Naruto: The Art of Deception

Daily chapters on my Patreon. When i will be 25 chapters ahead, then daily chapters here aswell.

Naruto opened his eyes.

Two seconds to register his surroundings. One more for his body to relax.

He was home. In Konoha.

His cold, empty eyes landed on the wooden dresser across the room. The same old photo sat there, untouched. Team Seven. Sakura, Sasuke, Kakashi. He stared at their faces for a moment.

Then, with a slow tilt of his head, he rolled his neck until it cracked. Once to the left. Once to the right.

He exhaled through his nose.

He rose smoothly from his meditative position, muscles shifting, stretching out the stiffness from staying still too long.

A shinobi's body was everything. A temple. A weapon. Keep it sharp, keep it ready.

Arms up, fingers laced, a slow pull through his back. Then down, palms pressing flat against the floor, feeling the familiar strain in his legs.

His body knew the routine. His mind, though, wandered.

Who had climbed the ranks while he was gone?

Konoha kept moving, with or without him. Missions. Promotions. Changes. He hadn't thought much about it before, but now that he was back, the question lingered. Who was a chunin now? Who made jonin?

Neji, probably. Guy's team was always ahead. Maybe even Shikamaru, if the lazy bastard had bothered.

And then there was him.

Still a genin.

The thought would've annoyed him once. Now, he just exhaled, shifting into the next stretch. Tsunade would handle it. Eventually. Team 7 was done, had been since Sasuke left. So where did that leave him?

The market was alive. The heat of too many bodies crammed together, the scent of fresh produce mixed with sweat, the clang of knives hitting wooden blocks as butchers worked through the morning rush.

People barely spared him a glance, too caught up in their own business. That was good.

He moved through the crowd, scanning each stall. The list in his head was short, practical. Fuel for a shinobi's body.

Meat first.

He found the butcher's stall tucked between a fruit vendor and a shop selling dried goods. Thick slabs of beef hung from hooks, marbled with fat. Whole chickens were lined up in neat rows, their skin plucked clean, still slightly pink from freshness. A massive boar carcass lay stretched out across the counter, ribs exposed where the butcher had started carving into it.

"Pork ribs, whole chicken, and six cuts of flank steak,"

The butcher, a stocky man with a gut that strained against his apron, barely looked up. "You got money for all that, kid?"

Naruto dropped a coin pouch onto the counter. The heavy clink of ryo silenced any further doubt.

The butcher grunted, nodding in approval before grabbing his cleaver. He moved fast, practiced—hacking through bone, slicing through meat with ease.

Naruto watched, arms crossed, taking in every detail. The weight of the blade. The angle of the cut. The way muscle separated from bone when struck just right.

Efficient.

The butcher wrapped everything up in wax paper, stacking the bundles in front of him. "Anything else?"

"Dried jerky. Two pounds."

Another grunt. More cutting. More wrapping.

Naruto picked up the bundles, stuffing them into his bag before turning away.

Eggs next.

The vendor was an old woman with sharp eyes and a mouth that probably hadn't smiled in decades. She watched him carefully as he approached.

"Fresh this morning," she said, voice scratchy. "How many?"

"Four dozen."

She paused, eyebrows raising slightly. "That's a lot of eggs for one person."

Naruto didn't answer. Just dropped another pouch of coins onto her counter.

She scoffed but started packing them anyway. "You shinobi eat like wild dogs, I swear."

As Naruto watched the old woman pack the eggs away, he remembered what Jiraiya once said.

"You eat like a civilian, you fight like a civilian."

The first time he said it, Naruto had rolled his eyes. Made some joke about ramen being the fuel of the gods. Jiraiya hadn't laughed.

"You think shinobi are born strong? No. They build themselves. Every bite you take, every muscle you train, every hour of sleep you do—or don't—get, it adds up."

At first, Naruto tried. He really did. Forced himself to choke down the protein-heavy meals, the endless eggs, the lean meats, the bitter greens. But it was too much. Too strict, too controlled, too far from the easy, comforting simplicity of a warm bowl of miso ramen.

