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Batman in Konoha. Chapter 42. A Death in the Family
🕑 Added 2025-07-08 21:17:51 +0000 UTCFugaku moved silently through the hospital’s morning corridors, heading toward the VIP room on the second floor.
The door opened without a creak. Inside, the silence was broken only by the occasional gust of wind outside the window and the steady ticking of the IV drip. The air was thick with the bitter, hand-rolled scent of tobacco. And, of course, there was that heavy sense of death—slow, inevitable, already halfway inside the room.
Hiruzen Sarutobi lay reclined on an elevated hospital bed, dressed in a simple white patient’s shirt. His face, once as firm as oak bark, had faded and hollowed. His cheeks were sunken, his skin nearly ashen. The hair was gone. Only the eyes remained—tired, but still sharp. In one hand, he held a pipe, slowly blowing out curling plumes of gray smoke. In the other—a book. The very book Fugaku knew had once been written by his student, Jiraiya.
“Ah, it’s you, Fugaku,” Hiruzen said, voice hoarse but tinged with amusement. “Come in already. I don’t want the smell of tobacco giving away my shameful habits. Tsunade would have me executed without trial.”
Fugaku quietly closed the door behind him and stepped closer, sitting down on a low stool beside the bed. His eyes moved over the Hokage’s face, noting every detail—constricted breathing, the pain behind his gaze, the tremble in his fingers.
“You look...” he began.
“Like a corpse already,” Hiruzen chuckled, catching the look. “Don’t take offense—I see it in the mirror myself.”
He closed the book, turned it face-down, and placed it on the bedside table.
“And still... how did you sneak in here?” he asked, not losing his dry tone. “My student’s got me under lockdown. Medical tyranny.”
“Itachi let me through,” Fugaku said honestly. “The boy’s adapted to the hospital rather quickly.”
Hiruzen nodded, staring at the ceiling. Smoke rose in a thin spiral toward the vents.
“Hm... Itachi’s always been a bright child. Unnervingly calm. He’s very much like you, Fugaku.”
“He’s chosen his own path,” Fugaku cut in. “And I’m glad for that.”
Silence settled between them. Only the hiss of the IV and the occasional crackle from the pipe reminded them that time was still moving.
“I’m surprised you’re alive at all,” Fugaku said at last. “Kusanagi isn’t just a weapon. It’s an artifact. The curse in that blade should’ve killed you instantly.”
Hiruzen gave a quiet, humorless chuckle.
“Don’t forget who’s treating me. Tsunade is the best medic in the world. But even she can’t cure me. All she’s done is delay the inevitable. A month, maybe a bit more.”
He inhaled again, smoke briefly veiling his face.
“She’s poring over the Nara clan’s medical encyclopedia. Meanwhile, the entire Sarutobi clan is combing through every old temple they can find, searching for even the smallest clue.”
“I would’ve helped too,” Fugaku admitted, “if it were a lab-made poison. I could’ve traced the formula, constructed a counteragent... But when it comes to curses, ancient rituals, the meddling of gods and demons—I’m out of my element.”
“I believe that,” Hiruzen said softly. “Despite everything, you still have a heart. If you’d truly lost it, you wouldn’t have gone to meet Might Duy. You wouldn’t have given Naruto a proper childhood. I remember, Fugaku.”
Silence returned again, this time heavier, with a bitter edge.
“Maybe you could at least put down the pipe?” Fugaku frowned. “You’re barely breathing as it is.”
“If I’ve got one month left,” Hiruzen sighed, “I’d rather live it my way. I know tobacco’s bad. But it’s my choice.”
He straightened, as much as his weary bones would allow, and looked at Fugaku more intently.
“But tell me—how are things going? You didn’t come here just to chat. I can feel it.”
Fugaku nodded. His voice turned hard.
“During the attack, several scrolls were stolen from the Yamanaka vault. The Uchiha police are investigating, but...” he paused. “There’s almost no hope.”
“The Yamanaka clan is known for their mind transfer techniques,” Hiruzen said, thinking aloud. “That means Orochimaru is trying to complete that technique...”
Fugaku’s head snapped up. His voice had the tense focus of a hunter catching scent of prey:
“What technique?”
