Throne of the Ghost Emperor (Danny Phantom X Naruto)
Chapter 66 - 14

Chapter 66 - 14

Chapter 14: I Came, I Saw, I Got Body-Slammed Into Enlightenment

Lunch was overrated anyway.

While everyone else stampeded toward pizza slices and mystery meat, I took a detour to the back of the gym. The place was basically no-man's land—dusty mats, old gym equipment, and the unmistakable scent of teenage sweat lingering in the air like it paid rent.

But more importantly, it was quiet. Private. Perfect for what I had in mind.

And by "perfect," I mean "probably really stupid."

Two jocks lounged there like they owned the place. I recognized them immediately—Chad and... Other Chad. I'm not even kidding. No one remembers his actual name. He's just... Chad's Chad. Classic sidekick energy.

Chad the Prime sneered the moment he saw me. "Well, look who it is—boy wonder."

Oh good, nicknames. That's how you know things are going great.

"What, come to offer yourself on a silver platter? Paulina's gonna love this."

Behind him, Other Chad took a lazy drag of his cigarette like we were in some old-timey mob movie. He clearly wasn't expecting anything more than a light afternoon bullying session.

My stomach tried to file for an early escape through my throat, but I forced a smile.

"Hello, guys. I hope you're having a wonderful time," I said, voice steady. Somehow.

"Wanna make it better?" Chad cracked his knuckles. "Let's see if you bleed ectoplasm."

Here's the thing about bravery—it feels a lot like being stupid until it works.

He came at me fast, his fist cutting the air. But I wasn't the same Danny who used to flinch and cover his head. My instincts kicked in, sharper than ever, like someone had dialed up the clarity in my brain.

I ducked.

Then I punched.

Square in the nose. Not fancy, not cinematic, but effective. Chad stumbled back, clutching his face with a very satisfying "UGH!"

And then he got mad.

His wild swing caught me right on the cheek, and let me tell you, that part was cinematic. The world spun, colors flashed, and I tasted regret. Also maybe blood.

I hit the ground hard. The gym mats weren't nearly as soft as I remembered.

"FENTON, I'M GONNA KILL YOU!" he bellowed, his nose now a full-on faucet of karma.

But I didn't wait.

I rolled, kicked up, and nailed him in the face. He hit the ground with a thud that was so beautiful I might've cried if my face didn't hurt so much.

Before he could bounce back, I scrambled on top and locked my arms around his neck in a half-decent chokehold. Thank you, late-night martial arts YouTube tutorials.

"Do you give up?" I gasped, arms shaking, lungs burning.

He flailed, slapped weakly at my sides, and finally tapped out like we were in a wrestling match and not a spontaneous back-alley gym duel.

I released him and wobbled to my feet like a newborn deer with a mild concussion. "Good. Remember who beat you," I said. "Tell everyone. And in case your memory sucks—" I pulled my phone from my hoodie and waved it, "—I've got it all recorded."

"Dude," Other Chad blurted, dropping his cigarette. "We were just messing around! No need to go full Mortal Kombat!"

That's when I saw her.

Sam. Standing a short distance away with her phone raised, camera light blinking.

The best tag team partner I never asked for.

"Messing around, huh?" I smirked. "Then you owe me one. Both of you."

"Okay, okay," he said, already backpedaling like he had just witnessed a ghost. Which, to be fair, wasn't too far from the truth.

As they slinked off like defeated movie extras, I felt it wash over me—that feeling. That electric rush of doing something I never thought I could.

I did it. I really did it. I didn't run. I didn't hide. I stood up and fought back. And won.

The pain in my cheek throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the burst of satisfaction blooming in my chest.

"Not bad, kid," Naruto's voice echoed in my head. "Just remember—keep your cool, and don't get cocky. You're on your way, but this is just the beginning."

I wiped a bit of blood from my lip and grinned.

Lunch could wait. I had just served up a main course of poetic justice.

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

The cafeteria smelled like questionable meatballs and overcooked ambition.

I shuffled in with Sam and Tucker, my face still sore and my knuckles a bit swollen from my surprise gym bout. Honestly, I was more worried about keeping my tray balanced than my bruises. The spaghetti looked like it might jump off the plate and try to finish the fight.

We found our usual table, the one nestled between the suspicious vending machine and the "maybe it's art" mural from 2006. I slid into my seat and had just started poking at the spaghetti when Tucker leaned in with a grin like he'd just uncovered state secrets.

