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Batman in Konoha. Chapter 40. Orochimaru’s revenge
🕑 Added 2025-07-06 17:49:51 +0000 UTCThe morning in Konoha was clear and cool. A group of shinobi had gathered outside the police headquarters, dressed in uniform—black vests bearing the Uchiha crest on their backs, stern faces, rigid posture. Each of them had served under Fugaku for years, and each understood the value of discipline.
But today, behind their habitual mask of indifference, something else crept through—surprise, restrained unease.
Fugaku stood on the low stone steps before the building. The wind tugged at the edges of his dark cloak; his face remained as cold and unmoving as ever, nearly stone-like.
"I am stepping down as Police Captain," he announced, his voice cutting through the ranks like the toll of a bell. "The decision is final."
Silence. No one dared even whisper. Fugaku’s orders were never up for debate. And yet, tension hung in the air like a spark before a storm.
"Uchiha Shisui will take my place," he continued. "You all know him. And I vouch for his competence personally."
Fugaku stepped back and gave a nod to his son.
"The floor is his now."
Shisui climbed the podium without hesitation. His steps were light but firm. The captain's uniform, with new insignia and a heavy collar clasp, looked a little too big on his teenage frame—he was only fifteen. But there was no trace of awkwardness in his movements.
He didn’t make excuses. He didn’t apologize. He looked out at the gathered Uchiha with calm, open eyes. The wind ruffled his hair slightly, and when he spoke, his voice rang out clear and steady.
"Good morning, shinobi and kunoichi. Yes, I’m young. But age isn’t always a measure of maturity. I’ve spent five years in ANBU, working from the shadows—solving murders, neutralizing saboteurs—and not once have I let any of you down."
He scanned the crowd. Some looked away. Others tensed.
"If anyone needs proof of my combat skills, I’m open to a sparring match. Right now, if you want. Choose your weapon."
He clasped his hands behind his back, standing straight as if taking an exam. The silence stretched. No one moved.
"Alright," Shisui said with a faint smile. "Offer still stands. Just… if you decide to doubt me, throw a kunai—don’t drop a cockroach in my tea."
A light murmur passed through the crowd, like wind rustling through leaves. Someone snorted. Someone even allowed a brief chuckle.
"I won’t take up more of your time," Shisui said, his tone turning serious again. "I know replacing Fugaku isn’t easy. But I’ll do everything I can to ensure our division remains an example for the whole village."
"Yes, Captain!" the police force responded in unison, loud and sharp.
People began to slowly disperse—some heading into the building, others out on patrol.
Shisui stepped down from the podium and went straight to his family.
They stood a little apart from the others: Fugaku, Mikoto, Itachi, and Sasuke—always a united front.
Mikoto smiled first, warm and gentle.
"You made an impression. Not every grown shinobi can carry himself like that in front of a crowd."
Itachi didn’t smile. He stared ahead, as if still processing his brother’s words, then finally spoke quietly:
"During your speech, I activated my Sharingan. I checked their expressions, the micro-movements in their faces. None showed signs of doubt. Possibly thanks to Father’s endorsement. But Tekka and Sasami clenched their fists when you offered a spar."
Shisui gave a small smirk, but immediately turned to look at Fugaku. It was the glance of a son trained to understand from a single sentence whether his father approved or was already mentally correcting his actions.
Fugaku met his eyes calmly, without smiling.
"You addressed your subordinates like friends," he said at last. "But then again, you’re the boss now. As long as you deliver results, manage things however you see fit."
"You’ll still give me advice at the start, right?" Shisui asked cautiously, now that the courtyard had emptied and the family stood alone.
"Of course," Fugaku nodded. "We live under the same roof. My office door is always open to you. But first, think carefully—see if you can handle it on your own."
Mikoto, meanwhile, stepped closer and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before smiling:
"Come home early today, Shisui. It’s your first day at the new job, after all. I baked your favorite melon cake."
"Really?" Shisui scratched the back of his head, smiling sheepishly. "Thanks, but… I already made plans for a date. Before all this started."
"Oh?" Mikoto replied with a trace of disappointment. "Well then, another time. But bring her over sometime, alright? I never got to finish my conversation with Hana."
