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Batman in Konoha. Chapter 37
🕑 Added 2025-07-02 15:19:18 +0000 UTCFugaku walked down the road toward Konoha, flanked by his elder sons.
Behind them, the carriage was left in the care of a local blacksmith—battered and twisted after the grueling journey, it needed serious repairs. The horses, exhausted and lathered with sweat, had been taken to the stables. They needed a long rest; after the brutal pace and the steroid injection, they could barely stand.
"Next time, let's take bats instead of horses," Shisui muttered. "Flying’s way faster."
Fugaku didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched—almost imperceptibly.
Just outside the stable gates, they were intercepted by a small group: three freshly minted genin—awkward but wide-eyed with purpose—and a young chūnin whose forehead protector barely concealed a tuft of unruly green hair. It was a D-rank mission—routine, really—but for these recruits, it was their first real job. Their task: deliver a cart of supplies to the Uchiha compound.
The cart creaked, but the genin pulled it as if it carried treasure. The entire task would take no more than five minutes—especially if Fugaku had simply hoisted the crates onto his own shoulders and carried them himself—but he preferred to hire teams. The payment was insignificant to him, but to young shinobi, it meant motivation, a chance to earn without risking their lives, and, at the very least, some experience.
Fugaku carried only one thing—but it was the most important. A large, dark scroll was tightly fastened to his belt. On the paper seal gleamed a dual emblem: a bat and a sharingan, intertwined like two symbols of power. This was not just a contract. It was a declaration. A new alliance forged between the Uchiha clan and the bats.
There was no point in hiding it. The issue wasn't secrecy—it was presentation.
He wanted it to be seen. In the shinobi world, strength was respected. So were allies. So were summoning contracts—especially rare ones. Bats were considered beings with whom almost no one could form a pact: reclusive, ancient, and extremely selective. Now Fugaku was their link to the human world. And anyone who saw the scroll would understand: the balance of power in the village had begun to shift.
“You sure this isn’t a little... provocative?” Shisui asked as they passed the second shop, where yet another shinobi gave them a subtle bow and quickly slipped away.
“They would’ve found out anyway,” Fugaku replied calmly. “Better it come from me.”
Konoha’s streets grew livelier as they entered the central district. Ordinary citizens—shopkeepers, academy students, old men on benches—watched them pass. Some stared openly, others looked away, pretending to be busy. Veteran shinobi—mostly from other clans—only glanced at the scroll before quickening their pace. They had reports to file.
The word was already spreading. Just as intended.
By the time they reached the Uchiha compound, the sun hung high above, beginning its slow descent toward evening. They’d missed lunch.
Fugaku barely had time to sign the mission completion form before Sasuke shot out the door like a bullet.
“Where were you?! What were you doing?! What’s that?!” he bombarded his brothers with questions, as if they’d been gone a year instead of just three weeks.
The boy darted around a massive, wheeled aquarium covered with a thick black cloth. He even tried to peek under it, but Shisui gently nudged him aside.
Once the genin had bowed and left, Itachi stepped forward and calmly pulled the cloth off.
Inside, in clear water, floated something strange and unsettling: a black, tangled mass of threadlike tendrils, shifting as though alive, roughly the size of a shark. A creature that seemed both organic and utterly unnatural.
Sasuke instinctively took a step back.
“What... is that?” his voice trembled.
“My new pet,” Itachi said flatly.
“You... what?”
“It’s alive. His name is Jiongu.” Itachi didn’t even glance at Sasuke—his gaze was locked on the creature in the tank. “He’s going to live in my room.”
“What did you expect?” Shisui clapped Sasuke on the shoulder. “Our eternally grim brother to adopt a fluffy kitten? Not his style. If Itachi ever gets a pet, it’s bound to be some dark horror dragged up from the bottom of the ocean.”
Sasuke snorted into his fist but kept his eyes on Jiongu.
"That’s... creepy," he whispered. "Is it even breathing?.. Can it breathe?"
