Konoha's Fuinjutsu Psycho | Naruto x Male Reader

The Final Product

It's been a few days since my bizarre encounter with Deidara. Honestly, the whole thing feels like a fever dream—a chaotic blend of explosions, art, and new possibilities. 

But here I am, back in my room, the chakra gun laid out before me, along with the pouch of chakra clay he left me. 

The weight of what I've learned, of what I'm about to attempt, feels heavy in my hands. But it's not the kind of weight that makes you hesitate; it's the kind that drives you forward, that pushes you to see just how far you can go.

I take a deep breath and roll out a fresh scroll, the blank canvas waiting for the madness I'm about to unleash on it. The chakra gun is nearly perfect—nearly. But I know it can be better. It has to be better.

First, the bullets. The chakra-infused pellets I've been using are too weak, too unstable. They don't pack the punch I need, especially if I'm going to rely on this weapon in a real fight. My thoughts keep circling back to the clay, to the potential locked within it. 

Deidara called it art, and I think I'm starting to understand why. There's something... alive about this clay, something that responds to the chakra you feed into it. It's dangerous, volatile, but also full of potential. Just like me.

Maybe being around that nutjob did something to my mental state.

"Let's see if this works," I mutter to myself, more to break the silence than anything.

I grab a small piece of the clay, molding it into a rough sphere. It's pliable, almost soft, but I can feel the latent power within it. Carefully, I press the sphere against the gun's barrel, my fingers tracing the intricate seals I've been refining. 

The seals are the key—without them, this whole thing would just be a fancy way to blow myself up. But with the right application, the right balance, this could be something incredible.

I close my eyes and focus, channeling a steady stream of chakra into the clay. The seals begin to glow faintly, the clay responding to the energy with a low hum. It's working. I can feel it. The clay hardens slightly, the chakra binding to the seals, creating a cohesive unit—a bullet.

When I open my eyes, the bullet is ready. It's small, unassuming, but I can sense the power within it, waiting to be unleashed. A grin tugs at the corners of my mouth as I load it into the gun. This is it. This is what I've been working toward.

But there's no time for a test fire just yet. I need to make sure everything else is in place. The barrel, the trigger mechanism, the storage seals—all of it needs to be perfect. I've already tweaked the design to accommodate the added power of the clay bullets, reinforcing the seals and adjusting the recoil dampening. It's a delicate balance, one that could easily tip into disaster if I'm not careful.

Hours pass as I fine-tune the gun, each adjustment bringing me closer to my vision. The world outside fades away—there's only me, the gun, and the swirling thoughts in my head. By the time I finish, the candle on my desk has burned low, casting long shadows across the room.

I step back, stretching my arms above my head. The gun sits on the desk, gleaming softly in the dim light. It's still the same weapon, but there's something different about it now—something more... complete. This isn't just a prototype anymore. This is the real thing.

I pick up the gun, feeling the cool metal against my palm. It's heavier than before, but not in a bad way. It feels solid, reliable. This is a weapon I can trust—a weapon I made with my own hands.

Now comes the real test.

I slip out of my room, the gun tucked securely into my jacket. The house is quiet, my parents likely asleep or too engrossed in their own activities to notice me. Not that they would. They've never really paid much attention to what I do, as long as I keep up appearances. It's a strange kind of freedom—being ignored—but I've learned to make the most of it.

Outside, the night is cool and still, the village bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. I make my way through the quiet streets, keeping to the shadows, until I reach my usual spot behind the academy. The clearing is empty, just as I hoped. It's the perfect place to test the gun without anyone seeing—or hearing—what I'm up to.

I take a deep breath and pull the gun from my jacket, my fingers brushing over the seals one last time. The bullet is loaded, the seals are primed. All that's left is to pull the trigger.

I aim at a sturdy tree on the far side of the clearing, the one that's been my target for every experiment so far. My hand is steady, my mind clear. This is it. The culmination of everything I've learned.

I pull the trigger.

The gun fires with a sharp, controlled crack, the sound echoing through the clearing. The bullet flies straight and true, striking the tree with a force that shakes the branches. For a moment, there's nothing, just the stillness of the night. Then, with a low rumble, the clay bullet detonates, the explosion contained by the seals I'd meticulously inscribed.

The impact is powerful, more than I expected. When the smoke clears, I see a deep crater where the bullet hit, the bark splintered and charred. The tree is still standing, but just barely.

I lower the gun, my heart pounding in my chest. It worked. It actually worked.

A laugh bubbles up in my throat, and I can't help but let it out. This is more than I could have hoped for—this is proof that I'm on the right path. The gun, the clay bullets, the seals—it all came together perfectly. And this is just the beginning.

But as the adrenaline starts to fade, a sobering thought creeps into my mind. This is powerful, dangerous even. If anyone found out what I've been working on, the consequences could be severe. The chakra clay alone is forbidden, not to mention combining it with fuinjutsu in a weapon like this. I'm walking a fine line, and one misstep could ruin everything.

But I can't stop now. Not when I'm this close.

I tuck the gun back into my jacket, my mind already racing with ideas for the next steps. I need to refine the design, make it more versatile, more adaptable. And then, maybe, I can start thinking about what this means for the future. What it means for me.

As I make my way back home, I can't shake the feeling that this is just the beginning of something much bigger. Is this a mistake? No, thoughts like that are useless, I've chose the path of infinity, I'm going to see what lies at the end of it.

"Until I reach the end of infinity." I sigh.

And as I close the door behind me, slipping back into the familiar shadows of my room, I know one thing for certain: I'm not just a student of fuinjutsu anymore.

I'm an innovator, a creator, and maybe—just maybe—a bit of a psycho. But that's okay. Because in this world, where strength is everything, sometimes you need a little madness to see the true potential of what you can become.

And I'm just getting started.