Fugaku raised an eyebrow and slowly turned his head toward his son.
"Hana? She’s your girlfriend?"
"Yeah," Shisui nodded a bit guiltily. "We’ve been together for six months now. Didn’t you know?"
The silence that followed was almost comical. Fugaku’s expression tightened slightly; his brows drew together.
"Six months?" he repeated, as if verifying the information.
"Yeah. Mikoto knew," Shisui added, glancing her way. She was smiling innocently, as if none of this involved her.
Fugaku turned to her slowly, but she was already busy fussing with Sasuke’s collar, looking very occupied.
"Hana’s awesome!" Sasuke chimed in enthusiastically. "She has three huge dogs! I rode them like horses!"
Fugaku turned his gaze to his last hope—Itachi. He usually stayed out of social affairs. Maybe he didn’t know...
"Shisui introduced me to Hana three months ago when we ran into her in town," Itachi said, arms crossed as he gave his father a mildly suspicious look. "You really didn’t know?"
Fugaku fell silent again. His face was almost expressionless, but the tension in his jaw made it clear—he was stunned.
"Wow," Shisui whispered. "Fugaku Uchiha didn’t know something. Historic day."
Sasuke snorted, covering his mouth with his fist, but laughter still slipped through. Mikoto was still smiling, though now there was a clear sparkle of amusement in her eyes. Only Itachi kept up a calm demeanor, though the corners of his mouth twitched.
Fugaku drew a deep breath and tilted his head back, as if feeling the weight of the years for the first time.
"This is exactly why I handed over some of my responsibilities to you, Shisui," he muttered, heading toward the house. "Maybe now I’ll finally get some sleep… and start noticing things beyond police reports."
///
For the first time in six years, Fugaku woke up later than his wife.
The room was already filled with soft morning light filtering through the paper screens. The blanket beside him was neatly folded—Mikoto had already gone to the kitchen. The scent of grilled cucumbers and sweet rice vinegar drifted in from the hallway.
The feeling was strange. He hadn’t woken in his chair to the sound of an emergency call, hadn’t spent the pre-dawn hours buried in reports, hadn’t monitored Konoha’s crime maps through the night.
Fugaku sat up in bed and stretched slowly. His body was as strong and disciplined as ever—effects of the Venom and Man-Bat serum still intact. But inside, there was an odd sensation... like a soldier walking off the battlefield, still gripping his weapon.
He got up and headed to the shower. Standing under the stream of water, he thought: now that he was no longer the police captain, he had something rare—time.
But he had no intention of wasting it.
His free hours would go toward training—refining his wind techniques, maybe even learning senjutsu, as Bat-Kage had once suggested.
When he came down to the dining room, all three of his sons were already seated, and Mikoto was bustling at the stove, dishing out breakfast. She greeted him with a warm nod as he took his usual seat.
"Good morning," he said.
"Fugaku, you need to see this," Shisui said without preamble, handing him the newspaper. The sheet was fresh, still smelling of ink.
Fugaku took it and unfolded it. On the front page, in stark black letters against the white:
"Mitokado Homura and Utatane Koharu Will Die at Midnight"
Below the headline—a sharp, ominous sketch of a white snake coiled around a clock.
He folded the paper without a word and set it aside. Then picked up his chopsticks, pulled the rice bowl closer, and calmly began eating.
"Thank you," he said to Mikoto as she passed him the soy sauce.
Sasuke, mid-omelet, stared at his father in confusion.
"You’re not going to do anything about it?"
Without looking up from his food, Fugaku replied calmly:
"I’m no longer the police captain. I don’t chase petty criminals anymore. That’s your job now, Captain."
He looked at Shisui—without irony, just businesslike.
"Yeah, of course…" Shisui looked a little uncertain but quickly collected himself. "I just wanted to hear your opinion. Why are you so calm? It’s Orochimaru."
"It’s not Orochimaru," he said sharply.
"What makes you so sure, dear?" Mikoto asked gently, placing a hand on his. "The white snake is his symbol. And Mitokado and Utatane are the Hokage’s advisors. If Orochimaru has a grudge against Sensei, they might be next."
