Two Worlds, One Life: Naruto and Marvel Cinematic Universe

Isamu had just returned from his Soul Space with a pleased smirk. Rather than subtly skimming bits of food, he'd decisively emptied one of the Akimichi clan's food storages in a single, efficient raid. Shelves previously filled with preserved meats, nutrient-rich rice, chakra-enhancing vegetables, and dense snacks now stood starkly bare, as if stripped clean by an invisible storm.

He wasn't overly concerned about the clan's supplies—after all, the Akimichi held a near-monopoly on chakra-enhancing food pills, providing a steady, lucrative income. Their products didn't just feed Konoha shinobi but also brought profits from allied villages, merchants, and neighboring lands. Nutritional dominance was foundational to their powerful clan jutsu and their continued prosperity.

Mathias observed Isamu's actions with amused interest, leaning casually against one of the sleek consoles.

"You don't feel even slightly guilty about stealing from your own clan?" Mathias asked lightly.

Isamu shrugged casually. "Not really. They'll definitely investigate, but they'll never find anything."

Mathias chuckled softly, shaking his head at Isamu's bold confidence.

However, Isamu's satisfaction dimmed when he turned toward the battle simulator and the fuinjutsu trainer. Both machines now displayed softly blinking messages he hadn't seen before.

"What's this? Limits?"

Mathias glanced over, pretending mild surprise. "Oh, right—I forgot to mention. Each machine gives you exactly one year of free usage, limited to two free hours per machine every twenty-four hours spent here in the Soul Space. After that, you'll need to recharge them with ryo."

Isamu eyed him suspiciously. "Exactly how much ryo are we talking?"

Mathias smiled cryptically. "That entirely depends on how much you happen to have at the time."

"And you're just mentioning this now because…?"

Mathias shrugged cheerfully. "Honestly, it slipped my mind."

Sighing with mild frustration, Isamu quickly began strategizing ways to earn steady income—missions, side hustles, or whatever was necessary—to ensure his progress wasn't hampered by financial constraints.

He then glanced over at the healing pod, noticing yet another blinking notice. Reading carefully, Isamu discovered it had its own distinct limitation: exactly one year's worth of free usage, at a maximum rate of one session every seventy-two hours. Doing the math, he realized he'd have exactly 121 free healing sessions before having to pay for continued use.

He cast a sidelong glare at Mathias, who simply grinned back, completely unapologetic.

Isamu had devised a new strategy—he would alternate days between his regular life and fully immersing himself in his Soul Space. With time completely stopped outside and no aging while he was inside, he intended to fully capitalize on his free year's worth of simulator use, especially given how quickly the war was approaching.

The Academy had already been running for about two months, steadily improving with increasingly practical and challenging training. The first significant class test was scheduled in a month's time, just before their upcoming two-week break.

Once that break ended, Isamu planned to fully commit to this alternating routine. His primary focus was the battle simulator, as he urgently needed more accurate copies of his sparring partners. Currently, the simulated Guy and Duy stood at only around fifty percent synchronization—Mathias explained that this was because the real Guy and Duy had been deliberately holding back during their training sessions.

Determined to improve these simulations, Isamu had directly requested Guy and Duy to hold back far less. Initially hesitant, they'd exchanged uncertain looks, clearly unsure. But Isamu had pressed the issue by openly mentioning the looming war—a topic everyone recognized yet rarely spoke about openly. His insistence eventually won them over, and now Guy's synchronization had risen to seventy-two percent, while Duy reached sixty-four percent.

His classmates were similarly improving, their simulations now ranging between sixty to eighty percent accuracy thanks to the introduction of sparring sessions three times per week.

The exception was Shisui, whose synchronization had remained stubbornly low at forty-two percent.

It was clear to Isamu that Shisui had been deliberately holding back in class—but today, Isamu intended to change that.

Isamu realized he'd also been holding himself back, intentionally placing restrictions on his tactics and strength to deepen his fundamentals. But not anymore. Sparring at the Academy was strictly limited to taijutsu—no jutsu permitted. That restriction meant he could only achieve about seventy percent synchronization in the simulator, as true accuracy required seeing an opponent's full capabilities.

