Nawaki moved through the streets of Konoha like a seasoned shinobi navigating a minefield—which, given his recent experiences, wasn't far from the truth. His eyes darted left and right, scanning for disturbances in the dirt, suspiciously placed leaves, or any other telltale signs of them.
"Chakra-enhanced vision—check. Weight distribution adjusted—check. Even the damn squirrels look like potential accomplices—check."
He was a man on a mission: survive the walk home without falling victim to another "special surprise."
Then, he spotted Obito Uchiha strolling ahead, blissfully unaware, grinning like an idiot at nothing in particular.
"That fool's gonna get himself blown up," Nawaki muttered.
Sure enough, five seconds later, his trained eyes caught it—a meticulously placed poop bomb, right in Obito's path.
With reflexes honed by months of trauma, Nawaki lunged forward, snatching the trap just before Obito could step on it.
Obito: "Whoa! Big Bro Nawaki, was that a trap?!"
Nawaki exhaled deeply, shoulders sagging under the weight of responsibility. "Kid, you have no idea."
And so began The Lecture.
As they walked, Nawaki schooled Obito on:
Tactical awareness ("Never trust a quiet street")
Environmental analysis ("If the birds stop singing, run")
The dark arts of fecal warfare ("This isn't just poop—it's fermented poop")
Obito listened with wide-eyed wonder. This was what being a real shinobi was about!
The Symphony of Disaster
Just as Nawaki finished his grand speech on "The Five Stages of Poop Bomb Evolution," the universe decided to prove his point.
POOF.
POFF.
Obito blinked. "Huh?"
Nawaki's face went pale.
BOOOOOOM.
BOOOOOOM.
The stench hit like a physical force. Fermented cat feces. Liquid cow manure. A hint of something unidentifiable.
Obito stood frozen, tears welling in his eyes. "It… it smells like death's outhouse…"
Nawaki, however, kept walking, face blank, as if nothing had happened.
Obito's Lesson: "When life bombs you with literal crap… pretend it didn't happen." He nodded solemnly.
Obito: "Dang, Big Bro… you can even identify the ingredients just by smell?"
Nawaki's eye twitched. "…Experience."
They parted ways—Obito inspired, Nawaki internally screaming.
The Senju Compound – Humiliation Complete
The gate guard took one whiff and immediately strapped on a gas mask.
Nawaki's soul left his body.
Inside, he collapsed onto his bed, stared at the ceiling, and let out a primal roar of frustration. Then, with the dignity of a man who had survived worse, he grabbed a book and pretended today never happened.
Meanwhile… The Masterminds
Two small figures huddled in the shadows, reviewing their latest operation.
Asuma: "Nawaki didn't even flinch. We've trained him too well."
Mido: "And Obito? He's too easy. We need better targets."
A sinister pause. Then, grins spread across their faces.
Asuma: "Genma."
Mido: "Ebisu."
Asuma: "Koketsu."
Mido: "The perfect test subjects."
Asuma: "We strike during Academy field training. No one suspects the 'innocent' exercise."
They clasped hands, their bond of mischief unbreakable.
Operation: "Advanced Poopjutsu" was a go.
----
Nawaki Senju had reached his limit.
Fourteen years old. A genin of Konoha. And yet, for the past three months, he had been outmaneuvered, outsmarted, and out-stenched by two five-year-old demons disguised as children.
"This ends today."
Under the cover of night, Nawaki had prepared his ultimate revenge.
His strategy was flawless:
Observation: He had mapped Asuma and Mido's daily route to the Academy.
Preparation: He had crafted long-range stink bombs—fermented deer dung mixed with spicy rice-fed dog feces, enhanced with a special cow manure serum.
Execution: He would strike from the trees, launching his payload with pinpoint accuracy.
"They'll never see it coming."
The Ambush (Or So He Thought)
Perched on a high branch, Nawaki watched as his targets approached, blissfully unaware.
"Perfect."
He pulled the first bomb from his pouch, took aim—
—and slipped.
FWOOMP.
The bomb splatted harmlessly into a bush.
Nawaki froze.
"No. No no no—"
Asuma and Mido stopped walking.
Their little noses twitched.
They turned.
Their eyes locked onto Nawaki's hiding spot.
A beat of silence.
Then—they charged.
What followed was three minutes of pure, wordless chaos:
Nawaki, flailing like a man possessed, swung wildly—only for Asuma to duck effortlessly and kick his shin.
Mido, the more tactical of the two, used Nawaki's own momentum to send him stumbling into a tree.
Nawaki, in a desperate gambit, attempted a Shadow Clone Jutsu—but only managed to summon one wobbly clone that immediately tripped over its own feet.
Through it all, not a single word was spoken. Just the rhythmic thuds of tiny fists, Nawaki's increasingly dramatic grunts, and the occasional "Hn!" from Asuma.
Finally, panting and bruised, Nawaki collapsed onto the dirt.
"I… yield…"
Asuma and Mido exchanged a glance. Then, in perfect sync, they bowed.
Asuma: "Thank you for the training, Big Bro Nawaki!"
Mido: "Yeah! You're way better than last time!"
Nawaki's heart swelled. "They… they respect me!"
He stood, brushing himself off with newfound dignity. "Ahem. Well, you two have… potential. Keep practicing."
He turned to leave, chest puffed out—
POOF.
BOOOOOOM.
The spicy rice-fed dog feces, fermented with deer dung and cow serum, exploded directly beneath him.
Nawaki stood frozen, covered in the most unholy stench known to man.
Behind him, Asuma and Mido clasped hands, their eyes sparkling with pride.
Asuma: "Operation 'Thank You Present'… success!"
Mido: "He'll never see it coming next time either!"
Nawaki's soul left his body.
Nawaki had returned home utterly exhausted. He sat down and began to write in his beloved diary, a place where he often poured out his thoughts and experiences.
With a heavy sigh, he acknowledged to himself that he needed to study properly. He walked toward the Senju library, grabbed the basic textbooks, and decided to start everything from the beginning.
When nothing works out, return to the basics—start over!
Soon, the soft rustling of turning pages filled the room.
Asuma and Midori left Nawaki alone, understanding that his recent attempt at revenge had left him drained for two days straight. According to Asuma, too many consecutive defeats would only serve to give the target more experience, so letting Nawaki rest had become the new objective.
The rest of the week passed uneventfully.
Except at the academy.
Koketsu and Ebisu were reeking of rotten fruit.
They didn't even see what hit them—it just happened.
A poof, followed by a boom.
Ebisu adjusted his glasses and said,
"Koketsu, we've become targets of formidable enemies."
Koketsu pulled up the collar of his jacket and replied,
"Ebisu, in the name of order, we shall form the Alliance Against Stink Bombs."
An epic scene unfolded, complete with thunder rumbling in the sky. The rain was coming.