"He feeds on a mineral medium. He requires a specific water composition—salts, microorganisms, and a small amount of chakra," Itachi explained, as if giving a lecture.
Shisui rolled his eyes.
"He's been reading about it nonstop for three days," he whispered to Sasuke. "I’m not even sure he’s slept."
"I need to take Jiongu to my room," Itachi said, starting to roll the tank down the hallway. "I want to test some new minerals today. If he absorbs them well, I’ll try feeding him a bit of shinobi blood."
Sasuke turned pale. Shisui burst out laughing.
"I won’t stay long either," he added, giving Sasuke an apologetic look. "Ran into the guys on the way home. We planned to meet up at the café near the third shop. I promised I’d be there in thirty."
"Oh… okay," Sasuke muttered, clearly unhappy that everyone was taking off.
And just like that, only he and his father remained in the central room of the compound.
"Where’s Mikoto?" Fugaku asked, turning to his son.
Sasuke shrugged in a boyish, slightly careless way.
"Dunno. Probably went shopping... She said something this morning about udon sauce. Maybe she got stuck at the Yamanaka stand."
Fugaku gave a slight nod. He knew Mikoto kept in touch with the wives of all the clan heads. Not out of friendship—formality. She had only one real friend.
Trying to fill the silence, Sasuke suddenly burst out:
"School’s going great! Ebisu-sensei says I’ve got excellent technique and good focus. He’s sure I’ll get into the Academy easily, and if I work hard, I might even finish it in a year..."
There was a spark in his eyes—hope, the need to prove himself worthy not just as the youngest in the family, but as a true Uchiha. But it all dimmed the moment he met his father’s gaze. Fugaku wasn’t frowning, wasn’t criticizing—he was simply looking at him in silence. And that was enough to shake the boy’s confidence.
"...But of course, Ebisu-sensei’s just a chūnin," Sasuke added, quieter now, turning away. "My brothers... they’re stronger. He couldn’t beat them."
Fugaku sat down on the couch beside the table and, without looking at his son, said:
"Of course. Because I trained them."
There was no pride in his voice, no boast—just a statement of fact. Unquestionable.
He placed the scroll on the table—the black one, marked with the dual seal of the Sharingan and the bat. Sasuke froze, captivated by the sight.
"After the Academy, I’ll train you myself. But..." He raised his gaze to his son. "Some things can be learned already."
Sasuke’s eyes widened.
"Seriously?"
"Have I ever lied to you?"
Fugaku’s tone was calm, but his words hung in the air with unexpected warmth. Sasuke broke into a wide, genuine smile.
"And that... is a summoning scroll, right?" He leaned in closer, practically pressing his chin to the table. "I know about it! Naruto never shuts up about how his family has tons of summoning animals. Keeps saying he’s gonna sign some super-contract and become the best ninja in the world."
He smirked, looking up at his father with a challenge in his eyes:
"So am I gonna sign mine before he does?"
"Yes," Fugaku replied. The corner of his mouth twitched in a barely-there smile.
Sasuke nearly jumped with excitement.
"That’s so cool! Who’ll be my ally? Frogs? Snakes? Maybe dogs?"
"No. The ones closest to me in spirit. Bats."
Fugaku watched him carefully, gauging his reaction. But Sasuke didn’t flinch, didn’t get scared. He just frowned with curiosity.
"Bats?.. Can they fight?"
"They can. And more than that, they can think. Which matters far more in our world," Fugaku said. "Your brothers have already found common ground with them. I’m sure you will too. But first—sign it."
Fugaku gestured to the end of the scroll. The second blank space beside his own, he had left for Mikoto.
The boy immediately grabbed a kitchen knife from the counter. He pricked his finger—wincing slightly, but not making a sound—and carefully wrote his name in blood, each kanji neat and precise.
“Try summoning someone,” Fugaku said, showing him the proper sequence of hand seals. “The smaller bats don’t require much chakra. You should have enough.”
