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Batman in Konoha. Chapter 57
🕑 Added 2025-07-26 16:58:55 +0000 UTC“All done,” Uruchi reported, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. Her warm, tired smile didn’t hide the satisfaction she felt from a job well done. “I’ve cleared away the construction debris, and my husband just finished setting up the last of the furniture. Your new home is fully ready for move-in, Fugaku-sama.”
She gave a slight bow, as if handing over the keys to a new life.
“Finally!” Sasuke exclaimed joyfully and bolted for the door like a puppy off its leash, not waiting for the adults' reaction. His footsteps echoed across the porch, then faded into the distance.
Fugaku stood tall, his posture straight, watching her with a focused but grateful gaze. He gave a nod.
“Good work, Uruchi. Thank you.”
Beside him, Mikoto let out a quiet breath, as if only now allowing herself to feel relief. Shisui smiled with restraint, and Itachi silently turned toward the door, slinging a small bag over his shoulder. Even Hikari—usually unreadable—raised her eyebrows slightly, visibly more animated.
They had all been waiting for this moment: when their temporary residence, safe as it was, would finally be replaced by a real home. Their home. Built from the ground up with each of them in mind.
They stepped outside slowly, almost ceremonially. The weather was sunny but not hot; a light breeze stirred the tree branches, and somewhere in the distance, children’s laughter rang out. It felt as if the village itself recognized the importance of the day.
Uruchi stayed behind. No one had told her to start deep-cleaning, but she sensed the job wasn’t truly finished yet.
They walked down the street like a real family: close-knit, but without tension. At their side, a small violet creature the size of a cat moved gracefully along the ground on two clawed feet.
“Hi, Reibi-chan!” came a cheerful voice. Izumi—a girl from the Uchiha clan—waved happily as soon as she spotted the familiar bat.
“Hey there, Izumi-chan,” Reibi replied, just as playfully, flapping one wing like a little hand.
Konoha had easily accepted the talking bat in Fugaku’s company. The shinobi world had seen stranger things, and talking animals were even studied at the Academy. But this one wasn’t just sentient and chatty—she lived under the same roof as the Hokage.
And compared to her previous form—a giant leech—Reibi’s current appearance didn’t inspire fear so much as endearment. Especially in children.
“Why are you walking?” Shisui asked with a squint and a chuckle as he caught up to Reibi. “You’ve got wings. Forgot?”
“Nope,” she snorted with a grin. “It’s just that I’m eating so well with you guys, I’m starting to worry about my figure. Gotta shake off the calories before I turn into a balloon!”
“Calories,” Itachi muttered with a wry half-smile. “Now there’s a word I never expected to hear from a demon.”
Reibi winked.
“Hey, I’m basically a pet now. Practically plush.”
Jokes aside, she wasn’t hiding the truth. After Danzo’s defeat and moving in with the Uchiha, her life—and form—had changed. Reibi no longer fed on endless darkness and torture, but in a household full of Mangekyō users, the atmosphere alone kept her well nourished. And she willingly gave that chakra back.
Not in the vast quantities she once possessed, but enough. Each of them—even Sasuke—could now summon two additional shadow clones without issue. Though lately, one of them had been drawing almost all of her chakra.
Fugaku glanced at Itachi. A dark red diamond glowed on his son’s forehead—clear, almost pulsating. A chakra storage seal. The symbol of Tsunade’s regenerative technique.
Fugaku hadn’t asked how he’d gained access to such a method. He simply accepted it: his son had made it happen. And he’d done it alone.
The walk was short—they weren’t in a hurry, but the distance from the temporary house to the new mansion took less than five minutes. Before them stood the house: massive, four stories high, its facade of dark wood and stone, decorated with a bat emblem and a pattern of the Sharingan above the front door.
It looked like a fortress. But a warm, familial one.
The children didn’t wait for a signal—they rushed inside.
“There are ten bedrooms!” Sasuke’s voice echoed from the second floor. “Are we opening a hotel or what? Why so many?”