"So," he said, tapping his juice box like it was a microphone, "was that your audition to take Dash's spot as Big Boss of Casper High?"

Sam snorted into her veggie wrap. "Yeah, Danny. Planning to wear a letterman jacket and start extorting freshmen for lunch money?"

I blinked. "What? No!"

"Come on," Tucker said, raising his eyebrows. "You took down one of Dash's cronies—in public. Word's already spreading. You've got people looking at you differently."

"Yeah," Sam added, crossing her arms. "Like you're some mysterious lone wolf with bruised knuckles and a tragic backstory. Super attractive to insecure high schoolers."

"Great," I muttered. "I always wanted to be Gotham's most wanted."

Tucker leaned back dramatically. "So what now? You gonna make us the cool kids? Do we get jackets? Or like... code names? I vote 'Shadow Falcon' for me."

"Okay, first, no one is calling you that," Sam said, deadpan. "Second, Danny doesn't want to rule the school. Right?"

I hesitated.

That was the problem, wasn't it?

Because deep down... part of me did like it. Not the violence, not the blood or bruises, but the power. The respect. The idea that maybe, finally, I wasn't the bottom of the food chain.

And yeah, there was that moment—after the fight—when some underclassman made eye contact with me and flinched. I wasn't proud of it... but I wasn't mad either.

"I don't know," I said, staring at the tray like it held the answers. "I'm not trying to be Dash. But I guess... I'm tired of being the one everyone pushes around."

Sam's expression softened, and she nudged my elbow. "We get it. Just don't lose who you are in the process."

"Yeah," Tucker said, unwrapping a suspiciously green cookie. "You're Danny Fenton—resident nerd, half-ghost hero, and undefeated king of bad cafeteria trades. If we suddenly become cool, who's gonna trade me a pudding for a sad banana?"

I laughed. That was the thing about Sam and Tucker. They didn't care how many fights I won or how many people flinched when I walked by. They'd still roast me for wearing socks with holes or watching anime at 2 AM with subtitles that didn't match.

"No jackets," I said with a smile. "But maybe we upgrade the table."

"Oh, absolutely," Tucker said. "I'm done sitting near the weird mural. I swear that thing moves when I'm not looking."

Sam rolled her eyes, but even she smiled.

We weren't the cool kids. Not really. But maybe we didn't have to be.

Maybe just not being invisible anymore was enough—for now.

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

You know it's going to be one of those days when your best friend—who considers walking to the fridge a strenuous workout—comes sprinting down the hallway like he's in a Marvel chase scene.

Tucker barreled toward me like a freight train made of khaki and panic. His backpack was half-zipped, his glasses foggy, and sweat poured down his forehead like he'd just run a marathon through the Sahara.

"Danny... gasp... run... wheeze... they're... death rattle... coming for you!"

Now, a normal person might have freaked out at that. "They're coming for you" is not the kind of phrase you want to hear before third period. But me? I just blinked. Because, let's be honest, Tucker running was already the day's weirdest event.

"You actually ran?" I asked, genuinely impressed. "Like, with both feet? At the same time?"

"Danny," Tucker gasped, hands on his knees, "this is not the time for sarcasm. I almost died! That's cardio, man!"

Before I could ask who was coming, the answer arrived in the form of a stiletto-heel death march.

Click. Clack. Doom.

Paulina. Or as I like to call her when no one's listening: Queen of Ice and Selective Kindness.

She appeared at the end of the hallway, dressed like she was about to star in a teen fashion drama titled Mean Girls: Royal Edition. Hair perfect. Eyes locked. Intentions? Probably murder.

"Fenton," she said like it was a curse word.

"Paulina," I replied like I hadn't just been internally screaming.

A small crowd gathered, because high school students have a sixth sense for drama, and someone definitely had their phone out already. I stood my ground, heart thudding, instincts screaming at me to phase through the floor and vanish.

But then she walked closer, the hallway practically icing over with every step. She was... radiant. And I mean that in the most dangerous radioactive material kind of way. Long legs. Designer outfit. The kind of confidence that could make you rethink your life choices.

For one very stupid second, I forgot who I was and thought, Wow, she's really beautiful.

And that was when she hit me with the line:

"Hmph. Where did this so-called new personality go? Or was it all just an act to get my interest?"

Oh. So that's where we're going.

"Excuse me?" I said, arching an eyebrow.

"You've been strutting around like you've grown a spine. Thought maybe you were different. Guess not." She smirked like I was a particularly underwhelming sale item. "Still the same loser as the rest of the boys."

