The training ground echoed with the rhythmic thuds of fists and claws striking wood. In a row, wooden dummies lined the edge of the field, each etched with glowing runes and small lights that flickered with each impact. They weren't ordinary dummies—they analyzed force, angle, and accuracy, then spoke aloud with crisp mechanical voices:
"Impact strength: 62%. Form deviation: left-leaning. Recommendation: rotate torso further before impact."
Gabumon growled softly, sweat beading under his fur. He stepped back, squared his footing again, and let out another powerful Blue Blaster, the energy scorching the dummy and shaking its wooden frame.
"Impact strength: 68%. Progressing."
"Still not enough," Matt muttered, arms crossed, but there was a glint of pride in his eyes. "Come on, Gabumon. Let's break 75."
Gabumon nodded, panting. "We can do better. Again!"
A few meters away, Joe was adjusting his glasses, face tight with determination as he watched Gomamon bounce forward toward his dummy.
"Gomamon—use your claws! Not the headbutt this time!"
Gomamon grinned. "Aw, but the headbutt is my signature move!"
Joe flinched as Gomamon launched himself head-first again.
Thunk.
"Impact strength: 39%. Critical inefficiency. Recommendation: use appendages, not skull."
Joe groaned. "Exactly what I said."
Matt chuckled quietly. "Hey, at least he's enthusiastic."
Joe sighed and looked over. "I'm just… trying to do my part, you know? I can't just hide behind the others. I'm the oldest. I should be leading, but—"
"Leadership isn't about barking orders," Matt said, tone casual but firm. "It's about showing up. You're here. Training. That already means something."
Joe blinked, surprised. "…Thanks."
Gabumon paused, tail wagging lightly. "Matt doesn't say things unless he means them."
Gomamon bounced back to his feet. "Well, I say things even if I don't mean them! Like, 'I'm totally going to listen next time!'"
Joe gave his partner a deadpan look. "Seriously?"
"Okay, okay. No more headbutts. Let's try the claws."
Swish—Thud.
"Impact strength: 47%. Partial improvement. Keep going."
Joe's face lit up. "See? Progress."
Matt nodded at both of them. "This is what it takes. Every bit of strength counts. Doesn't matter if it's 47% or 147—what matters is that we keep pushing forward."
Gomamon looked at Joe with a cheeky grin. "Are we inspiring now?"
"Absolutely," Joe said, smirking as he adjusted his glasses again. "Let's go again."
"Right behind you!" Gomamon shouted, launching forward with newfound focus.
And so, amidst the sun-drenched sand and the mechanical voices of wooden dummies, the sounds of progress echoed on.
Mimi stood on the edge of the defensive arena, her usually polished boots now scuffed with desert dust and bits of grass. A gentle breeze tugged at her hat, and for a brief moment, she watched the others scattered across the field, immersed in their training. But her gaze returned to Palmon—her partner, her friend—who stood inside the training circle, trembling ever so slightly but not backing down.
The training stage was a circular platform embedded with hidden mechanisms, surrounded by softly humming crystals. Above the arena floated a glowing orb with shifting lights—the defense core. It pulsed gently, projecting shimmering barriers at intervals to block incoming attacks. But today, Palmon wouldn't rely on that orb.
Today, she had to defend herself.
A mechanical voice echoed around them. "Defense Training Level One: Begin."
From the wall, a wooden dummy sprang to life and launched a rapid energy bolt straight at Palmon.
"Palmon, now!" Mimi called.
"Poison Ivy!" Palmon shouted, her vines shooting out to intercept the bolt. It wrapped tightly around the energy ball, dispersing the blow midair with a satisfying shimmer.
Mimi clapped once, relieved. "You did it!"
"Effective defense. Threat mitigated: 92%. Recommend progression to Level Two."
The lights on the platform dimmed for a moment. A low rumble began as the platform shifted, clicking into a new position. The arena now spun slowly, forcing Palmon to move, to adapt.
"Level Two: Initiate. Dual projectile assault commencing."
This time, two dummies activated on opposite ends. Their attack was swift—one fired a scorching beam, the other launched a spinning wind blade.
Palmon's vines whipped out to block one, but—
"Palmon, watch out!" Mimi screamed.
Boom!
The wind blade clipped Palmon's side, sending her tumbling backward. She groaned as she hit the floor, and Mimi rushed toward the platform, only to be stopped by a force field.
"No—Palmon!"
"I'm okay…" Palmon muttered, pushing herself up. Her leaves were singed, her body a little bruised, but she stood with determination in her eyes. "Let's go again."
Mimi bit her lip. Her hands trembled against the barrier. "You don't have to push so hard…"
Palmon looked at her through the flickering light of the shield. "I do. If I'm going to protect you—and our friends—I need to be stronger. You always protect me, Mimi… Let me do the same for you."
Mimi's throat tightened. The guilt of all the past battles, of watching Palmon take hits for her, of never quite knowing how to help—it all bubbled to the surface. But Palmon's resolve grounded her. Her friend wasn't a delicate flower. She was strong. And she wanted to grow stronger still.
Mimi placed a hand over her heart, then nodded. "Alright. Let's do it. You show them how strong you are."
Palmon turned toward the dummies. "Ready!"
"Level Two Restarting. Threat pattern randomized."
This time, when the attacks came—one low, one high—Palmon spun, her vines twisting and coiling like green whirlwinds. She deflected the lower strike and twisted aside from the high one, only catching a graze. She stood tall.