The boys were watching Fugaku’s face without blinking. Their eyes were full of expectation—trying to catch even the subtlest hint of an answer.
"Orochimaru fled the village nine days ago," Fugaku said calmly. "He’s scared. Worn out. In no condition to come at me again. Which means this headline is a distraction for thieves. While everyone rushes to guard the advisors, the real target goes unnoticed."
"Then I’m heading straight to the printing office," Shisui said firmly, rising from the table. "I’ll try to find out how this filth got published. If I’m lucky, I might get a lead on who's behind it."
Fugaku gave a subtle nod, approving the initiative. He never voiced praise, but Shisui didn’t need it—he knew what he was doing.
Breakfast hadn’t even fully wrapped up when there was a knock at the door.
"It’s for you," Mikoto called, letting in a courier in a green vest.
"Uchiha Fugaku," the man said in an official tone. "Advisors Mitokado and Utatane request your immediate presence in the council chamber."
"I assume they wanted to see the police captain," Fugaku clarified coldly.
"No," the courier shook his head. "Just you. As soon as possible."
Fugaku frowned. He knew their dear friend Danzō was a coward, but he didn’t realize it was contagious.
He silently put on his cloak and left.
///
The Hokage’s council chamber buzzed with tension. Mitokado and Utatane were both shouting over each other and over Hiruzen, as if he were just part of the furniture. Their voices were raised, faces red, hands trembling—from fear and rage alike.
The moment Fugaku stepped into the room, silence fell.
"Fugaku," Hiruzen said flatly, skipping any formalities. "As far as I’m aware, you’ve resigned as police captain. You have no business here."
"That’s not for you to decide, Hiruzen," Fugaku replied, voice just as icy. "I was invited."
Mitokado and Utatane turned to him. Their gazes were haughty, condescending.
"Uchiha Fugaku," Mitokado began, "we order you to protect us."
"You’re ordering me?" Fugaku repeated slowly, looking at them as if they’d just insulted his ancestors. "Only the Hokage and the Daimyō can give me orders. And even then—within reason."
Hiruzen chuckled and noisily lit his pipe, clearly enjoying the moment.
"Then we wish to hire you," Utatane quickly jumped in. "A-rank mission. One day of protection. Standard pay."
"Correction: a full day wasted on pointless fuss instead of fulfilling actual missions for actual money," Fugaku said coldly. "And let me warn you upfront—Orochimaru hasn’t returned. This uproar is just a distraction from something more important."
"I told them the same thing," Hiruzen added lazily, exhaling a ring of smoke.
The advisors didn’t spare him a glance. Their eyes were locked on Fugaku like he was their last hope.
"You already made Orochimaru run once," Mitokado muttered. "Do it again. We’ll make it worth your while."
"We have something more valuable than money," Utatane cut in. "Tobirama’s records. Among them is a scroll describing an ancient weapon of the Uchiha clan. They say even Hashirama feared it."
Fugaku’s eyes narrowed slightly. He knew what they were talking about.
"Interesting. And how did the Senju brothers’ legacy end up in your hands?" he asked calmly. "Never mind. Skip that. Better tell me—what did you do to Orochimaru that he now wants you dead?"
"None of your concern," Utatane snapped. "You get the weapon—something even Madara dared not dream of. So, are you in?"
Fugaku gave a faint smirk.
"If you really had it, you wouldn’t be begging me for protection. Now let’s get down to business. First, I’ll check whether there’s even a shred of truth in those scrolls. If there is—then maybe, just maybe, I’ll waste my evening on you."
He turned, already heading for the door, but tossed over his shoulder:
"One hour until midnight. Not a minute more."
They didn’t argue. They were too afraid.
///
Fugaku spent the entire day on the training grounds, methodically refining new Wind Release techniques he had copied with the Sharingan. Every breath in and out was precise, measured, drilled to instinct. He sent blades of air slicing through the targets.
Around noon, Shisui came running into the field—breathless but energized.
