Chapter 32: "Naruto.exe Has Unlocked: Ninja, Wizard, and Street Fighter"
In which I cast illusion magic, punch the air so hard it bleeds, and finally hit a Canonstrike like a legend.
Success is a dangerous drug.
The moment I nailed that illusion spell, something inside me just clicked. It wasn't a huge moment—there were no fireworks, no theme music (tragically)—but it was enough.
So naturally, I went all in. No breaks, no snacks (okay, maybe one rice ball), and absolutely no chill.
First on the list? Face restoration.
Because walking around as Issei was awkward. Not because I disliked the guy—he was chill. But looking in the mirror and seeing not-me? That was a daily jump scare I didn't sign up for.
So, I aimed my newly sharpened illusion skills inward. I restructured the light around me to project my real face—spiky blond hair, whisker marks, the whole deal. Even when I looked in the mirror, I saw me.
My chakra usually would've messed with the fine detail. But with spiritual energy? It held. Solid. Steady.
I even tried flickering it—off, on, off, on. It was like being a ninja-shaped lightbulb.
"Damn, I'm handsome," I told my reflection. It agreed.
Next? Combat practice. With flair.
I kept the illusion spell active and added spiritual body enhancement. Think chakra-enhanced strength, but magic-flavored. The boost wasn't massive, but it pushed me past human limits. Enough to finally start doing the kind of insane stunts I missed.
Like double-jumping.
Or—wait for it—triple-jumping.
Yeah, I created tiny chakra platforms under my feet and kicked off them in midair like I was in a side-scrolling video game. I couldn't even hear gravity crying over the disrespect.
Then came the fun part: energy claws.
I coated my hands in spiritual energy until the fingers extended into razor-sharp blades of light. Not gonna lie, I felt like Wolverine if he'd studied ninjutsu.
Slashes? Clean. Control? Decent. Effect? Glorious.
I swung once and a nearby tree got a haircut. I swung again and unleashed a freaking energy wave that sliced through a rock like a hot knife through a Genin's hopes and dreams.
And if that wasn't enough—
I finally landed it.
Cammy's. Freaking. Canonstrike.
You don't understand. I've been trying to hit that move ever since I saw it in the arcade back home. The motion, the twist, the flip—it was like poetry delivered via kneecap.
I jumped, spun midair, twisted into a perfect dive, and—BOOM—my heel hit the ground with a spiraling shockwave of spiritual energy.
The air literally quivered.
Birds flew off. A tree dropped its leaves out of fear. I'm pretty sure somewhere in the distance, Sona sneezed.
I stood up from the crater I'd made and brushed imaginary dust off my shoulders.
"I am a magical ninja street fighter," I said out loud.
And for once? No one argued.
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So here's the thing: when you're a magical ninja soul-powered street-fighting demi-immortal in someone else's body, you have to get creative.
That's just basic multiverse science.
And Naruto Uzumaki (me) was nothing if not creative—especially after spending a month cooking up a combat style that could only be described as "What if anime, MMA, and arcade games had a baby?"
First, the Foundation.
I'd been grinding. Not physically, since I still had to act like a normal Kuoh Academy student in Issei's body (which was tough when I had the urge to do triple backflips down the hallway). But in the dream world?
I was built different.
With Issei, we'd mastered the Gentle Fist, absorbed Gai-sensei's legendary taijutsu via memory transfer (don't ask), and cross-trained in basically every martial art YouTube had to offer—karate, taekwondo, muay thai, judo, boxing, grappling.
Then came the game nights: Street Fighter and King of Fighters. Ryu's stoic punches, Ken's flashy uppercuts, Cammy's physics-defying flips, and Terry Bogard's… well, everything.
Even in my sleep, I was training. Which is either dedication or a medical condition.
Now, it was Show Time.
I found an abandoned warehouse at the edge of town. The kind with rusty girders, flickering lights, and an ominous "Condemned" sign. In other words, perfect.
And then?
I let loose.
I started with the spirit cloak—an energy field around me, just like the Kyuubi's one-tail form. It shimmered like blue flame, forming extra arms from my back. When I punched the ground, giant chakra arms erupted like angry weeds on steroids.
