Coach, I Think…
The next day, Naruto arrived early at the Seal Space to continue farming. After placing the fifth block of soil, he immediately dashed out the gate, glancing back at the Nine-Tails, who hadn't moved an inch. Its eyes remained shut, as if truly asleep.
Naruto wasn't sure what the Nine-Tails was thinking—different species, different thought processes—but this was convenient. Running back and forth while dodging a massive tail took too much time.
He decided not to plant wheat near the gate anymore. With the Nine-Tails' sheer size, one roll from its body would flatten an entire field. And the worst part? It'd probably shake off the wheat husks like a wet dog and mutter, "What wheat husks?"
---
Time—his anthropomorphized manifestation of the system clock—lay sprawled on his bed in a bikini. Just as Naruto was about to leap toward her with questionable intentions, she shouted, "Eighth Gate, Gate of Death—Open!" and dashed off, leaving him mid-lunge, his grin frozen.
---
By mid-October, after eight long months, the Seal Space had changed dramatically.
The left wall was now smoothly plastered with clay. The right side was reinforced with stacked stones, creating a flat vertical face. The back wall, opposite the gate, was covered in a massive mirror cobbled together from smaller shards, reflecting light from small, hanging lamps strung up every ten meters. The lighting system gave the otherwise gloomy space a warm, faintly surreal glow.
Throughout it all, the Nine-Tails had become a sort of Schrödinger's Fox—simultaneously asleep and not. Except for the one time Naruto had spread soil across the entire floor—leaving only the area beneath the fox untouched—and woke up to find the giant beast had shifted position. Other than that, it barely moved.
Currently, Naruto stood on scaffolding near the clay wall, holding a rag in one hand and a bucket of dye in the other. He was ready to mark the wall with: "Completion Date: October 15 — Uzumaki Naruto."
Then he froze.
"Ah crap… I can't write Japanese."
He stared at the wall, dumbfounded. He couldn't write kanji or kana, and writing Chinese wasn't an option either—not that it would make sense here.
In the past two years, Naruto had spent all his time farming. The two beginner books the Third Hokage gave him still sat on the bookshelf, untouched and dusty—yes, a bookshelf that only held two books.
Sliding down the scaffolding and storing it back in his inventory, Naruto glanced toward the slumbering fox. Wait… didn't Kurama know how to write?
"Hey, Big Fox," Naruto approached Kurama's massive face.
By now, he wasn't afraid of getting squashed anymore. A few months ago, when he was placing soil under its tail, he'd patted the tail gently and Kurama had lifted it just enough for him to work. It could have crushed him instantly—but didn't.
And then there was that one time it muttered "Good night." He still wasn't sure if he'd imagined it, since Kurama hadn't spoken to him in months.
Maybe it was just a tsundere fox.
Kurama opened one eye into a thin slit. This brat had been bouncing around for months now, transforming the inner seal with odd materials—stone, soil, mirrors, lights. All mundane objects, yet somehow, the space felt… oddly comforting. Not that Kurama would ever admit it, but the dry ground was more pleasant than that ankle-deep chakra sludge.
"Can you teach me to write?" Naruto asked, reaching out and poking the fur under Kurama's jaw. It was unbelievably soft.
Kurama bared its fangs.
Naruto instinctively jumped back. But seeing it relax again, he returned and poked it once more.
"Brat, you're pushing your luck!" Kurama's crimson eyes snapped open, vertical pupils narrowing with irritation. A powerful wave of killing intent rippled through the seal, locking Naruto in place.
Even blinking felt like a chore.
Gritting his teeth, Naruto stepped forward anyway—and poked again.
"If you teach me to write, I'll treat you to barbecue. All you can eat! Deal?"
He immediately regretted his mouth. What was wrong with him today?
Kurama didn't reply, only stared.
"How about one meal for 50 words?" Naruto tried to negotiate. "No more than three sessions!" He remembered reading in a novel that asking more than three times usually meant you were dead meat.
Still no reply.
"Alright, alright. Forty words per meal?" Naruto raised the offer.
Two of Kurama's tails twitched.
"Done! Forty words for two meals!" Naruto declared, seizing the reaction. This was the most communication Kurama had shown in ages—even if it was accompanied by death glares.
He gave the fox one last poke before sprinting out of the Seal Space like his life depended on it.
"ROOOAR! BRAT—! I'LL KILL YOU!"
The fox's enraged roar echoed behind him.
---
Back in reality, Naruto grabbed the two dusty books from the shelf—one in English, one in Japanese—both filled with symbols and diagrams he couldn't understand.
He flipped through the Japanese one and picked out a few characters that looked familiar, then re-entered the Seal.
Summoning his scaffolding, Naruto climbed up and began scribbling the 26 English letters, along with a dozen or so Japanese characters, onto the wall using the dye.
"Big Fox, why are these different from those?" he asked, pointing to the English letters.
Kurama's voice echoed out perfectly, ventriloquism-style, without it opening its mouth. "That's a code."
"Huh? Not English?"
Kurama sighed.
About 55 years ago, just after Konoha's founding, a rift appeared in the sky above the Fire Capital. Several strange objects fell through—iron pipes, wooden boards, a few books… and two cats named Ginger and Fish Cake.
The books were deciphered and turned into a codified language. Over time, other nations adopted it too. Konoha eventually swapped to a different cipher.
"…Are the cats still alive?" Naruto asked, wide-eyed. Somehow, that was what fascinated him.
"Yes. They live in the Land of Fire." Kurama sighed again. This Jinchūriki was exhausting. One moment he wanted to learn writing, the next he was obsessed with cats.
"Brat, are you going to learn or not?" Kurama was more interested in earning that meat. It had probably been centuries since it last had grilled anything.
"I'm ready!" Naruto stood at attention.
"I'll only say it once. You better remember."
Naruto whispered to himself like a director, "Scene One: Bad Student Teases Teacher Nine. Take One. Action."
Kurama read the characters aloud in order, and Naruto marked their pronunciation beneath in crude Roman letters.
It was like an elementary-school flashback—only this time, the student was Naruto, and the teacher was a grumpy, ancient, chakra-devouring fox.
But he didn't care about proper pronunciation for now.
As long as he could read it, it was enough.