Chapter 6: The Gym, the Pain, and the Human Noodle
Look, I've had some weird lunches. Once I ate stale cereal with orange juice because we were out of milk and my dad said "experimenting builds character." But nothing—and I mean nothing—prepared me for eating reheated leftovers while getting a motivational speech from Naruto Uzumaki, shinobi extraordinaire and part-time ghost coach.
After limping home like I'd lost a fight with a haunted blender (which, honestly, wouldn't be the weirdest thing that's happened in Amity Park), the first thing I did was take a shower.
Let me just say: showering with half your back screaming and your eye still looking like it got personally offended by a bowling ball? Not fun. I may or may not have whimpered a little. No one can prove it.
The house was quiet when I got out. Mom and Dad were off doing their usual "mad scientist" thing—possibly at a ghost portal convention or creating ethically questionable weaponry in the basement. Jazz wasn't home yet either, probably solving quantum physics for extra credit or saving orphans or something equally jazz-like.
That meant it was just me, my damp hair, and the comforting hum of the microwave.
I grabbed some of Mom's leftover lasagna (surprisingly good, considering it hadn't exploded), nuked it to that perfect "magma on the edges, cold in the middle" temperature, and plopped down at the kitchen table with a sigh that sounded like it came from my soul.
And then—because my life is a swirling tornado of the absurd—I heard his voice.
"Yo, Danny! Ready to start training today?"
Naruto's voice came through clear as ever, thanks to the weird mental link we'd developed. (Don't ask me how it works. If I think about it too hard, I start questioning reality.)
I blinked at my lasagna. "Uh... define 'ready.' Because if you mean 'physically and emotionally capable,' then no. Absolutely not."
"C'mon, don't be like that! Pain builds character! A hero has to endure."
I groaned and leaned back in my chair. "Naruto, I literally got curb-stomped earlier. I'm about three bruises away from becoming modern art. Can't we wait, like... two days? Or a week? Maybe forever?"
"No way!" he said cheerfully, like I hadn't just offered a lifetime subscription to inactivity. "This kind of pain won't stop you from training. I'll heal you every night, so it won't leave lasting damage. That way your body grows stronger, and you don't miss any time!"
I stared at the wall for a second. "You what?"
"Yep!" he continued, way too upbeat for someone threatening to put me through ninja boot camp. "Think of it like this: pain during the day, healing at night. Rinse and repeat."
I stabbed my lasagna with unnecessary aggression. "So... magical ghost therapy mixed with aggressive P.E."
"Exactly!"
Great. Just what I needed. Not only was I fighting ghosts, re-evaluating my feelings for Sam, and managing the crushing weight of Fenton-level insecurity—I was now also getting a crash course in anime-style pain endurance.
But, as much as I wanted to argue, there was a small—annoyingly responsible—part of me that knew Naruto was right.
Heroes don't wait until it's comfortable. They don't get days off for bruised ribs or emotional crises.
I sighed. "Fine. But if I puke from overexertion, I'm haunting you."
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You ever look at a treadmill and think, "This machine has personally wronged me"? Because after the first ten minutes of Naruto's "gentle introduction" to training, I was ready to file a restraining order against the entire gym.
The Fenton gym isn't what you'd expect from a bunch of self-proclaimed ghost hunters who spend most of their time blasting holes in walls and ignoring child labor laws. It's luxury. We're talking full underground facility, high-tech monitoring gear, racks of weights arranged like we're training to fight Godzilla, and a scent that screams "dedication, sweat, and at least three protein powders."
Dad built it back when he decided he was going to turn the whole family into "a ghost-fighting powerhouse of justice." I always assumed he meant by accident, but turns out he was serious.
The man himself? Jack Fenton? Absolute unit. Think Santa Claus if he swapped cookies for creatine and had a black belt in judo. He can bench press half a car and once tossed me over his shoulder like a ragdoll for not finishing my cereal.
Mom's just as intense, but she hides it behind a calm smile and lab goggles. She can probably beat up half the town in under five minutes. And Jazz? Yeah, she bought into it. Black belt, full scholarship, teenage prodigy. Basically if Hermione Granger took MMA for fun.
Then there's me.
Danny Fenton: proud holder of the school record for "most convincing excuses to skip gym class."
"Okay," Naruto said in my head, all peppy and full of lies. "Let's start with stretching! Ten minutes."
Stretching wasn't so bad. I got to lie down for a bit, which was my preferred state of existence.
But then the treadmill happened.
Naruto's voice echoed like a drill sergeant with a motivational podcast addiction. "Come on! Light jog. You just ate, so don't sprint."
"I'm gonna blame you if I barf lasagna on this thing," I muttered, wheezing as my legs shuffled along like overcooked spaghetti. "Hope you like haunted gym equipment."
After ten minutes of what felt like slow-motion dying, I got upgraded to the stationary bike, which is basically just leg torture with a seat. Then came the chest press. And then the weights.
Look, I'm not proud of this, but I could barely curl five kilograms with one hand. Five. That's like lifting a sack of flour and feeling like your arm's going to fall off.
"You'll get stronger," Naruto encouraged, sounding way too chipper. "This is just the beginning!"
"I can't even press the beginning," I gasped.
