Chapter 48: When Immortals Fall and Mortals Cry
Kenichi:
Let it be known: if you ever find yourself watching your best friend get turned into a human pretzel by a guy who claims to be Odin but fights like the lovechild of Bruce Lee and a Norse apocalypse, you're officially having the worst Tuesday of your life.
Kenichi Ma was having that kind of Tuesday.
He was already looking like he'd been tossed down a flight of stairs made entirely of regret and poor life choices. His arms ached. His ribs might've been playing a new symphony in "Crack Major." And now? Now he had front-row seats to the worst beatdown of the year. Possibly the century. Naruto—his friend, his maybe-kinda-insane mentor, and somehow the glue holding their weird, chaotic gang together—was getting curb-stomped by Ryuto. Or Odin. Or whatever comic-book-villain name he was using today.
The fight had been a blur. Literally. Kenichi could barely follow anything beyond the shockwaves and explosions. It was like watching two fighter jets try to punch each other into orbit. Every time they clashed, the air cracked like thunder. The whole battle lasted maybe three minutes, but Kenichi felt like he aged three years.
And then it ended.
Naruto, bruised, bleeding, with limbs at angles that would make a yoga master scream, stood his ground. Guts mode fully activated. Even when Odin—scratch that, Ryuto—offered him the villain team-up of the century, Naruto just spit blood and said something very Naruto-y about justice and people and not joining megalomaniacs. Then Ryuto hit him so hard it could've been classified as a war crime.
Now, Naruto hung like a rag doll, limp in Odin's grip by the hair.
Kenichi stood frozen, gripping Honoka's trembling hand as if she were his last connection to sanity. He'd held her back the whole fight, terrified that one stray attack could obliterate her. The old Kenichi would've passed out ten seconds in. This version was still standing… barely. But he was feeling something he hadn't expected.
Anger.
Honoka, who had bravely tried to smile through everything, had cracked the moment Naruto fell. Her tears rolled silently as she stared at the crumpled form of the boy who had become like a brother to her. "This isn't training anymore," she whispered. "This is… this is war."
Kenichi couldn't disagree.
And then, just to make a terrible situation worse, Odin punched the Akatsuki HQ. Like, actually punched it. The entire building—well, the partially constructed, steel-gutted warehouse they called HQ—exploded into concrete confetti. And before he left, Odin dropped a black glove with a shiny red "2" on it next to Naruto.
"Tell him," he said, voice cold, "his name is Balder now."
Translation: Naruto just got branded as second place.
After Odin and his merry band of overpowered lunatics left, the gang rushed toward Naruto. Kenichi dropped beside his friend, checking his pulse, his breath, anything. Relief flooded him like a busted dam when he realized Naruto was just unconscious.
Just.
Yeah, because a guy with broken ribs, legs, and arms totally fell into the "just sleeping it off" category.
Kisara, Shogo, Loki, the rest of their team—they all stood in stunned silence. Nobody spoke. Not even a bad joke. Their leader, the one they looked to for chaos and courage, had been wrecked.
Kenichi clenched his fists so hard his nails bit into his palms. He looked at the ruins of their base. At the glove. At Naruto.
He had apologized to Ryuto. Had accepted he broke a promise. But this? This wasn't a grudge match. This was domination.
Something inside him snapped. The scared boy who always ran, who avoided fights, who just wanted to be normal—he was still there. But he was done being helpless.
"I won't run anymore," Kenichi whispered, not to anyone in particular, but maybe to the stars—or the gods—or his own fear.
He looked down at Naruto, the guy who leapt before thinking, who trained like a maniac, who smiled even when everything hurt.
"I swear," Kenichi said, eyes fierce now. "I'll catch up to you. I'll get stronger. And next time… we're not losing."
Because when heroes fall, someone has to rise.
And this time, Kenichi was done watching from the sidelines.
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Kisara:
Kisara stood there.
Arms limp. Lips slightly parted. Eyes wide.
And for once, she had nothing to say.
The warehouse — their beat-up, patched-together base with the janky vending machine, the old couch that somehow still had all its springs, the cracked punching bag everyone swore they'd replace but never did — was now a smoking crater. Dust floated in the air like snowflakes that had lost their way.
"That was my place..." she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else.
She wasn't just talking about a building.
She was talking about a home.
