Chapter 23: Bruises, Boasts, and Big Wall-Punching Energy
(Featuring: One Very Buff Sensei, One Very Beaten Teen, and One Very Honest Berserker)
Let me tell you something real quick—getting thrown across a dojo ten times in a row? Not as fun as it sounds. Unless you're me, in which case it's basically Tuesday.
Shogo and I had been sparring for the past hour, and by "sparring" I mean he was using me as a crash-test dummy while I tried not to kiss the ceiling again. He wasn't going full-out berserker mode, but he was serious enough that I had to learn fast.
Good news? I was actually getting better.
Bad news? My everything hurt.
"Time!" I gasped, rolling onto my back, panting like a fish out of water. "Five-minute break or I fake my death."
Shogo cracked his neck and wiped sweat off his brow like this was just a casual warm-up. "You're improving," he said. "Slower than me, obviously, but still."
"Gee," I wheezed, "thanks for the encouragement, Captain Confidence."
But truth be told, he wasn't wrong. With every punch I dodged, blocked, or ate like a breakfast burrito, I felt the rhythm building inside me. It was like my soul—the real me, Naruto—was waking up more and more inside Issei's body. Each loss, each bruise, was just... proof that I was getting closer to syncing completely.
"Hey," I asked, sitting up with my arms draped over my knees, "what do you think of Gozui-sensei?"
Shogo raised an eyebrow. "The karate master? The giant with the death stare and arms like construction cranes?"
"That's the one," I said with a grin. "He's kind of a beast. I like him. He's old-school, but he actually teaches stuff well, y'know? No ego, just strength."
Shogo shrugged, taking a sip from his water bottle. "He's strong. Seen him fight a few times."
I tilted my head. "You think you could beat him?"
Without missing a beat, Shogo said, "Easily."
I blinked. "Wait, seriously?"
"Yeah." He leaned back against the wall. "I've seen how he fights. Predictable, heavy punches, solid form, but I'm faster, more technical. I'd outmaneuver him and break his stance. End of story."
I stared at him. "You do realize Gozui literally punched through a concrete wall because someone scratched his motorcycle, right?"
Shogo nodded calmly. "Yeah. But walls don't punch back."
Okay, fair point.
"But," he added, "I don't disrespect him. He's a real martial artist. Just... old-school. He peaked already. Guys like him don't evolve anymore. Guys like us? We're still leveling up."
I looked down at my bruised knuckles and scraped elbows and smirked. "Yeah... leveling up with every painful XP drop."
He actually chuckled. "Exactly."
It hit me then—Shogo wasn't just strong. He was aware. He understood the game, the styles, the flow of combat like some people understand chess. The guy probably even dreamed in combos.
Still, it didn't change the fact that I respected Gozui-sensei like crazy. The man was two meters of focused rage and wisdom wrapped in a gi. One time, he got so mad during a spar that he threw a motorbike. Not metaphorically. Literally. Threw. A. Motorbike.
I saw it.
"Guess that means I've got a long way to go," I said.
Shogo looked at me and shrugged again. "Not as far as you think. You're catching up fast. Maybe too fast."
I raised an eyebrow. "That supposed to be a compliment or a threat?"
He smirked. "Both."
I laughed, flopping back down on the mat. "Man, I love training days."
Even if I'd probably have to crawl home. Again.
-----------------
In the world of martial arts, there's a special kind of fear that comes from realizing your opponent could probably snap a vending machine in half just to get a soda. That's the vibe Gonzui-sensei gave off. The man looked like a pro wrestler fused with a kabuki actor—tall, absolutely jacked, and rocking white-and-red face paint like he was heading into battle or a very intense theater performance.
Naruto (still in Issei's teenage body, mind you) had seen a lot of strange things in his life. Demons, chakra beasts, the occasional interdimensional war... but Gonzui's hair? That was a new one. Styled like little wings on either side of his head, it bounced with every step he took. Like angry eyebrows made of hair.
After wrapping up another brutal spar with Shogo—where Naruto collected bruises like trading cards—he approached the sensei, still catching his breath.
"Sensei Gonzui," Naruto said with a grin, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Think you could spare a round with me?"
Gonzui's painted eyes sparkled. "You ask as if I've been waiting for it." He gave a hearty laugh that rumbled like a stormcloud. "Come, Issei! Let us clash fists like men and kabuki warriors!"
Naruto blinked. "...Sure! Let's go with that."
They moved to the center of the dojo. The students watching from the sidelines shuffled back instinctively, already familiar with what happened when Gonzui got going. Last time, someone asked if his paint was cosplay and he kicked through a wall.
"Remember," Gonzui said, taking his stance with one open palm and a clenched fist behind it, "a dojo is sacred ground. But today, it shall also be a battlefield."
Naruto cracked his knuckles. "Bring it on, old man."
Big mistake.
WHAM.
Before he could blink, Gonzui was in front of him. Naruto barely raised a block before he was flying through the air, skidding across the polished floor like a mop with legs.
"Okay," Naruto groaned, "respect the face paint. Got it."
The spar was... one-sided, to say the least.
Gonzui moved like a bear on nitro. Every punch felt like a freight train loaded with regrets. His kicks were fast, wide arcs of raw force, and his footwork was so precise Naruto half-wondered if the man secretly moonlighted as a ballet instructor.
But Naruto wasn't one to back down. No matter how many times Gonzui flipped him like a pancake or sent him spinning like a top, he kept getting up.