Mikoto glanced at her husband with a questioning look.
“For guests,” he explained. “Or… other contingencies. Better to have extra than not enough.”
“Oooh, a library!” came Shisui’s voice from behind a door, his eyes gleaming. “And I swear I saw a door to a dōjō. Do we seriously have our own dōjō?”
“Everything you might need is here,” Fugaku confirmed.
“I found a lab,” Itachi called up from the basement. “Fully equipped—storage tanks, testing kits, even sample preservation units. No more running to the hospital for every single analysis.”
Mikoto shot her husband a meaningful look—slightly frowning, with a hint of concern.
“The lab is sealed with fūinjutsu,” Fugaku answered preemptively. He knew exactly what she was thinking. “Even if something explodes, nothing will escape outside.”
“I found the gym!” Hikari’s voice rang out from the backyard. “But the weights here are so heavy, I have no idea who’s even supposed to lift them…”
“When your bodies are ready,” Fugaku promised, “I’ll teach you the reinforcement technique. After that, those weights will feel like pebbles.”
“Have you seen the attic?” Reibi called from above. “It’s clean! Huge, cozy, and I already picked my corner!”
Mikoto looked around the dining room, narrowed her eyes, and ran a finger across the smooth surface of the table.
“I like it,” she said softly. “Bright. Cozy. Warm. Almost like the old house, but… better.”
They gradually spread out through the house, exploring, touching, breathing in the scent of fresh wood, checking closets, flinging open doors. Each in their own way, each with their own thoughts. But all of them were united by one thing—they were finally home.
When the initial excitement settled and everyone regrouped in the main hall, Fugaku stood at the long oak table. A toolbox sat in front of him.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said, looking at them. His voice was low and calm. “But remember—this is just the façade. What others are allowed to see. What was built for us.”
He slowly opened the box. Hammers, chisels, scrolls with fūinjutsu.
“The rest, we’ll build ourselves. Hidden passages. Safe rooms. Secret halls. Everything we need.”
He lifted a hammer and passed it to Itachi. Then to Hikari. Shisui. Sasuke. Mikoto. Even Reibi received a small wooden tool.
And each of them nodded, wordlessly. Understanding. Because this house wasn’t just a house.
It was their lair. Their fortress.
And it would become whatever they made it.
///
Fugaku sat behind a massive desk in his new office. Behind him stretched the full panorama of Konoha—the high vantage point offered a view of nearly the entire village, laid out like an open hand. The setting sun streamed through the enormous window, painting the walls in warm gold and casting long, severe shadows across the floor.
Five months as Hokage. Long enough to adjust to the altitude. Not long enough to feel at ease.
He knew this view by heart. Towers, rooftops, the flickering silhouettes of shinobi on the horizon. He saw it every day—alone or surrounded by shadow clones he dispatched around the building to simultaneously manage affairs, review reports, oversee missions, and attend negotiations.
Hiruzen had left behind a well-oiled bureaucratic machine—layered and tangled. In the early weeks, it felt like every step Fugaku took stumbled over archives, charters, and protocols put in place by Tobirama.
He dismantled the outdated system.
First, he changed the criteria for mission acceptance. Contract killings, planted evidence, theft—those became rare on Konoha’s mission board.
Now, top priority went to acquiring valuable resources, constructing factories, developing new products. Trade brought in more money than crouching in a sewer with a katana, waiting for a target.
Fugaku wasn’t just a shinobi—he was a businessman. A man who could calculate and understood how investments worked. When he got his hands on thirty years of Konoha’s financial records and combed through every line, he realized one thing: crime was a bad business model.
Yes, assassinations brought in big money. But only in the short term. Each such contract not only risked the lives of operatives but also triggered wars. Reputational fallout. Political crises.
He thought differently. And made the village think differently.
Now, Konoha’s shinobi guarded rare metal mines, performed geological surveys, escorted trade caravans, and protected Uchiha Enterprise warehouses on the borders. In essence, he had turned the ninja into a corporate army.