It wasn't fancy. It wasn't even legal, probably. But it was hers — theirs. A hideout where she and her gang had laughed, argued, trained, and grown up together. A place where she found purpose in fists and camaraderie. And now… now it looked like someone had dropped a divine bowling ball straight from Asgard.
And Naruto.
She turned to see him, the dork with the too-big heart and too-loud voice, now lying unconscious, bloody, and broken like a crumpled action figure. Just a week ago, he'd waltzed into their lives like a storm in sneakers, tossed around motivational quotes like candy, taught everyone how to use a kunai like it was P.E. class, and somehow — somehow — made even Loki act like a team player.
She'd only known him for a week.
But in that week, he'd done something even her gang hadn't.
He made her feel like protecting others wasn't weakness — it was strength. That her pride didn't have to come from being better than everyone else, but from being with everyone else.
And now he was broken.
"Is that what it means to be strong?" she asked aloud, her voice trembling and low, directed at no one and everyone.
Thor and Freya's people were already gone. Odin — or "Ryuto" or whatever ridiculous Norse name he wanted to cosplay with — had vanished with his overpowered ego. The crater and the glove with the number 2 on it remained, like some kind of ominous business card from a tyrant who thought world domination was a polite conversation starter.
Kisara crouched beside Naruto's unconscious body. His breathing was ragged. His jacket was torn. His boots were cracked. His bones were probably liquid at this point.
But even beaten down to a pulp, there was something oddly peaceful about him. Like he still believed in the fight. Still believed he could come back swinging.
"I hate you," she muttered. "You big, dumb, brave idiot."
She wasn't crying. She just had... battle dust in her eyes. Shut up.
Then she stood. Tall. Angry. Her fists clenched and her voice steady now.
"You want war, Odin?" she said to the sky. "Fine. But next time — we fight on our terms."
She turned to the others, many of whom were just as stunned. Honoka, pale and shivering. Kenichi, trying to stand with his bruised body. Shogo looking away to hide how tightly his fists were clenched. Loki… quietly staring at the glove like it had personally offended his bank account.
Kisara pointed toward what remained of their home.
"We rebuild. From the ground up if we have to. And next time — we don't lose."
Her eyes went back to Naruto.
"Next time, no one gets left in the dirt."
And just like that, Kisara the proud tomboy, the lone wolf of the streets, became something she'd never thought she'd be:
A leader.
A protector.
And maybe… just maybe… a little bit of a Naruto-style optimist.
But she'd punch you if you said that out loud.
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Loki:
Loki Takame stood among the dust and splinters of what used to be their Akatsuki base, brushing rubble off his shoulders like dandruff. Around him, kids groaned, coughed, or stared wide-eyed at the giant crater where a building once stood. Some were crying. Some were mumbling about revenge. Others were still trying to understand how exactly they lost to a guy in a white suit who looked like he walked out of a high-end boyband.
Loki? He wasn't shocked. He was calculating.
Odin—or Ryuto or whatever self-important mythological code name he preferred—was stronger. That much was obvious. His Ki-enhanced karate made people explode like overripe watermelons, and his ego was large enough to have its own moon orbiting it. But Naruto... Naruto was different.
Naruto was a miracle in orange pants.
"Send the helicopter," Loki murmured into his Bluetooth as he stared down at the unconscious heap of charisma and cracked ribs that was Naruto. "Yeah, medical emergency. Ryozanpaku. VIP priority."
"Understood, sir," his butler replied like they did this sort of thing often. Which, honestly, wouldn't be surprising going forward.
He crouched beside Naruto, brushing aside a bit of broken rebar that had impaled itself dangerously close to the guy's shoulder.
"You know," Loki said to the unconscious ninja-slash-dragon-host, "I only joined this mess because it had potential for growth. ROI was good. Market volatility low. Power grab probability? Through the roof. But you..." He paused, letting his voice soften just a touch. "You made me want more. Not money. Not clout. Just—"
He shut his mouth before it got embarrassing. Emotional vulnerability wasn't part of his brand.
Instead, he turned to the rest of the gang. Kenichi, bruised and barely standing. Kisara, lips bleeding but eyes still defiant. Ikki and Koga tending to each other's wounds with the kind of masculine "I'm fine, bro" lies typical of guys who just got steamrolled by a martial arts Norse god.
