Chapter 1: The Hangover That Broke Dimensions
The world was… annoyingly perfect.
No pollution, no crime, no shadowy villains cackling about global domination. Basically, it was the kind of world where retired heroes were supposed to sit in rocking chairs, sip tea, and argue about whose grandkids were cuter.
Unfortunately, Uzumaki Naruto was not cut out for rocking chairs. Or tea. Or paperwork. Especially paperwork.
It had been more than a decade since the Fourth Ninja War, also known as The War for Survival and Freedom of All Humanity (a title Naruto found way too dramatic, but people loved putting it on history textbooks). The planet had bounced back in style. No more petty feuds, no more chaos. Technology was advancing faster than you could say, "Wait, didn't we invent that last month?" Life expectancy was up, inventions popped out like ramen cups in a vending machine, and people were—get this—happy.
And, of course, everyone knew about Naruto. The whole "world-saving, hope-bringing, can-punch-a-mountain-into-orbit" thing tended to make you famous. His name wasn't whispered in fear; it was shouted in parades, plastered on T-shirts, and probably used in toddler bedtime stories as the guy who scared away monsters.
But every light has its shadow. While Naruto basked in (and sometimes squirmed under) the never-ending praise, his best friend-turned-shadow, Uchiha Sasuke, carried the other side of the legacy. The guilt. The "almost-doomed-us-all" badge. He didn't want praise, and the people weren't eager to give it anyway. Balance, in its own weird way.
For the common people, it was dreamland. For warriors like Naruto? Well… peace was just a polite way of saying, Welcome to Boredom Central.
So what did shinobi do in peaceful times? They held tournaments. Gladiator-style coliseum fights. You know, wholesome family entertainment where Uncle Joe might lose a tooth to a fireball jutsu.
Naruto, meanwhile, had become the undisputed heavyweight champ of existence. With another Kurama backing him, Six Paths Mode cranked up to eleven, and training that made your average workout look like a nap, he had left even his eternal rival eating dust. (Not that Sasuke would admit it. He'd just glare harder.)
But being the strongest being alive came with one tragic side effect: paperwork.
And so we find him, our world-saving, mountain-punching, ramen-devouring hero… trapped in his office.
The room was stacked with enough scrolls, tech gadgets, and approval forms to bury an army. It looked less like an office and more like a dragon's hoard, except instead of gold, it was filled with "Final Assessment Requests" and "Urgent Hokage Approval Needed."
Naruto sat slouched behind his desk, staring at the papers like they were enemies he couldn't defeat with a Rasengan. His legs bounced under the table. His fingers drummed impatiently. His mind, as always, wandered.
Because when you've saved the world a couple of times, paperwork just doesn't cut it anymore.
Naruto sighed dramatically, his blue eyes glinting with mischief.
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"Naruto, are you really sure you want to do this?"
Kurama's voice rumbled inside his head, the kind of tone that usually came right before Don't come crying to me when this explodes in your face.
On Naruto's desk sat a bottle. Not just any bottle, but a swirling glass container labeled in bold black letters: THE SEVENTH. Which, if we're being honest, sounded less like a drink and more like an ominous prophecy.
Naruto, however, looked way too calm about it. "I want to know what it feels like to be drunk, so I am definitely sure."
Kurama's tails twitched in exasperation. "That's not a drink, idiot. That thing is soaked with your power. And the bijuu's power. It's literally glowing. You don't drink glowing things. That's rule number one of survival!"
Naruto tilted the bottle against the light. True enough, the liquid shimmered with a fiery golden-red hue, like liquid sunlight mixed with molten lava. It pulsed faintly, as if it had its own heartbeat. Honestly, it looked more like a dangerous chakra weapon than something you'd serve with ice.
"What could go wrong?" Naruto asked, smiling with that irritating brand of confidence only he could pull off. "I'm a responsible adult. Even if intoxicated, I would not do anything wrong or dangerous. So relax and let's enjoy this rare treat."