The other villages rubbed their hands with glee. All the assassination contracts Konoha used to take now went to them. Mostly from Uchiha Enterprise’s competitors.
That’s why Fugaku never fully dismantled Konoha’s shadow operations. He leaned hard into industrial espionage, bankrupting rival firms and protecting his own investments. But that work was handled only by the best professionals in Konoha—those whose skills Fugaku had personally tested.
Not a single life was wasted.
As Hokage, he did everything in his power to build a new future—one where children didn’t have to become killers by default.
The people of Konoha accepted the changes more easily than expected. They respected decisiveness. They appreciated a leader who kept his word. And more than that—they liked getting paid better. Uchiha Enterprise brought in steady profits, and the shinobi of Konoha now had the highest wages in the world. Even genin earned more than chunin used to.
Fugaku was quietly sorting through ledgers when a knock came at the door.
“Come in,” he said without looking up.
The door opened silently, without a creak. Hikari stepped into the office.
He immediately looked up from the scrolls. The girl was composed, as always, but her eyes—those eyes he’d long since learned to read—held a trace of tension.
“Something happened?” Fugaku asked, raising an eyebrow slightly. His voice was calm, but his gaze scanned her face, reading it.
“Here,” she walked up to the desk and silently handed him a sheet.
He took it. A report card. Graduation. Academy.
He’d known this day would come, but he hadn’t expected it to bring such a powerful feeling of… pride. Top marks across the board. Ninjutsu, strategy, mathematics, ikebana—all. She had exceeded expectations. And his expectations had always been high.
He looked at her. She stood straight, eyes steady, but he noticed—her shoulders were slightly tense, her fingertips stiff, her breathing just a touch deeper than usual. She was waiting. Not for praise—but for confirmation.
He set the report card at the edge of the desk.
“Following in your brothers’ footsteps, huh?” he said with a faint hint of a smile. “Graduated early too. Good. Congratulations. As of today, you're a genin—Uchiha Hikari.”
She lifted her chin and nodded, but the tension in her body didn’t fade.
“What do I do now?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t doubtful—it was eager.
Fugaku rose slowly. Tall, broad, restrained, he turned toward the window. Outside, the day was fading. The lights of the village were beginning to flicker on, one by one. He had grown used to this view. But every evening, his chest still tightened. Not from fatigue—but from responsibility.
“Tomorrow, you’ll meet your team,” he said after a pause. “I took your preferences into account. The captain is a veteran sniper. Your teammates also specialize in long-range combat. You’ll suit each other well.”
Hikari nodded silently. He didn’t turn around, but he could feel her reaction.
“And after that?” she asked. “What happens when I become a chunin?”
He turned and looked her straight in the eyes.
“That’s for you to decide,” he said. “Being a genin means searching. Comparing. Learning. Falling and getting back up. Don’t rush. Don’t aim for chunin just for the title. Find out who you want to be. And only then—take the next step.”
Hikari was silent, thoughtful. A flicker of contemplation crossed her face—brief, but deep. Then she adjusted her glasses, brushed a strand of hair from her face, and said calmly:
“Understood.”
She turned to leave, but stopped at the door.
“Thank you, Dad.”
///
A day off.
For most people in Konoha, it meant well-earned rest, walks with children, the scent of fresh noodles, and rare moments of peace in a noisy village. But not for the Hokage.
Fugaku sat in a gazebo on Hyuga Clan grounds. The table before him was set in the style of a proper tea ceremony—elegant ceramics, crystal-clear water, perfectly brewed green tea with just a touch of bitterness. He drank slowly, unhurriedly, as if the ritual itself was a kind of meditation.
Outside the gazebo, in the sunlight, two girls ran across the grass—Hinata and Hanabi. Their laughter rang out like bells. Both held strings attached to a giant kite bearing the Hyuga emblem, which stubbornly refused to rise into the sky. Above them hovered Lady Hyuga—graceful, composed, with eyes full of anxious kindness. She laughed with her daughters, guiding them on how to hold the tension, when to release.
