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Batman in Konoha. Chapter 56
🕑 Added 2025-07-23 16:31:05 +0000 UTC"Good morning, Hokage-sama!" chirped a playful voice, piercing the silence like an arrow.
Fugaku slowly opened his eyes. Through the slightly parted curtains, the soft morning sunlight filtered into the bedroom, casting golden stripes on the floor, walls, and sheets. Beside him lay Mikoto—warm, relaxed, her hair tousled from sleep, and a faint smile on her lips. She looked at him with that calm, almost lazy expression one only wears in the early morning, when the rest of the world is still asleep.
"That hasn’t been confirmed yet," he muttered, propping himself up on his elbows. His voice was husky from sleep. "The document from the Daimyō hasn’t arrived."
"Oh, darling, don’t start the day by being a bore," Mikoto grumbled half-jokingly, gently placing her hand on his chest. "After your victory over Danzō, it’s obvious to everyone. Just yesterday, Mrs. Yamanaka called me ‘the Hokage’s wife’ in her shop… and tried to subtly ask whether there’d be missions in the Land of Flowers. Can you believe that?"
Fugaku raised an eyebrow.
"And what did you say to her?"
"I told her to book an appointment with my husband," Mikoto smirked, poking him in the shoulder. "You better get used to it. It’s done—you’re the Fifth Hokage. No one wants to remember that a scumbag like Danzō was ever part of this village."
A faint but genuine smile slowly appeared on Fugaku’s face. This—this was exactly what he had worked for.
He could have become Hokage six years ago, after the Kyūbi disaster. When the village was on the brink, and Minato died saving everyone. He had been ready even then—morally, strategically, physically. But he didn’t take the mantle. Because he didn’t want to be "the one who came after the saint." Back then, Konoha needed a symbol, not a man.
But now... After the frail and weary Hiruzen. After Danzō’s dictatorship, which turned the village into a dull shadow of itself. Now, in the eyes of the people, he wasn’t a weak replacement for a martyred saint—he was the savior. The one who stepped in when everyone else had given up.
A hot shower washed away the remnants of sleep. The water ran down his shoulders and back, easing the tension of the past days. Mikoto, as always, was quicker—now already dressed, she waited for him at the stairs.
They went downstairs together. A familiar scene awaited them: the spacious dining room filled with soft morning light, the smell of fresh food, and the cheerful buzz of voices. Bowls of hot porridge, fruit slices, tea, and a few dishes with something crispy—probably Uruchi’s work—were already set on the table.
At the table, Sasuke and Shisui were whispering and giggling about something. The moment they saw their father, both fell abruptly silent, staring down at their bowls with exaggerated seriousness. Fugaku narrowed his eyes. Suspicious. Very suspicious. But he chose not to intervene—for now. The morning had just begun.
"Enjoy your meal," Mikoto said calmly as she took her seat.
Itachi and Hikari ate in silence as usual—composed, almost meditative. Especially Itachi—every one of his movements was precise, like a surgeon’s. Hikari sat with a straight back, carefully spooning porridge without paying attention to the whispers and snickers across from her.
But Shisui and Sasuke… They were practically bouncing in their seats. Their eyes sparkled like children before a festival.
Fugaku slowly placed his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together.
“Boys,” he said with just a hint of pressure in his voice, “is there something you’d like to tell me?”
Shisui couldn’t hold it in. With a triumphant look, he pulled a thin, black-covered booklet from under the table.
"You have to see this," he said, handing the book to his father with an almost reverent expression. "The latest issue of the Bingo Book. Just printed today. They updated your entry."
Fugaku took the book calmly. It was light in his hands, but its contents promised to be weighty. He flipped through the pages to the right letter. "U". "Uchiha." Stopped. He felt Mikoto leaning in slightly, not hiding her curiosity. He turned the book so she could read with him.
Name: Uchiha Fugaku
Alias: Batman
Threat Level: S
Abilities: Sharingan; Eight Gates technique; capable of transforming into a human-bat hybrid.
Traits: Can stop hearts with a glance; regeneration; flight; impenetrable skin; superhuman strength and speed; wingbeat creates tornados.
Potential: Capable of destroying a small ninja village single-handedly.
Additional Info: Suspected of drinking human blood.
