Natsu's eyes fluttered open, but the familiar surroundings of his bed in the Uchiha household were nowhere to be seen. Instead, he found himself lying on the damp, dark ground, his breath misting in the chilled air. Above him loomed an ominous forest canopy, dense and shadowed, where not a single ray of sunlight penetrated. The eerie quietness, broken only by the distant roar of a waterfall, sent a shiver down his spine. He knew this place—the deep forest within the Nine-Tails' seal.
For a moment, he lay there, disoriented, his mind racing to piece together how he had ended up in the fox's world. It wasn't the first time he had found himself here, but it was never a place he came to willingly. The oppressive weight of Kurama's presence lingered in the air, thick and stifling, as if watching him from the shadows, though the great beast remained unseen for now.
Natsu slowly pushed himself up, his smaller hands digging into the moist earth beneath him. His body felt off—heavy and awkward as if the years of muscle memory from his adult form were fighting against the limitations of his current childlike frame. He frowned, a surge of frustration bubbling up inside him. Even in this world, the disconnect between who he was and who he now inhabited was palpable.
As he stood, the eerie forest stretched endlessly in every direction, its towering trees obscuring everything beyond their thick trunks. He took a breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions that had been plaguing him since the sparring session with Sasuke and Kiyomi. No matter how much he trained, how much he pushed himself, this body refused to cooperate. The sword techniques that once felt like extensions of his limbs now felt foreign, clumsy.
As Natsu stood by the waterfall, his breath steadying, the pressing need to develop a new sword style became clearer. His mind drifted back to the events that had set him on this path, the intricate web of reasons why he couldn't afford to remain weak, why swordsmanship was essential for him now.
First and foremost, in this dangerous world, being a Jinchūriki made him a beacon for those seeking power—an easy target for those like the Akatsuki, and even shinobi within Konoha who might see him as a threat. In the timeline he remembered, Naruto had struggled for years with his identity as the Nine-Tails' host, targeted by enemies and mistrusted by allies alike. Natsu couldn't afford to let history repeat itself. Unlike Naruto, he had the knowledge of the future, and with that knowledge came the burden of preparation.
His mastery over chakra and jutsu, though growing, was still inconsistent. His control was far from where it needed to be, especially in this young, undeveloped body. The advanced techniques he once wielded were out of reach now, slipping through his fingers like sand. This lack of control left him vulnerable in ways he had never been before. He couldn't rely solely on ninjutsu, especially when his reserves of chakra were still limited by the seal that kept the Nine-Tails at bay. Swordsmanship, however, was different. It didn't depend on chakra alone—it was a skill he could refine, something tangible that he could count on in the heat of battle when other abilities failed.
Natsu also knew that the enemies he would face wouldn't play by the rules. In the future, he would face those who could negate or absorb chakra-based attacks. The Rinnegan, Sharingan, and even the sealing techniques of others could nullify his ninjutsu. Having a strong, adaptable sword style would give him an edge in those battles. He needed to be versatile, able to switch between ninjutsu and kenjutsu seamlessly, depending on the situation.
But there was another, deeper reason that gnawed at him. Natsu had always seen himself as someone who protected others, someone who stood between his allies and danger. That instinct was even stronger now, with people like Sasuke, Kiyomi, and the Uchiha children. The weight of knowing what would happen to them if he didn't act felt unbearable. He couldn't fail them—not like Naruto had failed so many in the original timeline. A sword style would give him the means to protect, to defend against the forces that would soon descend on Konoha and its people.
He also remembered that, in his previous life, there were moments when brute strength wasn't the answer. There were battles where finesse, speed, and precision were more effective than sheer power. And in this body, still small and growing, brute strength would never be his advantage. His enemies would be bigger, stronger, and likely faster than him. But if he could outmaneuver them, if he could become unpredictable in his movements, he could exploit their weaknesses. The sword style he envisioned wouldn't just be about offense—it would be about control, about dictating the flow of the fight, keeping his opponent on edge, never giving them a moment to counter.