Note to self: do not try this indoors again.
I followed it up with an eye-laser test. Focused my spiritual energy, narrowed my eyes, and—zap! A steel beam exploded. Then came the mouth blast. Very Godzilla. Very satisfying.
Next came the arcade phase.
Hadouken – Clean. Compact. Glowing. It slammed into a wall and knocked out a family of raccoons I didn't know lived there. Sorry, raccoons.
Destructo Disc – Frisbee of doom. Sliced through a parked forklift like butter.
Back boosters – I launched myself with energy blasts from my shoulders. It worked great for rocket punches. Not so great for sudden landings.
Ken's Shoryuken (Rising Dragon Uppercut) – Burned the air with a red spiral and launched me through the ceiling. 10/10. No notes.
Terry's Power Geyser – Yeah, I shouted "ARE YOU OKAY?" before punching the ground and watching an energy volcano erupt under a rusty truck.
Buster Wolf – Caught a steel pillar mid-air. It did not survive.
Cammy's Spiral Arrow – Twisted midair and drilled through a stack of crates like a very deadly ballerina.
Zangief's Piledriver – I practiced it on a training dummy. Said dummy is now two-dimensional.
Conclusion?
I invented a fighting style.
It's somewhere between chakra-enhanced taijutsu, spiritual energy-based projectile attacks, and an arcade power trip. And yes, I wrote it down. I called it…
"Shinobi Arcade-ryu: Battle Art Style #1."
(Working title. I'm still brainstorming.)
By the end of it, the warehouse looked like a Titan had tried yoga in it. Floors cracked, walls melted, ceiling? Missing. I cleaned up—well, as much as you can after a "Power Geyser" blows open a sewer line.
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You'd think that with energy lasers, ninja training, and enough martial arts to put a tournament arc to shame, Naruto would take a break.
Nope.
He had goals. Big ones.
Clean up the gangs in the city? Check.
Take over the underworld? …Well, he hadn't planned on it, but the idea was kinda growing on him.
Naruto was making his way to the base—Akatsuki HQ, formerly known as "Kisara's abandoned construction project near the river and cat central." It was now under new management, aka him. He figured it was a solid place for a gang hideout: wide open, lots of steel pipes, semi-haunted, and not a Starbucks in sight.
As he walked, mentally reviewing his "Gang Clean-Up Bingo Card," someone decided to make a cool entrance.
Cue: revving engine, slow-motion bike slide, and designer sunglasses even though it was cloudy.
"Yo," said Loki.
Also known as Kyoichi Taname: heir to some big-name business empire, weapon collector, and a guy who probably had "smug" listed as a personality trait on his resume.
He parked his over-expensive sports bike sideways and leaned on it like a cover model from Tokyo Bad Boys Weekly.
"You still planning to crush Thor and Freya?" Loki asked, tossing his helmet from one hand to the other like it was a basketball.
Naruto shrugged. "That's the idea."
Loki grinned. "Good. I like a man with ambition."
Translation: I'm totally going to exploit you for mutual gain and possibly clout, but I'll look fabulous doing it.
They'd made a deal before—Naruto would take down one of the Big Three Gangs left in the city, and Loki would join up. Not because Loki cared about justice or gang hierarchy. Nah. He saw Naruto (or Issei, as far as everyone knew) as a walking investment. A stock that punched people.
And now?
That stock was rising.
Naruto wasn't just strong; he was charming, strategic, and slightly reckless in that "main character in a teen fighting anime" kind of way. And Loki loved that vibe.
"Once you take those two out," Loki said, pushing up his sunglasses like an anime villain, "we could run this whole town. Maybe even expand."
"Expand?" Naruto asked, quirking a brow.
"The Underworld, my friend," Loki said with the sparkle of a guy who'd read too much yakuza manga. "We absorb the smaller gangs. Use them like chess pieces. Kisara was step one. Thor's Combat Sumo? Step two. Freya's Valkyries? Step three. Then—" dramatic pause "—total domination."
Naruto blinked. "You've thought way too much about this."
"I have PowerPoints," Loki said seriously.
Of course he did.
Still, Naruto wasn't entirely against it.