Sasuke took a deep breath, focused, and began forming the seals with a serious expression.
With a crackling puff, a burst of smoke exploded—and from the cloud emerged a strange silhouette. When the smoke cleared, a bat was perched on Sasuke’s shoulder. Small, with reddish-brown fur, wearing a short dark kimono patterned with clouds. Its wings were gently folded against its body, and its eyes were calm and alert.
“Greetings, little one,” came a melodic voice right by his ear. “You must be Sasuke. I’m Keita. Pleased to meet you.”
Sasuke froze, unsure what to say. He only nodded, as if afraid to scare the wonder away.
Fugaku, meanwhile, cast the bat a heavy, evaluating look.
“Save the pleasantries. This is your home now. Go. Take a look around. The attic’s yours.”
Keita gave a theatrical salute with one wing.
“Not goodbye,” he said, then vanished over the ceiling beam, slipping deeper into the house.
Sasuke watched him go, unblinking.
“That’s... incredible,” he whispered. “I can already picture Naruto passing out when I show him this…”
“Bats are not toys,” Fugaku cut in sharply. “They’re individuals—with their own laws, emotions, and feelings. Keita will explain it all himself. You are to respect them.”
Sasuke’s shoulders sagged.
“Yes, Father… I understand.”
Fugaku pulled a small box from his inner pocket and handed it to his son. Inside was a ring, perfectly sized for Sasuke’s slim finger.
“This is an instant communication ring. In a critical situation, it will allow you to activate a reverse summoning technique—or contact me. But it’s only to be used in an emergency.”
Sasuke slipped the ring on with reverence. It fit perfectly.
Then the training began. Sasuke attempted the connection several times—either too weakly, or pouring out chakra like a fountain. His face turned red with effort, but he didn’t give up. Fugaku didn’t interfere. He simply observed—patient, focused—correcting him only when something went completely wrong.
It took longer than it had with Itachi or Shisui. But Fugaku understood: his youngest son had less combat experience. Fewer wounds, fewer mistakes. Less real pressure.
But he had something else—drive. And willpower.
After about half an hour, Sasuke finally reached the right state. His energy stabilized, and the ring responded with a gentle vibration on his finger.
“There. Just like that.” Fugaku nodded. “Now you can use it. Only if it’s necessary. Communication or extraction. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father,” Sasuke beamed. “I promise.”
He bolted for the stairs—light, almost flying, already halfway out of sight.
“Keita, where are you?! Will you show me your techniques?!” his excited voice echoed from somewhere deep in the house.
Fugaku remained where he was, standing in the shadow. For a while, he simply listened to the sound of small footsteps running through the attic. The flutter of wings. Soft laughter.
He closed his eyes and exhaled.
Sometimes—very rarely—life in this house resembled the one he once dreamed of building in another world.
///
Fugaku entered his study and closed the door behind him, leaving the household noise and warmth beyond the quiet solitude.
He sat at his desk, unrolled a scroll, and prepared ink and brush. Today’s task was special: a mission request to Sunagakure, filed through a trusted intermediary in a neutral village. Officially, it was a B-rank request—clearing poisonous vapors in the Land of Swamps. But the real objective had nothing to do with the gases.
With cold precision, Fugaku composed the wording, careful to ensure the mission would be handed to a squad of "Great Fans"—elite wind-style users, masters of futon jutsu. On the road, they would be ambushed by a gang of rogue ninja. A typical highway robbery in which, by some miracle, no one would die.
Fugaku would be watching the battle, copying their techniques in real time with his Sharingan.
He was just finishing his signature when a firm knock echoed through the house.
Fugaku paused for a moment. The house was empty—the boys were off on their own errands, and Mikoto hadn’t yet returned. Which meant he’d have to answer the door himself. Calmly, he set down the brush, rolled up the letter, and made his way to the entrance without haste.
Standing on the doorstep was Might Guy.
