Naruto: The King of Despair

Another morning, another disaster.

It was early morning, and Shikato was sound asleep. He might have been a transmigrator in the Naruto world, but that didn't erase the fact that he was a Nara. And what did the Nara clan cherish above all else? Sleep and laziness.

Unfortunately, maintaining that laziness was a struggle of its own.

Every morning, without fail, two sharp needles would fly towards his bed at an alarming speed. There was no excuse—dodge, or suffer.

For the original Shikato Nara, this was the absolute worst part of the day because he couldn't dodge in time. For this Shikato, it was still the absolute worst part of the day because, well… he couldn't dodge in time either.

THUNK!

The two needles struck true, embedding themselves into his shoulder. Almost instantly, a searing pain spread through his body, locking up his muscles.

Shikato collapsed back onto the bed, paralyzed. His jaw clenched as agony pulsed through him, leaving him helpless for the next five minutes.

"Upupu!"

A familiar, taunting laugh echoed through the room as Monokuma pranced around, doing morning stretches while watching Shikato writhe in pain.

"Good morning, protagonist! How are you feeling today?" Monokuma chirped, grinning widely. "Oh wait, you can't feel anything right now! Upupupu!"

Shikato mentally cursed the bear as he lay there, waiting for the effects to wear off.

Five minutes eventually passed, and the needles finally fell away. The pain, however, lingered like an unwanted guest. He groaned, sitting up and rubbing his sore shoulders.

The ninja world is cruel… he thought bitterly.

Still, no use complaining. He somehow managed to drag himself out of bed, force his sluggish body to the bathroom, and freshen up. By the time he made it downstairs, the pain had dulled significantly.

"Good morning!" Sayuri greeted him cheerfully, moving swiftly as she prepared breakfast. The kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of warm rice and miso soup.

Shikaro, on the other hand, was seated at the table, silently reading the newspaper.

Shikato sat down with a sigh, still recovering from his morning torment. He shot a glare at his father, silently questioning why he allowed his mother's daily torture to continue. Shikaro, sensing the unspoken accusation, merely offered a small, sympathetic smile—one that said, I've suffered too, son. Accept your fate.

Despite his rough start, the rest of the morning was relatively normal. It was filled with lighthearted conversation, laughter, and the occasional teasing from Sayuri.

That peace, however, was short-lived.

Soon, it was time to leave.

Both Shikaro and Sayuri were active shinobi of Konoha, and with the aftermath of the Nine-Tails attack still lingering, their workload was endless. Rebuilding the village, increasing patrols, handling missions—there was no shortage of tasks.

Even the Ninja Academy had taken severe damage, delaying its reopening until the end of the month.

After breakfast, Sayuri and Shikaro bid him farewell, leaving for their respective duties.

Now, Shikato was alone.

Well… technically, he wasn't alone.

Monokuma was still there.

And honestly? That was worse than being alone.

Seeing no reason to stay indoors, Shikato grabbed his training tools and headed towards the Nara clan's ancestral lands, searching for a quiet place to train.

As he arrived, he took a deep breath, looking around. The area was vast, surrounded by towering trees that cast long shadows over the ground. The silence was eerie yet comforting, a stark contrast to the lively streets of Konoha.

"So this is where Hidan will be sealed," he murmured, recalling the infamous battle from the series. The thought of an immortal being buried alive for eternity sent a shiver down his spine. "A lifelong seal for an undying man… that's cruel."

"Upupu! Did you really think you could escape me?"

Shikato exhaled sharply, not even bothering to look back.

"Don't be silly! This is my killing game, and you're the star!" Monokuma cackled.

Shikato sighed heavily. This nightmare wasn't going away anytime soon.

Choosing to ignore the bear's presence, he set down his training gear and began his taijutsu practice.

He tied weights to his arms and legs, starting with a warm-up jog.

It didn't take long for regret to sink in.

His entire body screamed in protest. For someone who had barely exercised in his previous life, taijutsu training was nothing short of torture. Every step felt like a punishment, and his muscles burned with every movement.

Meanwhile, Monokuma was casually jogging beside him, dressed in a full tracksuit. The bear effortlessly dodged bouncing balls, skipped rope while running, and even did flips—without breaking a sweat.

Shikato shot him a look of disbelief. "Where… do you even get all those props from?"

Monokuma only laughed in response.

Despite his exhaustion, Shikato pressed on, completing a brutal series of push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups. By the time noon rolled around, his body was drained, his arms shaking from fatigue.

