High Ping Warrior
If a person gets sentimental enough, they can cry for half an hour just from hearing a single song.
Naruto had been acting a little pretentious yesterday, trying to blend in with his classmates. But he quickly realized he couldn't connect with them deeply.
For example, when the school bell rang, Naruto would listen to a group chatting about their daily lives—but he could barely get a word in. They'd talk about flowers, which class had the most handsome boys, or what they'd eat for dinner.
What was Naruto supposed to add to that conversation?
"Hey, do you think the Nine-Tails gets a perm when it drinks too much sake?"
Or maybe—"You know, the anime 'Naruto' is really good. Let me spoil the entire plot for you!"
Yeah. That'd scare the kids.
So, with no other option, Naruto rested his chin in his hands like Shikamaru and stared up at the sky.
Shikamaru, with his genius IQ and shogi skills, looked every bit the part of someone who could outthink a Hokage—but also someone who couldn't care less about anything that required effort.
Thinking of shogi made Naruto suddenly remember Douluo Dalu from his previous life. He shook his head quickly. Stop it. You're getting pretentious again.
By the way… maybe he could find something for the Nine-Tails to do.
Naruto thought it was a solid idea. If he kept letting the fox laze around like this, one day it'd slap its belly and accidentally fire a blank tailed-beast bomb.
"Oi, Shikamaru," Naruto called.
"Hm?" Shikamaru lazily half-opened his eyes. He didn't look like a nine-year-old—more like an 18-year-old who had just discovered adulthood and had already been disappointed by it twelve times in a row.
"I heard you're good at chess?" Naruto asked, tilting his head.
He'd heard that from Asuma.
"It's okay," Shikamaru replied in that same sluggish tone.
"Then could you bring me a book on shogi tomorrow?" Naruto asked. Honestly, he had only watched the loli scenes from Ryuuou no Oshigoto! in his past life and didn't know the actual rules.
"This is such a drag," Shikamaru sighed. He'd have to find the book, answer his parents' questions about why he needed it, deal with his mom complaining about his laziness, and hear his dad getting blamed for no reason halfway through the argument.
"Thanks," Naruto said simply. If Shikamaru couldn't do it, he'd just say so. But if he said it was troublesome, that meant he could do it—he just didn't want to. The guy could calculate the spread of a fart's smell, but he was too lazy to move away and would just let himself get smoked out.
Everyone in Konoha is weird. Why do you think that is?
Before class, Naruto returned to his seat and began a large-scale "construction project" in his mental space.
First, he needed a mold. Given the Nine-Tails' size, the chess pieces would have to be measured in square meters. He planned to make the board four meters by two and a half.
While Naruto hammered away at the mold, the Nine-Tails was busy drinking cola from a pool that somehow had a layer of unmelted ice at the bottom, violating several laws of thermodynamics. The oil lamp burning beside it was prying open the coffin of Physics itself. Newton's ashes were probably shaking somewhere.
Sipping ice-cold cola and hot liquor back-to-back felt like living in the world of ice and fire.
Naruto had to admit—the Nine-Tails was getting better at having fun. He was just a few steps away from forging himself a massive greatsword.
The fox didn't really care what Naruto was doing. The brat made interesting things, sure, but they were always too weak to be useful.
It still hadn't forgiven him for nearly getting bitten to death by a dog.
After classes, Naruto and Sasuke trained together in the grove. At five, Naruto would pick up Hinata, escort her home at six-thirty, then drop Sasuke off near his street at nine.
Sasuke, of course, refused to leave early.
He trained recklessly now—no longer worrying about injuries. He knew Naruto's tone was always sharp, but his actions were quietly protective.
Kurama, on the other hand, kept his warnings blunt: "If he bites you again, I'll kill him."
---
The next day, Shikamaru handed Naruto the shogi book.
After thanking him, Naruto copied the rules onto a stone wall inside his mental space.
"Big fox, remember this," Naruto said.
"What is this?" the Nine-Tails asked, eyeing the board and the messy kanji written along the edges.
"Shogi. It's a game of strategy," Naruto explained.
"Oh," the fox replied, unimpressed. "Doesn't sound as fun as eating."
"I can't beat you in raw strength, so I'll try to beat you in brains," Naruto challenged.
The fox perked up immediately. "You want to challenge me? Fine, brat. I'll show you what a thousand years of cunning looks like."
Naruto smirked. Got him.
The board was ready, but there were no pieces yet—it took him three whole days just to make the first one.
Dragging the mithril chess piece in front of the Nine-Tails, Naruto realized he couldn't carve the words into it.
"Big fox, your turn," he said, handing over the mithril chisel.
"My handwriting's ugly," the Nine-Tails grumbled.
"Could it be worse than that?" Naruto pointed to the crooked letters he'd written as a child, complete with a mess of random English underneath.
The fox thought for a moment, then began carving while Naruto kept forging more pieces.
---
The next day, Sasuke—who had skipped class again to train—noticed Naruto moving strangely.
"You sick?" Sasuke asked.
Naruto was dragging a tree behind him, but pausing every couple of steps, moving like a ninja with 2000 ping lag.
"No," Naruto replied. "Just thinking about something."
He couldn't exactly say "I'm building a giant toy for the Nine-Tails."
Sasuke shrugged and went back to training. Naruto didn't look sick—he was still full of energy.
So why was he hospitalized last time…? Sasuke wondered.
He'd asked Naruto directly, but Naruto refused to answer.
It was too embarrassing to admit he was nearly killed by a dog.
---
After school, Naruto picked up Hinata for sparring.
Every time she collapsed from exhaustion, biting her lip and nervously twiddling her fingers, Naruto felt the urge to pinch her chubby cheeks.
One day, lag or not, he gave in and pinched them.
Her pale face was soft, warm, and ridiculously satisfying to squeeze.
"Hm…" The blush spread so quickly to her cheeks and neck that her brain forgot to get any blood supply at all—
and she fainted on the spot.