He thought about the people he would eventually face—Itachi, Pain, the rest of the Akatsuki, and even the other villages' powerful shinobi. If he wanted to change the course of events, if he wanted to reshape the future into something better, he couldn't rely on the same methods. He couldn't mimic Naruto's path or wait until he grew strong enough. He needed to be proactive, to refine his skills now, while there was still time.
And then there was Kurama, the ever-watchful presence in this forest. Natsu could feel the Nine-Tails' eyes on him, lurking somewhere in the shadows. The fox was waiting, testing him, perhaps even hoping that Natsu would call on its power, as Naruto had so often done in moments of desperation. But Natsu wasn't Naruto. He wouldn't be a slave to Kurama's power, nor would he allow himself to become reliant on it. The fox's chakra was volatile, dangerous, and uncontrollable without a deep bond. Natsu knew that, should he lose control, Kurama would turn him into a mindless weapon, just as it had with other Jinchūriki.
He needed to find his own strength, his own identity. Developing a new sword style would help solidify that, giving him something that was purely his. A foundation he could build upon, independent of Kurama, independent of chakra. In a world where everything seemed uncertain, this sword style would be his constant—a reminder that, even though he was in a different body, he could still forge his own path.
As Natsu swung the branch once more, feeling the flow of his movements improving, he began to understand the direction he needed to take. His style would not be about overpowering his opponent but outthinking them, adapting to their movements, striking only when the moment was perfect. His size, his agility—these would become his assets. And with the right training, his sword could become the extension of his will, as it had once been.
He wasn't there yet, but he was closer than he had been before. And as he stood by the waterfall, surrounded by the vibrant spider lilies, he could feel the weight of his resolve settling within him. This wasn't just about mastering a technique or training for the sake of improvement.
It was about survival. About being ready for the war that would soon reach Konoha. About protecting the people he cared about. And most of all, it was about ensuring that the future he knew—the one filled with pain, loss, and betrayal—would never come to pass.
Natsu took another breath, adjusting his stance. His new sword style wouldn't come overnight. It would take time, discipline, and patience. But he had already made the first step, and now, there was no turning back.
Natsu threw himself fully into mastering the Drunken Sword, knowing it was the only style that could harness his current abilities.
The key to the style was its unpredictability, and Natsu trained relentlessly to capture that essence.
His footwork became the foundation of his movements, alternating between slow, exaggerated steps and sudden, sharp shifts in direction.
He practiced walking as if he were losing his balance, only to recover in a flash and strike.
His body swayed with a chaotic rhythm, but every step had a purpose.
Each movement was an illusion, designed to confuse anyone who watched him.
During shadow sparring, Natsu let his body flow in random directions, as if he were drunk, his limbs loose yet ready to strike.
He visualized invisible opponents attacking him from all sides, reacting with fluid strikes, often delivered from awkward angles.
The key was making each strike seem unintentional, like a lucky hit, all while Natsu stood by the tree, watching the leaves fall, preparing himself to test different sword styles.
He held the branch in his hand, still trying to get used to the way it felt in his smaller grip.
His mind cycled through the various sword techniques he had learned in his past life, but every time he tried one, the limitations of his kid body threw him off balance.
Still, he wasn't ready to give up yet.
He needed to test each style thoroughly, to find out what worked and what didn't.
He began with a style he had often relied on in his adult form-strong, broad strikes that cut through the air with sheer power.
He planted his feet firmly, widened his stance, and swung at a falling leaf.
But the moment the branch left his shoulder, he felt the difference.
His arms, much shorter and weaker than they used to be, couldn't generate the same force.
The wide arc left him open and exposed.
He missed the leaf entirely, stumbling slightly as he struggled to control the weight of the swing.
Too heavy, he thought, frustration bubbling up.
His balance was off, and his reach wasn't enough to make the broad swings effective anymore.
Shaking his head, Natsu switched to a quicker, more agile style.