He collapsed onto the ground, gasping for air.

"Well, that was disappointing," Monokuma snickered, standing over him. "You're giving up this early? What a weak protagonist!"

Shikato ignored him. He didn't care about the bear's taunts anymore.

After resting for a few minutes, he forced himself to his feet and stumbled back home.

He took a quick shower, had lunch, and then…

It was time for mischief.

After all, he needed 50 points to survive.

After finishing lunch, Shikato stepped outside, stretching his sore limbs as he gazed toward the bustling streets of Konoha.

The village was still in the process of rebuilding after the Nine-Tails attack, with carpenters hammering planks into place, vendors restocking their stalls, and shinobi patrolling the area. The air was filled with the chatter of merchants and civilians discussing recent events.

It was a perfect day for troublemaking.

A slow grin tugged at the corner of his lips. Earning Fifty points. Unfortunately, that also meant giving Monokuma exactly what he wanted—chaos.

"Upupu~," Monokuma giggled, walking beside him in his usual exaggerated waddle. "What's the plan, Shikato? Ooh, are we going to flip over food carts? Knock down some scaffolding? Start a riot?"

Shikato rolled his eyes, shoving his hands in his pockets as he strolled into the village. "I don't need your input. Just keep quiet."

Monokuma clapped his tiny paws together. "Ohhh, but you do! You're the star of this show, remember? I'm just here to make sure the audience doesn't get bored."

Shikato ignored him and kept walking. If he wanted to cause trouble, he needed to start small. Something irritating enough to get a reaction, but not bad enough to have an ANBU chasing him down.

Shikato stopped near a street vendor selling fresh bread. The old man running the stall was occupied with customers, carefully measuring out change and handing over warm loaves.

Casually, Shikato wandered closer, reaching for a small rock on the ground. He glanced around—no one was paying attention to him.

Perfect.

He flicked the rock into the middle of the stacked bread display.

It was a small act, but the results were immediate. The carefully balanced tower of loaves wobbled before tumbling to the ground in a cascade of flour-dusted chaos.

The vendor turned just in time to see his hard work collapse. "Ahhh! My bread!" he shouted, scrambling to pick up the loaves.

Monokuma cackled loudly beside Shikato, clearly delighted. "Oh-ho! Classic! But a bit too tame for my taste. Let's spice things up, shall we?"

Before Shikato could react, Monokuma grabbed a loaf and flung it straight at a passing chunin.

The bread smacked the shinobi square in the face.

The chunin blinked, stunned.

"What the—?"

From the perspective of everyone else, the loaf had just flown at him out of nowhere.

The vendor stared at the fallen bread, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What just…?"

Shikato tensed. He knew exactly what had happened. That damn bear.

Monokuma snickered. "Upupu! What? Don't tell me you're upset. I only helped make it funnier!"

The chunin wiped crumbs off his face, his glare now locked onto Shikato.

"You think this is funny, kid?"

Shikato sighed. "Great."

With a grunt, Shikato turned and bolted.

He wasn't dumb enough to get caught. The chunin was already moving, and while Shikato didn't know any jutsu, he knew how to run. Weaving between pedestrians, he ducked into a side alley, hoping to lose his pursuer in the winding streets.

Monokuma, somehow, was keeping up effortlessly. "Oh-ho! Now it's getting interesting! Run, rabbit, run!"

"Shut up," Shikato hissed, skidding around a corner.

His heart pounded as he spotted a pile of stacked crates ahead. With no time to think, he shoved one over.

The crates tumbled down, scattering their contents—mostly vegetables—across the street.

The chunin, who had been hot on his heels, yelped as he tripped over a stray cabbage and crashed to the ground.

Shikato didn't wait to see the aftermath. He turned another corner and kept running.

After several more turns, he finally slowed, his breath ragged. He ducked into a shaded alleyway, pressing against the cool stone wall.

Monokuma stood beside him, completely unfazed. "Well, that was fun! Let's do it again!"

Shikato wiped his forehead, exhaling sharply. "I hate you."

Monokuma chuckled. "Oh, don't be so cold! We make a great team! You cause problems, and I make them worse."

Shikato groaned. He had barely done anything, and somehow Monokuma had still managed to escalate everything.

But at least he had earned some points. Whatever that meant.

For now, though, he needed to lay low.

Shikato stayed in the alley for a few minutes, catching his breath and listening for any sign of the chunin he had just escaped from. The village was still as lively as ever, with merchants calling out their wares and children running past. No one seemed to be looking for him.

That was good.

