Training Ground.
The clearing echoed with the sound of fists striking, feet shuffling, and battle cries overlapping each other. Dust rose into the air as dozens of Narutos engaged in furious combat, each clone squaring off against another in one-on-one duels.
In the center of it all, the original Naruto stood with his hands on his hips, sweat dripping down his chin, watching carefully.
"Alright, you knuckleheads! No rushing in like idiots this time! Keep it clean, keep it sharp!"
Two clones lunged at each other, both throwing wild haymakers that clashed midair. They stumbled back, panting. The original Naruto groaned, smacking his forehead.
"That's exactly what I said not to do!"
Still, he couldn't deny it—after two straight days of this routine, something was changing. His breathing was steadier. His steps were lighter. The old habit of flailing wildly in panic when pressured was slowly fading, replaced by movements that were shorter, sharper, and more efficient.
Naruto crouched low, watching one of his clones block another's strike and counter with a precise kick to the leg. That clone dissipated in a puff of smoke, leaving its opponent standing tall. The memory rushed back into Naruto's mind instantly—balance, timing, the way the counter required patience instead of panic.
"Hah… so that's it," Naruto muttered, a grin spreading across his face. "Taijutsu's not just about hitting hard—it's about hitting smart."
He jumped into the fray, swapping places with a clone to test it himself. Another Naruto came charging at him, fists raised. The old him might've swung first, but this time, Naruto stepped aside, let the attack pass, and struck his clone in the ribs with a controlled punch.
Poof.
The feedback rushed into him, solidifying the lesson. Naruto stood straighter, rolling his shoulders. His grin widened.
"Heh. I think I'm starting to get it. These fighting styles… they were made to deal with tough opponents without wasting time or energy. No panic. No flailing. Just… precision."
He created another wave of clones, gesturing toward them with renewed determination.
"Alright, round three! And this time, we fight until I can beat every last one of you without losing my cool. Got it?!"
A chorus of grins and nods came back at him.
As the sparring restarted, Naruto's fists clenched—not with desperation, but with purpose. Slowly but surely, the boy who once fought with nothing but heart was learning to fight with mind and body united.
The warm, savory aroma of broth and noodles drifted through the evening air as Naruto pushed back the curtain to his favorite spot in the village. The familiar clatter of pots and the steady voice of Teuchi greeted him instantly.
"Welcome! Oh—Naruto!" Teuchi's face brightened when he saw the boy. "You're looking sharp today. Haven't seen you in a while. Congratulations on graduating!"
Naruto grinned, sliding onto the stool with his usual energy, though his body was aching from two days of nonstop training. "Hehe, thanks, old man! Gimme a big bowl of miso ramen… no, make it two! Believe it!"
Teuchi chuckled, already reaching for the ladle. "Coming right up. You're in luck; I've just finished a fresh batch of broth."
From beside the counter, Ayame leaned in, smiling warmly. "Naruto, your hair… it looks really good! You actually look like a real shinobi now."
For a moment, Naruto blinked, caught off guard. He scratched the back of his head, trying to play it cool, though a faint blush crept onto his cheeks. "Heh… y-yeah, I figured it was time, y'know? Gotta look like Hokage material and all."
Ayame giggled softly. "Well, you're getting there."
Naruto smirked proudly, but deep down, her words meant more than he could admit. For once, someone wasn't laughing at him—they were noticing his effort.
As Teuchi set down the steaming bowls, Naruto clasped his hands together in excitement. "Itadakimasu!"
He dove in, slurping noodles with his usual reckless joy. For a few moments, the world felt simple again—just him, ramen, and the warmth of the only place that had always welcomed him.
But even as he ate, his thoughts flickered back to training. "Taijutsu, shuriken practice, chakra control… I've got to keep pushing. The bell test is coming, and Kakashi's no joke."
Still, he let himself enjoy the moment, savoring the broth, the noodles, and the comfort of being surrounded by people who genuinely cared.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. Naruto lay sprawled on his bed, still in his shinobi clothes, a worn book resting against his chest. Its title was faded, but the subject was clear—Fūinjutsu: The Art of Sealing.
Naruto traced the edge of the cover with his thumb, his eyes half-lidded from exhaustion. "Fūinjutsu, huh…" he whispered.
It had started as curiosity. He'd stumbled across the section in the library after his clones finished their reading, and something about it pulled at him. The complexity, the symbols, the possibilities—it was unlike anything else. But more than that, it felt like… home.
