The classroom door creaked open, and Itsuki Nara walked with his hands in his pockets, wild hair sticking out like he'd headbutted a lightning jutsu with his usual half-scowl. His gray eyes swept the room, already bored with the day.
Then came the usual shrill symphony.
"Sasuke-kun!"
Every. Damn. Morning.
The moment the Uchiha stepped through the door behind him, half the class erupted into fangirl hysteria, squeals, waving, blushing, and full-on spiritual possession.
Itsuki stepped to the side and muttered under his breath, "Fucking Christ. He breathes, and they wet themselves."
He didn't say it loudly. But Naruto, three desks down, snorted loud enough to get a death glare from Sakura.
Itsuki ignored the chaos and made his way toward the back row, sliding into the seat he claimed months ago—just left of Shikamaru, who was already half-asleep with his arms folded across his desk like a bored corpse, and right of Naruto, who was busy defacing school property with what looked like a kunoichi in a compromising pose.
Itsuki dropped his notebook with a soft thump, letting the dull weight of repetition settle into his spine. The room hadn't even filled yet, and he already felt the crawl of monotony dragging down his shoulders.
From the front, Iruka-sensei looked up from a folder, one brow lifting.
"You're early, Itsuki."
"Didn't stay up late being awesome, sensei," Itsuki muttered, stretching with a wide yawn.
Iruka didn't respond, just narrowed his eyes slightly before going back to grading something in red ink—probably Naruto's math test.
Sasuke took his usual seat by the window, of course. The afternoon light hit him like stage lighting at a talent show. Unintentional drama queen, Itsuki thought. The guy didn't even try to look cool and still managed to.
As if on cue, Sakura and Ino were already midway through their first argument of the day—low whispers, sharp elbows, and passive-aggressive giggles. Hinata peeked out from behind her notebook like a nervous sparrow, casting her usual glance toward Naruto, who remained oblivious and completely engrossed in drawing… was that Yumi-sensei's butt?
"Yo," Itsuki grunted, jabbing Naruto with an elbow. "You're seriously drawing a teacher's ass?"
Naruto blinked. "What? No. I mean—maybe. It's art."
Naruto squinted. "You're not gonna snitch?"
Itsuki leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the bar underneath his desk, stretching until his spine popped. "Not if you draw me one."
Shikamaru snorted in his sleep.
As the class slowly filled in, Itsuki reached over and grabbed his water bottle from the side pocket of his bag, giving it a casual glance. Half-empty. Just like his faith in today's lectures.
He rolled up his sleeve a little, subtly rechecking his arm, still soft like pudding. He flexed out of habit.
Nothing.
"Motherfucker trains like a goddamn beast and still looks like a fucking noodle," he muttered.
Naruto leaned over, distracted from shading curves. "What?"
"Nothing," Itsuki replied. "Just admiring your technique. Shading's really… emotionally expressive."
Naruto gave him a suspicious look, then returned to his masterpiece. Sakura threw a book at his head, missed by a mile, and started yelling—the usual.
That night, Itsuki sat on his futon, shirtless, legs crossed, back to the wall, and his game controller limp in his lap.
The screen on his boxy TV flickered a bright red "MISSION FAILED," his in-game shinobi twitching face-down in a puddle of pixel blood.
"…Fucking trash-ass game," he muttered.
He tossed the controller to the floor and leaned back, resting on his elbows. His muscles felt sore from another solo training session—a few hours of taijutsu drills.
He flexed again. Still nothing. His abs were… kind of there, like a faint suggestion of abs. Like maybe they'd show up if he asked nicely.
"Bullshit," he sighed, staring up at the ceiling. "I do everything right. I train. I eat clean. I don't screw around like Naruto eating ramen every day. So why the fuck am I still built like a malnourished monkey?"
The lamp buzzed quietly above him. Shadows flickered across the room as the bulb flickered. His eyes drifted to his desk—training logs, scrolls, two half-used protein mixes that had done jack shit, and a kunai he had sharpened so many times it was thinner than a senbon.
He'd been pushing himself since he was eight. Every time Shikamaru slept through a lesson, Itsuki studied harder. Every time some civilian girl called Sasuke "mysterious," he added five more push-ups to his set. And yet… the results never caught up.
Average. Always just… average.
Itsuki closed his eyes and muttered, "Maybe I should just give up and become an apothecary. Sell overpriced herb paste to idiots."
---
Itsuki stared at the ceiling, letting the silence sink in.
The occasional squeak of a bird outside and the buzz of his lamp fighting to stay alive.
He rolled onto his side and reached for the half-empty water bottle on his desk, grabbing it like it personally offended him.
"Another day, another L," he muttered.
His eyes landed on the mirror across the room.
He stood up, walked over, and stared.
Not bad-looking. His Face wasn't the problem, sharp jawline. Nice cheekbones. Dark straight Eyebrows, Girls in the class would glance at him, but they weren't swooning for him like they did Sasuke.
Because the rest of him was, well… unremarkable.
He scowled. "It's like my genes stopping me from leveling up and getting some bitches."
He ran a hand through his messy, spiked hair and dropped back onto his futon.
Then, without warning, his TV screen flickered.
WELCOME TO SUPERZON
"Shop Beyond Reality."
A digital storefront floated in front of him. Holographic text scrolled gently in front of the screen, accompanied by a deep, soothing hum.
He blinked.
Genjutsu?
It couldn't have been genjutsu; maybe he was still dreaming.
He leaned forward.
The store had categories lots of them.
Supplements
Superpowers
Skill Scrolls
Miscellaneous Curiosities
Limited-Time Offers
Curious
He could interact with the hologram, and he pressed supplements
Something caught his eye:
YOKED
"YOKED – Ultra Muscle Formula"Makes you aesthetic ASF. 5x growth potential. Results are instant
Cost: 3,000 ryo
Itsuki stared at it.
It was the exact amount he'd saved to take out some civilian chick maybe and get his meat stick wet. His brain lit up with red flags—scam, scam, scam—but another part of him?
Said:
"What if it works?"
He hovered his hand over the CONFIRM icon.
A timer popped up.
"Payment due at the door. Estimated delivery: 3 minutes."
"…No way," Itsuki said aloud, already standing.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
His spine went stiff.
He hadn't even gotten up yet.
He looked at the door.
Another knock. Slower this time.
Heart thumping, Itsuki approached, body tensed.
He opened the door.
A man stood outside—tall, silent, with his Face shaded under a simple black cap. He wore a blue vest, plain, no symbols on the back, but with a white-stitched logo on the left chest pocket that read:
SUPERZON
He held a small jar in one hand—black, with silver lettering: YOKED
In the other, a scroll-shaped receipt.
The guy said nothing.
Itsuki wordlessly reached into his pouch, counted out 3,000 ryo, and handed it over.
As soon as the coins touched the man's hand—POOF.
He vanished.
Itsuki stood in the doorway, shirtless, jar in hand, wondering what the hell just happened.
He turned it over.
No expiration date.
No dosage chart.
Just a single line printed on the bottom in glowing ink:
"One scoop a day.
Back inside, he dropped into a chair at his desk, unscrewed the lid, and gave it a sniff.
Smells like bananas. He poured a glass of water, added the scoop, stirred, and watched it swirl into a glowing, pale-yellow drink.
He raised the cup and downed it in one go. It was pretty good.
Itsuki stood, rolled his shoulders, and waited.
Nothing happened however, it was likely a scam
"…Figures," he muttered. he didn't mope, it was just another lesson
He quickly got ready for school and went about his day.