Kurama muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "This is why I have trust issues," but before he could stop him, Naruto tipped the entire bottle back and chugged it like it was plain old water.
For a few seconds, nothing happened. Naruto set the empty bottle down with a satisfied sigh, wiped his mouth, and leaned back in his chair.
"See?" he said with a grin. "Not a big deal."
Then his eyes widened. His face went red. Chakra surged around him in a way that made the whole office tremble. Scrolls fluttered off the shelves. A stack of approval forms burst into flames. Somewhere, an alarm started blaring.
Kurama groaned. "Oh, fantastic. Here we go. You've just invented the world's first supernova hangover."
Naruto, meanwhile, gripped the sides of his desk as his chakra roared out like a tidal wave. His laughter came out giddy and echoing. "Kuramaaaa… I can feel everything! The ceiling is moving! The floor is singing! Did the lamp just wink at me?!"
Kurama covered his face with one massive paw. "You're drunk on chakra alcohol, you moron. This isn't normal drunk. This is apocalyptic drunk."
Outside, villagers glanced nervously at the Hokage Tower as golden chakra flares lit up the windows like fireworks. One man muttered, "Uh… should we be worried?"
Another sighed. "Nah. It's just Tuesday."
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"I really shouldn't have trusted you. 'Nothing could go wrong,' my tail," Kurama grumbled, glaring at Naruto like a parent catching their kid drawing on the walls with permanent marker.
Naruto groaned from his futon, clutching his head. "Ugh… feels like Kaguya hit me in the skull with a meteor. Twice. Without protection." He dragged in a sharp breath, then forced the alcohol-toxin-chakra cocktail out of his system with a flicker of golden light. The headache eased, but the memories didn't.
Kurama, still looking like the world's most annoyed fox-therapist, muttered, "You sent clones out to play."
That made Naruto freeze. He sat up, blinking, then fixed Kurama with a very serious gaze. "Okay… that sounds terrible. Let me check what I did."
He closed his eyes, diving into the swirling chaos of clone memories. For a moment, silence. Then—laughter. Loud, belly-aching laughter.
"Oh, man, you've got to be kidding me," Naruto said between gasps. "This is priceless."
Apparently, Drunk Naruto Clones had been… busy. Some were swimming in volcanoes (because lava baths are totally a good idea). Others had been teaching animals to hunt—or worse, to talk. Somewhere out there, a raccoon was probably giving motivational speeches to squirrels. A handful of clones had decided that flirting was fun, so they'd hit on women, men, and possibly a very confused statue. And of course, several had gone old-school Naruto: pranking entire villages with stink bombs, graffiti seals, and a giant neon "Believe It!" sign that glowed in the night sky.
But the real kicker? What Naruto himself had done.
"I can't believe I just did that." Naruto rubbed his temples, a goofy smile spreading across his face. "I actually pulled it off."
Kurama squinted. "Pulled what off?"
Naruto picked up his phone, swiping it open with exaggerated flair. On the screen was an app with a simple name: Heroes Chat Group.
While intoxicated, Naruto had apparently decided it was a great idea to tinker with seals, chakra, and technology at the same time. End result? His phone had connected to other worlds. Literally. He had even sent phones out there—like cosmic party invitations with unlimited data.
"For fun!" Naruto announced proudly. "And also, you know, to help people. Because I was bored."
Kurama facepawed so hard the ground trembled. "You do realize messing with space could've ripped the world apart? Distorted timelines? Summoned eldritch horrors? But sure—let's call it a hobby."
Naruto waved him off. "Relax, Kurama. I'm always careful."
"You drank liquid chakra moonshine, fell unconscious, and invented interdimensional social media," Kurama deadpanned. "Forgive me if I don't trust your definition of careful."
Naruto chuckled. "Well, nothing went wrong! Except now some people might actually know I'm human instead of some mythical monster-immortal thing. Which is kinda nice."
He glanced back at the screen. So far, the group only showed one member: him.
"Guess it'll take time for the phones to reach someone…" he murmured. He was about to close the app when—ping.