“Body possession,” he said. “Orochimaru’s been obsessed with it since childhood. He used to say his soul was… too large for one body. He dreamed—no, he was consumed by the idea of immortality. And he believed he could achieve it by transferring from one body to another. The only question was finding the right vessel.”
Fugaku froze. His mind jumped ahead, faster than the logic could unfold.
“Naruto,” he said, like a kunai strike. “He has jinchūriki regeneration. You can only kill a child like that with a direct hit to the heart. And Uzumaki blood gives him massive life force reserves. He’s the perfect vessel.”
He clenched his fists. Thoughts moved swiftly, but with clarity.
“So Orochimaru’s next attack will target Naruto,” he said aloud.
“I’ve come to the same conclusion,” Hiruzen nodded. “That’s why we evacuated the boy to the most secure place we have—Mount Myōboku. The toad sanctuary. A place no snake can slither into.”
Fugaku let out a short breath. Not relief, but tactical satisfaction: the allies had done the right thing.
“Good,” he said.
Hiruzen smirked, though his eyes stayed serious.
“The question is, what are you planning to do, Fugaku? Orochimaru promised to kill you. You might want to get tested for toxins.”
“There’s no need,” he replied calmly.
He didn’t mention that his body was currently a pharmaceutical nightmare: Venom serum surged beneath his skin, enhancing his physical abilities, while the mutated Man-Bat formula granted regeneration and even shapeshifting. Their synthesis had made him completely immune to all poisons.
“Orochimaru could catch you another way,” Hiruzen warned, nodding to his own wound. “You can’t afford to drop your guard.”
“He knew your habits,” Fugaku agreed. “But Orochimaru knows nothing about me. He’s never been in my home. He doesn’t know which side of the bed I sleep on. He’s never seen how I eat, how I train. He can guess—but he doesn’t know for sure. And without precise data, Orochimaru can’t set a trap. Not when he doesn’t know where I’ll step.”
He stood from the stool. Hiruzen’s gaze softened for a moment—maybe in gratitude, or maybe simply relief at seeing someone still fighting when he no longer could.
“Get some rest, Hiruzen.”
///
When Fugaku stepped outside, the sun was just starting to burn away the morning mist.
After weighing everything carefully, he decided to remain in Konoha. He had never run from a fight. Besides, this could very well be a provocation—Orochimaru luring him away to stage a final heist in his absence.
Right after visiting Hiruzen, Fugaku dismissed all of his shadow clones. There was no point in maintaining a surveillance network when his body and mind were on the verge of collapse. He hadn’t slept in two days, fueled only by anger and willpower.
Fugaku came home and immediately went to bed—for the first time in two days. A simple twelve-hour rest to recover.
He knew something important would happen tonight. And he had to face it at full strength.
Fugaku woke when the sky outside had already turned a dusky gold.
He took a quick shower, changed clothes, and headed downstairs with the quiet sense of a storm approaching. His stomach growled—twelve hours without food had taken their toll. But a deeper, darker thought gnawed at him: if Orochimaru couldn’t reach him directly, then he would strike at his weak points. His family.
When he entered the dining room, everyone was already seated. The lighting was warm, and the smell of rice, fried tofu, and meat gently teased his senses.
“Oh, you’re awake,” Mikoto said, rising from her seat. She looked energetic as always. “I’ll get you a plate.”
Fugaku nodded, and at that moment, Shisui spoke without lifting his eyes from his bowl.
“This is so weird… It’s the first time I’ve seen you asleep in six years.”
“I thought Dad didn’t sleep at all,” Sasuke added with a small laugh.
“So did I,” Mikoto chimed in, placing a neatly arranged plate in front of her husband.
All the men at the table turned to look at her at the same time.
“What?” she asked, blinking with her usual innocence. “I go to bed—he’s not there yet. I wake up—he’s already gone. Or he didn’t come home at all.”
“And I’m the one they call antisocial,” Itachi muttered, sipping his tea.
Fugaku sat down at the table. Dinner began.
“How’s the investigation progressing?” he asked, without taking his eyes off Shisui.
Sasuke’s eyebrows shot up. Talking shop at the table was nearly taboo. If their father brought up a mission during dinner, it meant it was serious.
