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"So... you really thought you could steal from us and get away with it?"
The speaker, a stocky chunin with a scar running down his jaw, cracked his knuckles as he stepped forward, voice laced with quiet menace. His one-Tomoe Sharingan spun menacingly; glowing red in the dark.
Beside him, a taller ninja gave an exaggerated sigh and clicked his tongue.
"Come on, Brad. Why are you even wasting your breath on this punk? Let's just beat him down so he learns not to mess with the wrong people."
A third voice chimed in from behind them. "Whoa, whoa! Save some for me! I call the face!"
Lumian stood at the center of the alleyway, his back to a damp brick wall. The dim light of the daylight sun, casted visible shadows around the dirty walls. Cold wind snaked through the alley, rustling loose paper and kicking up dust.
3 Chunin and 2 Genin currently blocked off his escape.
He raised his hands in mock surrender, a wide grin plastered across his face. An expression he should not be making in this situation.
"Hey Hey! Lets not get too serious boys!"
His tone was light, almost teasing.
But his eyes were a different story.
They flicked from face to face, sharp and calculating. While his expression said he was just playing around, his spirit vision told him the truth. Cold, deep shades of blue clung to each of the enemy ninja like a second skin—shades that hinted at focus, rage, and the intent to harm.
Lets just say they're cooking up something in their heads, and none of it was going to be a slap on the wrist for Lumian.
He laughed nervously, trying to deescalate the situation.
"It's not that serious, bro. I mean, come on, I was gonna return it. Can't we just call it even?"
Brad stepped closer, his mouth wide open in exasperation.
"Not that serious??!!! You've got guts saying that after what you pulled!!"
He successfully escalated the situation.
So much for the negotiation route....
"Damn it... do I have to fight my way out of this one?"
. . .
You're probably wondering how I got into this mess.
Let's rewind a bit.
. . .
(Morning)
Lumian crouched low on the branches of a thick tree trunk, his body still and close to the bark. He kept his breathing shallow and slow, blending in just enough to avoid notice—not perfectly, but well enough for this kind of mission.
His concealment wouldn't have fooled a seasoned shinobi.
But today's targets? Far from elite.
He smirked as he observed the trio of Genin lounging on a picnic blanket in a sun-drenched clearing, oblivious to his presence. They were young, careless, and far too comfortable for shinobi in the field. A spread of takeout containers—fancy stuff, clearly restaurant-bought—was laid out between them.
He leaned in slightly, just enough to catch their conversation without drawing attention.
The boy on the left wiped sweat from his brow and took a loud gulp of his iced drink, cold driplets of his beverage dripping down the plastic cup.
"Man, this hits different after a week of missions!"
He sighed with satisfaction, then burped before reaching greedily for another slice of wagyu beef.
A hand smacked his away with a sharp slap.
"Hey! Who said you could hog all the good stuff?" snapped the girl sitting across from him. She wore a black tank top, her hair tied up lazily. Even as she spoke, she kept chewing, guarding her bowl of food like it was sacred treasure.
The third Genin—a boy in thick glasses—pointed an accusatory finger at the glutton.
"You realize our pay doesn't even cover half of this, right? We only got this treat because Sensei happened to compliment us to the General Manager!"
The greedy one pouted dramatically, ignoring their scolding as he reached for a sealed envelope sitting squarely in the middle of the blanket. He held it up triumphantly, fanning himself with it.
"That's exactly why we should spend this bad boy!!!! Once-in-a-lifetime bonus, people. Gotta live a little!"
He waved the envelope around like it was a party flag, the crisp bills inside catching the light.
"Who told you the bonus was yours to spend, you idiot?!" the girl snapped, lunging for the envelope.
"Yeah, what she said!" chimed in the boy with glasses, trying to grab it as well.
The three devolved into a noisy, chaotic scuffle—shouting, spraying bits of half-chewed food as they wrestled and accused each other with mock outrage.
From the edge of the forest, Lumian watched.
He drew his attention to the envelope flying around in the air.
He grinned.
"Target Locked"
. . .
. . .
Lumian eased himself down from the tree, careful not to rustle the branches too much. Leaves trembled slightly above as he dropped softly onto the grass below, knees bending to absorb the impact.
Staying low, he crept into the shade of a nearby bush. From there, he scanned the clearing, watching the three Genin still bickering over their luxury lunch like children fighting over candy.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he considered his next move.
Steal the envelope.
A smirk tugged at his lips.
Ever since he discovered that pulling off risky thefts helped him "digest" better his priorities had shifted. No more boring wallets from cocky nobles that would give him elementary school playground bully a run for his money.
No, he needed danger now.
So, he only stole from shinobi these days.