His appearance hadn’t changed much since the days he used to leap around the village in his green jumpsuit, the embodiment of pure enthusiasm. But now the outfit was adorned with white decorative accents that emphasized his shoulders and torso. A long headband the color of spring leaves fluttered behind him. Something in his posture—in the stance, the smile—reminded Fugaku of a man from another world… Bruce Lee.
In his arms, Guy was carrying a young woman—one who clearly carried herself with strength and dignity. This was his wife, Suzumebachi. After the wedding, her image had changed noticeably. The yukata was gone, replaced by a sleek black training outfit that hugged her form, with visible signs of weights strapped to her wrists and ankles. She was smiling, but far more reserved than her husband.
Fugaku couldn’t help but recall the day Might Duy had handed him the technique of the Eight Gates, in exchange for one thing: to arrange a marriage for his son. It had been a strange deal—but a beneficial one. At the time, there had only been one eligible and unmarried Uchiha who fit the criteria—Suzumebachi. Arrogant and calculating, she sincerely believed a husband should serve her simply because she was beautiful.
Fugaku had been sure he was doing Duy a disservice. But time passed… and instead of destroying each other, two powerful personalities found balance. Under her pressure, Guy had—shockingly—agreed to visit a barber for the first time in his life, and Suzumebachi now ran alongside him every morning and evening.
“Something happened?” Fugaku asked calmly.
Guy roared with the force of a thunderclap:
“Something most certainly did!”
Then immediately fell silent under his wife’s icy stare and lowered his volume.
“Today… is the best day of my life,” he said more quietly, though his eyes still burned with passion.
“You don’t have to carry me,” Suzumebachi said, glancing aside. But her voice lacked conviction.
“The mother of my children must not strain herself!” Guy bellowed again, as if competing in a contest. “I will carry you until you bear me twins! No, triplets! No—sixfold youth energy!”
“Enough!” Suzumebachi snapped and leapt from his arms, but Fugaku caught the slight twitch at the corner of her lips—half a smile. She had clearly enjoyed the first part of the performance.
Turning to Fugaku, she stood straight and addressed him with restrained formality.
“Fugaku-sama. We’ve come to report… an addition to the Uchiha clan.”
Fugaku slowly shifted his gaze from her to her stomach, where a slight curve was just beginning to show.
“That wasn’t necessary,” he replied curtly, as always. “But congratulations, regardless. If you need resources, assistance, or medical support—come to me.”
“Thank you,” Suzumebachi nodded. Then, noticeably flustered, she lowered her voice and added, “Actually… I do have one request.”
Fugaku didn’t answer. He merely inclined his head slightly forward—a gesture that meant: speak.
“You’re… a respected man. People listen to you.” She was clearly choosing her words carefully. “Would you… help my husband find a job?”
The words hung in the air like a thrown shuriken.
Guy’s eyes widened as if he’d been punched in the gut.
“What did you just say?!” he gasped. “I already have a job! I’m a shinobi! A proud pillar of Konoha! A taijutsu master!”
“Shinobi die!” Suzumebachi cried out, her voice suddenly filled with real panic. “I’ve already lost one husband! I don’t want to lose another!”
Fugaku’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t looking at Guy—he was watching her. In her voice there was more than worry. There was memory. Pain. Experience.
“I’m not becoming a widow again,” she added softly. “I want our children to grow up with their father. Even if he’s a trainer at the Academy, a taijutsu consultant, a bodyguard—anything. Just not a target on the battlefield.”
While Guy battled the most formidable weapon in a kunoichi’s arsenal—tears—Fugaku quietly slipped back into the house. He walked to the kitchen at an unhurried pace, as if pondering just how deeply he’d been drawn into someone else’s family drama. From the fridge, he took out a pitcher of grapefruit juice, poured a glass, and returned to the veranda.
There, Guy stood in a combat stance… but this time not against an enemy, but against his own wife.
“I’m a real man! Real men don’t run from danger!”
Suzumebachi was about to reply, but Fugaku cut her off:
“I’ll think of something,” he said calmly, handing her the glass and effectively ending the argument before it could escalate.