“Nothing,” Shisui exhaled, setting down his chopsticks. “We were waiting on a report from the Yamanaka. They were supposed to restore the memories of the waiters from the teahouse. But now they’re swamped — after the raid on their vault, everything’s in chaos.”
“So Orochimaru really did return to Konoha?” Sasuke leaned forward, forgetting his food.
“Yes,” Fugaku answered curtly. “So stay alert.”
The boy nodded, his eyes darkening — he understood this wasn’t just advice, but an order.
“Do you have anything?” Fugaku turned to Itachi.
“I spoke with Mitarashi Anko,” he said calmly. “Naturally, she claims she has no connection to Orochimaru. But she has the same summoning: snakes.”
“And what did you do?” Sasuke leaned over the table, gripping the edge.
“Under my control, she summoned one,” Itachi continued. “I used the Sharingan to read it. She doesn’t know where Orochimaru is. Last time he visited the nest was five years ago. She can’t summon him — he doesn’t respond.”
“If it were that simple, we would’ve caught him long ago,” Fugaku muttered. “Only someone who operates beyond his expectations can stop Orochimaru.”
“It’s getting stuffy in here,” Mikoto suddenly said, stepping toward the window. “Darling, why don’t you shut your fucking mouth?”
An icy silence fell across the room. Everyone turned to her at once.
That wasn’t Mikoto.
Her body looked the same, but her face… twisted in an unnatural grin, lips drawn back to reveal fangs — perfectly white and sharp as knives.
Her right eye blazed with a Sharingan. The left — amber, with a vertical slit like a snake’s.
“Mom?” Sasuke whispered.
At that moment, snakes shot out of the drawer — right from under the spoons and napkins. One for each of them.
Their scales were the color of dried blood. They struck with terrifying precision, like trained assassins, wrapping around the right arm of each man at the table. Each snake pressed close to the skin, fangs poised above the veins, barely a hair’s width from sinking in.
“So,” she said in Mikoto’s voice, “new rules in the house. No one leaves the table until Mommy says so. Otherwise, my sweet little snakes will bite — just one nip, and your life is over.”
She strolled past them, hips swaying slightly. Every movement was a blend of madness and deliberate menace.
“Hands on the table. Where I can see them,” she said. “One sudden move — bite. Try to activate your Sharingan — bite.”
Fugaku, Itachi, Shisui, and Sasuke — all obeyed. For now.
She stopped. Her smile widened.
“Oh right,” she added, grabbing the hem of her dress, “enough with the masquerade.”
As if peeling off her skin, she tore off her house dress. Underneath was a black shinobi uniform. No flak jacket, but tight-fitting pants and a high-collared top.
She stood before them, grinning like a puppeteer at her marionettes.
“By the way,” her voice sliced through the air like a dagger, “you can forget about reverse summoning.”
She walked to the window and flung it open with theatrical grace. Beyond the house shimmered a barely visible chakra barrier. The air pulsed.
“Space-time technique blocker,” she announced with a smug smile. “I wrote the formula myself. You have zero chance of escape.”
Fugaku, Shisui, and Itachi stared at her coldly. Their faces were stone masks. But not all of them were prepared for this.
“Mom…” Sasuke’s voice trembled. “What’s happening?”
“Does baby want Mommy’s love?” she sang, parting her lips and licking them with a long, flexible, almost inhuman tongue. The tip slid across her lips, then her cheek. “Still want it, baby boy?”
“Enough, Orochimaru,” Fugaku growled, voice ringing with steel-clad threat. “You want me. Let the children go. And give me back my wife.”
She laughed. Softly at first. Then louder. The laugh turned wild, broken, painful — as if something inside her was shattering.
“You still hope there’s someone to bring back?” she whispered with chilling closeness, stepping right up to Fugaku and staring into his face. “I am your wife!”
“You’ve gone insane,” he muttered, clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. “You can fake her chakra. Her scent. Her appearance…”
“Nuh-uh-uh!” she cut him off, wagging a finger in front of his face. “No foolishness, hubby. Try anything—and I’ll kill our children.”
She said our with a venomous twist, like a mockery.
Fugaku knew: snake venom wouldn’t harm him. But the boys… Sasuke, Shisui, Itachi—one wrong move and he could lose them all. He couldn’t risk it.