Fugaku watched the scene with a stone face, but inside, something twisted. He knew who was responsible for keeping those girls happy and close. He knew it was their mother who held the family’s balance intact. And he also knew—it wouldn’t last.
Soon, the slave seal would appear on one of their foreheads.
“You’re wrong,” Hiashi growled from across the table. He sat rigid, tense. His voice was low, but boiling with barely restrained anger. “You can’t just ban the Hyuga clan from taking missions. That’s discrimination. You don’t have that authority.”
“I’m the Hokage,” Fugaku replied without even lifting his eyes. He took another slow sip. “And this is my Konoha. As long as I hold this office, I will not fund slaveowners.”
He leaned back on the bench, setting his teacup down on the tray with deliberate nonchalance.
“Tell me honestly, Hiashi... How am I supposed to know that your branch family members volunteer for deadly missions—and aren’t being sent by your orders? Maybe you're just willing to sacrifice a couple of slaves for a weekend at a hot spring.”
Hiashi’s fingers clenched into fists. His knuckles turned white.
“I’ll do everything in my power to have you removed from office,” he hissed.
Fugaku finally looked up. His eyes were dark as a moonless night and calm—so calm, it was terrifying.
“If you could, you would’ve already done it,” he replied evenly. “You’ve spent six months scheming. Spreading rumors, stirring up intrigue, provoking people. None of it worked. The clans won’t back you—they don’t want to be cut off from my financial network like you were. The clanless shinobi aren’t with you either. Under my leadership, they have the lowest casualty rates and the highest mission payouts in history. The daimyō? He’s drowning in taxes from my trade routes. Which leaves you with only one option—attack me yourself.”
He leaned forward slowly—and in the same instant, his skin darkened. His fangs elongated, eyes gleamed. His breathing deepened—but didn’t quicken—like a predator about to strike.
“Wanna test it right now?” His voice grew rougher, resonating with a low growl. “See if that soft fist of yours can pierce my skin? You’ll get one shot, Hiashi.”
Hiashi said nothing. He only clenched his fists tighter. His body trembled with fury—and something else.
Helplessness.
“Is that… a monster?” came a child’s whisper.
Hanabi, having noticed Fugaku’s transformation, froze in place and stared at him, wide-eyed. A second later, she burst into tears, clinging tightly to her mother’s hand. The woman quickly led her away, trying to soothe her.
Fugaku inhaled deeply, and his features slowly returned to normal. His skin, his eyes—human again. Or nearly so.
“You’re forcing me to obey,” Hiashi muttered through clenched teeth.
“I’m merely offering you the chance to keep up with the times,” Fugaku replied, face unreadable. “Slavery is the past. I’m offering you the market. Fair work—for fair pay. Don’t tell me you can’t afford to pay a D-rank mission fee to your maid.”
Hiashi turned his head sharply, as if refusing to let Fugaku see the hesitation in his eyes. But Fugaku had already seen it.
“You don’t understand…” Hiashi ground out. “We have traditions. Built over centuries. The branch family has its duties, the main family has its own. That’s order. Structure. Without it—”
“Without it, you’re afraid you’ll lose control,” Fugaku cut in. His voice was cold. Almost glacial. “And to keep that structure, you’re willing to sacrifice your daughters?”
Hiashi fell silent. Not a sound—only the rustle of the wind. Even the tea in their cups seemed to cool with the tension.
Both men looked toward the yard. There, Hinata had taken her little sister’s hand and was helping her keep hold of the kite string. It finally rose into the air, swaying lazily against the sky. The girls were laughing, as if the world around them didn’t exist. As if the future wasn’t waiting, grim and inevitable.
But both men knew—that moment would soon be over.
“Let’s be honest,” Fugaku said evenly, lowering his cup. “You didn’t invite me here because of missions. Or money. In three years, I’ve transferred enough to your clan that you could feed them for a decade without a single mission. You invited me because you know I’m right.”
He looked directly into Hiashi’s pale eyes.
And he knew—he’d hit the mark.
