You'd think after fighting monsters, training upside-down, and nearly getting eaten by a sea serpent, I'd be prepared for anything.
Nope.
Vermilion City hit me like a Rasengan to the face.
The second I stepped off the ship, I was pretty sure someone had swapped my reality with one of those futuristic manga Jiraiya secretly read when he thought I wasn't looking.
Everything was clean. The roads were smooth, the buildings had glass walls that glittered in the sun, and there were machines everywhere—vending machines, holographic signs, even robots carrying packages. Robots, like it was no big deal!
And don't even get me started on the Pokémon walking around like citizens. A Machoke in construction gear helped fix a lamp post. A floating purple gas cloud (Jiraiya called it Koffing, which felt a little on the nose) drifted lazily by while kids pointed and giggled. A Pikachu napped on a bench with a soda can next to it.
I clutched my bag tighter, feeling like some country bumpkin who just arrived in the big city. I was used to seeing Konoha as advanced—shady merchants, mission boards, and the occasional ninja tech were about as fancy as it got. But this? This looked like the future.
Jiraiya, of course, didn't even blink. "It's peaceful here," he said, stretching like he belonged on a beach vacation. "Last real war this region saw was over a thousand years ago. Most people don't even remember it."
I blinked. "You mean… like, no invasions? No demon foxes wrecking villages? No Sound or Rock or Cloud going for the throat?"
Jiraiya nodded. "Just minor disputes. They settled things with rules, trainers, and battles. Not assassinations and village-busting jutsu."
I looked around again—at the people smiling, the Pokémon playing, the shops bustling—and it hit me. This was what peace looked like.
No wonder they were so far ahead. They didn't waste all their time and chakra trying to blow each other up.
"Why didn't we do this back home?" I muttered.
Jiraiya gave me a look. "Because, Naruto, we have shinobi pride. And also a long, painful tradition of solving things with violence."
"…Oh."
We reached the customs gate, which looked more like a fancy train station than a ninja checkpoint. A smiling woman in a sleek uniform scanned our IDs with a weird beeping rectangle.
"Welcome to Kanto, visitors from the Land of Fire. Visa granted. You have six months stay, renewable. Enjoy your time in Vermilion City!"
I blinked. "That's it? No chakra scans? No interrogation jutsu? Not even a puff of smoke?"
The woman blinked back. "Uh… no?"
I leaned toward Jiraiya. "I think we just committed a crime by not committing a crime."
He chuckled. "Relax, Naruto. This place works differently. And thanks to the Fire Daimyō's deal with the Kanto League, we're considered 'friendly travelers.' So don't blow anything up."
"No promises," I said, eyeing a group of Pokémon racing down the street. One of them—a blue, round thing with tiny wings—was using water like roller skates.
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Let me be honest—walking into Vermilion City felt like stepping into a dream someone with way too much free time and a love for colors had come up with. There were giant neon signs, buildings taller than most trees in the Fire Country, and way too many people wearing sunglasses for a place that wasn't even that sunny.
As soon as we entered the city proper, Jiraiya did what Jiraiya does best—wander with confidence like he knows exactly what he's doing.
Spoiler: He did not.
"Alright," he said, rubbing his hands together. "First stop—clothes. You look like you just crawled out of a swamp."
"Gee, thanks," I muttered, looking down at my faded orange jacket and patched-up pants. "This was my best outfit."
He gave me a look. "Exactly."
We found a shop run by a friendly lady who had a talking Meowth that kept making sarcastic comments about my hair. I ended up grabbing a new black hoodie with orange streaks, cargo pants with way too many pockets, and some new boots that had actual cushioning. I may have looked a bit less like a walking traffic cone, but I still kept my favorite color scheme.
"Are we buying Poké Balls too?" I asked as we left the store.
Jiraiya shook his head. "No need. We're not trainers in the traditional sense. We're ninja. Making a Pokémon into a summon is better. Stronger bond, more chakra-based connection. Think Kakashi and his ninja dogs."
That made me pause. "Wait… you mean I could have my own version of Akamaru?"
"Better," he said with a grin. "Yours could breathe fire."
Oh. Now he had my full attention.
"But how does that work?" I asked. "Don't you need a contract or something?"
"You do. But that comes later," he said. "First, we train. You don't want to summon something and get flattened because you're not strong enough to support it."