Another name appeared.
Neo One for All.
Naruto tilted his head. "It's giving them nicknames automatically? Huh. And it calls me 'Lord Seventh.' That's… dramatic."
The profile picture was a kid in some sort of costume, fists clenched like he was about to save the world—or trip over his shoelaces trying.
"Was it successful? Or did I just rope in some cosplaying middle schooler?" Naruto muttered.
Still, he tapped the chat box and typed:
Lord Seventh: Hello, welcome to the group. You may call me Seventh, and I am here to help with any problems I can solve.
Naruto grinned. "And so it begins."
Kurama groaned, long and loud. "We are so doomed."
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The world Izuku Midoriya lived in was… complicated.
On the outside, it looked kind of normal. Cities, schools, even the same old boring sidewalks that cracked when you stepped too hard. But beneath the neon lights and familiar skyline, it was chaos. People had quirks. Some used them for good, some for evil, and some just to make life inconvenient for everyone else. (Because yes, you can rob a bank with exploding belly-button lasers. Don't ask.)
The wars never really ended. Deaths, discrimination, and the occasional rampaging villain were just part of the scenery.
Still, for Izuku, life was looking up. He had made it into U.A. High School—the school for aspiring heroes. Sure, training was brutal, his quirk could blow him up from the inside, and he regularly passed out after practice, but hey, baby steps.
That night, Izuku sat cross-legged on his bed, his phone in hand, staring at the glowing screen. He wasn't texting anyone. (Who did he even text? His mom asking if dinner was ready? Not exactly hero stuff.) Mostly he was just… wishing. Wishing he had someone to talk to. Someone who understood what it felt like to want to be a hero so badly it burned.
He sighed and was about to set the phone down when—bonk.
Another phone slid straight through his wall like a ghost and collided with his.
Izuku yelped, clapping a hand over his mouth before the sound escaped. His mom was sleeping in the next room, and the last thing he wanted was to explain why electronic devices were phasing through solid matter at midnight.
"What the heck…?" He rubbed his eyes. Nothing. The phone was still there. No holes in the wall, no magic portal, just… an extra phone like it had always been there.
"Maybe I'm too tired," he muttered, flopping backward onto his bed.
Then—ping.
His screen lit up. Notification: New message from Lord Seventh.
Izuku blinked. "Who's… Lord Seventh?"
He tapped the screen and froze. The profile picture was a man in bright orange clothes with the kind of smile you only saw on cereal mascots—except standing behind him was a colossal fox with nine tails and murder eyes.
Izuku's heart did a little gymnastics routine. "What is that? Who is that?!"
He knew every top hero worth knowing. This guy? Total stranger. And a stranger with a giant kaiju pet was usually a bad sign.
"This has to be fake," he whispered, scrolling through the group chat. But the message was simple.
Hello, welcome to the group. You may call me Seventh, and I am here to help with any problems I can solve.
No ransom demands. No sketchy links to win a free car. Just… friendly.
Izuku's thumb hovered over the keyboard. Should he respond? It could be a scam. Or… maybe it was fate. He clenched his phone.
Before he could type, another message popped up.
I know you think it's fake. Try asking. It's not like I'm asking for something in return.
Izuku froze. Whoever this was, they knew him. Worse, they were treating him like a little kid. He hated that.
Taking a deep breath, Izuku typed back.
Neo One for All: Seventh, it's nice to meet you. I want to ask… what can I do to improve my physique to the point where I can break steel with my hands?
Okay, so maybe he'd just dropped the most over-the-top, totally suspicious question ever. But he couldn't admit his real problem: his body wasn't ready for his quirk. Instead, he disguised it as "general strength training." Smooth, right?
The reply came almost instantly.
Lord Seventh: Quite an easy request.
Izuku's eyes went wide. "Wait… easy?!"
For the kid who'd broken his pinky toe on a pebble last week, the idea of "easy" and "breaking steel" did not belong in the same universe.
