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Batman in Konoha. Chapter 31. The First Rule of Business
🕑 Added 2025-06-24 21:32:43 +0000 UTCThe carriage swayed gently over the uneven road. Only the creak of the wheels and the snorting of the horses reminded them they were still in motion. Suddenly, there was a short knock.
“We’ve arrived,” Fugaku said calmly, rapping his knuckles lightly against the back wall.
Shisui and Itachi reacted instantly. Both emerged from the soft interior of the carriage and climbed forward, onto the cold, wind-blown bench beside Fugaku. The damp sea air hit their faces, heavy with the scent of salt and moisture.
Fugaku tugged slightly on the reins, slowing the pace of the team. The horses obediently dropped to a walk. He wasn’t in a hurry—they needed to take a look around. Before them stretched the Land of Waves: small, poor, raw in its natural resources, and entirely unfamiliar to their eyes. The warmth of the Land of Fire, where they had come from, was already behind them. Here, the air was heavier, wetter, like a thin film of water clinging to the skin. In the distance, ponds and canals glimmered like silver, and the sparse treetops echoed with the cries of birds.
The road changed—dusty trails gave way to solid cobblestones under the horses' hooves. Houses lined both sides of the path, and what was most surprising—they were built of brick, many two, even three stories high. Wooden fences alternated with wrought-iron railings, and signs for inns and tea shops hung above the thresholds.
“Whoa…” Shisui let out a low whistle, leaning forward. His eyes darted across the surroundings like he couldn’t decide what to focus on first. “This is... real civilization. Almost like Konoha. Weird… And I read a tourist pamphlet about this dump before the trip. Said it was all poverty, clay huts, fishermen with nets, and roads that turn to swamp after every rain…”
He trailed off, still not quite believing what he was seeing. Metal gutters, glass windows, even street lamps—it all spoke of wealth. Serious wealth.
“The Land of Waves has changed a lot in the past two years,” Fugaku noted evenly, his eyes still fixed on the road. “Money came here. My money.”
Shisui raised his eyebrows, and Itachi silently shifted his gaze from his father to a silhouette disappearing around the street corner. In the distance, against the misty sky, loomed the dark shape of a massive factory. Black chimneys rose into the air—but no smoke came from them. On the central wall, painted gray, hung a huge flag bearing the Uchiha fan.
“All the locals work for Uchiha Enterprises,” Fugaku went on, making it clear he wasn’t bragging—just stating a fact. “When people have stable work, order follows. And where there’s order, civilization comes too.”
“Respect,” Shisui acknowledged with a slow shake of his head. “I knew you had business outside Konoha, but this… You’re not just making money—you’re shaping an entire country. Even the daimyo probably shakes your hand.”
“He’d better,” Fugaku snorted. “Taxes from my business make up the majority of this country’s revenue.”
“I don’t understand,” Itachi said suddenly, his voice low and thoughtful, almost cautious. “If things are so good here… why is no one on the streets?”
Fugaku’s brow furrowed slightly. He’d noticed it too. Shops were closed. Not a single street vendor in sight. No children running along the sidewalks. And most troubling of all—no smoke over the factory.
“It’s the middle of the workday,” he said, tightening his grip on the reins. “But no one’s working. The factory’s shut down. Which means I’m losing money. And I don’t like that.”
The carriage rolled up to the factory gates—tall, steel, painted black. And covered in blood.
Shisui swore under his breath. Itachi frowned. Fugaku clenched his fists.
Twelve bodies were strung to the bars of the gate like puppets, sewn in place with black thread. Workers—people Fugaku had known by name. Some still wore company jackets with the enterprise logo on their chests. Two of them had green flak vests—shinobi from Konoha. Chūnin. Their eyes were wide open, frozen in silent terror.
“What the hell…?” Shisui breathed, his voice rough.
Fugaku didn’t answer right away. He stepped down from the carriage slowly and walked closer, examining the mutilated bodies. His face remained stone-cold, but for a brief moment, a shadow flickered in his eyes—not fear, but fury.
“This is the price of business,” he said darkly. “Someone decided to challenge me.”
Footsteps echoed on the cobblestones. From a side alley came old Tazuna, limping, his blue work coat flapping as he ran. His gray hair was disheveled, and his breathing came in ragged gasps.
“Fugaku-sama!” he cried, nearly collapsing to his knees. “Trouble! It’s—it's terrible!”
“I see it,” Fugaku replied coldly, without turning around. “Who did this?”
“He called himself Kakuzu,” Tazuna managed, pale as his hair. “He showed up two days ago. Just walked onto the factory grounds like he owned the place. Killed the guards instantly. Didn't say a word. Then… he did this.”