I clenched my jaw. My ghost half bristled inside me. But right when I was about to reply, she dropped the nuclear bomb.

"Come on, Fenton. Slap me. Right here. Right now. Let's see if you've got any guts."

Wait. What?

Slap her? In front of the entire hallway? That's not just a trap—that's five traps wearing a trench coat.

My brain short-circuited for a second. This had to be some weird social test. Or maybe she was setting me up to look bad. Or—plot twist—she's secretly a robot testing human responses to unethical dares.

And then... a hand touched mine.

Sam.

She'd appeared at my side like a goth guardian angel, fingers curling around mine with just enough pressure to say: Breathe. Stay grounded. Don't punch anyone unless they really deserve it.

Naruto—yeah, the actual ninja ghost tenant living rent-free in my brain—stayed quiet. Which was way worse than him giving advice. It meant this was a test. My test.

"I won't hit a girl," I said quietly but firmly, "especially not for ego points."

Paulina's smirk twitched, just for a second.

"Heh. I knew it," she said. "You're no different. Weak, boring... predictable." She extended her hand toward me like some bored goddess offering mercy. "Fine, I'll let you follow me then."

For a second, just one awful, tempting second, I considered it.

But then I remembered every time I'd been humiliated. Every time I let someone's looks distract me from what they really were. And I remembered what it felt like to stand up on my own.

I smiled—not cocky, but calm—and stepped forward.

"I've got a better idea," I said. "You follow me."

The hallway went still. Somewhere, a nerd dropped his juice box in awe.

Paulina's eyes narrowed. "Sigh. And here I was being nice because you looked so fragile."

Just then, thunderous footsteps echoed behind her. Jocks. Reinforcements. Great. Because nothing says "healthy confrontation" like backup dancers in football jerseys.

Sam gave my hand a final squeeze and let go. Tucker was still wheezing in the corner like he needed a defibrillator and a juice pouch.

But me? I just stood there.

Maybe I wasn't the king of the school. Maybe I wasn't even halfway to being a hero yet.

But I was done being anyone's stepping stone.

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

You ever have one of those days where the universe seems dead set on turning you into a human punching bag and humiliating you in front of a girl you used to have a crush on? Yeah, welcome to my life.

So there I was, standing in the school hallway like some kind of tragic Shakespearean hero (minus the tights, thank goodness), staring down Dash Baxter and his merry band of knuckle-dragging jocks.

They were coming in hot—like a football team mistaking me for the ball.

Dash had that trademark sneer plastered on his face, the one he probably practiced in the mirror every morning before flexing at his reflection. "Fenton," he said, voice thick with condescension. "Come along and don't make a fuss."

Like I was some lost puppy. A fragile, ghost-hunting puppy with social anxiety and unresolved trauma. Okay, maybe not that far off. But still.

I stood tall—or at least as tall as someone who hasn't eaten breakfast and is wearing slightly too-tight jeans can manage—and said the most Fenton thing imaginable.

"You have no business commanding me, Dash. Get lost, buffoon."

Yep. Buffoon. That word just leapt out of me like a thesaurus with a death wish.

To my utter shock, Dash paused. His smirk twitched. For a glorious, brief moment, I thought I saw a flicker of doubt in his jock-brain.

Then he burst out laughing.

"Oh, look at this. Fenton grew a spine. How cute."

I could hear Sam's knuckles cracking behind me. Tucker, bless his gadget-loving heart, looked like he was about to faint but still stood his ground. They were both behind me, literally and emotionally, like the awesome backup team I totally didn't deserve but was endlessly grateful for.

Dash stepped forward, his shadow practically swallowing me whole. "You think you're better than me, Fenton?"

I met his eyes. "I don't think I'm better. I know I'm better."

And yeah, my voice might've cracked just a little, but it still counts.

There was a moment—one long, electric pause—where everything felt suspended. Like the entire school held its breath, waiting for Dash to either explode or implode.

That's when Sam stepped in, her voice like a verbal baseball bat to the face. "That's enough, Dash. Back off."

Tucker caught my eye. I gave him the tiniest head tilt. Our secret signal: Get ready to run like our lives depend on it, which they probably do.

Except... Tucker didn't run. He stepped up beside me, his voice wobbling but brave. "We always stand together."

My heart did this weird squishy thing. You know, the kind of mushy warmth you get from watching dog rescue videos at 2 a.m. Except this was real and standing right next to me.

