Naruto: The Beast Within

The village is asleep.

The air is cold, still, too quiet. The sky is a deep, endless blue, and the sun hasn't even started its lazy crawl up yet. Everything about this moment screams:

Go back to bed.

Raimu listens. For a second, he actually pauses mid-step, considering it. He could just turn around. Pull his hood up. Disappear into the nearest tree and take a nap.

He even left his blanket at home, so what's just stopping him from...

Then, beside him—

"This is actually torture."

Takuma looks like death. His scarf is wrapped tight around his face, but it does nothing to hide his half-dead expression. His eyes droop so low that he's barely looking where he's walking, and his steps are slow, sluggish, like his body is actively fighting against being awake.

"Five in the morning," he mutters, voice thick with exhaustion. "Five in the freaking morning. Do you know how many things I'd rather do than this? All of them. All the things."

Raimu yawns, stretching his arms over his head as he keeps walking. "Mm. If you stop talking, you could probably fit in an extra two seconds of sleep while walking."

Takuma gives him a slow, murderous side-eye. "Shut up."

Raimu hums in amusement but doesn't say anything else. He just keeps moving, calm, quiet, completely unbothered.

Takuma groans. "Why do you look fine? Actually, no—why do you look even sleepier than me, but you're not even struggling?"

Raimu just shrugs. "I'm always sleepy."

Takuma stares at him like he's personally offended.

"I hate you."

Raimu tilts his head. "You'd be less tired if you just accepted your fate."

Takuma groans dramatically. "Iruka-sensei is a monster. How could he just tell us to come out here at 5:00 in the morning?!"

As if summoned by the mere mention of his name, a sharp voice cuts through the cold air.

"You're late."

The training field looms ahead.

And standing at the center, arms crossed, gaze sharp as steel— is Iruka.

Takuma flinches. "No way! We got here on time!"

Iruka raises a slow, unimpressed eyebrow. "Are you keeping time now?"

Takuma closes his mouth immediately.

Raimu blinks sleepily. "Well. Technically, the sun isn't up yet, so the day hasn't started. So we're still early."

Iruka's eye twitches.

"Drop."

Takuma gawks. "Drop what?!"

"Drop. Now."

Raimu sighs as he lowers himself onto the dirt, moving slow and unbothered. Here we go.

Takuma screams internally but obeys.

Iruka doesn't waste time.

"One hundred push-ups. No breaks. If you stop, you start over."

Takuma whimpers.

Raimu lowers himself with a slow, deep inhale. Pushes up. Repeats. His movement is fluid, natural, almost lazy.

Takuma? Already struggling.

By twenty, his breathing is uneven.

By thirty, his arms shake violently.

By fifty, sweat drips from his forehead, his expression twisted in agony.

Raimu stays calm, unbothered. His movements are slow, smooth. His arms don't shake.

Iruka watches closely.

At seventy-five, Takuma faceplants into the dirt.

A sharp inhale. A heavy silence.

Then—

"If you stop, you start over."

Takuma's groan is soul-crushing. "Iruka-sensei, please—"

Iruka doesn't even blink. "Start over."

Takuma lets out a dying wheeze.

Iruka looks at Raimu. "You done already?"

Raimu tilts his head. "Mm. Yeah."

Iruka's smirk is downright evil. "Then count for him."

Raimu stares down at Takuma, who is currently suffering.

"One. Two. Three—"

Takuma lets out a broken sob.

__

The sky is still a faint light of dark blue. and the only sound in the training grounds is the steady rhythm of heavy breathing and the crunch of dirt beneath feet. Raimu and Takuma barely stand, their bodies aching from the grueling exercises Iruka had pushed them through, yet the most brutal part of the punishment is still ahead.

Iruka's voice cuts through the air, cold and unwavering. "Alright, you two. Next—sit-ups. 200."

Takuma's groan is more like a sigh of resignation as he kneels down. His entire body feels like it's been run over by a cartload of rocks, but there's no time to complain. Not when Iruka's sharp eyes are watching them like a hawk.

"Get started," Iruka commands, crossing his arms over his chest.

Raimu, on the other hand, stretches languidly, with his usual sleepy, half-awake demeanor.

His golden eyes glance lazily at Takuma, who's already cringing and positioning himself for the first sit-up.

With a yawn, Raimu lies down on the cold dirt, hands behind his head, and waits for Iruka's signal.

"Go!"

Raimu's body moves as though it's all instinct, no effort needed. He pushes his back off the ground effortlessly, his form smooth, like water. The fluidity is almost unsettling, considering how tired they both are. Takuma struggles, his breathing ragged, sweat already soaking through his shirt. His movements are jagged, a far cry from Raimu's natural ease.

"One!" Iruka calls out, his tone encouraging yet laced with authority.

Raimu is already on his 20th sit-up, barely breaking a sweat, but Takuma—he looks like he's about to collapse at the 10th. Every fiber of his body screams for mercy, but there's no time for that. He grits his teeth, pushing through, stomach muscles burning with the intensity of each rep.

By 50, Takuma's arms tremble, his chest heaving. He tries to keep pace, but he can feel Raimu's calm, steady rhythm beside him. It's infuriating. How can Raimu look so effortless? How can he be so cool in the face of such pain?

But Raimu's expression never changes. It's almost as if he's doing this in his sleep. His golden eyes gleam with a mixture of boredom and a quiet sense of annoyance, but he never falters.

Iruka watches them both carefully, his gaze lingering on Takuma's shaking form. "Focus," he barks. "No slacking."