He cheated when he could. Skipped meals. Snuck sweets. He hated the way it felt—like a cage around something that had always been free.

And then, one night, he snapped.

They were camped out in the middle of nowhere, the fire burning low, another fucking bland plate of food in front of him. Jiraiya was watching him, waiting, like always.

Naruto slammed his hands down, shaking with rage.

"Who the hell teaches a kid how to eat?! Huh?!" he roared, eyes blazing, breath coming fast. "That's your big fucking lesson?! That's what I need to get stronger?!"

Jiraiya had stared at him. Not angry. Not scolding. Just… shocked.

For the first time, he looked at Naruto really looked at him. And then, quietly, he exhaled.

"You're right," Jiraiya had said. "That's on me."

They started over.

This time, Jiraiya didn't just tell him what to eat—he ate with him. Every meal. The same portions, the same schedule. He showed Naruto how to cook it right, how to season it, how to make it something worth eating instead of just fuel.

Four months of that.

Four months of side-by-side meals, of breaking it down piece by piece, of learning why it mattered, not just being told that it did.

And one day—Naruto didn't have to think about it anymore.

He reached for the eggs, the chicken, the greens without hesitation. Not because he had to. But because his body wanted it.

Because he felt the difference.

The strength in his muscles. The fire in his chakra. The raw, explosive power coiled inside him, waiting to be unleashed.

There was no going back.

Not to the days of skipping meals. Not to the empty sugar rush of sweets. Not to just ramen.

He still loved it, sure. But now, ramen was a treat. A memory.

Not his foundation.

Naruto blinked once, shaking off the ghost of Jiraiya's voice. He grabbed the bundle, stuffing it into his bag.

He still needed a good amount of vegetables, which could be found a little further ahead.

As he moved between the stalls, he observed the flight of birds and the shadows of ANBU phasing in and out above them.

Naruto narrowed his eyes for a few seconds in thought.

Now that he considered it—this wasn't normal.

ANBU didn't move through the village like this in the morning. Not with this urgency.

When he was younger, details like this escaped him. But the observational skills drilled into him by Ero-Sennin were irreplaceable.

And something was off.

Hmm…

Deciding there was no point in dwelling on it now, Naruto bought more vegetables—spinach, bok choy, daikon, bell peppers, carrots, and a few heads of garlic—staples for a shinobi's diet.

With everything secured, he turned back toward home.

But his peace was interrupted.

WHAM!

A small body crashed into his side at full speed.

Naruto didn't even flinch. He barely shifted under the impact.

"Naruto-nii-chan!"

A familiar, wild-haired brat grinned up at him, his tiny fists clenched with determination.

Naruto blinked, then his cold expression melted into something warmer. A lazy, easy grin spread across his face as he ruffled the kid's hair.

"Oho, Konohamaru! What was that? Some kind of sneak attack?"

Konohamaru stumbled back, scowling as he smoothed out his hair.

"Tch! I was testing you!"

Naruto raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? How'd I do?"

Konohamaru crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed. "Horrible! You didn't even react! What if I was an enemy?"

Naruto gasped, playing along. "Oh no! Guess I should start training even harder, huh? Wouldn't wanna get my butt kicked by the future Hokage!"

Konohamaru puffed up with pride, his two teammates—Moegi and Udon—rushing up behind him.

"Naruto-senpai, is it true you trained with Jiraiya-sama?" Moegi asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Udon sniffled, adjusting his glasses. "Yeah, and is it also true that you fought a thousand ninjas and mastered every jutsu in the world?"

Naruto snorted. "A thousand, huh? Where'd you hear that?"

Konohamaru grinned. "We have our sources."

Naruto shook his head, amused. "Well, I can't confirm or deny anything. Top-secret shinobi stuff, you know how it is."

Konohamaru groaned. "Come on! You gotta show us something cool!"