If he genuinely wanted accurate simulations, he'd need to provoke, inspire, or encourage his classmates into real spars outside of Academy grounds, where they could freely use their jutsu. It was time they started taking things seriously. This was the elite class, after all—filled with students who would eventually become jonin, essential pillars for Konoha's strength, especially in wartime.

Additionally, Isamu had already begun seeking sparring matches with clan members outside of class, specifically targeting chunin-level shinobi. He'd developed a reputation around the Akimichi compound as somewhat troublesome, but he'd successfully managed to achieve an eighty-two percent synchronization with one clan chunin who finally unleashed his true capabilities.

It was a strategy he knew could work. With newfound determination, Isamu stepped onto the sparring grounds, ready to push his classmates beyond their self-imposed limits.

Today, he'd hold nothing back.

Isamu stood quietly, anticipation coursing through him as he waited for his name to be called. Across the sparring grounds, he felt a piercing gaze settle on him. Turning slightly, he met Shisui's eyes steadily. Neither looked away, each silently sizing the other up, until finally Isamu returned his focus to the ongoing match, just in time to see it conclude. The two participants performed the sign of unison—a respectful hand gesture used between shinobi to acknowledge camaraderie and mutual respect after a spar—and rejoined the class.

Their instructor, Daikoku Funeno, glanced thoughtfully across the assembled students. He gestured to Isamu and an unfamiliar Nara boy, motioning them forward. Isamu stepped calmly into position, facing his opponent, who adopted a cautious, defensive stance characteristic of his clan.

Daikoku raised his hand briefly, then sharply dropped it. "Begin!"

In an instant, Isamu burst forward, closing the distance in two swift strides. The Nara boy's eyes widened slightly, but before he could fully react, Isamu dropped low, pivoting gracefully on one leg into a perfectly timed sweep—a technique he'd practiced relentlessly under Guy's meticulous instruction. The maneuver was precise and quick, catching his opponent completely off-guard. Isamu felt the satisfying impact of his shin connecting cleanly with the Nara boy's ankles, immediately robbing him of balance and sending him sprawling backward.

Without losing momentum, Isamu followed through. In one seamless, fluid motion, he twisted his body sharply, using the rotational force of the sweep to propel himself upward into the air. His body rotated fully, his other leg now arcing overhead in a clean, descending crescent aimed directly downward. It was an advanced, two-step move Guy had drilled into him repeatedly, teaching him that if the first strike landed, the second became almost impossible to evade.

The Nara boy landed hard, looking up just in time to see Isamu's foot swiftly descending toward his face. He froze instinctively, fully expecting the strike to land, only to see Isamu halt his momentum cleanly, his foot stopping just inches from his head. The controlled strike left nothing more than a faint mark in the packed dirt, evidence of Isamu's skill and restraint.

A collective silence settled over the sparring grounds.

Breathing evenly, Isamu slowly lowered his foot and straightened, extending a hand to help the stunned Nara boy up. Reluctantly accepting, the boy stood, irritation clear in his expression, though mixed with unmistakable respect for the skill he'd just witnessed. Wordlessly, they performed the sign of unison.

Returning to his place among the students, Isamu again felt Shisui's steady gaze following him, along with the curious eyes of his classmates. This time, the silence lingered noticeably longer, punctuated only by quiet murmurs.

samu watched quietly as several more spars took place, carefully studying his classmates' movements and techniques. When Daikoku Funeno finally called his name again, Isamu stepped forward, calmly taking his place opposite another Akimichi clansman. The boy facing him was large-framed and sturdy for their age, shoulders broad, already beginning to show the physical bulk that defined their clan. He gave Isamu a confident, slightly cocky smile, smacking his fist into his open palm with an audible thud as if signaling his readiness.

"You ready for this, Isamu?" he called, a hint of friendly challenge in his voice.

Isamu nodded calmly, meeting the boy's gaze evenly. "Always."