The old man trembled, unable to look at the bodies again. His hands shook, as if he could still hear long needles piercing flesh.
“He warned us,” Tazuna went on. “Said if any of us tried to restart production, he’d come back. And what he did to the guards would seem like child’s play. We believed him, Uchiha-sama. He didn’t look like a man who jokes.”
Fugaku listened in silence. His gaze didn’t shift, but the air around him seemed to darken—tense, heavy, suffocating. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the clatter of hooves and the damp wind rolling in from the sea.
“Take them down,” Fugaku ordered sharply.
“We tried…” Tazuna lowered his eyes. “But… no saw, no knife, not even a blowtorch can cut those black threads. They’re like… alive.”
Fugaku cracked his neck in irritation and stepped forward. His eyes burned with cold resolve. He approached the gates and, without effort, struck once—hard. The metal groaned and collapsed. The gates, along with the bodies, crashed to the ground, kicking up dust and the stench of old blood.
“Boys,” he said over his shoulder. “Secure the gate on top of the carriage. We’re taking it with us.”
Itachi and Shisui nodded and immediately moved to obey. Wordless, efficient—habits forged through training and years under the same roof.
While they secured the heavy iron gate onto the reinforced carriage platform, Itachi activated his Sharingan. He crouched beside the bodies, studying the places where the black threads pierced flesh.
“This is… fascinating,” he murmured, almost in awe. His voice was quiet, but laced with scientific hunger.
“What is it now?” Shisui, recognizing that tone, activated his Sharingan and crouched beside him. “What do you see?”
“Look at the skin around the threads,” Itachi said, tracing along a wound. “The tissue where the threads entered—it’s not decomposing. It’s… stabilized. Not alive, but not dead either. Preserved, like... stored tissue. These threads are a goldmine for transplant medicine. Or...” he paused briefly, considering, “...for adding new limbs. Or organs. Without rejection.”
“Dial down the psycho mode,” Shisui muttered, wrinkling his nose. “We’ve got a mass murder scene here, and you sound like you're on a museum tour.”
“Medicine has always advanced in places like this,” Itachi replied, eyes still fixed on the threads. “On battlefields.”
Meanwhile, Fugaku turned to Tazuna and stared him straight in the eyes. The look was heavy, almost physically oppressive. The old man flinched.
“Everyone who saw this Kakuzu—bring them to my estate. Immediately. I don’t care who they are—workers, merchants, or old market women. If anyone knows anything, I want to hear it.”
“Understood… I’ll gather them, Uchiha-sama,” Tazuna bowed quickly, backing away.
Fugaku walked to the carriage and silently took the reins. A snap— and the horses broke into a gallop. The carriage lunged forward as if it wasn’t burdened with several hundred kilos of dead metal and corpses.
The manor was fifteen minutes away on foot. They made it in five.
The Uchiha estate in the Land of Waves was nearly a perfect replica of their ancestral home in Konoha: clean lines, dark roof tiles, tall walls, massive gates. Only here, everything looked newer.
“Horses to the stables,” Fugaku ordered as he jumped down. “Lay the gate on the ground. I’ll break the grate and extract the bodies along with the threads. Be careful—they may still be active. Then we move everything to the underground lab.”
“Underground lab?” Shisui repeated, raising an eyebrow. He ran a finger across the windowsill and showed him the dust. “You show up here maybe once a year, tops. And yet you’ve got a lab?”
“I always prepare for the worst,” Fugaku replied curtly. His voice was flat, emotionless—but his eyes said enough. This house could start and end wars if it needed to.
They moved quickly. The gate was placed in the inner courtyard, and Fugaku gripped the bars. The metal resisted at first—but eventually, with a loud crack, it gave way, allowing the bodies to be carefully removed. Holding them by parts untouched by the threads, Itachi and Shisui carried the corpses into the lab.
The underground chamber was hidden beneath the main hall, the entrance concealed inside the storage room. A staircase led down into cool darkness. The lights flared on automatically—chakra-powered lamps bursting to life, illuminating a space paneled in smooth gray stone. Surgical tables, tools, sealed containers of medical reagents. Everything sterile, ready for work.
The bodies were carefully placed on steel platforms.
The silence was broken by a knock at the door.
“Already gathered the whole village?” Shisui said in surprise. “That old man runs faster than Maito Gai.”
Fugaku silently headed upstairs.
Only two people stood at the entrance. Tazuna—still pale—and his son-in-law, a young, broad-shouldered man named Kaiza. He wore work clothes, his hands smeared with grease and scratches, but his posture was straight, his gaze uneasy but not cowardly.