"The printing office’s a dead end," he panted. "Someone broke in overnight and swapped out the front page. No trace—no fingerprints, no chakra. The lock wasn't forced, the alarm didn’t trigger. The only way in is a tiny window. Not even Sasuke could squeeze through it. Unless it was Orochimaru himself, with his flexible bone technique."
"It wasn’t him," Fugaku snapped, cleaving through a tree trunk. "Someone mimicked his style. They want us to believe it was Orochimaru."
"Maybe…" Shisui mumbled uncertainly. "I’ve posted police throughout the village. If a robbery breaks out anywhere—we’ll be the first to know."
Fugaku nodded. He didn’t say “good job”—he didn’t need to. Shisui already knew.
///
At eleven that night, an ANBU agent came for him. Silent, masked, he led Fugaku down a subterranean hallway hidden beneath the administration building.
"Neither Danzō nor Orochimaru knows about this place," Hiruzen said when Fugaku entered the chamber.
Fugaku just smirked. He still didn’t believe Orochimaru would bother with threats—it wasn’t his style. And yet, here he was.
The room was steeped in a heavy, suffocating silence. The advisors sat hunched on a couch, nervously glancing at the wall clock. Their faces were pale, fingers trembling. The ANBU agent at the door stood like a statue, katana drawn. Hiruzen paced the room, frowning now and then.
Fugaku sat in a leather chair with a book in hand. He pretended to read, but hadn’t turned a page. The ticking of the clock was deafening.
Five minutes to midnight, all eyes converged on a single point—the second hand.
It moved slowly, lazily, crossing the threshold.
Midnight. Nothing happened.
"Told you," Hiruzen exhaled, tiredly. "It was just a cruel joke."
And in the same instant, the advisors collapsed with a heavy thud. Their bodies slid from the couch, thick purple foam bubbling from their mouths.
"Medic!" Hiruzen barked, whipping around to the ANBU. "Now!"
The agent vanished in a swirl of shunshin.
Fugaku was already kneeling beside them. He checked for a pulse—nothing.
"Too late," he said calmly. No panic. Just the facts.
"They were poisoned?" Hiruzen asked, not even bothering to fake composure.
"Without question. And the dosage was tailored precisely to their height and weight—death exactly at midnight," Fugaku gave a dry chuckle. "We’re dealing with a true genius."
"Orochimaru…"
"There are others in the world," Fugaku cut him off.
He was about to add something else, but then a voice rang in his mind—Shisui’s voice. Quiet but clear, as if whispered directly into his ear.
"You were right. Come to the Hokage Tower."
In the next instant, Fugaku and Hiruzen vanished in a shunshin blur.
They arrived at the tower. Uchiha police filled the halls, their Sharingan eyes glowing like fireflies in the dark. Some were lifting prints. Others measuring the blast radius. Others still were scanning for chakra pressure. But it was already obvious—this was the work of a professional.
The air reeked of smoke. The vault door had been blown open with surgical precision—contents untouched. A clean job.
"What’s missing?" Fugaku asked, eyeing the twisted metal.
Hiruzen looked inside. His face darkened.
"The Hokage Scroll of Techniques. The one passed from Hokage to Hokage. The one Orochimaru always wanted."
"So did half the ambitious shinobi in the world," Fugaku scoffed. "Who was supposed to be guarding the tower?"
"I was," Tekka stepped forward and bowed. "My shadow clone was patrolling. It was attacked from behind and didn’t see the assailant. But before it dispersed, it registered a blade piercing its chest."
A heavy silence settled. Faces grew more tense.
"That proves nothing," Fugaku said flatly. "Half the shinobi in the world use swords."
"Father. Lord Hokage." Shisui stepped forward, face serious—almost grim. "You need to see this."
They went up to the roof. The cold night wind tugged at their cloaks, and the sky above was black as ink. Below, on the stone plaza in front of the tower, a fiery message burned bright and clear:
“Sarutobi Hiruzen will die at midnight.”
"You still think this isn’t Orochimaru’s revenge?" Hiruzen lit his pipe.
"I’m starting to doubt it," Fugaku muttered, staring at the flaming message.
Comments
HeavenlyReader23
Ok stop turning this into batman