Naruto tapped his chin, pretending to think. Then, with a smirk, he tossed his grocery bag to his other hand and held out a single finger.

"Alright, fine. I'll let you guys try and hit me. One hit. If any of you land a solid strike, I'll buy you all ramen. Deal?"

Konohamaru's eyes lit up. "You're on!"

His team huddled together, whispering furiously, planning their "attack strategy" like a bunch of little masterminds.

Naruto just stood there, smirking.

They came at him fast—for kids, anyway. Moegi feinted left, Udon tried to sweep his legs, and Konohamaru went for a flying punch straight to Naruto's chest.

Naruto sidestepped with minimal effort. Moegi stumbled past him, Udon tripped over his own feet, and Konohamaru.. well, he was a special one.

He caught the boy by the collar mid-air, lifting him effortlessly before setting him back on the ground.

"Good try," he said, still grinning.

Konohamaru pouted. "Damn it!"

Naruto chuckled, reaching out to ruffle his hair again. "Keep working on it. You're getting better."

The kids groaned, disappointed, but Naruto could see it—the tiny flicker of determination burning even brighter in their eyes.

With a stretch, he grabbed his bag again and turned away. "Alright, I gotta go. We'll rematch soon."

"You better not disappear again!" Konohamaru shouted after him.

Naruto just waved over his shoulder. "No promises!"

Naruto sat at his small wooden table, chopsticks in hand, slowly picking at his breakfast. A clean, simple spread—grilled salmon, steaming rice, miso soup, soft tamagoyaki, and a side of crisp pickled daikon.

He took a bite of salmon, letting the crispy skin crackle slightly between his teeth before the rich, salty fish melted on his tongue. He chewed slowly, savoring it, his mind half-drifting.

"Mmmm.. yummy…"

The rice came first.

Naruto filled a wooden bowl, scooping out just enough before carrying it to the sink. Cold water poured over the grains, his fingers working through them, feeling the rough starch rinse away. The water clouded instantly.

Drain. Refill. Repeat.

Again and again, he worked the rice, washing it carefully, methodically, until the water ran almost clear. Only then did he transfer it to a metal pot, adding just enough water before carrying it to the stove. He let it come to a simmer before setting the wooden lid over it, lowering the flame.

From there, everything moved in sync.

One pan for breakfast. One pan for dinner.

The left pan—thin slices of salted salmon, skin-side down, hitting the heat with a satisfying sizzle.

The right pan—simmered mackerel, gently braising in a bubbling mixture of soy sauce, mirin, sake, and ginger. The sauce thickened slowly, seeping into the fish, turning it tender, rich, perfectly glazed.

While the fish cooked, he moved to the eggs.

A small bowl. Three eggs. A dash of soy sauce. A splash of dashi broth. A pinch of sugar. He whisked them quickly, chopsticks clicking against ceramic before pouring a thin layer into the hot rectangular pan.

Pour. Set. Roll. Pour again. Roll again.

Layer by layer, he built the omelet, golden and delicate, shaping it with precise flicks of his chopsticks before rolling it onto a wooden board to cool.

By the time the rice was finished steaming, everything else was done too.

Dinner—packed neatly into wooden storage containers. Rice, simmered mackerel, blanched spinach, and a small side of pickled vegetables.

He didn't know why cooking had stuck with him the way it had. Maybe it was the discipline of it, the way it forced him to slow down.

Naruto finished his meal, stacked his dishes in the sink, and grabbed the cloth bag with his packed dinner. He made his way to the bedroom, pulling off his shirt and swapping it for a sleeveless black compression top. He slid on lightweight training pants, strapped his kunai holster to his thigh, and wrapped fresh bandages around his forearms.

He tied his hitai-ate in place and rolled his shoulders.

It was time to prepare for the test with Kakashi. And there was no better way than training.

Naruto considered bringing his katana but decided against it. Not today. He had something else in mind.

Stepping outside, he took off toward Training Ground Three.