Naruto: The Boogie Woogie Shinobi

Kenta stood before the grand gates of his family's estate in the capital of the Land of Fire. The towering wooden doors yawned open, revealing a sea of people—servants in neatly pressed robes, guards with gleaming katanas, retainers clutching scrolls—all gathered to bid farewell to their young lord.

Some dabbed at their eyes with silk handkerchiefs, others sniffled with theatrics, as if Kenta's departure were the end of an era rather than a kid heading off to ninja school.

He stood there, hands on his hips, chest puffed out, soaking in the attention like a king about to ride into battle.

His grandfather, the Daimyō, loomed at the forefront, his regal figure clad in flowing robes of crimson and gold. His posture was unwavering, a pillar of authority, but his sharp eyes softened as they settled on Kenta. "You are about to embark on a journey that will shape you into a warrior," he said, his voice deep and measured.

"Remember, a shinobi's loyalty is to his village, but his service is to the Daimyō. Never forget that, Kenta."

Kenta flashed a grin that could've lit up the darkest cave, snapping a mock salute.

"Got it, boss! Serve the Daimyō, get paid, don't die—sounds like a breeze! I'll make you proud, Grandpa, just watch me!"

The Daimyō sighed, a faint crease forming on his brow. "...That is not quite what I meant, but I suppose it's close enough." His tone carried the weight of someone who'd long since accepted that Kenta's unnoble attitude couldn't be tamed.

Next came Ikkyū, Kenta's elder brother, sauntering forward with a smirk that mirrored his own. He reached out and ruffled Kenta's dark hair, ignoring the younger boy's indignant squawk. "You better become super powerful down there in Konoha," Ikkyū teased, "because when I'm Daimyō, I'll need a bodyguard who's terrifyingly strong. And since you're already terrifying, you're halfway there!"

Kenta swatted his hand away, pouting like a toddler denied a treat. "Oi! I'm 'adorable', not terrifying! Get it right, you big lug!"

Ikkyū laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Sure, sure, the cutest future bodyguard ever. Don't let those ninja kids push you around, alright? I expect stories of you kicking ass when you visit."

Before Kenta could fire back, his mother, Shizuka, swept in like a tidal wave of maternal worry. Her merchant-sharp eyes scanned him head to toe, as if checking for invisible wounds he might've somehow acquired in the last five minutes.

"Kenta," she began, her voice firm but trembling with emotion, "remember to brush your teeth twice a day, don't take sweets from strangers—actually, don't take anything from strangers—wash your hands before meals, get at least eight hours of sleep, and for heaven's sake, don't get into unnecessary fights!"

Kenta blinked, tilting his head. "Mom… I'm literally going to shinobi school. They teach you how to fight. It's kind of the whole point."

"That doesn't mean you should pick fights!" she huffed, her hands flying to her hips. Then, without warning, she pulled him into a hug so tight he felt his ribs creak. "Stay safe, my little Kenta. Promise me."

He grumbled, his voice muffled against her shoulder, but hugged her back all the same. "I'll be fine, Mom. I'm tougher than I look."

'And I've got Boogie Woogie up my sleeve,' he added silently, smirking into her robe.

'No one's gonna touch me without my permission.'

As Shizuka released him, the estate's crowd surged closer, their goodbyes growing more theatrical by the second. An elderly servant dropped to her knees, clutching a broom like it was her last lifeline. "Young Lord! We shall miss you dearly! Who will prank us now with those clever little traps?! Who will eat all the sweets before we can sneak a taste?!"

Another retainer, a stout man with a mustache, blew his nose loudly into his sleeve. "The kitchens will be so quiet without you raiding them, my lord!"

Kenta muttered under his breath, crossing his arms. "...I feel like I should be offended by that. I'm not that bad." But the faintest flush crept up his neck—he did have a reputation for swiping mochi when no one was looking.

With the farewells finally winding down, Kenta turned to his escort—a near battalion of shinobi, some of their faces hidden behind ANBU masks, their presence an overwhelming show of force. He raised an eyebrow at the nearest one, a figure clad in black with a hawk mask.

"Isn't this a bit much? You're acting like I'm some high-value target or something."

"You are a high-value target," the ANBU replied, their voice a flat, emotionless hum. "The Hokage has personally ensured your safety. Orders from the Daimyō."

Kenta sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Great. I'm being smothered by safety. Can't I just punch my way out of danger like a normal kid?"

The ANBU didn't respond, which Kenta took as a no. With a groan, he set off, the shinobi falling into formation around him like a moving fortress.