The woman sat back down at the table, placed her hands on her knees, and tilted her head slightly.
“Now… let me tell you a little bedtime story,” she said with a voice that had a playful, almost motherly lilt. “Once upon a time, there was a boy named Orochimaru.”
She told the story as if reading from a picture book. But instead of comfort, it brought a creeping, icy horror.
“He had a head full of brilliant ideas, and a body… alas, far too weak. He dreamed of living forever—and he did. He created a technique to steal bodies and souls. But one day, Fugaku came along. And broke everything. Ruined the game. Caused pain. So the boy had to run away, like a rat.”
Her voice dropped lower, colder.
“And there was also a girl named Mikoto. Born with perfect genetics and genius. But she wasted her gifts on frying eggs and scrubbing floors. She hated it. But she was too scared to argue with her husband. Oh, how she feared him…”
A heavy silence fell over the room. Sasuke lowered his gaze. Even Itachi’s brow furrowed slightly.
“And then… someone stole Naruto. Her best friend’s son. And little Mikoto realized: she was nothing. Not a shield, not a kunoichi, not even a mother. Just a void. She blamed herself. She cried at Kushina’s grave—quietly, so no one would hear.”
Shisui dropped his head, lips pressed into a thin line.
“And then,” she went on, “Orochimaru came to the graveyard. Oh, how he wanted the Sharingan. But even more—he wanted revenge on Fugaku. So he used the jutsu. He entered her. But something went wrong…”
She pointed to her eyes—one crimson Sharingan, the other amber, reptilian.
“Instead of suppressing and replacing, the two souls fused. And they gave birth to me. The new, improved Mikoto. And Orochimaru’s body…”—she giggled—“was left behind, rotting on the graveyard dirt. A useless sack of skin.”
Suddenly, she leapt up and skipped toward the kitchen, practically dancing.
“Of course, I burned his body,” she said, rummaging through a cabinet. “But I decided to keep something—as a souvenir.”
She pulled out a sealed container. Inside was a rotting, partially decomposed leather mask. Orochimaru’s face. With wide, gaping eyeholes.
“Here it is! Hee-hee!”
Sasuke let out a cry as she pressed the mask against her face, as if trying it on. Flesh squelched.
She turned to him, grinning—too wide.
“You’re such a little coward, son,” she whispered, patting him on the shoulder like she was encouraging him. “Wanna know a secret?”
He said nothing. He could barely breathe.
“I never wanted to give birth to you. Pregnancy’s disgusting. That was your daddy’s demand. He wanted a spare heir. Just in case the first one turned out defective.”
She glanced at Itachi and smirked:
“But the first one turned out brilliant. A real masterpiece. And you, Sasuke…”—she leaned down and whispered in his ear—“you were unnecessary. To me. And to him.”
Sasuke jerked away from her, his chair scraping back—but the snake around his arm instantly constricted, and he froze, gritting his teeth, shaking all over.
She slowly walked toward Itachi. Her eyes were calm, even affectionate—but ice lurked beneath them.
“Oh, how I hate you, son,” she said with a tender smile, patting his shoulder. “You ruined my entire life. If not for you… I could’ve continued my career. I would’ve been strong. Free. Maybe even the first female Hokage. Can you imagine?”
She tilted her head, as if genuinely pondering it.
“But instead—diapers and sleepless nights,” she whispered right into Itachi’s ear, almost gently. “Because of you, I died every single day. But hey, you did great, right? The clan’s prodigy. Too bad it didn’t bring me any happiness.”
She turned away from his stone-cold face and moved to Shisui.
“And here’s our little jester!” she smirked, giving a theatrical curtsy. “You think your cheerfulness made my life better? That I enjoyed your antics like everyone else?”
Shisui pressed his lips together.
“Nope. You just made me pretend to be happy. I wore a smile like a mask. And without you… I could breathe easier.”
The boys were stunned. Even Itachi, with his icy self-control, sat with slumped shoulders. Sasuke couldn’t lift his gaze at all.
“Don’t listen to her,” Fugaku’s voice was hard as granite. “That’s not your mother. That’s a monster wearing her face.”
She spun toward him sharply.