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"Quite an easy request," Naruto said out loud, his fingers tapping against the desk as words appeared on the phone screen.
Easy. Right. Only Naruto could describe turning yourself into a human wrecking ball as "easy." Still, he wasn't about to give some poor kid advice that would snap his spine in half. He started flipping mentally through the catalogue of things he'd learned. Not from random scrolls or dusty tomes, but from the man of fire-breathing leg workouts himself—Master Gai.
'Good thing I learned from Gai-sensei,' Naruto thought. 'Otherwise, I'd have to ask him again, and I don't think my ears could survive another two-hour lecture about the flames of youth.'
So, Naruto carefully laid out a plan:
Step-by-step exercises that normal people could actually survive.
Precise timing for best results (without, you know, death).
Weight training to build core strength.
Actual combat drills to keep the body flexible and sharp instead of tight and bulky.
He even explained proper stretching. (Because yes, believe it or not, Naruto did know what a hamstring was. Kurama still thought that was a miracle.)
Inside his head, Kurama grumbled. "Do you really think this kid is some kind of hero? He looks fragile. Weak. Probably just one of those cosplaying brats running around pretending to be strong. Disgusting."
Naruto chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Man, don't remind me. Remember that girl who dressed up like you at that convention? Pfft—" He broke into laughter. "I still can't believe she tried to get—"
"Forget it!" Kurama roared, tails bristling. "Forget it or you can forget about talking to me. We're done if I hear about that again."
Naruto held up his hands, still snickering. "Chill, bro. I was just kidding. You're more important than some dumb memory, alright?"
Kurama glared, then hmphed and disappeared back into his domain. These days, his "cage" wasn't a sewer anymore but a sprawling world of its own—forests, mountains, a giant lake. Basically, Kurama had upgraded to a luxury penthouse inside Naruto's soul.
Naruto shook his head fondly. 'He's adorable sometimes. Can't handle affection straight-on without acting embarrassed.'
He looked back down at his phone and typed one last message.
Lord Seventh: Even if you're not a hero yet, that doesn't mean you can't become one. And besides—being healthy never hurt anyone.
The truth was, these phones weren't random. They wouldn't land in just anyone's hands. Only people who were inherently good could pick them up. Which meant, whoever this "Neo One for All" kid was, fragile or not—he had the heart of a hero.
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Izuku stared at his phone in awe. Messages—tons of them—poured in so fast that he half-expected smoke to start rising from the screen.
"Thirty seconds," he muttered. "He replied in thirty seconds. Does this guy have a speed quirk? Or… or maybe ten extra hands?!"
Scrolling back up felt like climbing Mount Everest. The first message alone was longer than his last school essay, complete with bullet points, sub-sections, and diagrams. By the fifth scroll, Izuku was convinced the mysterious "Seventh" wasn't just some random internet stranger. No—this was the work of a master.
The workout plan was broken down into small, digestible steps, each one carefully explained like it came straight from a professor's lecture. Warnings were highlighted ("Do NOT lock your knees unless you enjoy hospital visits"), benefits were detailed, and even diet suggestions were sprinkled in with little notes.
And then there were the photos. Dozens of them. A man in bright orange clothes demonstrating push-up stances, stretch forms, and combat-ready poses. Behind him loomed a huge, nine-tailed… thing. Monster? Pet? Weird cosplay prop? Izuku wasn't sure, but he was too busy scribbling notes to panic.
"Why didn't he just send a video?" Izuku mumbled, tapping the phone curiously. The attachment options looked perfectly normal. No errors, no blockages.
'Maybe he's shy? Or maybe it's too much trouble for him? Or maybe—oh no—maybe he can't actually do these moves himself and he's just covering it up with still shots!'
Respect bloomed in Izuku's chest. "Wow… that means he studied so hard, even though he can't do them himself! An intellectual! A true scholar of the martial arts!"
