Throne of the Ghost Emperor (Danny Phantom X Naruto)
Chapter 61 - 9

Chapter 61 - 9

Chapter 9: My Face Meets Fists, and Somehow That's Progress

—In which I go toe-to-toe with a bowl-cut tornado and realize pain is part of the curriculum.

Okay. So I've fought ghosts. Sort of. I've survived surprise gym pop quizzes. I've even endured Tucker's garlic-laced "health smoothies."

But nothing—nothing—could have prepared me for the soul-crushing horror that is... catching up on schoolwork.

It all started after dinner, after that surprisingly emotional heart-to-heart with my ghost-hunting parents. I should've gone to bed like a normal kid who had just emotionally reconnected with his family. But no, I had something even scarier than ghosts waiting for me upstairs.

"If you want to walk the path of strength, kid," Naruto said as we climbed the stairs to my room, "you gotta handle the boring stuff too."

I blinked. "You mean like... dishes?"

"No," he said, deadly serious. "Worse. Textbooks."

A few minutes later, I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, staring at a pile of schoolbooks I was pretty sure hadn't moved from the floor since September. Naruto handed me one like it was a sacred relic.

"U.S. History, Volume I: Pre-Colonial Times to the Civil War."

I stared at the cover like it was going to bite me.

"Seriously? This thing has the excitement level of wet cardboard."

"Knowledge is power," Naruto said. "And also, you're failing this class."

"Technically, I'm almost failing," I mumbled.

"Almost failing is just failing in slow motion," he deadpanned.

Touché.

Then I saw the pages.

Naruto had written in the margins. Underlined stuff. Highlighted key terms. Scribbled random motivational notes like:

"This part's boring, but trust me, it shows up on every test."

"Think of the revolutionaries as rogue ninjas. You're welcome."

"The Civil War was basically a massive clan war. Sasuke would totally get this."

It hit me then: Naruto—guy who once body-slammed space gods—sat down and read through my history textbook.

That kind of dedication... was terrifying.

So I cracked the book open. And I started to read.

Five minutes in, I was already drooping.

Ten minutes in, I realized I'd read the same sentence three times and still had no idea what a "mercantilist economic policy" was.

At the twenty-minute mark, I jolted awake after my head nearly slammed into the pages.

"Whuh—huh? Did I miss the ninja war?"

"No," Naruto said, smirking. "But you did miss how the French helped the American colonists. You want to sleep through that part and end up thinking Napoleon fought for Texas?"

I groaned. "My brain is melting."

"Let it melt. Then rebuild it stronger. You're not just studying for grades anymore. You're studying so you don't get tricked by evil ghosts pretending to be Ben Franklin."

"...That's actually kind of motivating."

"Exactly."

I kept going. Slowly. Painfully. Occasionally drooling on my notebook. But every time I wanted to give up, Naruto pushed me.

Sometimes he clapped, sometimes he insulted me (gently), and once he literally blasted a tiny spark of chakra into my hand to jolt me awake. It tingled. I yelped. He called it a "motivational slap."

But after an hour and a half of waging mental warfare against The Rise of Industrial America, something wild happened.

I remembered stuff.

I could explain the Sugar Act.

I sort of understood the difference between Federalists and Anti-Federalists.

I didn't know if I was becoming smarter... or just so tired that my brain was pretending to work.

"Good job," Naruto said finally, flipping the book shut. "You didn't die. That's progress."

I flopped backward on my bed, groaning like a reanimated zombie. "Please tell me you have some super ninja energy drink to keep me going."

"Nope. Just hard work, patience, and sheer willpower. Welcome to your new training arc."

I sighed. "Being a hero sucks sometimes."

"Yup. But being a failure sucks more."

And I had to admit... even though I felt like I'd just been run over by a textbook-shaped truck... I also felt kind of proud.

A little smarter. A little stronger.

A little more like the kind of guy who could carry on the Fenton legacy.

Even if I still couldn't remember what the Articles of Confederation were supposed to do.

Tomorrow, I'd hit science.

God help me.

--------------------------------

Let me start by saying: if you've ever thought your dreams were weird—like showing up to school in your underwear or fighting flying dinosaurs while juggling bananas—you've got nothing on my dreams.

Because mine now involve ninja battlefields, ancient martial arts, and a moody dream clone of Sasuke Uchiha.

Yeah, I said Sasuke. The guy who looks like a model but fights like a blender full of knives.

So here's what happened.

I went to bed like any responsible student who just barely survived U.S. History and the Revenge of the Textbook. I was expecting blissful unconsciousness.

Instead, I woke up in the middle of a meadow.

Not just any meadow, mind you. This thing looked like someone photoshopped heaven. Grass so green it practically glowed. A sparkling pond. A mountain range in the distance, looking all majestic and mysterious. Birds chirping like they had contracts with a music label.

And, oh yeah—a huge villa in the distance, gleaming like a celebrity mansion.

Guess who lived there?

"Hey, sleepyhead," Naruto said, stepping out onto the porch of his literal mental vacation home. "Took you long enough. We've got work to do."

He waved. I waved back. Totally not jealous. I mean, my brain gave me acne and test anxiety. His brain gave him a private resort.

Totally. Not. Jealous.

I looked around the meadow and raised a brow. "Okay, this is nice. Where's the training spot? A field? A dojo?"