He didn't want to rule the criminal world or anything, but cleaning up the chaos, building a group that protected people, and keeping jerks off the streets? That was just good community service with extra punching.
And if they had to deal with Freya's Valkyries—hyper-disciplined martial artist girls with a grudge—or Thor's Combat Sumo Club, which was less "sumo" and more "a bunch of 200-pound tanks that body-slammed people through vending machines," then so be it.
Naruto lived for the chaos.
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When you think "gang hideout," you probably imagine something gritty, shady, and full of suspicious crates labeled "definitely not stolen." Maybe a flickering lightbulb or two. And rats. Lots of rats.
Not this place.
Nope.
This was more like Teenage Mutant Ninja Hangout meets Shonen Anime Clubhouse.
Naruto—still stuck in Issei's body, but now juiced up on spiritual energy and illusion magic—stood at the edge of the abandoned construction site HQ, a place that screamed DIY with slightly unhinged enthusiasm.
There was a fully functional gym made from welded scrap and stolen tires, a kitchen stocked with instant noodles and energy drinks, a corner workshop that looked one step away from building a rocket, a cozy area with a dusty PlayStation and an ancient TV, and an arcade section that included a suspiciously cursed "Street Fighter II" cabinet that definitely blinked at people.
And of course, the crown jewel: the Fight Pit™.
Which was basically a sandpit surrounded by neon lights and caution tape, because these kids believed in vibes over safety.
These guys weren't hardened criminals or future warlords. They were just teens who screamed instead of talking, punched instead of texting, and had the emotional control of soda bottles shaken way too hard.
Honestly? Naruto felt right at home.
He might've been from a hidden ninja village with daily monster attacks, but at his core, he understood these kids—lost, angry, craving recognition, and desperately in need of someone to tell them, "Hey, maybe don't get arrested today."
So yeah, he wanted to help.
But first, he needed to establish authority.
The gang had accepted him, sure. He'd beaten Kisara and her top trio (with only mild property damage), and now they respected him.
...Well, respected might be pushing it.
More like:
"We think you're cool, but if we all jump you at once, maybe we win."
That needed to change.
Especially with Loki hanging around like a rich hyena in Gucci, eyeing everything like a future business merger. Naruto liked the guy, but he was shady with a capital suspicious. If Naruto wanted this gang to avoid turning into a crime syndicate, Loki needed to understand exactly what he was messing with.
So, Naruto did what any reasonable teenager trying to gain absolute loyalty would do.
He flew.
Like, literally.
Naruto soared over the five-story skeleton of a building like a caffeinated superhero in gym clothes, his body glowing with bright blue spiritual energy armor that shimmered like anime plot armor but cooler.
Then he dropped.
Hard.
He landed in the middle of the fight arena with the impact of a meteor, kicking up dust and sending several arcade machines into brief existential crisis mode. The ground cracked. Cats meowed in terror. One guy screamed and fell backwards into the ramen station.
Cue stunned silence.
Kisara was the first to speak, blinking like someone who had just witnessed a superhero origin story in real time.
"Wait… were you holding back yesterday when we fought, or did you just awaken the Power of Friendship this morning?"
Naruto smirked, the glow fading from his body like the world's most dramatic mic drop.
"Just this morning," he said with a shrug. "I was enlightened."
That did it.
Shogo, the resident berserker with anger issues and biceps that needed their own zip code, grinned for the first time in what was possibly a year. The guy practically bounced on his heels, eyes gleaming like a kid who'd just been handed the boss level.
Kenichi and Honoka, currently towel-wrapping and cheerleading from the gym area, exchanged excited glances.
"Called it!" Honoka whispered.
"He's been babbling about unlocking Ki for weeks," Kenichi nodded.
Loki, for his part, raised one perfectly waxed eyebrow, slid off his bike, and clapped slowly.
"I suppose this means I'm investing in a super hero now," he said.
Naruto looked around at the group—fighters, weirdos, rebels, and kids just trying to survive their chaos-ridden lives—and felt a strange warmth in his chest.
This wasn't just a gang.
This was a family.
A really loud, occasionally punch-happy, deeply chaotic family.
And now, they were his.