That meant he could keep going.

"Upupu~," Monokuma hummed, rocking back and forth on his stubby legs. "You're slowing down, Shikato. I thought you wanted those fifty points?"

Shikato rubbed his temples. "I never wanted them. You're the one making me do this."

"Semantics! You're still doing it, aren't you?"

Shikato gritted his teeth. The stupid bear had a point, but he wasn't about to admit it.

Fine. One more round of chaos, then he'd stop for the day.

Shikato walked toward the marketplace, hands shoved in his pockets. He needed something new—something that would really mess with people without making himself an obvious target.

That was when he spotted the old woman feeding pigeons near the central fountain.

A lot of pigeons.

An idea formed. A horrible, devious idea.

Shikato bent down and scooped up a handful of small pebbles from the ground. Then, with perfect precision, he flicked them one by one into the middle of the flock.

The reaction was instant.

The pigeons exploded into the air in a storm of flapping wings and panicked screeches. Feathers flew everywhere as the startled birds darted in all directions—right into the unsuspecting villagers.

One particularly unlucky man got a face full of feathers, flailing his arms as he stumbled backward into a cart of fruit.

Another pigeon dive-bombed a delivery ninja, causing him to drop the entire stack of scrolls he was carrying. Papers went flying into the wind, scattering all across the village.

Screams and shouts filled the air as people ducked and covered, trying to avoid the winged menace that had suddenly taken over the square.

Monokuma, of course, was dying of laughter. "Pffft—HAHAHAHA! Oh, that's beautiful! The perfect mix of subtle and destructive! A masterpiece, my dear troublemaker!"

Shikato smirked. Now that was satisfying.

As the chaos from the pigeon disaster settled, Shikato strolled toward a small clothing shop at the edge of the market. A wooden rack outside displayed several freshly dyed robes, all hung neatly in a row.

The shopkeeper, an older man with sharp eyes, was tending to a bucket of bright red dye. Shikato could already see where this was going.

Casually, he bent down and "accidentally" nudged the leg of the dye bucket with his foot.

The bucket wobbled—then tipped over entirely.

The crimson liquid spilled across the ground, splashing up onto the shopkeeper's feet and soaking the entire lower half of the hanging robes.

The man froze, staring down at his now ruined merchandise.

His lips trembled. His hands clenched into fists.

And then—

"WHO DID THIS?!"

Shikato was already halfway down the street.

Monokuma waddled after him, giggling uncontrollably. "Red is a good color for him! Really brings out the rage in his eyes!"

Shikato huffed, shaking his head. "That one was your fault."

"Oh, please, you knew exactly what was going to happen."

He wasn't wrong.

Just as Shikato was considering heading home, he spotted something truly perfect.

A group of kids had left a small crate of festival supplies unattended. Among the items?

Firecrackers.

Shikato barely hesitated before slipping one into his pocket. He walked a few paces away, then crouched down in an empty alley. Using a stray spark from a discarded matchstick, he lit the fuse—

And tossed it over the nearest rooftop.

A second later—

BOOM!

A loud pop echoed through the streets, followed by startled shouts.

Shikato peeked out just in time to see a group of civilians ducking for cover. One poor man had leaped behind a fruit stall, sending apples rolling in every direction.

A small group of genin who had been training nearby jumped into combat stances, their eyes darting around wildly for an enemy that didn't exist.

Monokuma whistled. "Ooooh~ Now that one really woke everyone up! Are you trying to start a festival early?"

Shikato smirked. It was hard to deny that it was fun.

Unfortunately, it also meant people were now actively looking for a culprit.

Time to leave.

Shikato darted through the side streets, weaving between buildings until he was sure no one was following. He finally stopped near a quiet training field, panting slightly as he leaned against a tree.

Monokuma popped up beside him, looking far too pleased. "That was beautiful. A true work of art. I'd rate it a solid 8.5 out of 10. If you'd flipped a food cart, you'd have gotten a perfect score."

Shikato shot him a glare. "I don't want a perfect score."

Monokuma ignored him. "Anyway, let's see how many points you got…" He pulled out a clipboard from somewhere and tapped it with his stubby paw.

A small screen appeared in front of Shikato.

[Total Points: 49/50]

Shikato frowned. "Seriously?"

Monokuma shrugged. "You did good! But there's always room for improvement."

Shikato groaned, rubbing his temples. He didn't know what was worse—the fact that he had almost hit the target or the fact that he was actually considering finishing the job.

Either way, today had been a disaster.

But at least he had survived.

For now.