"Are you sure they went this way?" Ebisu adjusted his sunglasses (which were, admittedly, too large for his face) and squinted into the distance.
Koketsu nodded gravely. "No mistake. Though we're rookies, our tracking skills are top-tier."
Renma, the ever-observant third wheel of their trio, suddenly gasped. "Wait—isn't that our classmate Obito up ahead?"
Koketsu's eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me… their target today is Obito?"*
And indeed, there he was—Obito Uchiha, future hero of the Fourth Great War, current victim of Nawaki Senpai's "How to Be a Real Ninja" lectures.
Alright, Obito, focus. Nawaki-senpai said a true ninja is always *aware of his surroundings. Check the ground. Check the trees. Check the old lady struggling with groceries—*WAIT.
His brain screeched to a halt.
Old lady? In Konoha? This could be a trap. Or… or it could be my ticket to finally unlocking the Sharingan!
His moral compass (and desperate need for a power-up) won out.
"Let me help you, granny!" he declared, puffing out his chest like a particularly heroic pigeon.
The "granny" (who may or may not have been a disguised ANBU agent testing his kindness) smiled sweetly as Obito spent 30 minutes guiding her across a street roughly the width of a noodle.
Mission complete! Obito mentally high-fived himself. Surely the Uchiha ancestors are weeping with pride right now. Any second now, my Sharingan will—
POOF.
A smoke bomb exploded at his feet.
Obito blinked. "...Huh. That was definitely a trap."
He took a single step forward.
BOOM.
The ground beneath him erupted in a gloriously pathetic firework of glitter and wet fart noises.
Obito stared at his soot-covered sandals. "...Wow. That was really bad."
Then, with the dignity of a man who had faced far worse (see: Rin's cooking), he kept walking, his broad back radiating the unshakable aura of a guy who had accepted his fate as the universe's chew toy.
Ebisu, Koketsu, and Renma watched from the bushes, their faces a mix of awe and horror.
"He… he just walked through it," Ebisu whispered.
Koketsu wiped away a single tear. "That's the power of a man who's been pranked so often, he's immune to shame."
Renma sniffled. "I kinda miss him already."
Perched on a rooftop like two particularly smug crows, Asuma Sarutobi and Midori observed their handiwork.
"Nawaki might've found himself an apprentice," Asuma mused, "but his whole 'unyielding front' tactic only works on outsiders."*
Midori nodded sagely. "Those three idiots are still watching from above. I already scoped out their houses—east side, barely any neighbors. Perfect ambush territory."
Asuma smirked. "Even Obito dodged a trap today. Pathetic."
Midori's grin turned wicked. "Nawaki-senpai must be seething wondering why we haven't targeted him yet."
Asuma's eyes gleamed. "That barrel of fermented bear dung we found? It's almost ready."
A pause.
Both snickered like the little demons they were.
Nightfall: Ebisu's Humiliation Arc
Later that night, under the guise of "video game night," Ebisu, Koketsu, and Renma actually plotted to spy on Ebisu's older sister (a legendary kunoichi rumored to bathe in scented oils).
"This street keeps getting darker," Ebisu complained. "I should tell Mom to—"
POOF.
A smoke bomb.
BOOM.
The world turned into a nightmare of rotten milk, fermented cat pee, and what smelled like a landfill's sweat socks.
Koketsu gagged. "OH SWEET KAMI, IT'S IN MY MOUTH—"
Renma collapsed to his knees. "I can taste my regrets!"
Ebisu, ever the composed leader, adjusted his glasses with trembling hands. "...We. Need. Training."
Koketsu, now dry-heaving: "Forget spying—I just want to burn these clothes!"
Renma, weeping: "The river. We must bathe in the river. If anyone sees us like this, we'll be exiled."*
From their rooftop throne, the two masterminds watched their victims flee.
Midori yawned. "Amateurs. They can't even spot a basic trap."