“Thank you very much, Fugaku-sama,” she replied with dignity, accepting the juice. Her voice was composed, but her eyes betrayed the release of tension. She sat down on the bench, clearly savoring the sense of triumph—though making no rush to show it.
Guy stepped up to Fugaku and all but dragged him aside. He whispered urgently:
“I don’t need another job. I’m a shinobi. I have to fight. That’s my path… I’m a man, after all!”
Fugaku looked at him with cold, composed strength.
“You’re about to become a father,” he said firmly. “And your wife is under constant stress. She’s afraid you’ll be killed. Do you understand where that can lead?”
Guy paled. He wasn’t a fool. He knew what it meant to lose a child.
“So starting tomorrow, you’re off all field missions,” Fugaku continued. “You’re transferring to the Konoha Police. Patrols, security, dealing with petty troublemakers—low-risk work. I’ll handle the paperwork. And once the child is born, you can talk to your wife again about returning to active duty. If you still want to.”
Guy, who had stood so proudly moments ago, wilted. He wrestled with himself for a moment, then gave a slow, heavy nod.
“I don’t know how to thank you, Fugaku-sama…” he whispered. “I… I’ll make sure to repay you for the trouble!”
“No need,” Fugaku waved him off. “Your father once tore a promise from me—the Uchiha clan would look after you. I’m keeping my word. And my responsibility now includes Might Duy’s grandchildren as well.”
Guy straightened abruptly. His eyes lit up.
“He’ll be so happy! We see each other almost every day, but I haven’t told him yet!”
“You should fix that,” Fugaku remarked dryly.
And Guy—radiant, inspired, full of pride—swept his wife into his arms and ran off, waving as he went. Suzumebachi didn’t protest. She just clutched the glass of juice and buried her face in her husband’s chest.
Fugaku remained on the veranda, watching them go. He didn’t smile.
But for a moment, something warm stirred in his chest.
///
Mikoto returned home just a few minutes before dinner. The door creaked softly, and her footsteps in the hallway were barely audible. She paused at the coat rack, slipped off her light shawl, adjusted her hair, and took a deep breath. By the time she stepped into the corridor, Fugaku was already there.
He noticed her eyes immediately—red from crying. Her cheeks were pale, her lips pressed into a tight line. But the moment their eyes met, she pulled on her mask.
“Hello, dear,” she said with a weak smile. “I didn’t know you’d be home today. I’ll go get another plate—”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Fugaku’s voice was sharp, like breaking glass. He stepped between her and the hallway. “Not until you tell me the truth. Where were you? Why were you crying?”
He looked at her the way he would at a suspect in an interrogation room. Not with anger—just cold, merciless focus. He’d been a detective too long, and had lost too much, to allow himself the luxury of patience.
Mikoto lowered her gaze, her shoulders trembling. Against that kind of strength, she couldn’t and didn’t want to fight. A perfect wife tells the truth when the truth is demanded.
“I was at Kushina’s grave,” she whispered. “You probably don’t know yet… While you were gone, the village… there’ve been abductions. Someone is taking children.”
The world froze. Fugaku didn’t even breathe.
And then—everything snapped into place. Instantly. With icy clarity. Every piece fell into line.
“What about Naruto?” His voice wasn’t a voice anymore—it was a growl torn from his chest. “How long has it been? Where was he taken from? Is he… dead?”
Mikoto shook her head slowly, as if each motion hurt.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “No one’s been found. Not a single child…”
A tear slid down her cheek, but Fugaku no longer saw her.
He shoved the door open and stormed outside. The world blurred, blood pounded in his ears like a war drum. His body moved on its own, straight toward the police station. He felt no weight, no time, no exhaustion. Only one thing thundered in his mind—deafening, all-consuming:
Again.
Every damn time. Gotham or Konoha—it made no difference. The moment he let himself relax, let himself be happy, evil sank its claws into his soul.