"Defense score: 73%. Threat partially neutralized. Continue."
Mimi's smile returned. "We'll get to a hundred. I know we will."
The training platform spun on, and so did the journey of the girl who wore a tiara but chose to fight for others.
In a corner of Piximon's vast training ground, where ancient digital runes pulsed faintly underfoot and the air smelled faintly of static electricity, Izzy adjusted his Digivice with meticulous precision. He tapped a few keys on his laptop, a soft beep-beep sounding as data flowed across the screen.
"Alright, Tentomon," he said, eyes fixed on the blinking cursor. "These targets are designed to simulate evasive enemies. You'll need to aim with precision and adjust your timing. Each target moves with randomized patterns—no repetition."
Tentomon's wings buzzed softly. "Understood, Izzy. Let's do this!"
Beside them, TK stood with a nervous but determined expression. His hands were balled into little fists, and he looked over at Patamon.
"You ready?" he asked.
Patamon nodded, floating beside him. "Let's give it our best shot!"
"Shooting Simulation Level One: Initiating," a computerized voice announced. A series of circular targets appeared, floating in midair like glowing discs. They began moving in lazy arcs, yellow trails marking their path.
"Super Shocker!" Tentomon cried, releasing a bolt of electricity. The shot arced perfectly and struck the first target, which burst into tiny shards of light.
Patamon followed a moment later. "Boom Bubble!" He inhaled deeply, then released a pressurized burst of air that knocked the second target cleanly out of the sky.
TK jumped up. "Yes! Great job, Patamon!"
The targets began moving faster.
"Keep your eyes on the arcs," Izzy muttered. "Anticipate the zigzag—don't just react, Tentomon. Predict!"
Tentomon narrowed his eyes and fired again, but the shot missed as the target juked sideways. "Ack! Too early."
"It's okay," Izzy reassured, typing furiously. "This is a good data set. Adjust your angle by twelve degrees on the next one."
Meanwhile, TK leaned down, placing a hand on Patamon's head.
"Try to wait just a second longer, okay? You can do it."
Patamon nodded. "Alright, TK!"
"Level One complete. Level Two commencing."
Now the targets split into smaller ones, their paths erratic—some curved like question marks, others shot upward before diving.
Tentomon's next shot clipped one mid-air but missed the second.
"Got one!" he said with a buzz, "But they're fast."
Patamon tried again but mistimed, his Boom Bubble hitting empty space. He spun midair in frustration. "Agh… I almost had it."
TK looked down, disheartened—but only for a moment. Then he smiled.
"It's okay," he said, his voice calm. "We'll keep practicing. One miss doesn't mean you can't improve. We're learning."
Tentomon buzzed over. "Wise words from the young one!"
Izzy grinned. "Indeed. You'd make a good scientist, TK."
The two younger Digi-destined shared a moment, then returned to their focus as the targets prepared to launch again.
Above them, the sky of the digital world remained bright—but the shadows beyond the horizon grew ever darker. They would need every skill, every shot, every moment of belief to stand against it.
But for now—they trained.
From a hill overlooking the training grounds, Naruto sat cross-legged in the grass, the wind gently brushing his spiky blond hair as he observed the other DigiDestined and their partners. His usual energy was subdued, replaced with a rare stillness in his eyes.
He watched as Tentomon fired off a burst of electricity, as Biyomon weaved through a hail of rubber bullets, and as Gabumon shattered another wooden dummy. The training was intense, purposeful. Everyone was trying to grow stronger.
"Piximon told them to train their rookie forms for a reason…" Naruto mumbled to himself. "If the base form is stronger, the evolutions get even stronger too."
He glanced down at his own hand—calloused from years of shinobi training. But I don't evolve. I don't have a Digimon to transform through me. I don't even have chakra beasts or crazy evolutions like them. Just me… and whatever sensei taught me.
He looked over at Sparky, his small Digimon partner, who stood by his side silently, eyes sharp, waiting for instruction.
"Oi, Sparky," Naruto called out. The little dragon-fox turned to him.
"I want you to go do the defense training," Naruto said. "If you're gonna learn to fight, you need to learn how to take a hit. Don't hold back just because it's gonna hurt."
Sparky blinked, sensing Naruto's seriousness, then gave a tiny nod and scampered off toward Mimi and Palmon's training area, where shield protocols and impact simulations were being run.
Left alone, Naruto sat down cross-legged in the grass and closed his eyes. He pressed his fingers together, forming the familiar seal of concentration.
It's been quiet for too long, he thought. I haven't heard a word from the Kyuubi… not even a grunt or a snarl.
His mind slipped into meditation, descending into the familiar darkness of his inner world.
The seal appeared beneath him—bright red and pulsing with ancient energy—but it was cracked. The gates that once held back the raging Nine-Tails were wide open.
And beyond them… nothing.
No swirling malevolence. No burning red eyes.
No Kyuubi.
Naruto's breath caught in his throat. He stood in the silence of his inner world, alone, more alone than he had ever been.
This… this can't be… he whispered to himself, heart pounding. The only way… the only way for me to be separated from the Kyuubi…
"…is if I died."
His knees hit the ground.
The realization cut deeper than any kunai ever had. He wasn't just trapped in a new world. He was dead in the old one. Everything he had—his friends, the village, his dream of becoming Hokage—it was all gone.
He clenched his fists tightly, trembling. Tears brimmed at the edge of his eyes, but he grit his teeth and swallowed them back.
I wanted to be free of the fox, yeah… but not like this.