Night had fallen over Konoha, casting its usual blanket of darkness—but the village never truly slept. Lanterns flickered from shop windows, chatter buzzed from the streets, and the warmth of life pushed back the night like a stubborn flame refusing to die. Towering above it all, the massive stone visages of the Hokage Monument loomed over the Hidden Leaf like silent sentinels, their carved expressions watching the village they had sworn to protect.
And somewhere, tucked into the shadows of the mountain's slope, a tiny speck of orange moved with purpose.
A small figure clutched a bucket of paint in one hand and a worn brush in the other, sneakers scuffing against gravel. His spiky blond hair was unmistakable, even under the pale moonlight. Blue eyes shimmered with mischief. This was none other than Naruto Uzumaki—the loudest, loneliest boy in the village. A self-proclaimed future Hokage.
But tonight, he wasn't out to train. No, he had a mission of great importance: to pull off the greatest prank in Konoha history.
"Heh… this is gonna be the best one yet! Heck yeah!" he whispered to himself, practically bouncing with excitement.
After nearly an hour of scrambling up dirt paths, scaling roots, and dodging a patrol or two, he finally reached the top of the monument. The view was breathtaking—Konoha glittered below like a blanket of stars. But Naruto had no time to admire it.
He began rummaging through a hidden stash he'd buried the last time he was up here: a rough coil of rope, a crude harness, and a makeshift bosun's chair—half of which he'd "borrowed" from the Academy's janitor shed. With practiced hands, he strapped himself in, tying off the rope with a surprisingly good knot. He'd done this enough times to know what worked.
Paint bucket swinging at his hip, brush in hand, he lowered himself carefully down the sheer cliff face. The cold stone scraped his fingers as he clung to it for balance, but his grin never faded.
Soon, he reached his favourite canvas—the stoic, weather-worn face of the First Hokage.
He took a deep breath and puffed out his chest.
"Man, the air's so fresh up here. Even the wind knows how cool I am."
He laughed to himself, cocky and content, but then paused. His eyes squinted at a faint glow in the distance—one of the training grounds, barely visible from this high up. A single light flickered within it, small but steady.
"Huh… weird," he mumbled. "Some guy still training at this hour? What a loser."
He tried to sound smug, but his voice faltered. It wasn't like he could tell which training ground it was, not like he paid attention in class. What did catch his attention, though, was that this had never happened before. Not during any of his pranking runs.
Which, to be fair, hadn't ever ended successfully.
Something always got in the way. He'd run out of paint, or daylight—or worst of all, time. And then Iruka-sensei would show up, scold him, drag him back to the Academy by the ear, and make him scrub the whole thing clean.
But Naruto didn't really mind that part.
Iruka looked at him—not through him. Not like the rest of the villagers with their shadowed eyes and whispered hatred. Iruka got mad, sure, but it was a different kind of mad. It meant someone cared.
Still hanging off the edge of the cliff, Naruto looked down at the village and then back at the glowing light.
"Whatever. When I become a genin, I'm gonna be so strong I won't need to pull overtime like that guy."
He chuckled, the sound echoing against the stone.
Dipping his brush into the thick red paint, he swirled it like an artist preparing a masterpiece. Then, with practiced strokes and childish glee, he began his mural—graffiti across the noble brow of the First Hokage.
"Perfect," he said to himself, a wide grin stretching across his face as the paint dripped in thick lines. "The future Hokage strikes again!"
And so, under the sleeping stars and watchful stone faces, Naruto Uzumaki continued his masterpiece—laughter echoing into the night, as the boy no one saw made sure the whole world would.