The journey to Konoha was long—hours of winding roads, dense forests, and the occasional merchant caravan gawking at the sight of a noble brat flanked by elite ninja.

Kenta spent most of it plotting how to ditch half his escort once he got to the village, though he doubted they'd let him out of sight that easily. 'Grandpa's probably got them on a leash tighter than a lion's claws due to the assassination attempt on my seventh birthday,' he thought darkly.

By the time they reached Konoha, the sun was dipping low, painting the village gates in hues of orange and gold. Kenta waved off his escort with a casual "See ya, babysitters!" and trudged toward his grandmother's house, exhaustion tugging at his limbs.

He pushed open the door, calling out, "Grandma! Your VIP has arrived!"

His enthusiasm screeched to a halt as his eyes locked onto a creature perched on a luxurious silk cushion in the center of the room.

Tora, the most notorious cat in Fire Country history, stared back at him. Her orange fur gleamed like a warning signal, and her yellow eyes narrowed into slits of pure, unadulterated menace. Kenta felt a chill slither down his spine, his instincts screaming danger.

"Grandma…" he said slowly, not taking his eyes off the feline tyrant, "why is the incarnation of evil lounging in your house like she owns it?"

Madam Shijimi swept into the room, her graceful figure draped in a simple yet elegant kimono. She was still young compared to her anime counterpart and was not at all fat.

She smiled warmly, bending to scratch Tora behind the ears. "Oh, Tora? She's been with me for years. Isn't she adorable?"

Kenta gulped, his voice rising an octave. "Adorable? Pretty sure she's got a bounty on her head bigger than most missing-nin! I heard a rumor half of Konoha's shinobi have nightmares about her—genin wake up screaming her name!"

"Nonsense," his grandmother chuckled, her laughter light and airy as Tora purred—a sound that, to Kenta, was the ominous drone of impending doom. "She's just a sweet little thing."

"Sweet little thing?!" Kenta sputtered, pointing at the cat like it had personally insulted him. "That's no cat—that's a tailed beast in disguise! I bet she's plotting my demise right now!"

Tora flicked her tail, her gaze never leaving his, as if daring him to make a move. Madam Shijimi straightened, brushing her hands together. "You'll get used to her, dear. Now, let me get you some tea—you must be tired from the trip."

As she glided toward the kitchen, Kenta flopped onto a nearby chair, still eyeing Tora warily. He'd learned a bit about his grandmother's story from his mother—how she'd married the Daimyō for love, not power, only to tire of the capital's endless political games.

Even after the wedding, suitors kept throwing themselves at her husband, despite him being well into his forties. The real kicker, though, had been the assassination attempts—poisoned tea, hidden blades, the works. Eventually, she'd packed up and settled in Konoha, serving as the Daimyō's eyes in the village while enjoying its relative peace.

"You know, Grandma," Kenta called after her, "I think you made the right choice ditching the capital. Way less drama here—well, except for her." He jerked his thumb at Tora.

"Oh, I know I did," she replied smugly from the kitchen, her voice carrying a hint of pride.

"Mom never wanted to move here with you, though," Kenta added, leaning back in his chair.

Madam Shijimi reappeared with a tray of tea, sighing dramatically. "She wanted to be a merchant! A merchant, of all things! I told her she had no need for such nonsense with our family's wealth, but she was stubborn as a mule."

Kenta shuddered, a vivid memory flashing through his mind—Shizuka hunched over a ledger, counting coins with the predatory gleam of a hawk sizing up its next meal.

"Yeah, Mom's a scary businesswoman. I've seen her haggle a vendor into giving her money. It's terrifying."

His grandmother nodded sagely, setting the tea down. "A pity she didn't inherit my delicate sensibilities."

Kenta side-eyed her as she absentmindedly petted Tora, who purred louder, her eyes still locked on him like a predator sizing up prey. "Yeah… delicate. Right."

With his new home settled and the Shinobi Academy looming just a week away, Kenta sipped his tea, one thought dominating his mind: he'd have to survive Tora's wrath before even stepping foot in a classroom.

Somehow, between her smug reign and the ninja training ahead, he had a sinking feeling the cat might be the greater challenge.

'Bring it on,' he thought, glaring back at her. 'I've faced worse—like Mom's hugs.'

----Author Notes-------

Y'all can read 15 extra chapters of the novel on my pat*reon. It would also motivate me to write more and well pay for my tuition. But I would continue to write with or without you joining my pat*reon. Your support even here on Webnovel means a lot! Thankyou!

https://pat*reon.com/BoogieWoogie266

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