Meanwhile, on the other side of dimensions, Naruto was slumped in his chair, totally oblivious to Izuku's heroic misunderstanding. He had no idea how to shoot a video and wasn't about to ask Boruto. The last time he'd asked his kid for tech help, the boy had laughed for a week.
Back in Izuku's room, determination flared in his eyes. He typed quickly:
Neo One for All: Thank you for the help! I'll go through this right away. If you ever need anything in return, I'll try my best.
The reply came almost instantly.
Lord Seventh: I don't mind. Take your time. And remember—talking to others is good for your health. Don't isolate yourself and lose what makes you human.
Izuku's chest tightened. Advice about not being alone? That hit harder than a Detroit Smash. He gave a sharp nod to his empty bedroom.
Neo One for All: I appreciate your advice. I'll do my best.
Notebook time. The sacred ritual. Izuku whipped out his trusty companion, "Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13," and began copying down every single exercise, adding his own sketches to clarify the forms. He taped the schedule to his wall like it was a treasure map.
Then he started. Forty minutes of physical training, twenty minutes of beginner combat drills. For an ordinary kid, it was torture. For Izuku, it was Tuesday. Sweat poured like he was under a rain cloud, muscles screamed, lungs burned—
—but he kept going. He always kept going.
By the time he collapsed on the floor, arms trembling, his face was lit up with a grin. "This… this is it. This is how I'm going to build myself into a hero."
What he didn't know—what he couldn't know—was that the mysterious phone carried traces of Naruto's chakra. Enough to patch up torn fibers, ease fatigue, and stop his body from tearing itself apart. He'd still feel sore (Naruto wasn't running a spa), but unless he lost a limb, Izuku had nothing to worry about.
A simple chat. A few exchanged words. And the entire course of Izuku Midoriya's life had just shifted forever.
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Naruto had one of those smiles that made people forget he could vaporize a mountain if he sneezed wrong. It was bright, warm, full of "I'm everyone's best friend." But then, as quickly as a candle guttering in the wind, his face dimmed.
"It feels good to be appreciated," he said, almost to himself. "He sounds like a good kid; I wish Boruto could stop listening to outsiders so much."
Cue the tragic dad moment.
See, Naruto wasn't exactly "Father of the Year" material—mainly because he'd never actually had one. His idea of fatherhood had been cobbled together from ramen-shop owners, cranky senseis, and the occasional ancient toad. He had no "dad shadow" to live in. Which made it all the harder to understand why Boruto was determined to throw his entire teenage attitude at him like a kunai.
By now, people whispered, the Seventh had done this, the Seventh had mastered that. You know, the usual comparisons that made kids want to punch walls or sulk in their rooms listening to edgy music. Boruto took that stuff to heart. Hard. He was maturing, sure, but he was still a kid—one who didn't exactly appreciate being measured against a dad who literally saved the world. Twice. Maybe three times, depending on how you counted interdimensional rabbit immortal invasions.
Naruto rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, "I think it's time to have Konohamaru talk to him. He's the best person for the job. Mirai, call your uncle."
Now, when the Hokage gave an order, it usually meant something boring like signing papers or saving the village from destruction. But in this case, it meant Mirai had to play messenger while her so-called guards—a bunch of elite shinobi Naruto had gathered—lounged around, waiting for the chance to smack someone on his behalf.
Because apparently, being the most powerful man in the world wasn't enough. Sometimes, you just wanted to outsource the punching.
Naruto's grin returned, sharp as a fox's. "Yes, they're truly a useful bunch."
Mirai, who had long since mastered the art of sighing like a professional, rolled her eyes. She knew that smile. That smile meant mischief. Trouble. The sort of grin that once made her mother warn her, never make deals with Uzumaki Naruto.
Guards, bah, she thought as she jogged off toward the Sarutobi compound. He doesn't need protecting. We're the ones trapped here like kids at a daycare with the world's most overpowered babysitter.
She adjusted her pace, teeth gritted. I knew this deal was too much the second Mom explained it. And now here I am—personal errand girl to the Seventh Hokage. Fantastic. Just fantastic.