Then Sam stepped forward and squared off with Dash like she was ready to punch the entire football team into next week. "Dash, leave now, or you'll have to answer to me."

Dash's smirk returned. "As you wish, princess." He laid a hand on her shoulder like some medieval noble about to issue a duel.

Then—BAM—he tried to kick me.

Luckily, I saw it coming. Years of avoiding ghost punches (and test papers) had honed my reflexes. I caught the kick with my palms, rolled with the force like a professional stuntman in slow motion, and let out the most Oscar-worthy groan you've ever heard.

To the crowd, it looked like Dash nailed me. To Dash... well, he paused, confused. Probably wondering why his foot hurt more than I did.

"Did I get stronger? Or has Fenton lost some weight?" he muttered under his breath.

Before he could solve the mystery, his gang surged forward, full of testosterone and poor decision-making. Seven jocks came at me like I was holding the last protein shake on Earth.

And I fought back.

Not well, mind you. I'm no kung fu master. But I ducked, weaved, punched (accidentally headbutted someone—ow), and just moved. It wasn't graceful, but it was something. A me I didn't know existed started to wake up.

Tucker joined the fray. He got picked up like a sack of potatoes by one guy and kind of just flailed, but it was the intent that mattered.

Sam? She was already storming in, eyes blazing. She knelt beside us like a vengeful angel and pointed at Dash like she was delivering a curse.

"DASH! You'll pay for this, and so will all of you!"

Dash, of course, didn't take that well. His smirk returned. "Ooh, I'm shaking. Relax, princess. Unless I break his bones, no one's going to care. I'm the star, and he's just... nothing."

Then he turned to his goons like he'd just won the Super Bowl. "Thanks, boys. Drinks on me."

Pauline walked past with Star and some other blonde clone, tossing her hair like she was a shampoo commercial villain. "Good work, boys," she said, voice dripping with sass and sarcasm.

And just like that, they were gone.

I lay on the floor, bruised, battered, and oddly satisfied.

Because yeah, they hit me. Yeah, I lost the fight.

But for once—I didn't run.

And that felt like a win.

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

You know how in movies, the hero gets beat up, but they still look cool? Like, there's blood on their lip and a tear in their sleeve, but they kind of smolder while they stare down the bully and mutter something badass like, "You hit like my grandma."

Yeah. That's not what happened here.

I was sprawled out on the cold tile floor of Casper High, tasting dust and probable mop water, and every muscle in my body was holding a tiny, angry protest. My ribs felt like a xylophone after a particularly aggressive marching band session. My pride? Roadkill.

Dash and his gang of walking protein shakes were strutting away like conquering warlords, high-fiving each other over the brutal beatdown they'd just delivered. The hallway was still buzzing, but people were already moving on—some shaking their heads, others pretending they hadn't seen a thing. Nobody wanted to get involved. Classic high school justice: if you weren't the one bleeding, it wasn't your problem.

I lay there, blinking up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what hurt worse—my body or the truth.

Don't worry—this isn't the part where I cry and eat ice cream in the janitor's closet. (Okay, maybe once.) This time, I felt something shift inside me. Not a bone (though honestly, close), but something deeper.

That's when his voice spoke up.

"How does it feel to be lower than dirt?"

Naruto. Yeah. That Naruto. Fox-boy, demigod, actual hero—and my mentor. Don't ask how that happened. Interdimensional group chats are weird.

"Do you see the difference between your world and theirs?"

My ribs ached. My face was still probably red from Pauline's laughter. But the worst part? He was right.

I hated it.

"I don't like it," I said—inside, mind you. Didn't want Sam and Tucker thinking I was doing my Gollum impression. Again.

"I understand now. I accept you as my master... willingly."

There. I said it. Not with fireworks or tearful speeches, but with clenched teeth and pride swallowed so hard I could taste it.

The fog in my mind—the idea that I could charm my way through life, maybe even win Pauline over by being nice—it vanished like the last slice of pizza at a sleepover. She hadn't even looked at me like a person.

To her, I wasn't Danny Fenton, part-time ghost hunter, full-time good guy. I was... nothing.

And if I was being honest with myself, even Sam and Tucker... they cared, yeah. But respect? That had to be earned.

"I don't want to see my friends in pain. I don't want to get hurt. I want to live comfortably. I want to help my family."

It sounded selfish laid out like that, but it was the truth. No flowery speech. Just raw wants, stripped down.

"You forgot the people."