This one focused on rapid, short strikes, designed to hit fast and retreat before the opponent could counter.
He adjusted his stance, feet narrower, and made quicker, sharper swings.
As another leaf fell, he darted forward, striking quickly.
But his timing was off, and the strike lacked the precision needed to make contact.
The leaf fluttered past him, untouched.
Too quick, not controlled enough, he thought, his frustration growing.
Natsu paused to reflect.
He couldn't rely on brute strength, and the rapid strikes lacked the necessary accuracy.
His smaller body made these techniques feel awkward and incomplete.
He tried another style, one focused on defense-blocking and parrying incoming attacks, waiting for an opening.
He mimicked deflecting an imaginary attack and swung the branch in a tight arc to counter, but again, his movements felt clunky.
His arms couldn't absorb the impact of a strike, and his smaller frame struggled to maintain balance.
The counterstrike was weak, and he knew that, in a real fight, it wouldn't have been enough to repel an opponent.
No, this doesn't work either, he thought, his frustration turning inward.
He realized he had to move away from the styles that worked for his adult body.
The power and reach he once relied on simply didn't exist in this new form.
Determined to find something that worked, Natsu tried a new approach-one that focused on dodging rather than blocking.
He imagined weaving between attacks, using his smaller size to slip through openings.
As the leaves fell, he sidestepped, swinging the branch in quick slashes to catch them mid-air.
But even then, his strikes lacked precision.
His smaller body was more agile, but his timing was off.
He missed the leaves entirely, or only grazed them without fully cutting through.
I need more control, Natsu realized, clenching his jaw in frustration.
He had speed, but without precision, it was useless.
He took a step back, breathing deeply to calm himself.
The different sword styles he had tested weren't working.
Every one of them had failed in some way-either the movements were too slow, the strikes too weak, or the balance too unsteady.
He couldn't rely on the power and techniques he had used before, but neither could he find the precision and speed he needed.
It was then that he remembered his training from his adult days, kicking trees and catching the falling leaves to improve his reflexes and timing.
Maybe that's the key, he thought, not forcing a specific style, but focusing on catching the leaves, refining my reflexes, and letting the style grow naturally.
With that, Natsu kicked the tree once more, sending a fresh wave of leaves tumbling through the air.
But this time, he didn't focus on forcing a particular technique.
He relaxed his body, letting his instincts guide him, and started swinging at the leaves with lighter, quicker motions.
The first few leaves slipped past him, but soon, his movements became more fluid.
He struck a leaf, the branch slicing through cleanly.
Another fell within reach, and he caught it too.
It wasn't perfect, but he was starting to find a rhythm.
His strikes were faster, lighter, but more controlled.
He wasn't relying on brute force anymore-he was focusing on precision and timing.
The leaves became his guide, helping him adjust his movements and find the balance between speed and accuracy.
As Natsu continued his training, striking at the falling leaves with precision and controlled speed, a memory surfaced in his mind-one that he hadn't thought about in a long time.
It was from a time when his sister was in danger.
Desperation had pushed him to the limits, forcing him to develop a new style on the spot.
Back then, it had felt like the perfect solution-a style that honed his reflexes and speed, allowing him to manipulate his opponent's attacks effortlessly.
But as the memory became clearer, he realized something darker about that style.
It wasn't designed to protect or even kill his opponent.
Instead, it was built to humiliate them, to completely embarrass them in front of others.
The style relied on deception, feints, and exploiting weaknesses in the most humiliating way possible.
It was effective-deadly even-but it wasn't noble.
He had called it the "Drunken Sword."
The name suited the style perfectly.
It mimicked the unpredictable, swaying movements of a drunk, making it impossible for an opponent to predict the next strike.
Natsu had learned how to avoid attacks by pretending to stumble, only to deliver a precise, fatal blow when his opponent least expected it.
It was an almost laughable style, one that turned serious fights into mockeries.
As he reflected on the style, Natsu frowned.
