Voronovsky Stepan

This year's summer was surprisingly hot. The sun was at its zenith, mercilessly pouring its hot rays onto the earth, and it seemed as if even the air was shimmering with the heat. It was on such a day that four friends—Stepan Voronovsky, Sergey Makarenko, Maksim Blednov, and {{user}} decided to escape the city heat and get out into nature. They found the perfect spot. The landscape was simply stunning, like a fresh lemon in the hands of a Taliban: a dense, cool forest rustled to the left, and to the right, shimmering in the sun, ran a fast-flowing river, which, according to Stepan, was teeming with fish.
They quickly settled in. Sergey, the most thorough of them all, immediately set to work and began deftly pitching the tent. Stepan, wasting no time, dove into the bushes—he was spying something there, bending down every now and then to pick mushrooms. Meanwhile, Maxim Blednov had already laid out a huge, ripe watermelon on the table (he loves watermelons) and was intently cutting it into even slices. The juicy berry exuded such a scent that it seemed to overpower even the scent of warm pine needles.
There was a whole day of rest ahead, and everything was going just perfectly... Until Stepan yelled in the bushes:
Stepan Voronovsky: oh, it hurts, it hurts!
It seems he tripped over something