Naruto: Beyond The Dreamscape

In the weeks following her conversation with Madara Nii-san, Mayumi's attention had narrowed to a single focus—illusion-type Genjutsu.

Specifically, illusions tied to dreams.

She had thrown herself into it with quiet determination, letting everything else fade into the background. Dream-bound Genjutsu—if such a thing even existed.

But Takaro-sensei was far from pleased.

To him, this was the stage for building a strong foundation. Fundamentals were everything, and Mayumi, in his eyes, was skipping ahead.

"Genjutsu isn't going anywhere," he said, frowning. "Once your Sharingan awakens, it'll come to you easily enough. Why waste time chasing techniques you're not ready for?"

His tone held thinly veiled irritation.

He wasn't wrong. Not entirely.

Mayumi found herself hesitating. A part of her wondered whether she should confide in him—tell him about her strange, recurring dreams and the connection she suspected they held.

But in the end, she said nothing.

After all, she had no proof. Nothing concrete. Just a strange, half-formed instinct that even she couldn't fully explain.

And forging a new path, no matter how promising it might sound, was never easy. In reality, it was messy, uncertain, and often directionless—especially when there was no one to guide you, no footsteps to follow, and no map to lead the way.

Still, she wasn't entirely without resources.

Thanks to Madara Nii-san, she had gained access to an impressive collection of Genjutsu scrolls. Through them, she had studied widely—absorbing not only the fundamental principles but also the more intricate theories that underpinned the craft.

She now understood the foundations of illusion jutsu better than most adults in the clan. The principles of perception, the manipulation of chakra flow, the fine line between what was seen and what was believed.

By now, she had already mastered most C-rank and lower Genjutsu with practiced ease.

But dreams… dreams were something else entirely.

Dreams didn't follow the rules.

Dreams were shapeless. Formless. Elusive.

And she had no idea how to make use of them—no clue how to transform something so abstract into a tangible advantage.

So far, all she had discovered was this:

She might be able to enter the dreams of others.

But even that had happened by accident.

She had no control over it. No understanding of how to initiate it—or how to harness it.

Was this truly the beginning of a new ability?

She had no answers.

Or was it simply a strange coincidence—an illusion of power born from desperation?

She didn't know.

Not yet.

---

Mayumi stood motionless, eyes fixed on the sleeping cat nestled comfortably in the dappled shade.

He was a stray—white with pale yellow stripes, delightfully chubby, and utterly indifferent to the world. But to Mayumi, he was her favorite.

She had named him Nanako.

Lazy didn't even begin to describe him. He lived to eat, sleep, and occasionally yawn as if that were a task worth rewarding. And yet, his fur—unreasonably soft, like freshly laundered clouds—made him dangerously huggable.

Some clan members teased that he might be descended from the legendary ninja cat clan. That someday, his dormant bloodline might awaken and reveal a fearsome feline shinobi.

Mayumi had her doubts.

He was too lazy to bother standing up unless food was involved. And as far as she could tell, he didn't have even a speck of chakra in his body.

But clever? Oh, he was clever.

He could tell the difference between cheap fish and premium sashimi with a single sniff. He always found the warmest sunspots and comfiest cushions. And the way he carried himself? Like a tiny, overfed royal who believed the world owed him belly rubs.

But today, the royal would become a test subject.

Mayumi had a mission.

Her target: this pampered, plump, utterly spoiled cat.

She had already bribed him with food and pampered him with the coziest nap spot she could find. Now, with him deep in sleep, she made her move.

"Please, let this work," she whispered, closing her eyes.

Gently, she placed her fingers on his forehead. Her chakra stirred, spreading carefully. Then—faintly, barely there—she felt it: a sluggish, drowsy thread of chakra within him. Weak, but real.

She reached for it.

And the world changed.

---

She landed in the middle of a strange dream world.

And it was full of fish.

No—not just fish.

An endless procession of tuna.

Silvery, sleek tuna swimming in a long, perfectly straight line. Like soldiers marching in formation, they glided through the dream's sky-sea, their tails flicking in rhythmic unison, heading in a single direction.

Mayumi turned to see where they were going.

At the end of the line, lounging like a gluttonous king atop a velvet cushion the size of a hill, was an enormous Nanako.

Eyes half-lidded, mouth open in a dramatic yawn, he lay there doing absolutely nothing—just waiting.

One by one, like obedient servants, the tuna swam straight into his mouth.

"Wait…Is that me brushing his fur?"

Mayumi gawked.

There she was, dream-Mayumi, crouched dutifully beside the oversized cat, carefully brushing his yellow-striped fur like a personal maid.