Fugaku looked them over without a word.
“The attack happened in the middle of the workday,” he said, frowning. “And yet only you two came. So the others are too frightened to speak.”
It wasn’t judgment—just a statement. But the tone alone was enough to make Tazuna shrink, as if he’d just been struck.
“They… got scared, Uchiha-sama,” he muttered, lowering his eyes. “People here are simple folk. They're used to storms, poor harvests, even bandits. But what came two days ago… that was something else.”
Fugaku didn’t reply. He simply nodded toward the house.
Inside, they sat in a spacious room—furnished plainly, but solidly: a low table, several soft couches, bookshelves, and dark curtains blocking the light from the windows.
Shisui and Itachi stood behind their father, silent shadows—his blades. Neither interrupted. Both watched, absorbing every word, every tone, every tilt of the head.
Fugaku sat at the center. And slowly activated his Sharingan. Red pupils flared like twin blood-fires in the dim room.
“Tell me everything. From the beginning. Don’t hold anything back,” he said calmly. No threats—but the demand was absolute. “These eyes see lies.”
Tazuna flinched. Even shinobi felt discomfort under the Sharingan’s gaze. For civilians, it was like staring into the mouth of a predator.
The two men exchanged a glance, but it was Kaiza who gathered himself first. His voice was low but steady—like a man used to speaking at village meetings.
“The first attack happened a week ago,” he began. “Not Kakuzu himself. A group showed up—ten or so. Outsiders. No one knew who they were or where they came from. Thugs started causing trouble at the site—harassing workers, trying to damage equipment. One even tried to set fire to the warehouse.”
“And how did you deal with them?” Fugaku asked gently, though his gaze sharpened.
“Your shinobi—the ones you stationed here,” Kaiza answered. “They responded to the commotion. Gave the intruders a good beating. The thugs scattered, and we thought the danger had passed.”
Fugaku nodded. That was expected. Konoha’s shinobi knew how to act swiftly and efficiently.
“And then, two days ago,” Tazuna cut in, “that… Kakuzu showed up.”
“He came alone,” Kaiza continued, his voice now tinged with tension. “Tall. Almost your height, Fugaku-sama. Broad-shouldered. Dressed all in black. Wore a cloak with red clouds or something like that. At first I thought he was some kind of circus strongman…”
“His face?” Fugaku leaned forward slightly.
“It was hidden behind a mask. Only the eyes…” Kaiza trailed off, as if recalling something he’d rather forget. “They weren’t human. Completely red, with a greenish pupil in the center. And he wore a headband, but not like yours. It had a symbol—I don’t know ninja emblems, but I could draw it.”
Fugaku gave a slight nod.
“I was on my way to lunch,” Tazuna said. “It was daytime. Bright out. No warning. He just… started killing. Threads came out of his fingers. They skewered people like spears. One guy screamed—he stitched his mouth shut with the threads. That thing’s not a man, Uchiha-sama.”
Fugaku listened silently, not interrupting.
“And your shinobi…” Kaiza shook his head. “They charged in right away. Brave. But… I could barely follow what happened. Dust, blood, fire, strange explosions. One of them used a fire jutsu, but it didn’t even leave a mark on Kakuzu—as if he were made of stone.”
“And within a minute, it was over,” Tazuna whispered. “Your shinobi… they were hanging there, skewered. Like fish on a hook. He strung them up on the gate and told us: if a single machine hums again—he’ll return. And no one will be spared.”
Fugaku slowly deactivated his Sharingan. He’d heard everything he needed.
“Return to work,” he ordered.
Both men froze.
“Uchiha-sama…” Tazuna paled, the blood draining from his face. “But he… he’ll come back. We’re not shinobi. We’re workers. He’ll kill us all.”
Fugaku stood. He walked slowly toward Tazuna and stopped a step away. The man gasped in fear.
“Then think carefully who’ll kill you first,” the head of Uchiha Enterprises said coldly. “Him—or me?”
Tazuna froze for a moment, unwilling to believe he’d heard right. Then he realized—it wasn’t a threat. It was a fact. There was no hatred in Fugaku’s eyes. No pity either. Only calculation.
“You should fear me more than him,” Fugaku added quietly. “Because I’m here. And he isn’t—yet.”
That was all it took. Tazuna and Kaiza nearly collided in the doorway as they rushed out to deliver the orders. The workers would return to their tasks—no matter if their hands trembled at every sound from the machines.
Fugaku turned to his sons. His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp—like a blade drawn from its sheath.
“Do you understand what’s happening here?”