Fair point.
Before we could go wild with spending, though, we needed to exchange our money. Turns out ryo isn't exactly accepted in Kanto, but luckily Jiraiya had planned ahead—for once. He led me to a currency exchange office where some guy with a Blissey behind the counter helped us swap out ninja cash for sleek plastic Kanto credits.
I glanced at the stack of bills I got. "Everything here is cheaper than back home."
Jiraiya winked. "That's what happens when your economy isn't built around war profiteering. Also, I'm treating today. Consider it a gift."
"What's the catch?"
"No explosions for twenty-four hours."
"…Fine."
Once we were properly clothed and less broke-looking, we found a small restaurant by the water that served sushi, rice bowls, and something called "Poké puffs," which looked suspiciously like civilian chakra sweets. The waitress had a Jigglypuff that glared at me when I accidentally called it a "balloon raccoon."
We sat at the patio while Jiraiya pulled out a map of Kanto from his bag. He studied it with the intensity of a man choosing which bathhouse to infiltrate next.
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"So," Jiraiya said, casually dropping a shrimp into his mouth while staring at the map like it owed him money, "the Pokémon near Vermilion are weak. Real beginner stuff. Perfect for someone still learning how to throw punches without falling on his face."
"Hey!" I said through a mouthful of noodles. "I don't fall anymore. Much."
He gave me the kind of look you'd give a toddler trying to convince you they didn't eat the cookies… while covered in crumbs.
"But," he continued, waving his chopsticks like a pointer, "farther inland, or deep in the wilds? That's where it gets fun. Those Pokémon can wipe the floor with you if you're not careful."
I nodded. Made sense. Start small, build up, then challenge the big guys. The usual training arc. But then Jiraiya, in his infinite weirdness, smirked and dropped this bomb:
"Or," he said, "we could hit up some gyms."
I paused mid-bite. "Like… Pokémon gyms?"
"Yup. You turn into a Pokémon using your transformation jutsu, I pretend to be your trainer, and boom—we challenge the gym leader."
I blinked.
He grinned wider. "I call it Operation Poke-Nin."
I stared at him like he'd just grown an extra head. "That's... either the dumbest or the most genius idea I've ever heard."
"Thank you," he said, like I'd complimented his hair. "The leaders have strong Pokémon, not summons-level strong, but enough to push you. Plus, it's great for testing your chakra control. You'll have to maintain transformation while fighting—and think like a beast."
I looked down at my plate, chewing slowly.
On one hand, this was nuts. Completely, one-hundred-percent certified crazy.
On the other… it actually sounded kind of awesome.
Fighting strong opponents, testing myself, learning new styles. And let's be honest, the idea of throwing down in a fake Pokémon body while Jiraiya yelled from the sidelines like a wannabe Ash Ketchum? That sounded like peak chaos, and I was here for it.
"Could I turn into like… a Charizard?" I asked, eyes lighting up.
"If your transformation's good enough," he said with a shrug. "Though I was thinking more like a Lucario. You've got the spiky hair for it."
I smirked. "Can I roar at the opponent before the fight?"
"Kid, if you don't, I'll be disappointed in you."
I leaned back, arms behind my head, eyes on the sky.
"Alright, Pervy Sage. Let's do both. I'll fight wild ones first. Then when I've got the hang of it…"
I grinned.
"…we take this show to the gym."
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After stuffing ourselves with enough dumplings to sink a Gyarados, Jiraiya and I finally made our way out of Vermilion and onto Route Eleven. If you're not familiar with it, Route Eleven is basically the wilderness's awkward cousin—sort of wild, sort of traveled, and full of creatures that may or may not want to eat your face. Kind of like the ninja academy cafeteria, come to think of it.
We hiked until we were far enough away from any townsfolk, and then Jiraiya pulled me into a grove of trees like he was about to reveal a grand ninja secret. Instead, he slapped a scroll in my hand and said, "Transform."
I raised an eyebrow. "Into what? A toaster? A squirrel?"
"Zoroark," he said like that made perfect sense.
"…Is that a type of cough syrup?"
"It's a fox-like illusion monster with sharp claws and a punk rock mane. Perfect for you."
I was about to protest until he unrolled the scroll and showed me a ridiculously detailed drawing of said creature. Red streaked hair, sleek fur, claws for days—yeah, okay, it looked kind of awesome. I might've been convinced by the dramatic pose and glowing eyes. Maybe.