He remembered how embedded the style had become with manipulating and deceiving his opponent, focusing not on winning with honor, but on reducing the opponent to a spectacle.
It wasn't about protecting anyone, not even about defeating the enemy with respect.
It was about turning the fight into a game, a way to embarrass the opponent in front of everyone.
And while it worked-it worked incredibly well-there was something hollow about it.
It's boring, Natsu thought, the realization washing over him.
There was no honor in it, no sense of purpose beyond making his opponent look like a fool.
The Drunken Sword could easily avoid attacks and strike with deadly precision, but its goal wasn't aligned with what he truly wanted-to protect those he cared about.
It was a style built from a moment of desperation, but it lacked the heart of a warrior's resolve.
The style didn't fit who he wanted to be.
Yes, it was effective, yes, it used his reflexes and speed perfectly-but it wasn't fulfilling.
It was a style driven by manipulation and deceit, lacking the core values he needed in a sword style moving forward.
Protecting his loved ones, standing his ground with dignity, finding a way to win with purpose-these were the things Natsu needed to embrace in his training.
Not humiliation, not mockery, and not this empty feeling that came with the Drunken Sword.
As Natsu practiced, the memory of the Drunken Sword lingered in his mind.
He frowned, knowing it wasn't the style he truly wanted to rely on, but at the moment, he had no other choice.
His body wasn't yet capable of handling the techniques he aspired to master, and right now, he needed something that could help him sharpen his reflexes and improve his speed.
For now, I'll have to use it, he thought, his frustration tempered by a sense of practicality.
The Drunken Sword, as hollow and manipulative as it felt, was still effective.
It allowed him to move quickly, to avoid attacks with deceptive ease, and to strike precisely when his opponent was most vulnerable.
If nothing else, it could serve as a foundation for training.
It would help him build the reflexes and speed he needed until he found a style that better suited who he wanted to become.
Natsu took a deep breath and resumed his training.
His movements became more fluid, adopting the unpredictable swaying of the Drunken Sword.
He dodged imaginary attacks, weaving between them with deceptive clumsiness before delivering quick, sharp strikes to the falling leaves.
Though it wasn't the style he wanted to embrace forever, he could feel his reflexes sharpening with each swing, his speed improving as he danced between his imaginary opponents.
This will work for now, Natsu thought, his mind settling into acceptance.
The Drunken Sword would help him build the skills he needed, even if it wasn't a style he wanted to rely on in the long term.
For the time being, it was his only option, and he would use it to train and grow stronger until he could find or create a sword style that reflected his true purpose.
With that thought, Natsu focused, letting the Drunken Sword guide his movements for now, knowing that it would lead him to where he needed to be in the future.
control.
He added in swaying, dance-like movements, giving the impression of a fighter who didn't know what he was doing-yet, every motion was carefully calculated to lead into a counterattack.
Natsu's reflex training centered around the leaf-catching drill, an exercise that tested his ability to respond to random stimuli.
He kicked the base of a tree, watching as leaves fell unpredictably around him.
Maintaining his drunken stance, he swayed and stumbled as he tried to catch them, focusing on his reaction speed rather than precision.
Each time, he adapted to the erratic motion of the leaves, honing his reflexes so he could react to attacks that came from unexpected angles.
It became second nature for him to shift from one motion to the next, always ready for the unexpected.
He sparred with lightweight training swords, instructing his opponents to attack without rhythm or pattern.
Their strikes came at random, forcing Natsu to rely on his reflexes rather than anticipating the next move.
He let his body move as though it had no direction, dodging and parrying with fluidity.
The unpredictability of the Drunken Sword began to show its effectiveness as his opponents grew more frustrated, their strikes missing as Natsu swayed just out of reach, only to counter when they least expected it.
Balance and coordination were critical elements of the Drunken Sword.
Natsu trained by walking on uneven surfaces-rocks, logs, anything that would make him look unstable.
With a training sword in hand, he deliberately staggered and leaned, appearing ready to fall at any moment.