After one particularly gnarly slam, Naruto rolled and launched himself with a sweeping low kick. Gonzui jumped, but Naruto followed with a rising elbow that actually landed.
"HA!" Naruto shouted triumphantly. "Tagged you!"
Gonzui grunted. "Impressive! But not enough!"
CRACK.
Naruto was pretty sure the punch that followed briefly knocked his soul into next Tuesday. He landed on his back with a groan, blinking at the dojo ceiling.
"You learn fast," Gonzui said, offering a hand. "But you're still in the oven. Give it time, and you will be the flame."
Naruto took the hand and stood, wobbling a little. "Thanks. So... I'm like, what, halfway baked?"
"You are the batter," Gonzui said solemnly. "But tasty batter."
Shogo, from the side, facepalmed. "Why do you always make things weird?"
Gonzui flexed dramatically. "Because weirdness is the seasoning of strength!"
Despite the soreness, Naruto couldn't stop smiling. It wasn't just about strength. It was about learning. And Gonzui-sensei? He wasn't just a martial artist. He was a giant, both literally and in spirit.
As the class wrapped up, Naruto bowed to him with deep respect. "Thanks for the fight, Sensei."
"You honor me," Gonzui replied, bowing back. "Now go. Rest. Grow stronger. And maybe ice your ribs."
Naruto nodded, already feeling the bruises forming under his shirt. Worth it. Every blow.
After all, he'd just gone toe-to-toe with a Master.
------------------------
You'd think after getting tossed around by a kabuki-powered karate master, I'd want to spend the rest of my day lying in a nice, soft bed, preferably with a bucket of ramen and a small army of masseuses.
But nope. This was war. Arcade war.
So there I was—Issei, but also Naruto, inside a body that had way too many hormones and not enough stamina—lounging in the bath like a king of sore muscles. I soaked until my fingers went all pruney and I was half-asleep imagining ramen-shaped clouds. Then I remembered: today was Kisara day.
Now don't get me wrong. I like Kisara. I've never actually met her, but she kicks people for a living, which earns automatic respect. According to Loki (yes, that Loki, the chaos guy who's always annoyingly dramatic), Kisara and her crew—the "Three Musketeers of Feet-Fu"—would be hanging around an arcade.
So after lunch (two bowls of curry, a meat bun, and a questionable soda that may have been radioactive), I met up with Kenichi and Shogo at the park.
Kenichi was stretching like we were about to run a triathlon instead of going to battle inside a building filled with claw machines and neon lights. "Are we sure this is a good idea?" he asked, nervous but clearly trying to sound brave. "I mean... Kisara doesn't exactly talk things out."
Shogo grinned, hands behind his head like he'd just won the lottery. "That's the point, Kenichi. She kicks things out. Much more fun."
I gave them both a grin that I hoped looked cool and not like someone who just got dropkicked by Gonzui that morning. "Look, we're not going there to destroy her or anything. Just a friendly brawl. With honor. And mild concussions."
Kenichi looked unconvinced. "I still don't know why I'm coming."
I clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Because we're friends. And friends challenge terrifying high-kicking queens together."
"Also," Shogo added, "you need the XP."
Kenichi blinked. "The what?"
"Experience points, bro," Shogo said, walking ahead toward the arcade. "How are you going to level up if you keep skipping boss battles?"
Kenichi mumbled something about normal people not needing to "level up" to survive gym class, but he followed.
-----------------
They jogged toward the glowing neon lights of the arcade like heroes about to face a raid boss.
Inside, Kisara was totally owning Dance Dance Revolution. Her feet flew over the arrows with lightning speed. If you didn't know better, you'd think she was auditioning for some ninja dance squad. She had the perfect mix of cool and fierce—bright green eyes flashing, maroon hair sticking out from under a green cap, and torn jeans that practically screamed "don't mess with me." And those boots? "Like a weapon," she said once. Yeah, Naruto wasn't about to argue.
Kisara's three musketeers were chilling nearby, duking it out over Street Fighters. First up was Kozo Ukita, the Judo guy. Tall, lean, scar under his chin, wearing sunglasses like he was auditioning for a gangster movie. He enjoyed tossing people around—literally. Then there was Ikki Takeda, the Boxer, who looked like he walked straight off a fashion runway with silver-blue hair, bandaged wrists, and a blade of grass perpetually hanging out of his mouth. Finally, Taichi Koga—the Capoeira master—laid-back and breezy with a cool headband and a smirk that said, "I'll stab you in the back and smile about it."
Naruto stepped up with Kenichi and Shogo close behind. The musketeers stopped their game, eyes narrowing like they smelled trouble.
"Hey, you. This is our turf," Ukita said, voice low and threatening.
Koga swaggered forward, all smirks and casual menace. "You wanna challenge Kisara? Back off before you get hurt."
Naruto's grin turned mischievous. "I'm here to challenge her, actually."
Koga tried to push him out of the way, but Naruto was too quick. With a smooth sidestep, he palmed Koga's face. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to say, Don't mess with me.
The arcade went silent. Even the DDR machine seemed to pause its beat for a split second.
Kisara stopped dancing and turned, eyes sparkling with challenge. "You must be crazy—or confident. Which is it?"
Naruto smirked, heart pumping. "A little of both."
Kenichi whispered nervously, "Maybe we should've brought snacks instead of fists."
Shogo just cracked his knuckles again, ready for the real fight.
Because this was no ordinary arcade showdown. This was a boss battle. And Naruto was ready to press Start.