"Why not Lucario?" I asked, stalling while gathering chakra.
"Too noble. You'd try to give speeches mid-fight."
Fair enough.
So I transformed. The chakra twist was a bit harder than usual—Zoroark had way more detail than a regular transformation, and maintaining the claws and tail while thinking like a fox ninja was no walk in the training field. But after a few false starts (one of which gave me eight tails instead of one—awkward), I nailed it.
I looked down at my clawed hands. My fur shimmered. I felt fast. Dangerous. Kinda edgy. Basically, I felt like Sasuke's spirit animal, if that animal had better hair.
Jiraiya whistled. "Not bad, Naruto. You look ready to headline a metal band."
We crept out of the trees and into the tall grass like old-school hunters. Or two tourists trying way too hard to look cool. I kept expecting a wild Pokémon to jump out with theme music.
Instead, we found a parade of semi-aggressive wildlife. A Pidgey flock that scattered when I growled. A Drowzee doing yoga. A bunch of Digletts popping in and out of the ground like a broken arcade game. An Ekans that looked way too friendly.
But then we saw it.
Perched high in the branches, glinting in the sunlight like it was posing for a battle magazine, was a Pidgeotto. Sleek, sharp-eyed, and totally out of reach. Of course, Jiraiya picked that one.
"Go get it," he said casually, as if I were some ninja-fetch puppy.
I looked at him like he'd just suggested I wrestle a storm cloud. "It's flying."
"Yup."
"I can't fly."
"Use your ninja skills. And remember—don't kill it."
Which, for the record, made this about ten times harder. I was still getting used to this body, and now I had to hold back while being a monster fox illusion ninja? Great.
The Pidgeotto noticed me crouching and let out a caw that roughly translated to, "Bring it on, furball."
So I did.
I shot forward using chakra-enhanced speed, launching off the ground like a spring. The Pidgeotto dodged with a lazy flap, and I missed by a mile. I crashed into a tree, leaves raining down on me like nature's judgment.
"Try a clone!" Jiraiya yelled helpfully from behind a bush. "Keep the transformation up!"
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Now, I'm not saying I became a Pokémon-fighting champion in under ten minutes, but let's just say the Pidgeotto probably regrets waking up today.
Once Jiraiya gave the green light for clones, I went full Naruto. Two clones shot out of me with the usual puff of smoke, and before the bird could squawk "Wait, what?", I threw them like living kunai.
Yes, you heard that right. Threw. Them.
Turns out, if you launch shadow clones hard enough, they become high-speed projectiles with punchy consequences.
The first one clipped the Pidgeotto's wing. The second smacked into its face. The poor bird flailed like it'd just flown into an invisible glass door and spiraled down with all the grace of a thrown sandal.
It hit the ground with a whump, dazed but still fluttering.
I didn't wait.
Zoroark-Naruto leapt forward like a predator on fast-forward. I tackled it—more like body-slammed it, to be honest—and wrapped my limbs around the struggling flier. Grappling's not really my thing, but I channeled just enough chakra to keep my hold tight without crushing it.
The Pidgeotto screeched and flapped and pecked and flailed, but I held on, counting under my breath. Jiraiya had warned me—don't kill, just subdue.
Eventually, the bird's movements slowed. It slumped in my arms and went still, breathing but unconscious.
I let out a breath and stood, fur matted and full of feathers.
Jiraiya clapped slowly. "Well done. You just turned clone-jutsu into a blunt weapon. Not elegant, but effective."
"Thanks?" I said, still panting. "Pretty sure I elbow-dropped that thing into another life."
He grinned. "You're good at throwing yourself around. Might be the first ninja to weaponize his own face."
I blinked. "...Is that a compliment?"
"In your case? Absolutely." He tapped his chin, thoughtful now. "You should keep refining that. Your clone-based combat might be the key to your dominance—not just as a ninja, but maybe even in this world. It's chaotic, unpredictable, and completely your style."
Hearing that made me pause.
Dominance? I wasn't trying to conquer this world. But if he meant being strong enough to survive, protect, and maybe stand above the rest for once… that sounded good.
Really good.
I looked down at my clawed hands and flexed them, still in Zoroark form. The monster in me grinned.
"Alright," I said. "Let's find something bigger."