Daikoku raised his hand briefly, then sharply dropped it. "Begin!"

The young Akimichi lunged forward instantly, his movements powerful but predictable. Isamu swiftly sidestepped, smoothly avoiding the forceful punch that rushed past his shoulder. Using the momentum of his evasion, Isamu pivoted sharply, driving his fist decisively into the other boy's exposed ribs.

A clear thud echoed sharply across the training grounds, prompting a few murmurs from their classmates. Unlike in anime spars he'd once watched, real combat at the academy was rougher, more painful, and frequently left bruises or scrapes. Medical-nin trainees stood at the sidelines, always ready to tend to minor injuries immediately.

The Akimichi boy stumbled backward, dropping heavily onto one knee as he gasped sharply, clutching his side. Face reddening in both pain and embarrassment, he muttered irritably, "Lucky hit…"

Isamu stood back, calmly allowing him a moment to recover. The boy rose unsteadily, glaring with stubborn defiance as he rushed forward once more. Anticipating this, Isamu seamlessly transitioned from strength to agile fluidity, smoothly retreating and positioning himself carefully. As his opponent swung again, Isamu suddenly executed a swift and controlled backflip, his foot arching upward rapidly.

The top of Isamu's foot connected perfectly with the underside of his clansman's jaw, knocking the boy's head sharply upward and backward. The impact sent him sprawling heavily onto his back in a cloud of dust, momentarily stunned.

Immediately, two medical trainees hurried forward, quickly kneeling beside the fallen Akimichi to check on him. After confirming nothing was seriously injured, they stepped away, letting him recover his senses.

Slowly standing, the defeated Akimichi shot Isamu a resentful glare but said nothing further. Reluctantly, they faced each other and performed the sign of unison, acknowledging their spar with the customary respect, though the larger boy's irritation was plainly visible.

Walking quietly back to his spot, Isamu briefly wondered if his opponent had an older sibling—someone stronger, maybe even chunin-level—who might feel compelled to teach Isamu a lesson later.

For good measure, Isamu flashed a playful, deliberate wink at the Akimichi boy as he walked past him. The boy's face instantly flushed red, embarrassment quickly morphing into simmering anger. Isamu smiled inwardly—good. Anger was exactly what he wanted.

He needed more spars, more intensity, and deeper synchronization. Only by provoking genuine emotion and forcing opponents to fight at their true capability could he maximize the value of each match.

After that, Isamu didn't get called for any more spars. Lame!

When the academy finally ended for the day, he immediately headed toward the nearby woods, determined to make the most of his remaining time. He planned specifically to improve chakra control and further refine his jutsu—both critical areas to strengthen as the war drew closer.

Finding a suitably tall and sturdy tree, Isamu removed his shirt, revealing his naturally thicker build typical of an Akimichi child—solid, rounded, and softened by childhood fat. Yet unlike most clan members, whose bulk resulted solely from caloric intake and strength-based training, Isamu already showed subtle hints of muscular definition. His careful attention to chakra control, combined with rigorous conditioning and balanced nutrition, had begun shaping his physique in unique ways.

Taking a slow, measured breath, Isamu carefully focused chakra into the soles of his feet. Surface adherence—the fundamental shinobi exercise of controlling chakra flow to climb vertical surfaces—was crucial for efficient chakra usage, balance, and precision during combat.

Before ascending, he placed a single leaf firmly against his forehead, holding it in place solely with chakra. Maintaining this additional point of chakra control was challenging, but Isamu's exceptionally strong soul granted him heightened concentration and stability. He'd spent considerable time and dedication practicing this technique on much shorter trees until he could consistently maintain both the leaf and his footing. If the clan elders could see him now, they'd surely be impressed by the complexity of his training regimen and his remarkable dedication.

With careful precision, Isamu walked steadily upward along the tree's rough bark, eventually reaching a thick, sturdy branch high enough to comfortably hold his weight. Calmly, he inverted himself, carefully anchoring himself upside down with flawless chakra control through his feet. The leaf remained securely pressed to his forehead, unmoving.