"Right here," he said, grinning. "The whole place is our battlefield."

"...Joy."

"And don't worry. You won't feel tired here, and your body will be totally refreshed when you wake up. Mind time works different."

"You're telling me this is a video game dream where I get free XP and no muscle soreness?"

"Exactly."

I paused. "...I'm suddenly okay with this."

Then Naruto clapped his hands. A glowing arena rose out of the meadow like something out of Gladiator. Marble walls. Flaming torches. Drama for days.

In the center stood a guy with a sword and the face of someone who hadn't smiled since 2007.

"That's Sasuke," Naruto said cheerfully. "He's... complicated. You'll be fighting him today."

"Wait, fighting him?" I backed up. "I'm barely qualified to slapbox with Tucker. He's got a sword."

"Relax. I'll be controlling your body like a puppet."

"...Comforting."

"It's a learning technique. I fight through your body, you feel every movement, and your muscles start learning on instinct. The more we do it, the more natural it becomes. One thousand fights tonight."

"One thou—?!"

"You wanted to learn, didn't you?"

I sighed. "Right. Training arc. Glorious destiny. Son of ghostbusters. Fine. Let's get puppet-murdered."

We stepped into the ring.

And then things got wild.

The moment Naruto took control, I became Bruce Lee's caffeinated cousin. My limbs snapped, spun, kicked, and blocked like I was born in a dojo. Sasuke attacked like a shadow with anger issues, his blade whistling through the air, but somehow—I was matching him. Dodging, striking, countering.

I felt every movement in my bones, like muscle memory being carved in real time.

By fight #27, I could already predict some of Sasuke's patterns.

By fight #58, my blocks weren't late anymore.

By fight #243, I felt like I could actually do this one day on my own.

"Don't focus on winning," Naruto told me during a break. "Focus on learning. How your feet shift, how your arms respond, how to read your enemy's center. This isn't about power. It's about mastery."

That kind of hit me hard.

No shortcuts. No ghost powers. Just raw skill, earned the slow, painful, sweaty way.

Somewhere around fight #400, I stopped flinching when Sasuke's sword came down.

By #678, I threw him once. Just once. But it counted.

And when we reached #1000, I collapsed in the mind grass like a training montage that had gone too long.

"You're a natural," Naruto said, handing me water that appeared from nowhere. "A tired, sore, mind-aching natural."

"I can't feel my soul," I groaned.

"That's good. Means it's growing.

---------------------------

I've made a lot of questionable life choices. Like the time I ate six chili dogs before riding a rollercoaster. Or the time I told Sam her favorite horror movie was "mid." But agreeing to spar with miniature Rock Lee might just take the top spot on my "regrets-that-now-hurt" list.

Let me explain.

After what felt like an entire week of being Naruto's personal action figure in the world's longest puppet show, he clapped his hands and said the six words no tired teenager wants to hear:

"Now it's time to fight alone!"

I blinked. "Wait, like... no training wheels? No Jedi possession?"

"Nope. Just you and your instincts. You've got this."

"You sure? Because I think my instincts still want to play Pokémon and eat Doritos."

But Naruto just grinned and waved a hand.

And then he appeared.

Rock Lee.

Well, kid Rock Lee. About my age. Same build. Same height. Same stats, Naruto claimed. Except this one was bouncing on his toes like his body was made of caffeine and ambition.

"Let's have a youthful duel!" Lee shouted with a big thumbs-up. "With the flames of determination!"

"I already want to tap out," I muttered.

Too late.

The moment the bell (yes, there was a bell—Naruto's mind is weird) rang, Lee charged at me like a cheerful missile.

And to my complete surprise...

...I didn't die instantly.

Turns out, those thousand Naruto-controlled spars? They paid off. My feet moved without thinking. My arms blocked on reflex. I dodged, countered, even landed a couple of hits. It was like my body had become a fighting machine.

A very rusty, poorly maintained, dent-prone machine—but still a machine.

The good news: I didn't get obliterated.

The bad news: Lee hit like a wrecking ball wrapped in politeness.

Ten minutes in, I was a walking bruise with legs.

He'd sweep my legs, I'd counter and catch his wrist. He'd spin midair, kick me in the ribs, then apologize. It was so confusing.

"Danny, keep going!" Naruto called from the sidelines, sipping lemonade like he was watching a sports anime. "You're doing great!"

"I'M DYING!"

"Good! That means your fear is dying too!"

Naruto had this whole philosophy that pain was like a shadow—you had to walk through it to stop being afraid of it. The more I fought, the more I learned to move with the hits instead of flinching. My breathing became steadier. My body, even sore, started adapting.

I wasn't winning.

But I also wasn't giving up.

By the end of the fight, I was panting on the floor, black and blue, but smiling like an idiot.

Because I didn't run. I stood my ground. I fought.

"Nice job," Lee said, bowing. "You're full of potential!"

"I'm also full of bruises," I wheezed.

Naruto crouched beside me with a grin. "Not bad, kid. We'll keep doing this until your fear of pain vanishes completely. One day, it won't scare you anymore—it'll just be information. Signals you can read and adapt to."

That sounded like a very mature way of saying "get used to suffering," but... weirdly, I didn't mind.

Because for once, I didn't feel like a screwup or a joke.

I felt like someone who could actually change.

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