NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 15: Chapter 15
Chapter 15: Of Atoms, Madness, and Mortality
Night had crept over the Uzumaki household like a cat with velvet paws, soft and silent, until the only thing left was the warm golden glow from the living room windows and the bubbling chatter inside. The smell of roasted miso, grilled fish, and something suspiciously cinnamon-y still lingered in the air, a testament to a hearty meal that had stretched everyone's stomachs and, in Boruto's case, apparently his patience too.
Boruto sat on the floor, looking like someone who'd had a disagreement with a thundercloud—and lost. His clothes were scorched at the edges, his hair had decided to rebel in five different directions, and the faint static crackling around his fingertips suggested he'd been the main attraction in a lightning trial.
"You look like a burnt raisin," Himawari quipped sweetly from her place on the sofa, swinging her legs innocently.
"I feel like a burnt raisin," Boruto muttered. "And I think I just met my pain tolerance. Spoiler: it's lower than I thought."
But if lightning had chewed him up and spat him back out, it had done so with results. Underneath the ash and agony, a spark had taken root—both literally and metaphorically. His chakra had shifted, matured, like grapes into wine or… well, raisins into something more useful.
Then came Kawaki, dramatically late, as usual, and suspiciously not scorched. Instead, he had brought a guest—Bette Sans Souci, also known in whispered headlines as Plastique. Her power? Making things go boom with a touch. She looked oddly serene for someone who could turn your teacup into a landmine.
Kawaki, for his part, looked proud, if a bit smug. "Figured someone like her could help us evolve the clan's combat potential."
Naruto, who had been lounging like a sleepy lion until now, sat up, eyes gleaming. "Brilliant thinking," he said, clapping Kawaki on the shoulder hard enough to nearly knock him into the next room. "Meta-human adaptability with clan reinforcement potential. This—this is exactly the kind of initiative that makes a leader."
Kawaki, despite himself, straightened. Himawari, ever the mischief maker, whispered, "Still came last in the mission though."
"Priorities," Kawaki shot back, lifting his chin. "I was thinking long-term."
"Oh, I definitely had more fun," Hima said, tossing her hair like a victorious queen. "And the city definitely knows my name better now."
Even Naruto couldn't help but laugh. "Alright, alright—enough gloating."
He stood then, radiating the sort of calm power that made even the lights seem to flicker in attention. The room quieted instantly. The teasing vanished. Even Harley (who had been balancing a spoon on her nose) blinked up with curious interest.
"You've all done better today," Naruto began, his voice calm and rich with pride, "Mistakes were made, of course, but growth doesn't come without them. What matters is what you learn. And because of that, I've decided to give you something rare."
The room collectively held its breath.
Naruto smiled—and it was the kind of smile that made legends lean in.
"This technique is called Uzumaki Style: Dragon's Ascension."
Boruto's jaw dropped. Kawaki leaned forward. Plastique raised an eyebrow. Himawari's eyes sparkled like fireworks in July. Even Harley stopped humming to herself.
"At first," Naruto continued, "it will feel like you're getting weaker. Like something's being taken from you. But in truth, it will refine your chakra—turning your energy into something... far beyond what your current limits allow."
He lifted one hand, and a soft hum filled the room as gold-red chakra flickered in the air like starlight in syrup.
"Every drop of chakra you'll use after learning this will be worth hundreds of your current self. You'll shed the shell of your bloodline... and step into something greater."
There was silence.
And then—
"WOOHOO!" Himawari practically flew across the room, tackling Naruto with a hug and planting a kiss on his cheek. "Dad, you're the best!"
Boruto looked dazed. "A thousand times stronger...?"
Kawaki, ever the pragmatist, narrowed his eyes. "And the catch?"
Naruto winked. "Only your willpower."
From behind the sofa, Harley gave a slow clap. "Y'know, if this whole Hokage business doesn't work out, you'd make a brilliant cult leader, Mister Uzumaki."
"Not a cult," Naruto said cheerfully. "Just family."
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The room went very quiet, save for the soft hum of the ceiling fan, which now felt vastly underqualified to cool the tension in the air.
Naruto stood there like a professor in mid-lecture — part philosopher, part warrior, and part slightly chaotic motivational speaker. He was backlit by the sunlight pouring in through the wide windows, his golden hair practically glowing, and the small but clearly amazed group in front of him resembled nothing less than students on the receiving end of a particularly alarming announcement at Hogwarts.