Slowly and methodically, Isamu began performing cross-extension toe-touches, deliberately holding each fully extended pose. He'd adapted this particular exercise from yoga—a discipline he'd learned about in another lifetime—and integrated it seamlessly into his training. The movements directly enhanced his core strength, flexibility, balance, and most critically, his chakra control.

As Isamu continued carefully through each repetition, breathing deeply and evenly, he could already feel subtle improvements in chakra precision and muscular stability. He aimed to master such advanced control until these complex techniques became instinctive, second nature during combat.

Isamu's muscles trembled sharply, an involuntary reaction to the strain of holding each extension. His breathing deepened and grew deliberately measured, lungs expanding fully to counteract the burning ache spreading relentlessly through his abdomen, lower back, and legs. The sensation intensified gradually, beginning as a slow, warm fatigue, then transforming into a fierce internal fire that demanded release.

Sweat slowly dripped down his face, trailing lightly over his forehead and mingling with the chakra-anchored leaf he stubbornly kept in place. Every fiber in his body pleaded for relief, urging him to give in to gravity, to ease away from the burning pressure. Yet his mind remained unyielding, pushing resolutely forward—forcing his body to remain suspended and perfectly extended.

These were exactly the moments he lived for: the razor-thin line between surrender and strength. The barrier that separated those who merely dreamed of power from those who actively seized it. He fought his internal battle fiercely, meeting his pain head-on, reveling in each tiny victory of willpower over fatigue. He remembered Arnold Schwarzenegger's words from another lifetime, likening the intense satisfaction of lifting to something primal and euphoric. Isamu understood this perfectly—he savored this relentless struggle, this powerful sensation of conquering his own limits, day after relentless day.

Isamu finally let the chakra at his feet dissipate, releasing himself from the branch above. He began to fall, eyes closed, allowing gravity to pull him swiftly downward. Around him were painted targets scattered strategically among the trees—set up precisely for this exercise. Without opening his eyes, he swiftly reached into his equipment pouch, fingers finding the cool metal of his shuriken.

He had always possessed a sharp spatial awareness, even in his previous life. Now, enhanced by the powerful strength of his soul, his perception and awareness of his environment were sharper and clearer than ever. As he plummeted toward the forest floor, he began throwing shuriken two at a time, his movements fluid and instinctual, his mind perfectly visualizing each target's position despite his closed eyes.

Twenty targets in total—each requiring split-second precision and absolute trust in his senses.

As he neared the ground, he shifted his body instinctively, smoothly repositioning his feet beneath him. With a controlled exhale, he landed securely on the balls of his feet and opened his eyes, immediately surveying the results.

Fourteen bullseyes, five more strikes on the painted areas surrounding the bullseyes, and one shuriken embedded in the bark of a tree—close, but definitely a miss.

Isamu's expression darkened briefly as he analyzed each missed throw. He closed his eyes again, carefully internalizing his movements, retracing the exact adjustments he'd need to correct his mistakes. To him, anything less than absolute perfection felt like complete failure. He would accept nothing but excellence.

Taking a slow breath to steady his irritation, he reached into his pack and pulled out a snack he'd brought from home, quickly replenishing his energy. Once finished, he stood calmly, ready to move on to practicing his clan's jutsu and the earth techniques he was determined to master next.

Isamu stood up slowly, brushing crumbs from his hands, and turned calmly to see Shisui now standing nearby. Shisui hadn't tried to sneak up—Isamu had clearly felt him approaching from some distance away. He often sensed people like this, though he wasn't entirely sure whether it was intuition from his past life or an effect of his strengthened soul. Either way, he'd learned to trust these feelings.

The two boys quietly made eye contact, each silently sizing up the other. What exactly did Shisui want?

As Isamu studied him, his mind drifted immediately to his battle simulator, and he felt an eager excitement start to build. A spar would be perfect! Better synchronization!

He couldn't suppress the grin that slowly spread across his face, his eyes brightening with anticipation at the possibility.