.
I was standing on clouds. Not fog, not mist—literal clouds. All fluffy and squishy like marshmallows, except they didn't taste like anything (I checked).
Above me, the sky shimmered like one of those fancy paintings in Lady Tsunade's office that you're not allowed to touch. Off in the distance, a huge palace floated among the clouds. Like, legit floating. There were also mountains growing out of the clouds, a tree so big it probably had its own weather system, and stairs leading up into even more clouds like someone really wanted their cardio challenged.
"What a weird dream…" I muttered, scratching the back of my head.
Except… I didn't feel dream-y. I wasn't just drifting around like a ghost or flying without reason. Everything felt too real. I could feel the breeze. Smell the clean air. See clearly. Like, who dreams in 4K?
"Am I supposed to be so aware in a dream?" I muttered, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.
And that's when I saw him.
Another person standing just as confused, looking around like he'd lost a shoe and his entire dimension.
He turned to me at the same time I looked at him.
And yeah… we both shouted.
"Issei!"
"Naruto!"
We blinked. And I realized I wasn't in Issei's body anymore.
I was just… me. Blond hair, whisker marks, the whole deal. And Issei looked like his usual self too—tall, spiky brown hair, and that expression that screamed "please don't ask me to run laps."
"Do you know how this happened?" Issei asked, walking toward me across the squishy clouds.
I shook my head. "I don't know. I was reading about karate, blinked once, and woke up here. I figured this was one of those 'sage shows up and gives you wisdom through nonsense' dreams."
"Honestly," Issei said, sighing, "same. I was trying to sleep after a long training day and now I'm here, still confused."
"I'm waiting for Master," I said, stretching my arms and looking around the dream world. "He's gotta be behind this. Or maybe Kakashi. This feels like something Kakashi would do if he learned dream projection jutsu."
Issei sat down on a puffy cloud with a tired grunt. "We've swapped bodies, trained in crazy ways, and now our dreams are co-op multiplayer. I can't tell if this is a blessing or a curse."
I flopped next to him. "Let's just agree that it's a blessing with mood swings."
We sat in silence for a while, watching the floating palace in the distance shimmer like a mirage.
"Do you think we can visit that place?" Issei asked.
"I mean," I said with a shrug, "if it's a dream, what's the worst that can happen? We wake up?"
"True…"
And with that, we stood up, ready to explore Dream World Level 2, waiting for a talking frog, a flaming scroll, or maybe—if we were really lucky—a plate of dream ramen.