"We're not joining Odin," Loki said simply. "I know some of you are considering it. He's got strength, charisma, even matching uniforms. Great branding, really. But he's not him." He motioned to Naruto. "That guy there? He's the future. Whether he's in a coma or not."
The others looked between each other. Shogo grunted, crossing his arms. "We follow Naruto."
"Of course we do," Honoka snapped, hands on her hips. "You saw how many tail-cloak-arm-things he summoned? That was like, anime final-boss-tier!"
Loki smiled faintly. The ragtag gang was falling into place. But he needed to move fast. Faster than Odin. If Naruto was going to rise again—and he would—he needed everything ready.
He opened his phone.
"Get me the contact list. Magic-compatible weapon smiths. High-tier enchantment engineers. I want options by tomorrow."
"Very good, sir."
"And get a quote on construction. Reinforced bunker-style. Underground panic rooms. Rooftop helipad. Full security system."
The butler didn't even hesitate. "Sir, may I ask... what will be the new base's name?"
Loki looked toward the river, where Odin's gang had disappeared, and then down at Naruto—bruised, bloodied, but somehow still managing to look heroic even unconscious.
"Akatsuki 2.0," he said. "No... Akatsuki Prime."
The chopper began to descend, kicking up a swirl of dust and resolve.
"Let's build a fortress," Loki muttered. "We've got a war coming."
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Shogo:
If you asked Shogo Kitami the meaning of life, he'd answer with one word: "Fight."
Not peace. Not love. Definitely not algebra. The dude was practically the living embodiment of a heavy metal guitar riff—raw, chaotic, and itching for a good brawl. Pain? He ate that for breakfast. Death? Meh, as long as it came in the form of a flaming uppercut. Glory? Only if it came with a broken nose.
So when Odin, a.k.a. Ryuto the Absolute Buzzkill, turned Naruto into a very beat-up human pancake, Shogo expected himself to do what he always did—roar like a beast, crack his knuckles, and jump in swinging.
But he didn't.
He stood frozen.
Shogo—Berserker Shogo—couldn't move.
Odin was holding Naruto like a used tissue. His ribs were cracked, his arm was dangling like a puppet with cut strings, and he looked like he'd been body-slammed by the entire cast of Dragon Ball Z. Shogo's fists clenched. His knuckles turned white. His heart pounded like war drums… but his legs?
Nothing.
They refused to move.
And for the first time in his entire life, Shogo felt it.
Fear.
Not that "spiders-in-your-shoe" fear or "forgot-my-homework" fear. This was the soul-crushing, gut-twisting, "if I step in now, I die before I blink" fear.
When Odin turned, leveling their HQ with one glowing punch like it was made of paper mache and not reinforced concrete, the feeling only got worse.
The gang stood in stunned silence as the man dropped a glove on the cracked pavement next to Naruto's broken body. A leather glove with a silver 2 stitched on it like some twisted participation award.
"Tell him his name is Balder now," Odin said, like he was renaming a pet.
And then he left—just turned his back and walked off, his cloak flapping like some smug anime villain on his way to buy milk.
Shogo finally moved.
He didn't shout. He didn't scream or throw a tantrum. He just walked forward slowly and knelt beside Naruto. Carefully, almost reverently, he helped lift his broken friend into his arms. The berserker looked down at the boy who had taken a hit for all of them—who had kept standing when even the mountains would've knelt.
"Idiot…" he whispered, his voice shaky.
Then softer, only for Naruto to hear—if he even could:
"I'm sorry. I—I froze. I should've stepped in. Should've fought. But I didn't. You were right there… and I didn't move."
Shogo didn't cry. Berserkers don't cry.
But maybe, just maybe, there was a sting in his eyes that wasn't from the dust.
The rest of the group helped get Naruto to the Ryozanpaku helicopter that had arrived just in time—probably thanks to Honoka sobbing into a communicator like her life depended on it.
As the blades spun and the wind howled around them, Shogo sat silently beside Naruto's unconscious form, gripping his hand.
Not in panic.
Not in pity.
But in resolve.
"I'm never freezing again," he whispered to himself. "Next time, Ryuto… next time, I'll be the one standing."
And as the chopper took off into the bleeding sky, Shogo's fist clenched like it had found something new to live for—something more than the thrill of battle.
He had found something worth protecting.