Right. The people. I wasn't aiming to be a saint, but... maybe I could do better. Little by little.

"Small steps. You'll build character with each mission."

"Can it be less painful?" I asked, hoping for once he'd be nice.

"You can dream."

Awesome. Really motivational, sensei.

I groaned—physically and emotionally—and muttered a sharp "Shit," loud enough to earn a concerned glance from Sam and Tucker. Sam was kneeling beside me, one hand gently on my shoulder, the other burning holes in Dash's back with her glare. Tucker was fumbling with his glasses, bruised but proud. They were helping me up, and I hated needing the help, but also... I didn't mind.

Because I was going to stand again.

Not just now, but every time after. Stronger. Wiser. Less likely to try and flirt with people who thought "Fenton" was short for "Doormat."

I was at the bottom, sure.

But I could see the path now. I didn't have to claw my way up alone. I had help.

And maybe, just maybe, the next time Dash tried to put me down, he'd be the one eating linoleum.

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

If you ever want to ruin a perfectly normal school day, just get pummeled in front of your crush while half the cafeteria watches and the other half livestreams it. Bonus points if your dignity escapes your body faster than your spirit ever could. Ten out of ten. Would not recommend.

But here's the thing no one tells you about humiliation—it's surprisingly educational.

Like, really enlightening. Soul-crushingly enlightening.

So there I was, limping home from school with Sam and Tucker, clutching my ribs like a Victorian damsel with the vapors, when it hit me: I might actually have to do something about my life if I didn't want to spend the rest of it as Casper High's official punching bag/ghost magnet/sad crush reject.

Yeah. That revelation hurt more than Dash's elbow.

"Okay," Tucker said, adjusting his backpack and holding what I think was a melted smoothie pouch from lunch. "We've officially hit rock bottom."

"Correction," I groaned, dragging my feet. "I hit rock bottom. You two got off with mild social embarrassment and one (1) food tray to the face."

Sam raised an eyebrow, her voice dry. "Would you like a trophy for Most Tragic Hero?"

"...Yes. Do they make those?"

"No."

Anyway, as we shuffled past Mr. Lancer's house (fun fact: he listens to opera loudly at 3 PM like it's his job), I realized something.

Bonding through battles? Total myth, right? Something reserved for epic movie montages and dramatic anime fights where everyone's yelling each other's names like it's a Pokémon attack.

But no. Turns out, fighting ghosts together, getting beat up together, and watching your mutual friend get emotionally wrecked together? That does bring people closer. It's just... messier than the movies show.

And maybe we'd never say it out loud (especially Tucker, who only does emotions in emoji), but something between us had shifted.

We were tired of being on the defensive. Of surviving instead of living. Of being nobodies in a world full of supernatural somebodies.

"We need to get stronger," Sam finally said, voice steady and serious.

Tucker nodded. "I've got like five training apps downloaded already. Also one for smoothies. Just in case."

"Guys," I said, trying not to trip over a very aggressive sidewalk crack, "I'm serious. We can't just hope things get better. I need to get stronger. Not just ghost powers stronger. Me-stronger. Like... hero material. No more trying to coast by or hoping Pauline makes eye contact."

"Honestly," Sam said with a sly smirk, "I'd settle for you not getting launched into a wall by a football player again."

"One step at a time," I muttered.

And I meant it. Something was waking up inside me—and I don't mean a ghost, though that would be on brand. No, this was the kind of inner fire Naruto kept talking about. (Yeah, that Naruto. Super ninja mentor with motivational speeches and ramen obsessions. He visits my brain sometimes. Don't ask.)

He'd said I needed to take ownership of my life. That character wasn't born overnight—it was forged. Through mistakes. Through sweat. Through eating metaphorical dirt and still standing up with a smirk.

Honestly, I was kind of into it.

Not the dirt part. The growth part.

By the time we reached my house, I wasn't limping as much. My ribs still felt like someone had stirred them with a whisk, but my spirit? Kinda fired up.

"So... team ghostbusting?" I asked.

Sam grinned. "Team 'Let's Not Die in High School.'"

Tucker raised his smoothie pouch like a goblet. "To not being pawns!"

I raised my hand. "To becoming people who punch back."

And just like that, our trio wasn't just a trio anymore. We were a team. A slightly bruised, emotionally scarred, under-trained team—but a team with purpose.

Which, for us, was basically a miracle.

Also, I really need a suit of armor or something. Just in case Dash decides to go for round two.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.