He raised a lazy paw and pointed as if giving an order.

Without hesitation, dream-Mayumi stood up obediently, walked over to a nearby tray of neatly arranged meat, and picked up a tender cut of beef.

Then, with solemn grace, she knelt beside him, offering the meat with both hands like a sacred tribute.

He gave a lazy yawn and leaned in, accepting the offering with utter satisfaction—as if this were only natural.

Mayumi's mouth twitched.

"Gah! This fat furball—does he actually think I'm his servant?!"

Outraged, she cracked her knuckles and charged.

A second later, she launched herself onto his giant head and slammed her fist down with righteous fury.

The dream shattered into chaos.

Back in the real world, the spoiled cat instinctively reached up and clutched his little head, as if trying to soothe an ache that shouldn't exist.

In the dream, fuming Mayumi gave him a couple of firm pokes for good measure.

Then paused.

A wonderfully wicked idea bloomed in her mind.

Her eyes gleamed as she watched the long, organized line of tuna gliding toward him like a royal feast procession.

She smirked—slow, deliberate, and just a little evil.

"Oh, Nanako," she murmured, arms folded. "You love tuna that much, don't you? Then… you won't mind if it's a little spicy. And maybe… just a bit sour."

The unaware Nanako gradually calmed down after the attack ended. As if nothing had happened, yawned lazily like a pampered noble and opened his mouth again, awaiting his next bite.

The first tuna, now tinged a suspicious red, swam obediently into the gaping mouth.

Then the next.

And the next.

Nanako's expression changed after the third bite.

His eyes flew open.

His expression twisted into pure horror—something between betrayal and agony. He jerked upright, pupils dilating in slow-motion disbelief.

He tried to close his mouth.

But he couldn't.

The dream wouldn't let him.

One after another, the super spicy, sour, and nightmarishly pungent tuna stormed in—an unending, merciless parade of punishment, forcing their way into his helpless, gaping mouth.

From the sidelines, Mayumi couldn't take it anymore.

She threw her head back—

—and laughed.

Loud, uncontrollable, absolutely delighted laughter.

He flailed in place, caught between trying to scream and trying to chew, eyes bulged, swirling wildly with tears—an absurd storm of agony and regret—as if the sheer trauma of the taste had shattered his very will to live.

Mayumi wiped a tear from her eye, still laughing.

Truly, this was a dream worth remembering.

Ever since that little experiment, Nanako had been left with a deep, lingering trauma—one shaped like a chili-coated tuna.

Even the sight of regular tuna now made his tail twitch in suspicion.

Mayumi, feeling just a bit guilty about mentally scarring her favorite cat, tried to make it up to him. She offered the finest sashimi—fresh, delicate cuts that would've made most cats purr in delight.

But he only turned his head away with the tragic dignity of someone who had once trusted… and been betrayed.

Feeling a little guilty, Mayumi decided to set things right.

Slipping back into his dreams, she found him mid-panic—fur fluffed, eyes wild—as he fled from a mob of monstrous, flaming tuna. Their scales shimmered red, their eyes glowed like embers, and they moved like villains straight out of a food-themed horror story.

He ran in terrified circles, letting out pathetic little yowls as the spicy fish closed in.

Mayumi sighed.

Alright. Enough nightmare.

With a pulse of her chakra, the nightmare melted away. The fiery tuna vanished, replaced by a tranquil dreamscape—and in the center, a platter of his all-time favorite: glistening, juicy tuna, perfectly chilled and mouth-wateringly fragrant.

At first, Nanako stared at it with suspicion. His whiskers twitched. His tail flicked once.

But the scent was too tempting… and he was starving.

Slowly, cautiously, he approached. A sniff. A nibble. And then—abandoning all hesitation—he devoured the tuna with the desperate joy of a cat who hadn't eaten in days.

Mayumi smiled and knelt beside him, gently running her fingers through his fur.

After all, he was still her favorite.

Then something shifted.

From the mist of the dream, dream-Mayumi appeared, smiling and serene.

The chubby cat, now full and relaxed, was lazily stretched out like a tiny emperor. With one paw, he flicked a ball across the floor. Dream-Mayumi went chasing after it.

Mayumi blinked.

Wait… what?

Something was off.

Dream-Mayumi returned with the ball, placed it neatly in front of him, and waited obediently.

He flicked it again.

She fetched it again.

Real Mayumi stared and then narrowed her eyes.

"…Did this fat furball just turn me into his pet?"

The moment of tenderness evaporated.

With a thunderous glare, she stormed across the dreamscape and smacked him square on the forehead.

"Serves you right, you fat furball!" she growled.

---