However, he maintained perfect balance and could strike from even the most awkward positions.
He practiced holding these off-balance poses, developing his core strength while making it look like he was about to topple over.
This illusion of imbalance became a vital part of his style, tricking opponents into thinking they had an easy opening.
During sparring, Natsu began incorporating intentional missteps.
He would stumble forward, seemingly out of control, only to snap back into a ready stance, countering his opponent's strike with surprising speed.
His training partners found it difficult to tell when he was genuinely off-balance or faking it.
This constant uncertainty kept them on edge, never sure when to attack or defend.
Mental conditioning was another crucial aspect of the Drunken Sword.
Natsu's unpredictability wasn't just physical-it was also psychological.
He trained himself to appear distracted or confused, all while remaining completely focused.
To sharpen this mental deception, he sparred while solving puzzles or answering questions, forcing his mind to stay engaged even when it seemed like he wasn't paying attention.
Meditation helped him master his emotions, allowing him to keep calm under pressure and maintain the illusion of uncertainty.
His emotional control became another weapon in his arsenal, making his opponents think he was unsure of himself when, in fact, he was entirely in control.
As his sparring intensified, Natsu increased the complexity of his training.
He started with slow, deliberate sparring, moving through the drunken motions with care, but soon began facing multiple opponents at once.
His unpredictability allowed him to dodge and weave between attacks, slipping past strikes with ease.
He exploited every opening his opponents gave him, delivering quick counterstrikes.
Whenever his movements became predictable, he encouraged his sparring partners to point it out, forcing him to constantly adapt and innovate.
The Drunken Sword thrived on creativity, and Natsu embraced that fully, finding new ways to confuse his opponents with every match.
Feints became a core part of his strategy.
Natsu practiced making exaggerated, deliberate movements that seemed to leave him wide open.
His opponents would often take the bait, lunging in for what they thought was an easy hit, only for Natsu to counter at the last second.
Slow-motion sparring allowed him to perfect the timing of these feints, learning exactly when to shift from defense to offense.
He developed a sharp instinct for recognizing when an opponent had overextended themselves, exploiting those moments to deliver decisive, precise strikes.
As Natsu's training progressed, he began to realize how perfectly the Drunken Sword style suited his current state.
It sharpened his reflexes and improved his speed-not overwhelming speed, but quick enough to deliver sudden, unpredictable blows.
The key wasn't raw power or speed, but the ability to deceive and manipulate his opponent's perception.
He could appear vulnerable, off-balance, even reckless, but every movement was deliberate, calculated to confuse his opponent and create an opening.
Despite the style's effectiveness, Natsu felt a sense of conflict.
The Drunken Sword was built on manipulation and deception, and while it worked perfectly for now, it didn't align with his long-term goals.
He didn't want to rely on a style that embarrassed and toyed with his opponents.
But for the time being, it was his best option.
It improved his reflexes, speed, and balance in a way no other style could, and it gave him the tools he needed to survive and grow stronger.
For now, the Drunken Sword would be his foundation.
It was a style that allowed him to adapt to his current limitations, but Natsu knew it wasn't where his journey would end.
In time, he would refine his skills, building upon the foundation the Drunken Sword provided.
Eventually, he would create a style that better suited his purpose-one that focused not just on deception, but on protecting those he cared about.
Until then, he would use the Drunken Sword to its fullest, knowing that it was preparing him for something greater.
Natsu stood still for a moment, the branch in his hand feeling heavy as he contemplated the Drunken Sword. The style had helped him survive in the past, but there was something unsettling about relying on it again. In his adult life, it had been a last resort, born from desperation when he had nothing left to lose. His sister had been in danger, and the only way to save her had been to confuse and embarrass his opponents into submission. Back then, he hadn't cared about honor or pride, only about survival.