Still, he had a personal code—kind of. He didn't steal from the poor, or from people who were clearly down on their luck. He wasn't a monster. If you looked like you'd cry yourself to sleep over a missing wallet, Lumian left you alone.
How considerate of him, right?
He popped open the pouch strapped to his waist and rummaged inside, fingers feeling around for his usual tools. His face fell.
Empty.
He pulled his hands out and let them drop to his sides with a sigh.
"Damn it... no smoke bombs today."
His last few heists had been smooth. He'd hit up unsuspecting academy students, slacking Genin squads like these three, and even a few off-duty chunin. Fifteen successful scores and counting.
Not that any of them were all that impressive. The same routine every time—create a distraction, swoop in, grab the goods, vanish. Easy.
Too easy, really.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, eyes still fixed on the prize—the envelope now temptingly grasped on the sweaty fingers of the brisk boy.
"Hmm... What to do..."
He wasn't in the mood to repeat old tricks. No tools, no backup plan, and his targets were unusually loud today.
He needed something new.
Something bold.
. . .
Just then, a stray leaf drifted down from the tree above—right into his nose.
"Oh sh—Ach—"
He slapped both hands over his mouth, stifling the sneeze at the last second. His body shook with the effort.
Eyes wide, he peeked out toward the field.
The Genin were still bickering, too absorbed in their petty food feud to notice anything.
He exhaled slowly in relief, then glared at the offending leaf as it danced away in the wind.
A gust blew it in a loose spiral.
A circle...
For reasons he couldn't quite explain, the image stuck in his head.
Was it the spiral on his old orange jacket?
The swirling Rasengan he liked to spam on his enemies?
Either way, the thought of Naruto popped into his mind—uninvited but not unwelcome.
"Hmm..."
And then—bing!—a metaphorical lightbulb popped over his head.
Grinning, Lumian quickly brought his hands together in a practiced motion.
Poof.
A shadow clone materialized beside him, crouching low like its creator.
Lumian leaned in, whispering quickly into its ear.
"Hey. Can you do something for me?"
The clone tilted its head, listening.
"Mhm. Mhm. Okay..."
Lumian stepped back with a satisfied smirk.
"So, what do you think?"
The clone gave him a massive, overly exaggerated smile.
"Hell no. Who do you think you are?"
Lumian rolled his eyes.
"Your original. Now get moving before I make you run errands again."
The clone groaned dramatically.
"Tch. Fine."
It muttered something under its breath as it formed a hand seal of its own, chakra flaring briefly.
Lumian crouched lower, anticipation creeping into his grin.
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(Genin Squad's POV)
"Hey hey! Stop waving it around, you idiot! You'll tear it!"
The girl lunged forward, reaching for the envelope.
The brash boy laughed, holding it high above her head, just out of reach.
"Too slow!"
Off to the side, the boy in glasses sipped his drink and sighed.
"Why, Lord Hokage? What did I do to deserve these two?"
Just then, the universe answered his prayer—with ruthless mercy.
From above, a blur streaked through the sky.
"Huh?"
The brash boy glanced up, sensing danger too late.
WHAM!
An orange cat fell from the heavens, landing squarely on his face.
"MEOW!"
The feline hissed and clawed his cheeks with unrelenting fury.
"OW! What the hell?! Where did this demon come from?!"
The envelope tumbled from his hand.
The cat dropped to all fours, snatched the prize between its sharp little teeth, and bounded away with unnatural speed.
The Genin squad stared in disbelief.
The cat paused at the edge of the field, tail twitching. It turned to face them, eyes shining with mischief.
"Meow."
Then it bolted.
"GET THAT CAT!" the girl shrieked, nearly spitting out her rice ball.
The three of them immediately abandoned their gourmet meal and launched into pursuit.
. . .
The orange cat darted through the trees like a blur, zigzagging with maddening precision. Every time they thought they had it—
"Augh!" The glasses boy dove—missed.
"Owww!" The girl reached out—scratch!
"You little punk—!" The brash boy lunged—and got slapped in the face so hard he spun three times and landed in a bush.
The cat never slowed down, always just one step ahead, toying with them like a fox with its prey.
. . .
(10 minutes later)
"Huff… huff…"
Sweat dripping, the Genin squad finally managed to corner the cat against a tree.
The brash boy's eyes burned with rage.
"That's it! You little devil! I'm gonna hurt you so bad, you'll wish you stayed a kitten suckling on your mom's milk!"
He began forming hand seals.
"FIRE STYLE: FIREBALL JUT—!"
SMACK.
The girl slapped him on the back of the head.
"Ow! What was that for?!"
"Don't hurt it! Look at it!"
The boy blinked and looked again.
The cat had sat down. Its eyes wide and sparkly. Its ears drooped adorably.
"Meow."
