Chapter 10: Of Sages, Stamina, and Failed Bathroom Escapes
Starring: Issei Hyoudou, accidental ninja-in-training and professional slacker.
Let me tell you something real quick: when you end up as the temporary vessel for a shinobi demigod named Naruto Uzumaki, things get weird. Like, chakra-and-dream-sharing-and-also-training-until-you-puke weird.
But, lucky me, I had Jiraiya. The one and only Pervy Sage. A man with white spiky hair, god-tier writing skills, and a gaze so serious it made me sit straighter just looking at him—unless he spotted a hot girl, in which case he was off like a heat-seeking missile.
We were sitting in a clearing somewhere in this shinobi forest that smelled like fresh dew, grilled fish, and the ever-present scent of sweat. Jiraiya was cooking. Like, actual food. With a fire. On a log. He looked like a camping dad if your camping dad was a legendary ninja.
"Calm down, kid, and talk slowly about your meeting with the Sage and Naruto," Jiraiya said, turning the fish with all the calmness of a man who'd fought giant monsters and lived to grill about it.
I sat down across from him, trying really hard not to act like a starstruck fanboy.
Because, let's be real: Jiraiya was the guy. The myth. The man who wrote Make-Out Paradise. And Make-Out Violence. And probably Make-Out Volume 38: The Kissing Strikes Back. Total inspiration.
"I met Naruto in the dream world," I said, poking at the dirt. "We talked. He looked… strong. And focused. Said he was training and waiting for you to bring him back."
Jiraiya froze. Not like literally froze, but you could feel the moment hit him in the heart. The kind of hit that didn't come from a kunai, but something deeper. He looked down at the fish and didn't say anything for a moment.
Oof. Emotional damage.
I wanted to hug him.
But I also liked having all my ribs in place.
'I'll definitely bring him back,' he must've been thinking.
Classic grandpa energy. Powerful stuff.
"But," I added, "there was something unusual. He met someone. A girl. She used… magic."
Jiraiya's head turned so fast I thought I heard a crack.
"Magic?" he repeated.
"Yeah. She healed him. That's all. I think." I scratched my cheek, feeling awkward. "But… y'know, magic's like chakra's weird cousin, right? It's kinda the same thing in fantasy books and stuff."
At that moment, Kakashi Hatake walked into the clearing, looking like he just strolled off the cover of Masked & Brooding Monthly, with Gai behind him looking like someone had injected caffeine directly into his soul.
"Anything else?" Kakashi asked, like he hadn't just walked in casually hearing my life story.
"Yeah," I said. "Naruto's been training like a maniac. Morning, afternoon, and evening. I'm kind of offended. I didn't know my body could do that. Like—was that stamina always in there?!"
Gai's eyes gleamed. "Do you think he retains a percentage of Issei's stamina?"
Kakashi folded his arms thoughtfully. "Maybe their souls are still connected somehow."
"Oh!" I sat up, realizing something important. "I was in my body in the dream world! So whatever you teach me here, I can pass it to him. Directly. Like a download. Like psychic USB."
That got everyone's attention.
You could practically see the storm clouds of overtraining form behind Jiraiya's head.
"No need to think too much," Jiraiya said, flashing a devilish grin. "Let's just train Issei down to the bone and make this body strong. If Naruto's getting the benefits, then it's win-win."
I laughed nervously.
But inside?
Panic.exe had stopped responding.
As Jiraiya passed the grilled fish around like a generous warlord, I stood up and tried to slither away like the sneaky genius I was.
"Where are you going?" Kakashi asked, one eye glinting.
"Uh… washroom. Nature calls. Urgently. You know how it is."
He nodded. "Be back before breakfast gets cold."
"Totally."
I walked slowly, casually, like I wasn't plotting the world's greatest escape.
Then—zoom. I bolted like a ninja squirrel who'd seen the leaf blower of destiny.
Freedom!
Escape!
Survival!
…
Except.
I was caught in under fifteen seconds.
Apparently, Kakashi had summoned dogs. Again.
Note to self: when trying to escape super ninja teachers, maybe don't try it in the forest they literally trained in their whole lives.
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Okay, so let me paint you a picture.
Imagine a guy—let's say, hypothetically, me—strapped with enough weighted gear to sink a small ship. I'm talking lead weights on my arms, legs, chest, back, and probably even my self-esteem. Now, add a hyperactive green jumpsuit ninja named Might Gai screaming about the Power of Youth while I try not to pass out during squat number five hundred and twelve.
That's where we were. That was my life now.
No food. No breaks. No mercy.
Just pain. And the distant smell of grilled fish I wasn't allowed to touch.
"Bend the knees, tighten the core, shout your inner spirit!" Gai yelled, eyes sparkling like he just inhaled pure motivation.
Meanwhile, across the training field, Kakashi was chilling under a tree, reading his ever-present Make-Out Paradise while a clone of me was doing hand signs under his lazy supervision.
"Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu!" my clone shouted.
"Too slow. Again."
Back on the other side, Jiraiya had another clone of me reading shinobi textbooks while dramatically pacing around him.
"Chapter three: Stealth Tactics and Trap Detection. Now remember, a shinobi who forgets his basics is a dead one."
Meanwhile, real me was struggling not to die doing pushups with Gai sitting on my back like this was a totally normal Tuesday.
But there was one thing—one dream—keeping me going through all of this.
'This is all for the harem,' I reminded myself, tears mixing with sweat.
Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up (barely) to see Jiraiya crouching beside me, wearing a grin so unholy it should've come with a disclaimer.
"Issei," he whispered, like a devil promising forbidden power, "work hard, and girls of all kinds will want you."
My ears perked up.
My chakra flared.
My hormones activated.
"It's the norm here," he continued, like he was narrating the Gospel of Groping. "The strong get the girls. Look at Kakashi—he's gotta hide half the time just to keep the ladies from jumping him. And me? I don't chase women. I attract them. So show them what you've got and make me a proud master."
It was evil.
It was shameless.
It was… beautiful.
I felt a sudden surge of life.
"For the harem," I whispered with reverence.
Louder now. "FOR THE HAREM!"
Then, standing tall like a man reborn—weights be damned—I shouted my ultimate battle cry:
"FOR THE BOOBS! MAY THEY BE BIG AND PLENTY!"
A bird flew away in fear.
A squirrel fell out of a tree.
Even Kakashi raised an eyebrow. Just one, though.
Gai… poor Gai.
He looked like he'd just been emotionally punched in the soul.
He froze mid-squat, eyes wide and sparkling—not with youth, but sheer mortification.
"I-Issei-kun," he stammered, "Training should be about inner growth, about forging your will!"
"Yes, Gai-sensei!" I beamed, completely missing the point. "My will is forged from love! I shall become a man worthy of adoration! A man worthy of a thousand curves!"
Jiraiya wiped a tear of pride from his eye. "He's learning."
Kakashi didn't even look up. "He's broken."
And so, the sun set on another insane day of training. I was bruised, battered, and starving. But I had a dream.
And in this shinobi world, dreams were powerful. Even if they involved hot tubs, busty kunoichi, and a book deal.
Because if Naruto could become Hokage…
Then Issei Hyoudou could become the Harem King.
Believe it.
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Ddraig, the mighty Welsh dragon of old, destroyer of realms, scourge of the ancient heavens, and general mood-killer at parties, was having a bit of a crisis.
You see, he'd spent the last several centuries either sealed in sacred gears, yelling at Albion across dimensions, or—most recently—lounging around in the soul of a slightly perverted teenager named Issei Hyoudou.
It wasn't the most dignified gig for a dragon with a reputation like his, but hey, eternal life has its compromises.
At least Issei, for all his awkward flailing and boob-motivated monologues, was entertaining in a watching-a-cat-stuck-in-a-tissue-box kind of way.
But then something weird happened.
And by weird, we mean world-shaking-soul-swapping-what-the-actual-fireball weird.
At first, Ddraig didn't notice anything too off. Issei was still being loud. Still imagining situations that would get most shinobi smacked with a frying pan. Still talking to himself while running laps with ankle weights like a budget Goku.
But the soul... that was different.
It was brighter.
Stronger.
Also, it didn't scream "teenage perv with delusions of haremhood."
It screamed "traumatized shinobi with abandonment issues and enough chakra to microwave a small continent."
That, as it turned out, was a major red flag.
So Ddraig did what any self-respecting ancient spirit would do: he sat very still, narrowed his big imaginary dragon eyes, and started asking questions no one would answer.
'Okay. Roll call time,' Ddraig thought, his rumbling voice echoing through the spiritual landscape like thunder in a cave.
'One: I'm still in the Sacred Gear. Check.
Two: This is definitely Issei's body. Sort of check.
Three: This is not Issei's soul. Massive red X.'
What finally confirmed it was when the new soul-in-residence did thirty pushups, practiced martial arts—all without once mentioning breasts.
"Blasphemy," Ddraig muttered, scandalized.
This soul was efficient. Disciplined. Dare he say… competent.
That's when it hit him: this wasn't Issei at all.
This was someone else.
Someone far more experienced in combat. Someone more determined. Someone who actually knew what they were doing.
'But if this soul is in Issei's body... where is my human?'
More importantly, why hadn't he noticed the switch? He was an ancient dragon of destruction, not a background NPC!
'How did this happen? Who pulled this off? And why didn't I sense anything?'
The worst part was, he couldn't even leave. Sacred Gear contracts were binding. As in: till death do us part.
Which meant no matter who was in charge of this meat suit, Ddraig was along for the ride. Unless the body kicked the bucket—which, knowing Naruto, was unlikely, unless he walked into an S-rank fight on an empty stomach.