Itachi answered first, his voice low and rough, like a field officer reporting from the front:
“Racket. A show of force. They’re not trying to destroy us—otherwise the factory would be ashes and the staff dead. They want leverage. Pressure. They want you to fold.”
Fugaku nodded approvingly.
“Exactly. I realized it after Kaiza’s first letter a week ago, when he mentioned a ‘gang of thugs.’ That wasn’t an attack—it was a probe. They were testing how quickly I’d respond, what steps I’d take. I had already hired two Konoha shinobi for long-term site security.”
He paused.
“First rule of business: protect your investments.”
Shisui let out a quiet breath. A flicker of sorrow passed through his eyes.
“But they died…”
“We’ll return their bodies to Konoha,” Fugaku said firmly. “And their families will be compensated.”
He was silent for a moment, then added, colder:
“But now, we think of the living. The killer is still somewhere on this island. What do we know about him?”
Shisui immediately shifted into mission mode, his expression tightening.
“Easier to list what we don’t know. Black threads, red eyes, a shinobi headband with the symbol of the Hidden Waterfall. Name: Kakuzu. Only one person in the ANBU database fits that description. He’s a frequent presence on the black market, with a criminal file dating back to the Second Hokage’s time. And this time… Kakuzu didn’t even bother to hide.”
“The name works in his favor,” Fugaku picked up. “He doesn’t just kill—he intimidates. For ordinary people, blood and terror are enough. But to frighten shinobi… especially strong ones, especially Uchiha… you need a legend. And that’s what they’re showing us. Kakuzu is the one who fought Hashirama and survived. Unlike Madara.”
“Wait…” Itachi frowned. “If he really faced the First Hokage, that would make him… what, eighty?”
“He’s the same age as the Third Hokage,” Shisui said grimly. “I’ve seen Hiruzen train before. And trust me, the old man can still move.” He clenched his jaw. “And Kakuzu—according to the archives—has a modified body. He’s been recorded ripping out shinobi hearts. Not to sell on the black market. For himself.”
“So,” Itachi summarized, “we’re dealing with an S-rank missing-nin who survived Hashirama, has a body full of indestructible threads, and enough power to take out trained guards in under a minute. And he’s with Akatsuki. You think they’re targeting Uchiha Enterprises?”
Fugaku answered without the slightest hesitation:
“No.”
He stood and walked slowly toward the window, looking down at the street through the curtain.
“I’ve been tracking Akatsuki for a while. They chase profit—but in their own way: robberies, assassinations, raids on treasuries, contract killings. Fast cash. They don’t deal in racketeering. Long-term investments don’t interest them.”
“So Kakuzu’s been hired,” Shisui said, clenching his fists. “Someone paid for his time and power. But who?”
“A crime syndicate,” Fugaku said through gritted teeth, turning back to them. His voice had gone colder than ice. “Jackals feeding off the labor of others. People who can’t create—only steal. Up until now, they fed on scraps from other tables. But now they’ve decided to bite into my hand.”
His eyes flared for a moment—even without the Sharingan, his gaze was lethal.
“This isn’t just a threat. It’s an ultimatum. Either I share my profits… or they cut me off from them entirely.”
Shisui and Itachi exchanged a glance. The tension in the room was thick, like the air before a storm.
“What are you planning to do?” Itachi asked. Calmly, but with steel underneath.
“What I always do,” Fugaku said. “Hit back harder than they expect.”
“If I’m reading their tactics right…” Shisui frowned, eyes on the floor. “It doesn’t benefit them to kill you. You make money—they want that. But they can damage your business by targeting your workers. Kakuzu will stay in the shadows, pushing until you pay. He’ll strike only once we leave—once the factory is left unguarded.”
“Correct. But there’s another possibility,” Fugaku said, raising his head. “If breaking my will through the workers doesn’t work… they’ll escalate.”
He paused. Then added:
“They’ll go after the people I care about.”
The silence that followed was heavy, like lead. Itachi and Shisui understood immediately.
“You want to use us as bait,” Itachi said, without a trace of emotion.
Shisui snapped up, alarmed:
“Wait. You brought us here for that? You knew they’d attack and brought us as bait?”
“I only confirmed Kakuzu’s presence this morning,” Fugaku replied coolly. “But yes, I suspected the ‘thugs’ were scouts. And that something worse would follow. That’s why I brought you.”
“So you’re not planning to teach us how to run the company?”
Fugaku turned to them. His face was unreadable, but there was a faint trace of irony in his voice:
“Aren’t you learning already?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He simply turned and left the room, leaving his sons in silence.
They watched him go—not with resentment. But with understanding.