Now, in his smaller body, with limited reach and power, he knew he had no choice but to return to it, at least for now. The Drunken Sword played perfectly into his strengths as a child—it used his smaller size to his advantage, letting him slip through the cracks, evade powerful attacks, and strike when least expected. Yet, despite the effectiveness, Natsu couldn't shake the hollow feeling that came with each motion. He didn't want to be someone who used deception and manipulation as his core tactics. He wanted more than that—he wanted to be someone who stood tall, someone who could protect the people he cared about with strength and conviction, not trickery.
Still, practicality ruled his mind. If he was going to survive long enough to create the style he wanted, he needed to master this one first. The Drunken Sword was his only viable option to hone his reflexes, speed, and adaptability. The chaos of the style demanded constant vigilance, forcing him to react to every unpredictable movement, refining his awareness of his surroundings. He wasn't just dodging and weaving—he was training his mind to perceive danger from all angles, preparing his body to move without thought, instinctively reacting to the ebb and flow of battle.
Natsu took a deep breath and kicked the tree once more, sending a new flurry of leaves tumbling through the air. As the leaves began to fall, he relaxed his body, allowing himself to sway in a rhythmic, chaotic pattern. His movements were loose, his limbs flowing as though disconnected from his thoughts. He stumbled forward, then back, his feet shifting at random as he let his body fall into the illusion of imbalance. His mind, however, was sharp, calculating the exact moment each leaf would cross his path.
His arm lashed out, the branch slicing through the air with deceptive precision. One leaf down. Another flick of his wrist, and another leaf fell. He missed the third, but his body moved naturally into a new position, ready for the next strike. The unpredictability of the style kept him fluid, never allowing him to fall into a pattern or rhythm that could be exploited. Every step he took was carefully designed to appear random, yet it positioned him perfectly for the next movement.
He could feel the progress in his body. His movements were faster now, more refined, even as they maintained their chaotic appearance. The Drunken Sword allowed him to flow through battle, to evade attacks and counter with precision. But as the leaves continued to fall, Natsu couldn't help but reflect on the emptiness he felt inside. Each strike, each dodge, felt hollow, as though he was playing a game with no real stakes. It was a style built on deception, and while it worked, it lacked the heart that Natsu sought in his training.
As he caught the final leaf with a swift strike, he let his arm fall to his side, eyes narrowing in thought. The Drunken Sword was useful—it was a tool, but it wasn't the tool he wanted. He didn't want to rely on trickery and misdirection forever. The memory of that desperate fight to save his sister lingered in his mind, reminding him of how effective the style could be, but also of how dirty it made him feel. Back then, he had used the Drunken Sword to completely embarrass his opponents, to humiliate them in front of others. There was no honor in that, no dignity. It had been necessary at the time, but now, Natsu wanted something more—a style that reflected his true values, not one built on manipulation.
Still, he knew he wasn't ready for that yet. His body, small and inexperienced, couldn't handle the techniques he had once relied on. His strength was lacking, and his reach was limited. For now, the Drunken Sword was the only style that could compensate for those weaknesses. It allowed him to maximize his agility and reflexes, to move unpredictably, and to strike at the perfect moment. It would help him survive until he found something better, something that resonated with the person he wanted to become.
But Natsu couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't where his path would end. The Drunken Sword was only the beginning, a stepping stone to something greater. In time, he would refine his skills, building on the foundation that this style provided. He would create a style that reflected his true purpose—a style that wasn't about deception, but about protecting those he cared about. A style that would allow him to stand tall, to fight with honor and conviction, and to win without resorting to humiliation.
With that thought, Natsu resumed his training, determined to master the Drunken Sword while he still could. He knew that he couldn't afford to discard it just yet—it was too useful in sharpening his reflexes and improving his speed. But he also knew that it wasn't the style he wanted to rely on forever.
As he trained, his mind began to wander, thinking back to the techniques he had learned in his past life. He remembered the power of broad, sweeping strikes, the precision of quick jabs, and the defensive stances that allowed him to parry any attack. All of these styles had served him well in the past, but none of them felt right in this smaller body. His arms were too short, his muscles too weak to execute the techniques with the same level of power or precision. The frustration bubbled up within him again, but he forced it down, knowing that he needed to stay focused.