"Calm down," he said with a smile that was somehow both reassuring and deeply unnerving. "Because there's more."
A faint gulp escaped from Boruto — who, to be fair, had already been emotionally overdrawn for the past ten minutes — and Himawari instinctively grabbed a pen, because if this was going to be a class, she was not going to fail it.
"You will now be learning how to eat," Naruto began cheerfully, as if this was not a perfectly absurd sentence.
There was a collective pause — the sort that occurs when an entire room full of people suddenly begins to question their grasp of basic reality.
"Yes. Eat." He folded his arms, his tone becoming grander, his chin lifting as if delivering the ancient laws of some long-forgotten martial order. "Specifically, you will eat the Akimichi Style: Perfect Body Art."
Bette's eyes narrowed. "That sounds suspiciously like a diet plan."
Harley raised a hand. "Do we get cheat days?"
Naruto gave them both a look of deep, paternal disappointment, like a dad whose children had just insulted his favorite barbecue sauce.
"This isn't a diet," he said, dramatically enough to warrant a flash of lightning if there'd been one handy. "This is a path to transcendence. The Perfect Body is only the first step. It's how we train muscle to its most efficient, terrifying, and aesthetically pleasing form. You're going to learn how to convert your body into pink muscle."
Boruto blinked. "Wait, like… the color pink?"
"Pink muscle?" Bette echoed. "Is that a real thing or a K-pop group?"
Naruto sighed deeply and turned his gaze toward the ceiling, the way wise teachers sometimes did when faced with a particularly slow batch of students.
"Pink muscle," he explained, slipping into a tone that would've made Hermione Granger proud, "is the blend of two elite muscle types — Type 1 and Type 2x. Slow-twitch and super-fast twitch. Strength and stamina. It's what happens when your body stops asking, 'Can I?' and starts saying, 'Watch me punch a mountain in half.'"
There was silence.
Then Kawaki whispered, "That's… awesome."
"Yes," Naruto agreed. "Yes, it is. But that's not even the best part."
Harley, who was still somehow twirling a lollipop she had not had two minutes ago, raised an eyebrow. "Oh, do go on, Mister Uzumaki."
Naruto's eyes twinkled. "Once you've mastered the Perfect Body, you'll learn Uzumaki Style: Celestial Devourer."
Bette stared. "Devourer?! Of what, exactly?"
Naruto's smile widened into a grin that made absolutely no one feel safer.
"Natural energy. You'll eat the universe."
"Eat the what now?" Boruto looked faint.
Naruto pointed at the sky. "The universe. Stars. Wind. Sunlight. The quiet humming in between atoms. You'll draw it in with your breath. Feed your body directly with the essence of the cosmos. And that way—" he snapped his fingers, "no more lunch money required."
A long beat passed.
"Is that… hygienic?" Harley asked.
"Forget hygienic," Bette muttered. "I'm trying to wrap my head around the part where we're turning into muscle-bound celestial vacuums."
"And that—" Naruto clapped his hands like a schoolteacher concluding a lesson, "is what gets you ready for the next phase of training: refining your cells to the point where your punch could literally break the planet in half."
Himawari fainted. Just a little.
Boruto's mouth was still open in stunned horror and awe.
Even Kawaki, who had seen enough violence to last several lifetimes, looked like he was reevaluating the very concept of gravity.
The women, for their part, were somewhere between curious, horrified, and a little too interested in whether pink muscle had any aesthetic perks.
It wasn't just training anymore. It was spiritual evolution… with biceps.
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The moon hung like a curious spectator in the inky sky, peering down through the windows of the Uzumaki household, where the living room buzzed with the kind of electric tension only Naruto could summon after dinner.
It had started innocently enough—family time, full bellies, a little bickering about who got more dumplings—but then came the training announcement.
Now the atmosphere had thickened like over-whisked custard.
"Father, you can actually do that?" Kawaki asked, his voice somewhere between disbelief and awe. He'd seen his father take down enemies that could level cities, yes—but cracking a planet like an overripe melon? Without even using a power-up?
Naruto, sitting in a comfortable yet regal sprawl across the plush orange settee, raised a brow and offered a lopsided grin. "Of course. And that isn't even the limit."