Takuma lets out a frustrated growl, crunching upwards with another labored motion. His breath is ragged, and his back aches like never before, but he forces himself to continue. His legs are planted firmly on the ground, and each time he rises, it feels like his entire body wants to fail him.

By the time they reach 100, Takuma is drenched in sweat, his abs burning with a level of fire he never thought possible. But he's not done yet. Iruka isn't the type to show mercy.

"Keep going. 200."

Takuma barely hears Iruka's words over the pounding of his heart, but he pushes forward. He forces himself to finish, with his legs shaking and his stomach protesting.

Beside him, Raimu is still gliding through the sets with disturbing ease, yawning between each sit-up. "Mm, I think I need more sleep…" he mutters, his tone almost conversational, yet still moving with flawless technique.

Iruka's sharp voice interrupts him. "Focus, Raimu."

Raimu lazily glances up, his golden eyes half-lidded. "Eh, I'm focusing." He stretches mid-set and then slams his back down into the dirt. His movements are so fluid they almost look like a dance.

Iruka's eyes narrow, but he doesn't interrupt. He knows exactly what Raimu is capable of.

When they finally finish the sit-ups, their muscles burn with exhaustion, and their movements are stiff. But Iruka doesn't give them time to rest. "Alright, now it's time for some Taijutsu drills. Against some training dummies."

Takuma staggers to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him. He feels like he could just fall right back down into the dirt. He doesn't even have the energy to look over at Raimu.

But when he sees the dummies set up, a wave of dread washes over him. These aren't just any practice targets. They're weighted, mechanical dummies, each designed to mimic real human movement. They'll strike back, and at this moment, Takuma feels like he doesn't even have the strength to defend himself.

Iruka claps his hands together, summoning their attention. "Each of you will face one. Your task is to land as many clean hits as possible before the timer runs out. And don't even think about holding back."

Takuma looks at the nearest dummy, its dark wooden arms swinging like pendulums. He shudders, but then realizes he has no choice.

Raimu yawns, already stretching again. "Fine. But no promises."

The first bell rings. The training dummies spring to life, their wooden limbs whipping toward the students with a dangerous precision.

Takuma's first strike is hesitant. His punch glances off the dummy's shoulder, and before he can adjust, the arm swings back with a crushing force. He barely dodges, his body jerking out of the way just in time. His heart races as he counters with another hit, this time landing square in the dummy's chest.

"One hit! Good!" Iruka calls out, but Takuma barely hears him.

He's in a whirlwind, too focused on keeping up with the dummies' rapid movements. The hits come faster now—each dummy seems to be getting smarter, more aggressive. Takuma blocks a punch, but the force sends him stumbling backward, his breath coming in ragged bursts.

Meanwhile, Raimu, almost half-asleep, dances between his own dummies like a swaying breeze. He barely lifts a finger to dodge their attacks. Every time a wooden fist swings toward him, he shifts to the side, almost as if in a slow-motion dream. His golden eyes are half-closed, and his movements are impossibly smooth.

"Hey, Takuma!" Raimu calls, barely breaking a sweat. "Isn't this fun? I'm getting a real workout!"

Takuma can only muster a groan, his fist colliding with the dummy's wooden head. He's dizzy, his muscles screaming. But Raimu looks like he's still in cruise control, moving with the grace of someone who's done this a thousand times.

"Alright!" Iruka's voice rings out. "Times up!"

Takuma barely manages to stay on his feet as the timer dings, signaling the end of the session. He's panting, covered in sweat, and his legs are threatening to give out from under him.

But there's no rest. Iruka's already looking at them with hard, calculating eyes. "You've got a long way to go, but we're just getting started."

Takuma looks at Raimu, who is already stretching again, unfazed. He's not sure if he's jealous or terrified of Raimu's absurd natural stamina.

For once, he wishes he could just… hibernate like his friend.

As the drill with the dummies finishes.

Raimu looks around not feeling fazed, his breathe is steady, barely sweating from all the exercises and fighting.

Takuma? A disaster.

But then—

Iruka steps in.

"Raimu, you're not even trying."

Raimu blinks sleepily. "But I am."

Iruka narrows his eyes. "No. You're moving because it's easy for you. You're not struggling. So let's fix that."

Raimu stares at him.

Iruka gestures toward a massive boulder.

"The final drill of the morning."

"Pick it up. Run with it. Ten laps."

Silence.

Takuma lets out a weak "What the hell?!"

Raimu stares at the boulder.

Then at Iruka.

Then back at the boulder.

He sighs. "That's unreasonable."

Iruka's smirk is downright evil. "Good. Now pick it up."

Raimu clicks his tongue but walks toward it. His hands press against the rough surface, and with a deep breath, he lifts.

His arms burn instantly.

The weight presses against his spine. His breath catches.

This is actually insane.

Still—his legs move. One step. Then another. The weight is heavy, pressing into his bones, but he keeps going.

Takuma watches, horrified.

Iruka calls out behind him. "Faster, Raimu. Or we start over."

By lap three, Raimu's arms ache.

By lap five, his lungs burn.

By lap eight, he's actually grimacing.

By lap ten, he collapses.

The boulder slams into the ground. Dust kicks up. His arms feel like lead, his body sinking into the dirt.

He pants, shoulders shaking.

Takuma, still gasping from his own suffering, manages a weak, "How do you feel now, huh?"

Raimu turns his head slightly, golden eyes still half-lidded.

Then—he gives Takuma a tiny, sleepy smirk.

"Could've been worse."

Takuma screams in frustration.

Iruka?

He just smiles. "I'm glad you think that."

Raimu groans into the dirt, knowing he shouldn't have said anything.