“It was my wife who insisted we talk,” Hiashi murmured, barely audibly.
Fugaku shifted his gaze to Lady Hyuga. She now knelt beside Hanabi, wiping her tears and whispering something softly. Her hands were trembling, though her smile never faded. A mother. A protector. The only barrier between that child and a cruel future.
“Then what’s stopping you?” Fugaku asked calmly. “Why haven’t you abolished the slave seal yet?”
Hiashi was silent for a long time. Then slowly, with effort, he admitted:
“The problem is the people. The branch family… has stored up violence, resentment, hatred. If I take off the ‘collars’... they’ll turn on us. On me. My wife. My children. It’ll be bloody revenge.”
It was the first time he had said it aloud. Fear. And Fugaku respected him for that—because fear, once named, no longer controls the man.
Fugaku rose. His shadow fell across the table.
“They won’t dare,” he said firmly. “Because I won’t allow vigilantism in Konoha. Because now I am the law. Gather your clan. And I’ll explain to every one of them—personally—why angering the Hokage is a bad idea.”
He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper:
"And you, Hiashi… You shouldn't be the guardian of the past. You should be the guarantor of the future. For Hinata. And for Hanabi. Only you can protect them—but not with a slave seal. With strength of will."
Silence hung between them like a heavy weight. Outside, laughter rang out again—the kite had soared even higher, reaching toward a brighter future.
///
Several weeks had passed since slavery was abolished within the Hyūga clan. What once seemed impossible—the permanent removal of the cursed seal from the branch family’s foreheads—had become reality.
Now Fugaku sat on a wooden bench in the central park of Konoha. The day was warm and sunny. In the distance, children played, their laughter and cheerful shouts drifting through the air. But beside him, there were no toys—only a thin folder of criminal reports resting on his lap. Next to him sat Shisui, legs stretched out, a bag of apple chips beside him.
Two people passed by at that moment. A man with long dark hair tied back in a ponytail, his face tired but gentle. Beside him walked a slender girl, around nine years old, with smooth chestnut hair to her shoulders and clear, bright eyes. Fugaku immediately noticed the most important thing: her forehead was clean. No seal. He raised an eyebrow as he observed the pair.
The girl stared at him without blinking. The man leaned down and whispered something to her. She nodded and shyly stepped toward Fugaku.
"Thank you very much, Hokage-sama," she said. In her hands was a wildflower—simple, yet vivid.
Fugaku silently accepted the gift. The flower was light, almost weightless—like a reminder of something fleeting and precious. He met the girl's gaze, and in her eyes there was no fear. Only gratitude. Pure, childlike. Without pretense.
"You're welcome," he said softly.
The girl bowed in silence and ran back to her father, who watched the scene with a warm, slightly sheepish smile.
Fugaku looked at the flower in his hand, then turned his eyes to Shisui.
"Do you know how to make a herbarium?" he asked, still looking straight ahead.
"Uh… yeah?" Shisui shrugged. "It’s not that hard or anything."
"Then make one," Fugaku said, handing him the flower. "I'll hang it in my office. To always remember that girl—and what kind of Hokage I need to be."
Shisui took the flower carefully between two fingers, as if handling something sacred.
"Man, that was so touching I almost feel bad saying this," he muttered, scratching the back of his head with an apologetic grin. "That was a boy. His name’s Neji. He’s Hinata’s cousin. Sasuke told me about him. Really talented, too."
Fugaku frowned. He glanced from the flower to the now-empty path, as if checking whether Shisui was joking.
"I've already decided on my next decree," he said coldly. "All boys in Konoha must get a haircut."
"You’re joking, right?" Shisui groaned, rolling his eyes. But Fugaku didn’t move. "Please tell me you're joking!"
Comments
Phantom knight who can’t think of a better nicknam
Oh god a extremely well funded and happy Konoha yeah madara is going to be very annoyed that his plans really aren’t going to come to pass
Ronin Katarn
That last bit made me laugh way too hard. Poor Neji. Lol.