Boruto, who had been trying to sip water without dribbling from the bruises lining his jaw, nearly dropped his glass. "Tch, and you call us dramatic…"
Naruto, undeterred, leaned forward and tapped a knuckle against Kawaki's forehead, making a thunk. "But it's not about raw strength, lads. It's about control. Discipline. Pain. You have healing abilities, yes—but what's the point if you get paralysed every time you're punched in the gut? If you can't fight through the agony, then all that fancy regeneration's just for show."
There was a silence, thoughtful and mildly terrified.
"From now on," Naruto declared, "you'll train with me. Kawaki's already handled part of it today—Boruto did the other part this afternoon. Tonight, you'll switch. And Himawari…"
All heads turned to the small, smiling figure sipping tea from a mug that read #1 Princess.
"…you'll do both parts."
Hinata, who had been quietly observing from beside a pot of flowering lilies, raised a delicate brow. "Dear?"
"No, she needs this. We can't be too protective."
"You say that like you're not the one who turned into a frog once just to spy on her field trip."
"I was disguised," Naruto replied with wounded pride. "And that frog had a valid license."
Hinata sighed and squeezed his hand with the affectionate menace only a long-married woman could summon. "Fine. But don't come crying to me when she refuses to speak to you for a week."
At that, Harley—dangling upside down from the rafters like an excitable bat—and Selena, who was sharpening her nails on a whetstone with perfect feline grace, both shot a glance at Himawari.
"Father, can they join?" she asked sweetly, gesturing toward her chaotic companions.
Harley immediately shook her head so vigorously her twin pigtails turned into windmills. "Uh-uh, pumpkin. I like my limbs attached."
"No," Naruto said with finality. "You are responsible for them."
"Okay," Himawari replied cheerfully, as though babysitting two unpredictable wildcards during a sparring match with the planet's strongest ninja was no more taxing than a trip to the bakery.
Naruto stood. The floor itself seemed to adjust to his rising. He extended an arm, and with a subtle chakra pulse, a door shimmered into existence beside the family's bookshelf. It opened with a hiss and a glow.
"Pick your weapons," he instructed. "Boruto. Kawaki. Inside."
Without a word, the boys slipped into the chamber. It was more than just an armoury—it was an ancestral archive of war, history, and craft. Weapons hummed with chakra, blades whispered names of previous wielders, and armor sets adjusted themselves as though eager for a new owner.
"Choose wisely," Naruto called after them, "or suffer the consequences."
Meanwhile, Himawari vanished in a puff of petals—reappearing in the sparring dome with her two clones, Selena, and Harley now behind her. She turned toward her father, rolling her sleeves with the kind of smile that said: Yes, I made cookies earlier. No, I will not be going easy on you.
Back in the living room, Hinata looked down at the cushion where Naruto had been sitting moments ago.
"Do you think it's wise to let them choose their weapons unsupervised?"
Naruto's voice echoed distantly, carried by a smug breeze. "They'll be fine! Probably. Mostly."
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There were many things Naruto Uzumaki could be accused of—recklessness, heroism, stubbornness, even being a bit of a show-off. But one accusation stood undefeated above all else: he was spectacularly, fantastically bonkers when it came to self-improvement.
After all, what kind of man looks at his already Immortal like strength, his regenerative prowess that made him more resilient than a cockroach in a nuclear bunker, and says, "Hmm. Not enough. Let's turn my atoms into Stars."
Madness? Perhaps. Genius? Definitely. Dangerous? Undoubtedly. But this was Naruto, and he never did anything halfway.
It all began with a maddeningly simple question—one of those thoughts that slinks into your mind at midnight when you're not quite asleep and your sense of reason has gone on holiday:
"If my body is made of countless tiny particles… why not make each one stronger?"
Of course, normal people would dismiss such a notion. They might, at most, have a glass of warm milk and turn over in bed. Naruto, however, decided to rebuild himself. On a cellular level. With help.
Orochimaru, who had probably been waiting his entire life for such an unhinged project, was practically giddy. Tsunade joined in, shaking her head in despair but never quite able to resist a challenge—especially one that required her medical expertise. And then there was Lee, who didn't fully understand the science but yelled supportive things like "Youthful atoms, Naruto-kun!" and brought protein shakes.
What followed was a three-year experiment that could be best described as equal parts brilliance and utter lunacy.