Asuma stretched. "At this rate, we won't even need to fight in the future. Just litter the battlefield with bear dung and watch them suffocate in incompetence."
And with that, they vanished into the night—two shadows with too much free time and a disturbing knowledge of fermentation.
With Kumo having successfully reorganized after last year's attack, the Third Hokage finally ordered the withdrawal of Konoha's troops.
Though Shikaji had visited Suna briefly, his presence went largely unnoticed—a fleeting shadow in the wind. But unlike others, Kaji always found an excuse to return to Konoha, if only for a moment, to be with his beloved.
Now, one year after his official departure, he was back—and this time, likely for good.
He wasted no time. The moment he passed through Konoha's gates, he vanished in a flicker.
At home, Himari was tending to the garden when a familiar scent—one only he carried—drifted into her senses. Her breath hitched. She turned, searching—
Then strong arms wrapped around her from behind.
Himari pouted. "You're always so sneaky, Kaji-kun." Her voice melted as she leaned into her husband's embrace.
He didn't wait. In one smooth motion, he swept her off her feet and carried her to their room.
What followed was a scene of heated passion, filled with whispers, moans, and the kind of reunion that left no doubt—he was home to stay.
----
Asuma was in high spirits today—and so was Midori. Their esteemed older brother had returned, and to celebrate, they decided to take a rare day off. They couldn't wait to regale him with their exploits.
At six years old, the two were developing at an alarming rate. In Kaji's absence, their training had intensified under their parents' guidance—basic to advanced jutsu theory, taijutsu mastery, and even intermediate ninjutsu. Though their tiny chakra reserves limited them, their transformation techniques and body control were already flawless.
Now, they were attempting to master the Body Flicker Technique, pushing their small frames to the limit.
With Kaji's return, Minato was also recalled—his contributions on the frontlines had been invaluable, and frankly, a certain red-haired kunoichi in the village was getting impatient. Sakumo took his place, resuming command.
Tsunade, meanwhile, remained stationed at the border. Hiruzen's excuse? "She's not doing anything better in the village anyway."
(She would never hear of this.)
Nawaki, however, was the most resentful. Without his older sister around, he felt exposed. But slowly, he was realizing the truth—he needed to grow. Though his skills were formidable, Konoha's higher-ups still hesitated to send him on missions. His head was worth billions, and war was unpredictable. Perhaps when peace came, the perfect team would find him.
----
The real battlefield, however, was between Asuma's faction and Ebisu's squad. What started as childish rivalry had escalated into full-scale tactical warfare.
Ebisu's team had begun ambushing Asuma with color bombs—sticky, staining, and nearly impossible to wash off. The prank war was at its peak, and bizarrely, all five participants had shown explosive growth in theory, practice, and even taijutsu. When all else failed, they resorted to hand-to-hand combat, ending fights with a chillingly polite "Thank you for your hard work, classmates."
Yet for all their progress, they were no match for Asuma and Midori in taijutsu. The difference was staggering.
Hiruzen observed these skirmishes with interest. The dynamic Kaji had fostered in Asuma and Midori was fascinating—though he couldn't fathom why their "mission" involved targeting Nawaki.
"Replace feces bombs with real explosives," the Hokage mused, "and you have elite shinobi specialized in tracking and leading enemies into traps."
Danzo, ever the skeptic, remained unconvinced—until the day he witnessed Midori's ruthless counterattack.
Cornered by Ebisu's squad, Midori and Asuma feigned retreat—only to lure their pursuers into a stench-laden nightmare. Trapped, humiliated, and drenched in foul-smelling dye, Ebisu's team could only watch as their tormentors calmly stole their entire paint stockpile and vanished.
Danzo's jaw dropped.
Kaji's methods were harsh, psychologically torturous—yet when it came to those he cared for, he was gentle, nurturing. But the end result was the same: perfection.
If Danzo had once rated Kaji's tactics a 99/100, today, he revised his score.
101.