For now, his goal wasn't to master those old styles—it was to build the foundation he needed to eventually surpass them. The Drunken Sword would serve as that foundation, helping him develop the agility, reflexes, and unpredictability that he needed in battle. Once he had those skills perfected, he would move on to something else—something that aligned with his true values.
His movements became more fluid, more controlled as he practiced. The drunken sways and erratic steps felt more natural now, as though his body was finally starting to accept the style. His strikes were quicker, sharper, and more precise, even as they maintained the appearance of randomness. He could feel his reflexes improving with each passing moment, his ability to react to sudden changes growing sharper.
But even as he trained, Natsu kept his mind open, searching for that next step, that next evolution in his swordsmanship. He knew it would come in time, but for now, the Drunken Sword would have to do. It would give him the tools he needed to survive, to grow stronger, and to eventually find the style that truly reflected who he was and what he stood for.
Natsu allowed himself to relax, letting his body fall naturally into the swaying, chaotic rhythm of the Drunken Sword. For now, it was enough. It would help him build the reflexes and speed he needed, and it would keep him alive in the battles to come. But deep down, he knew this was only the beginning. There was a better style out there, one that would allow him to protect the people he cared about without resorting to deception or trickery.
And when the time came, he would find that style. He would create something that reflected his true purpose—a style that was powerful, honorable, and worthy of the warrior he aspired to be. Until then, he would use the Drunken Sword, mastering its unpredictability, refining his reflexes, and preparing himself for the day when he could finally fight with the strength and conviction he truly desired.
With renewed determination, Natsu resumed his training, his strikes becoming more fluid and controlled with each passing moment. The Drunken Sword would serve its purpose for now, but he knew that this was only the first step on his journey. There was something greater waiting for him on the horizon, and when the time came, he would be ready to seize it.
Natsu's movements became second nature, the Drunken Sword flowing through him as he trained under the falling leaves. His body swayed and twisted with deliberate unpredictability, each step unbalanced yet perfectly controlled. He could feel his reflexes sharpening, his senses attuning to the randomness of the world around him. Despite the effectiveness of the style, his mind remained focused on the future. He knew the Drunken Sword was temporary—a tool for now, but not the style that would define him.
As the leaves scattered around him, he began experimenting with integrating other elements into the Drunken Sword, testing out ways to expand its limits. The style relied heavily on deception, but Natsu knew that deception alone wasn't enough. He wanted to incorporate the precision and control he had mastered in his adult body, blending the chaotic nature of the Drunken Sword with the more refined techniques he had once perfected.
He tried quick transitions between the Drunken Sword's erratic movements and the precise strikes of more traditional swordsmanship. He would stumble forward, swaying like a drunkard, and then suddenly snap into a perfect stance, delivering a controlled, deadly strike. His small body struggled with the weight of each swing, but as he continued to practice, his muscles began to adapt. His strikes grew sharper, more fluid, as he started to merge the chaos with control.
It wasn't easy. Every time he shifted too quickly from one style to the other, his body faltered, struggling to balance the opposing forces. But Natsu was determined. He knew that if he could find a way to blend the unpredictability of the Drunken Sword with the precision of a more refined style, he would create something far greater than either technique alone. Something that could eventually embody the purpose he sought.
After hours of training, his muscles ached, and his breath came in ragged gasps. Sweat dripped from his brow as he leaned against the tree, watching the last few leaves settle on the ground. His mind, though weary, was alight with possibility. The Drunken Sword was evolving in his hands, becoming something more than a crude tool for deception. He could feel the beginnings of a new style taking shape, though it was still rough and unrefined.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the training ground, Natsu sat down to rest, his mind still racing with ideas. He couldn't help but think back to his past life—how he had once relied so heavily on brute strength and raw power. Back then, his swordsmanship had been direct, forceful, and devastating, but now, in this smaller body, he was forced to rethink everything. The strength he once took for granted was gone, but in its place, he was gaining something else—something more valuable.