"Mom…" The word slipped out before he could stop it. His chest tightened. He didn't remember everything, but he could feel it deep down—his mother had been an Uzumaki, a clan renowned for sealing arts. By learning fūinjutsu, it was as though he could reach across the gap of time, holding onto the piece of her that remained in him.
And then there was the thought of his father. The revelation that the Fourth Hokage—Konoha's greatest hero—was his dad still rattled him. That man had created the Flying Raijin, the ultimate space-time technique. Naruto clenched the book tighter.
"If Dad could do it… then I'll do it too."
But he knew Flying Raijin wasn't some trick you could master overnight. To even attempt it, he'd need mastery of fūinjutsu—seals, arrays, formulas—things far more delicate than brute-force ninjutsu.
Naruto smirked faintly, a spark of excitement breaking through the fatigue. "Guess I better get used to this… heh. Never thought I'd be the type to read books at night."
He flipped open the page, his eyes scanning diagrams of sealing arrays. Some were simple—storage seals, binding tags—but others looked impossibly complicated. To anyone else, it might've been discouraging. But to Naruto, it was a challenge.
"Kurama's gone in the future. But fūinjutsu… this has no limit. And if it's the one thing that makes me feel closer to Mom, then…" He pressed his palm against the page, whispering softly, "I'll master it. I swear it."
The book slipped slightly as his eyes grew heavy, his breath evening out. Yet even as sleep claimed him, the vow burned bright inside him.
For the first time in a long while, Naruto didn't just dream of becoming Hokage. He dreamed of standing beside his parents, carrying their legacy forward.
Next day. Naruto ended up searching for a shop in the konoha, which is run by Tenten, a kunoichi a year higher than him and also a Shinobi family, which would not berate him for shopping in their shop.
After all, given his clothing color of orange, he knew that his current self would definitely look like an idiot in the chunin exam, and even in missions, so even though it pained him, Naruto decided to go and get a change of set of clothes, specifically for Shinobi.
The shop bell jingled as Naruto pushed the door open, the familiar clang of metal and smell of oil hitting his nose. Rows of kunai, shuriken, scrolls, and racks of shinobi gear lined the walls. Unlike other stores, this one had an aura of seriousness—no flashy decorations, no sneers from the staff. Just tools of the trade.
Behind the counter, a girl about his age—dark brown hair tied in twin buns—looked up from polishing a kunai. Her eyes narrowed in mild surprise. "Uzumaki Naruto?"
Naruto scratched the back of his head, forcing a sheepish grin. "Heh… yeah, that's me. You must be Kunoichi, jiji talk about."
Tenten raised an eyebrow. She knew of him, of course—everyone did. The prankster. The loudmouth. The "dead last." But right now, he wasn't yelling or making a scene. He just looked… determined.
"What brings you here?" she asked, setting the kunai down.
Naruto stepped closer, his eyes flicking around at the racks of gear before landing on the section of clothing and light armor. His grin faltered a little as he muttered, "I… uh… need a change."
Tenten blinked. "Change?"
Naruto tugged at his orange jacket, cheeks puffing slightly. "This. It's… y'know… kinda dumb for missions, right? I stick out like a target. Even in the Mission, I'll look like an idiot." He forced a laugh, though his voice carried a hint of embarrassment. "So I figured… time to start dressing like a real shinobi."
For a moment, Tenten just stared at him. She hadn't expected that from him. Then, slowly, her lips curved into a small smile. "Huh. Never thought I'd see the day. Well… good choice."
She hopped down from her stool and led him to a rack of standard shinobi wear—dark blues, blacks, and gear built for function over flash. "These are practical, durable, and won't make you a walking target."
Naruto picked up a dark navy shirt with a mesh underlayer and matching pants, holding them up to his frame. He tilted his head.
After grabbing a set of clothes, he also eyed the weapons on display. His grin returned. "And while I'm here… might as well get some decent shuriken and kunai. Gotta sharpen up my throwing, ya know?"
Tenten smirked. "Careful, or I'll think you're actually serious about being a shinobi."
Naruto gave her a fox-like grin. "Heh. Believe it—I'm dead serious."
As he left the shop, bag slung over his shoulder, Naruto felt lighter. The orange still called to him—it was him, after all—but now, he had a set of gear that would help him blend in when it mattered.