Jiraiya’s training grounds were nothing like Ken expected.

  They weren’t remote mountains. No summoning scrolls or ancient ruins. Just a ft, forgotten valley hidden behind three yers of illusory barriers—marked only by a crooked tree and an old shrine stone etched with symbols long eroded by time.

  Jiraiya stood barefoot at its center, arms crossed.

  “This is where Minato trained with the Toads,” he said, voice calm. “Where Naruto will train when his time comes.”

  Ken nodded once, stepping forward. “Then let’s begin.”

  Jiraiya gave him a sideways gnce. “This won’t be like practicing jutsu. You’re not learning how to punch harder. You’re going into the belly of the beast. Literally.”

  Ken smirked faintly. “Already live there.”

  “Not like this you don’t.”

  Day One – The Anchor RitualJiraiya id out a circle of sealing tags, each with chakra anchors connected to Ken’s body by fine threads. At the center, he drew a sigil resembling a spiral sandstorm with fire symbols at the edges.

  “This’ll pull your consciousness into the mindscape, where Shukaku lives,” Jiraiya said, tightening the st anchor. “You’ll meet him, not as a jailer… but as a visitor.”

  “And if he tries to kill me?”

  Jiraiya smirked. “Then scream really loud so I can pull you back.”

  Ken sat cross-legged in the center. Eyes closed. Breath slow.

  Jiraiya cpped his hands and sent chakra into the array.

  The world blinked.

  Inside the Mindscape – Shukaku’s DomainSand.

  Endless, dark sand.

  The sky was crimson and swirling. The dunes were sharp, angur, and twisted like a storm frozen mid-scream. And standing atop the tallest dune, like a beast carved from nightmare, was Shukaku.

  He was enormous. Towering. Bck markings etched across his tan body, eyes glowing gold like twin suns filled with hate.

  And he was already watching.

  Ken climbed the dune slowly, step by step, boots sinking into each yer of shifting grit. The pressure here wasn’t chakra. It was presence. Being watched by something ancient and angry.

  Finally, he stood within speaking distance.

  “Shukaku.”

  The tailed beast growled.

  “You’ve come to talk, little meat-sack? Or have you come to beg again?”

  Ken didn’t respond right away.

  “I’ve come to understand.”

  That made the beast blink.

  Then rumble.

  “Lies. You want control. You want power. Like the rest of them.”

  Ken stepped closer. “I already have power. But it’s wasted without knowing what you are.”

  Shukaku tilted his massive head, and for the first time… grinned.

  “You’re different. I’ve seen your mind. All of it.”

  Ken froze.

  “What?”

  Shukaku snarled, eyes narrowing.

  “You’re not from here. You don’t belong in this story. I’ve seen your thoughts—the books, the screens, the world where I’m just words on a page. Where we are fiction.”

  The desert pulsed beneath Ken’s feet.

  “Stop,” he said softly.

  Shukaku rose higher, cws digging into the sand.

  “Why should I? Afraid your truth will unravel you? Afraid this isn’t real?”

  Ken clenched his fists.

  “No,” he said. “I’m afraid you’ll think that gives you the right to destroy it.”

  Shukaku paused.

  The sky darkened. The sand slowed.

  For a moment, there was only the wind.

  Then Shukaku lowered his head to Ken’s level—massive golden eye staring directly into the boy’s own.

  “You are born of a story,” he said. “But you bleed like the rest of us. And if you bleed, you can fall. Even gods fall.”

  Ken met his gaze.

  “I’m not a god.”

  “Not yet,” Shukaku whispered.

  Then he reared back, roaring, “So show me what you are!”

  The sand exploded.

  Ken was hurled backward, the dunes shifting into a living wave. He drew chakra instinctively, Sharingan bzing—but it did little in this pce. Here, he wasn’t the master.

  He was the guest.

  Shukaku came at him with fury, cws the size of trees, voice shaking the dunes apart. Ken moved, fast, flickering through the terrain, trying to stay ahead of the tide.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  The sand caught him, smmed him to the ground, pinned him with brutal force.

  “You want trust? You want unity?” Shukaku’s voice rumbled like an earthquake. “Then earn it.”

  Ken spat blood onto the sand.

  He looked up.

  And ughed.

  Shukaku froze.

  Ken’s voice was hoarse. “You think you’re the only one suffering? The only one pulled from somewhere else and forced to wear chains you didn’t make?”

  He pushed against the sand, inch by inch.

  “I woke up in this world with nothing. No family legacy. No cn backing. Just… a chance.”

  His chakra fred.

  Sand peeled back.

  “And I’ve been earning every inch since the day I was born.”

  Shukaku growled low.

  “You bleed like a human. But you fight like something else.”

  Ken stood, panting, blood trailing down his arm.

  “I fight like someone who knows the weight of being written into someone else's story.”

  The desert stilled.

  Then… it shifted.

  Gently.

  Shukaku exhaled, the first sound that wasn’t rage.

  “…Then write your own.”

  Outside – Jiraiya’s CampKen’s eyes snapped open.

  He gasped, clutching his chest. Sweat poured down his body, the seal on his abdomen glowing faintly—not violently, but like a heartbeat.

  Jiraiya leaned over him.

  “Well?”

  Ken blinked.

  “…He knows everything.”

  Jiraiya raised a brow. “Everything?”

  Ken stood, slowly. “Not just my power. Everthing He can know about me.”

  The toad sage was quiet.

  “And what did he say?”

  Ken looked toward the horizon, where the sun was rising.

  “He said… I better write a good story.”