He had me cycle back into push-ups—which capped at 14 before I collapsed—and then hit the pull-up bar, which I swear laughed at me when I couldn't even do one. Sit-ups? Managed those, but only because lying down is half the job. Leg press? My thighs screamed betrayal and threatened to unionize.
The gym's fancy screens gave biometric updates the whole time—heart rate, oxygen, muscle fatigue. At some point I'm pretty sure one machine flashed "MAYBE TRY CROCHET INSTEAD?"
By the end of it, I was a puddle of suffering on the rubber mat, drenched in sweat and dignity-free. My muscles twitched like they were sending SOS signals to my internal organs.
"I hate you," I groaned.
"That's the spirit!" Naruto laughed. "Every hero starts somewhere. We're building the foundation."
"More like the wreckage," I muttered.
But despite all the grumbling and flopping around like a dying fish, a tiny part of me felt... something. Not quite pride. Maybe potential? Like even if I wasn't strong now, I could be. Eventually.
Right after I slept for twelve years and iced every bone in my body.
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By the time the so-called workout ended, my legs had officially filed for divorce. My arms weren't faring much better. Every step back toward the stairs felt like dragging cinderblocks tied to my feet. If my bones could talk, they'd be yelling, "This is why we avoid effort, you idiot!"
"You did good today," Naruto said, his voice actually sounding proud. "Time to reward your body. Let's hit the bath."
If anyone else had said that to me—especially in my condition—I'd have reported them to the police. But since this was a magical ninja ghost voice living in my head, I figured I'd let it slide.
Naruto's chakra gently flowed through me, giving me just enough strength to wobble up the stairs like a newborn deer in socks. He was literally helping me walk. At this point, I was past shame. I'd have gladly let him carry me bridal style if he had a physical body.
We made it to my room, and I somehow peeled off my gym clothes and dragged myself into the bathroom like a war veteran. The tub looked like the Gates of Heaven. I turned the faucet, let the water rise, and then—Naruto's glow lit the whole place up like a mythical spa retreat.
He didn't just bless the bathwater. He poured golden chakra into it. Literal sparkles danced on the surface. The water shimmered like liquid sunlight, radiating warmth and comfort.
"This chakra will ease your soreness and help your muscles recover," he explained. "Think of it as a ninja hot spring. Minus the frogs."
I dipped a toe in and almost cried. Not from pain. From joy. Then I sunk in up to my neck, exhaled slowly, and melted.
"You know," I mumbled, slumping against the side, "I feel like a princess. An exhausted, sore, emotionally confused princess… but still."
"A strong one," Naruto added. "Every warrior needs a moment to recharge. This is yours."
For a moment, everything hurt less. Not just my muscles. Even my brain shut up. The pressure of being weak, being ordinary, being me—it floated away in the golden water.
I closed my eyes and let the warmth soak into every corner of me. Maybe I wasn't the family failure. Maybe I wasn't just some ghost magnet with a bad haircut. Maybe—just maybe—I could actually do this.
Or maybe I'd fall asleep and drown in chakra water.
Either way, I'd die happy.
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So there I was, floating like a dumpling in a bowl of golden miso soup, eyes half-lidded, muscles relaxing in ways I didn't even know were possible. The bath was still glowing faintly from Naruto's chakra infusion, and I swear I could hear harp music playing somewhere in the distance. It was perfect.
Naturally, that's exactly when disaster struck.
"Danny?" came a familiar voice outside the bathroom door—Jazz.
My soul momentarily left my body.
"I saw the gym equipment had been used. Did you actually train? Are you okay? Did you sprain anything? Pull a hamstring? Tear your dignity?"
"NO!" I croaked back, sitting up way too fast and sloshing half the magic water out of the tub like I was reenacting Titanic in reverse. "I'm fine! Everything's fine! Just—uh—routine maintenance bathing!"
"Smooth," Naruto deadpanned in my head, completely unhelpful. "You're a master of stealth and deception."
"Don't you start with me!" I hissed under my breath, waving an angry finger at the ceiling. Or maybe at my own forehead. I wasn't sure anymore.
Jazz narrowed her eyes. She didn't believe me. But she also didn't say anything.
Instead, she leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed. "So you did train. Voluntarily. And now you're soaking in some kind of bath like a floating golden egg roll."
"…Maybe."
"That's actually kind of impressive," she said, eyebrow raised. "You'll probably still be sore tomorrow, though. Did you stretch properly?"
"I made him," Naruto said smugly in my brain.
"She says that like I didn't almost die on the treadmill," I muttered.
Jazz chuckled. "Well, try not to drown in there, okay? Also, remember to hydrate. And if your joints feel like they're on fire, it's probably inflammation. Ice it."
"…She thinks I'm an egg roll," I sighed.
"To be fair," Naruto mused, "you do look deliciously pathetic right now."
"Just give me like twenty more minutes of feeling like a fairy tale princess," I grumbled under my breath. "Then I'll be the heroic disappointment everyone knows and loves."
"Heroes start somewhere," Naruto said, finally sounding like a semi-responsible mentor. "Even in magical soup."
Gee. Thanks, Naruto. Glad to know I'm officially a shrimp in chakra ramen.
Jazz, bless her, didn't knock again. I waited, silent, until her footsteps finally faded down the hall.
I slumped down in the tub with a dramatic sigh.
I slumped lower into the water until only my nose stuck out. Maybe if I stayed submerged long enough, I could respawn as someone cool.