Natsu closed his eyes and breathed deeply, centering himself. His mind drifted back to the days when he had first developed the Drunken Sword, when his sister's life had hung in the balance. He had fought desperately, recklessly, using every ounce of cunning he had to confuse his opponents. It had worked—he had saved her—but the victory had left a bitter taste in his mouth. The Drunken Sword had been born from necessity, not choice.
But now, things were different. This time, he wasn't fighting for survival—he was fighting for growth, for a future where he could stand tall as a warrior who protected, rather than humiliated. He would refine the Drunken Sword, take from it what was useful, and discard the rest. It would serve as a foundation, but not as his ultimate goal.
As the night deepened and the stars began to appear, Natsu stood up once more, the exhaustion in his body pushed aside by sheer will. He resumed his training, this time with a renewed sense of purpose. He shifted between erratic sways and deliberate strikes, finding moments where the two styles merged seamlessly. Each strike became sharper, each movement more fluid, as he continued to refine the fusion of chaos and control.
Hours passed, but Natsu was relentless. He could feel his body growing stronger, his reflexes quicker, and his control more precise. The Drunken Sword was becoming more than a tool for deception—it was becoming a means to sharpen his instincts, to refine his movements, and to prepare himself for the style he truly sought to create.
He began experimenting with different footwork, testing how far he could push the unpredictability without losing control. He exaggerated his steps, making it look as though he was off-balance, only to recover with a quick, sharp strike. He practiced dodging imaginary attacks, letting his body weave through the air as though guided by invisible currents. And with each movement, he could feel the rhythm of the Drunken Sword becoming more natural, more attuned to his smaller frame.
Despite the progress, Natsu knew there was still much to be done. His mind flickered back to the other sword styles he had once mastered—the ones built on power, precision, and grace. He knew that those techniques would eventually have to be woven into whatever style he created, but for now, the Drunken Sword would serve as the perfect training ground. It would teach him how to adapt, how to remain fluid in battle, and how to strike when least expected.
The night grew colder, but Natsu didn't stop. His body moved in a blur, the branch in his hand becoming an extension of his will as he continued to train. He practiced catching leaves, swinging at imaginary opponents, and perfecting his footwork. And through it all, he kept his mind focused on the future. The Drunken Sword was only a phase, a necessary step on his path to something greater.
As dawn began to break, casting a soft light over the training ground, Natsu finally allowed himself to rest. He had pushed his body to its limits, but it was worth it. He could feel the progress in every fiber of his being. His reflexes were sharper, his movements more fluid, and his control over his smaller body had improved. The Drunken Sword, for all its flaws, had given him the foundation he needed.
Sitting beneath the tree, Natsu stared at the horizon, watching as the first rays of sunlight bathed the land in a golden glow. He knew that his journey was far from over. There were still many challenges ahead, many more obstacles to overcome. But for now, he had a plan, and that was enough.
He would continue to refine the Drunken Sword, pushing its limits and using it to sharpen his instincts. But he wouldn't stop there. Natsu would experiment with every style he knew, adapting and evolving them to suit his smaller body. And in time, he would create something entirely new—something that reflected not just his skills, but his purpose.
The Drunken Sword had served its purpose once before, and now, it was helping him again. But Natsu knew it wasn't the end. It was merely the beginning of a greater journey, one that would lead him to the style he truly desired—a style that embodied both strength and honor. And when that time came, he would be ready.
Without Natsu realizing it, both the red and blue spider lilies had quietly vanished from the scene. The vibrant colors that once surrounded the hot spring were now gone, leaving only the dark forest and the soothing sound of the waterfall. Natsu, still deep in his thoughts and training, remained unaware of the change, his focus entirely on adapting his sword style. The disappearance of the flowers added a subtle shift to the atmosphere, as if something beyond his control had stirred within the world of the Nine-Tails