“And here he is! The family’s biggest liar!” she hissed, striding up to him. “You thought I didn’t notice how you changed after the war? Became distant. Cold. Silent. I lay awake at night, wondering if you’d been replaced. If somewhere out there was my real husband, and this was just a shinobi in his skin.”
She ran a finger along his cheek.
“But then… I found Madara’s scrolls. And I understood what could cause such a transformation. The Mangekyō Sharingan.”
She smirked, staring into his eyes.
“And I want it. I earned it.”
“How far do you think you’ll get with my eyes?” Fugaku asked calmly. “The entire Uchiha clan will hunt you down.”
“By morning, there won’t be a clan!” she laughed. The sound was equal parts triumphant and unhinged. “Remember the secret chamber beneath the shrine? The one you haven’t stepped into for years?”
He stared at her silently.
“I rigged it with seven million explosive tags,” she winked. “One command—and boom. Goodbye, Uchiha.”
Fugaku’s brow furrowed.
“That many tags would level all of Konoha.”
“One more corpse, one less… what’s the difference?” she shrugged with maddening indifference.
Then she took a step back—her eyes gleamed with wild excitement.
“Now, my darling, I want you to gouge out your eyes. Yourself. No anesthesia.”
“And if I say no?” Fugaku looked straight into her deranged gaze.
“Oh, I’m so glad you asked!” she chirped brightly and grabbed a large kitchen cleaver.
Snatching Sasuke by the wrist, she raised the cleaver.
“You know what comes next?” she tilted her head. “No? Well then. I’m going to chop this brat’s hand off! As a lesson!”
Sasuke grabbed her wrist with his free hand, trembling with terror.
Drip. Drip.
“Ah, goddammit…” she muttered, dropping the cleaver. Tears poured freely onto the floor. “Still having… trouble with emotions…”
Annoyed, she wiped her face with her sleeve.
“…but I’ll fix it. The Yamanaka scrolls should help.”
And then the walls of the house shuddered.
From behind the ceiling panels, the vents, the floorboards—bats erupted. Dozens. Hundreds. A shrieking, flapping swarm descended on the snakes. Fangs tore into flesh, claws shredded scales, wings crushed bones.
The family froze—but Fugaku knew. This was his weapon.
All this time, he had sat still, linking his internal echolocation sensor with the sleeping bats he’d hidden in the walls ahead of time. He had waited for this moment.
“Magnificent!” Mikoto screeched, flailing against the swarm. “I don’t even need to kill anyone to ruin your life, Fugaku!”
She bolted toward the kitchen.
“You can’t relax anywhere! You expect traps even in your own home! You’re already cursed, Fugaku!”
She spat a fireball into the gas stove.
The explosion came instantly. A wave of heat knocked bats aside. Flame swallowed the kitchen. The blast ripped down curtains, shattered dishes. Through the broken window, she slipped outside—her manic laughter echoing into the night.
Fugaku instantly activated his Sharingan and checked on his sons. The heat burned the air, but he saw what mattered: minor scrapes. No bites. No venom.
He already formed the hand signs to create a clone and carry the boys out, but—
“Don’t waste your chakra,” Shisui stopped him, placing a hand on his arm. “We’ve got this.”
“We’ll disarm the tags in the shrine,” Itachi said firmly. His eyes burned with focus. “You prepared us.”
“Please…” Sasuke whispered. His voice was weak, but in his eyes blazed a Sharingan with one tomoe. “Bring Mom back.”
Fugaku felt something crack inside his chest. His mind screamed: Don’t get distracted. Explosives. The village is in danger. But his heart… his heart said something else.
He dropped to one knee and pulled his sons into a tight, almost desperate embrace.
“I promise,” he whispered. “I’ll bring her back. I’ll bring your mother back. And I believe in you, my sons.”
Without waiting for their reply, he leapt up, turned, and vaulted through the shattered window into the madness of the night.
Comments
Jan
YES 🦇🤡
0_0
If Oro wasn’t so theatrical then Fugaku and his sons would all be dead
0_0
How has Fugaku been completely played this entire time? Like he’s lost to Orochimaru every single time bar their first meeting
Great Ender
Orochi turned into joker. Batman should just stop treating him like orochi and make the connection to Joker.