Naruto began converting the atoms of his body into an entirely new kind—stronger, more durable, practically divine. Each one was reforged like a microscopic sword. The pain was unimaginable. At one point, his body collapsed into what could only be described as a chakra-flavored puddle, and it took a full two hours for his regeneration to reassemble him into something vaguely human-shaped.
And yet, it worked. It actually worked.
He had successfully converted a five percent of his body. Just 5%.
But that five percent gave him enough power to, say, crush a planet without much thought. Or, as one ill-advised experiment proved, obliterate an entire solar system with a sneeze-level effort.
It also, unfortunately, brought him very close to death.
Because you see, when your body isn't meant to house cosmic-level particles, even the best regeneration struggles to keep the atoms from turning to dust out of sheer exhaustion.
Naruto had absorbed Momoshiki and Isshiki—gaining immense chakra, regeneration, and power—but it was like pouring rocket fuel into a candle. The flame burned brighter… and shorter.
Tsunade had been furious. Orochimaru had taken notes. Hinata had nearly throttled him with a kitchen spoon. Lee cried manly tears and offered to carry Naruto everywhere.
And so, with only 5% of his atoms transformed and the rest of his body practically begging for retirement, Naruto made a decision: no more full power.
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The Uzumaki household was unusually quiet for a Wednesday evening—if one ignored the occasional rumble of chakra pulses, the melodic purring of content house cats (most of them summoned creatures lounging on the ceiling), and the faint hum of Hinata's training seals glowing like lazy fireflies around the room.
In the very center of this tranquil chaos sat the couple themselves, wrapped up not only in each other but in layers of blankets and chakra fields, as if defying both the cold and the very laws of shinobi decorum.
Naruto, Seventh Hokage, Hero of the Fourth Great Ninja War, occasional destroyer of solar systems (entirely by accident), had found a most formidable opponent—peace and free time.
His arms were loosely coiled around Hinata, who nestled between his legs on the broad sofa. She leaned into him, serene, ethereal, as if sculpted from moonlight. His chakra pulsed through her body—not in battle, not for war, but something more intimate and essential: alignment, harmony, a quiet sharing of strength.
It tingled in her veins, warm and pleasant like stepping into sunlight after rain.
"How's your training coming along, love?" Naruto murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple, his voice a soft breeze against her skin.
Hinata exhaled slowly, her eyes half-lidded with comfort. "Steady," she said, "though I admit, it's like knitting a blanket while walking a tightrope. We're not sure what we're making, and one wrong move and—poof."
"Poof?" Naruto raised an eyebrow.
"Boom," she corrected.
"Much better." He chuckled, rubbing gentle circles on her palm. "Still feels wrong though. For me to even think about hurting you…"
"Someone has to." Hinata's voice was calm, her tone light despite the subject. "And I'd rather it be you than… well, anyone else. You'll flinch adorably every time."
Naruto groaned dramatically. "Cruel woman. Must you delight in my torment?"
Hinata leaned her head back against his shoulder, smirking. "I'm just getting even. I've seen the way you vanish for weeks, come back glowing like a mini-sun, and pretend you haven't just invented a jutsu that'll shave five years off your life."
"That was one time," Naruto muttered.
"One solar system."
Naruto had the decency to look sheepish. "Details."
She lifted his hand and kissed the tips of his fingers—slender and calloused, hands that had built bridges, punched Immortals, and now trembled at the idea of sparring with his wife.
"But I'll do it," he said at last. "If it helps you ascend. If it gets us closer to being free of these ticking time bombs in our bodies…"
"It will," she replied. "We'll do it together. Even if it hurts."
There was a long pause, filled with nothing but the ticking of the wall clock and the whisper of chakra stabilizing between them.
"You know," Naruto said after a while, twirling a lock of her hair between his fingers, "sometimes I wonder if this is all a dream. You, me, the kids, the peace…"
"Then let's never wake up," Hinata whispered, her smile small and luminous, like the first light of dawn.
And as Naruto tucked his face into the curve of her neck, his breath soft against her skin, he felt it too—that shimmer of unreality, the magic of second chances, and the quiet promise that even in a world of dragons, Immortals, and devoured suns… this was the only power that truly mattered.
Love.
And maybe, just maybe, well-coordinated couple's sparring.