He deadpanned.
"…You serious?"
"Look how innocent it looks!" she beamed.
She crouched down and extended her hand slowly, voice soft and coaxing.
"Awww, you poor thing… I know you didn't mean to steal our pay. Come on now, I'll give you tasty food… Just give it back, hmm?"
"Meow."
The cat padded forward, tail swaying, eyes fixed on her with affection.
She smiled.
"That's it… Come to mama—"
The cat stopped.
Its mouth curled into a sinister grin.
"…Heheheh."
"Eh?"
Then—
"MEOW."
"MEOW."
"MEOW."
"MEOW."
"MEOW."
"MEOW."
"MEOW."
"MEOW."
The Genin trio slowly turned their heads upward.
Fifteen identical orange cats perched in the trees above them—each one grinning, tails twitching like blades ready to strike.
They gulped in unison.
"…We're in a genjutsu, right?"
"Nope."
"We're doomed."
Their screams echoed through the forest.
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"POOF!"
A series of small explosions echoed across the clearing as clouds of smoke burst into the air.
When it cleared, only one orange cat remained—still holding the envelope between its teeth.
Lumian strolled out from behind a tree, hands in his pockets and a grin on his face.
"Good job."
He knelt down and plucked the envelope from the cat's mouth.
The clearing was quiet... except for the groans of the Genin squad, now lying unconscious out on the ground, their bodies covered in claw marks and their clothes torn like they'd fought a thousand paper-cuts.
Lumian gave them an appreciative nod.
"Oh, you poor souls. Just know—your suffering wasn't in vain."
He turned to the cat, smiling fondly.
"And you... you really do live up to the role of the Orange Cat."
The cat scoffed—literally.
"Tch."
With a soft puff of smoke, it transformed back into his clone, looking slightly disheveled.
"You and your plans... Honestly, even Naruto isn't this mischievous."
Lumian just chuckled.
"Hey, I'm you. That means you're exactly as scummy as I am."
"Unfortunately."
With a weary sigh, the clone gave him a half-hearted salute before vanishing in a final poof.
Lumian tucked the envelope safely into his pouch and turned to leave, whistling a jaunty tune as he strolled away.
Then he paused.
He glanced back at the defeated Genin and smirked.
"Don't take it too personally! Just consider yourselves... admirable victims of the great Lumian Hall!"
He burst into laughter as he disappeared into the canopy of trees, leaves whistling around him.
. . .
(Later that Evening)
Lumian strolled through the dim streets of the village, the warm lantern light casting long shadows across the stone pathways. Hands in his pockets, he whistled a cheerful tune as he counted his earnings.
"Oh? Not bad. 20,000 ryo, to be exact."
Grinning with satisfaction, he tucked the wad of cash back into his pouch and re-fastened it securely around his waist.
With a long sigh, he stretched his arms over his head.
"Should I crash for the night... or go for one more heist?"
Just as he pondered his options, someone bumped into him—hard.
"Oof—!"
He stumbled backward and landed flat on the ground, rubbing his backside in pain. His expression quickly twisted into annoyance as he looked up at the culprit.
"Hey, watch it."
Towering above him was a tall teenager with a sharp glare and a jagged scar running down his jawline. His eyes narrowed as if sizing Lumian up like an insect on his shoe.
Next to him, another teen chuckled and slapped the tall one's shoulder.
"Hey, don't scare the kid! Look at him—he's basically pissing his pants."
Laughter rippled through the group as they sauntered off, their backs turned, mocking tones still echoing through the street.
The tall one—Brad—flashed a smug smile before following the others.
Lumian watched them disappear down the street, his expression unreadable.
Then he sighed and pushed himself off the ground, brushing dust off his pants.
"Looks like I found my next victims…" he muttered, a slow grin forming.
But as he took a step forward to tail them, he froze.
His eyes landed on the glint of metal—headbands.
Not just one... or two... but five headbands.
And worse, three of them wore flak vests—Chunin gear.
His grin faltered.
"Damn... should I do it?"
He hesitated for a beat. Then he shook his head, steeling himself.
"Don't fret on it, Lumian! Remember—no pain, no gain!"
He took a breath and set off in pursuit, determination gleaming in his eyes.
After all...
What's the worst that could possibly happen?
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(Author's note:
Poor Lumian....
Hehehehehe
Anyways, I've looking into my uploading schedule and I'm visibly cringing.
12 pm - 3 Am uploading schedule??? Are you serious???
I mean its not that bad I guess....
What do you guys think?
. . .
Also, I changed the book's cover image!
Let me know if it the changes aren't visible on your end!
. . .
Anyways, you guys know what to do.
Smash that review button, and leave a comment!
You know what I'm going to say next...
POWER STONES!!!!!!)