Fugaku finished reading the page and silently closed the book. The snap of the cover echoed in the room like a gong.
All of his children, even the usually composed Itachi and Hikari, were watching him intently. Shisui shifted in his seat. Sasuke froze with his spoon halfway to his mouth. Even the tea in his cup seemed to hold its breath.
Fugaku shifted his gaze to his family—slowly, as if assessing the situation.
“The intel is fresh,” he finally said, placing the book on the table. “Someone in the crowd at the arena wasn’t just a spectator—they were a spy. Well-trained and observant. Most likely an analyst. They were watching me during the fight with Danzō three days ago. You think that’s a problem? I showed my power in front of the entire world on purpose—so they’d know who to fear.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Shisui said with a hint of embarrassment, scratching the back of his head. “I meant the new nickname. Batman. How does it feel, being him? I mean, seriously, it’s a hundred times cooler than ‘Evil Eye.’ Ugh… I still get chills from the old one.”
Fugaku raised an eyebrow slightly. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he gave a short nod.
“Agreed. I like Batman better. Though I’m far more interested in how the people of Konoha react to my transformations. The children must be terrified.”
Sasuke put down his spoon and, with unexpected seriousness, looked his father straight in the eye.
“Dad, have you seen yourself from the outside?”
Fugaku said nothing, letting his son speak.
“Your red eyes... they’re like lanterns in the fog,” Sasuke continued. “And your voice... it sounds like it comes from a deep cave. Your muscles—like your skin can barely contain the power underneath. And the wings, the fangs, the claws... That’s not scary. That’s awesome.”
He looked around at the others, as if expecting confirmation.
Shisui nodded enthusiastically.
“I’d even say it’s damn effective. And that line in the Bingo Book about drinking blood? Perfect. Enemies won’t even dare think about harming our Hokage.”
Even Itachi, usually the embodiment of composure, allowed himself a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk. And Hikari, without saying a word, nodded as well—quietly, but firmly, as always.
Fugaku looked at each of them in turn—and, for the first time that morning, was genuinely surprised. He had expected jokes. Cautious glances. Maybe even fear. But instead, he saw admiration. Respect. Support.
“I was talking to Naruto yesterday,” Sasuke jumped in, clearly excited. “He said you’re the coolest Kage of all. The others? Old guys in robes. But us? We’ve got Batman!”
“You see, dear?” Mikoto said with a soft, teasing smile as she nudged Fugaku with her elbow. “Even the kids already consider you Hokage. Whether you like it or not, it’s official now.”
Fugaku hid a smile behind his teacup and took a slow sip. The rising steam curled in the air. He looked at his family over the rim and felt something strange—warmth. Genuine warmth.
“Now imagine,” Sasuke lit up again, nearly bouncing in place, “if they carved your face on the Hokage Monument in your monster form—bat ears, fangs, Sharingan eyes! That would be the best mountain in the whole Land of Fire!”
Mikoto snorted.
“Now that’s going too far, young man,” she said with mild sternness. “Stone faces are supposed to inspire respect, not give tourists a panic attack.”
Sasuke slumped over his bowl of porridge, but the corners of his lips betrayed not even a hint of disappointment. Shisui gave a subtle nod of approval. And, unexpectedly, Hikari gave one right back.
Fugaku rested his elbow on the table and looked out the window. Beyond the trees, Konoha was already stirring to life. Outside this home, duties, expectations, and a thousand tasks waited for him. But here, in this dining room—among laughter, children, tea, and conversation—he felt that everything was as it should be.
///
After breakfast, the family went about their day. Mikoto headed to the clan compound—there were a few internal disputes she needed to settle. Itachi left for the hospital. Hikari went to her archery training. Sasuke and Shisui slipped away together, up to who knows what.
Fugaku stayed behind. Not to rest. His work was here. In the basement.
He descended the stairs.
At the center of a massive wooden table stood a clay vessel, covered in intricate fūinjutsu patterns. The seals on its surface glowed faintly blue, pulsing in rhythm like a heartbeat.
Inside was something far more dangerous than any weapon.
Reibi.
She had tried to escape after Danzō’s death, but Fugaku hadn’t given her the chance. He had sealed her into the vessel using Tsuchigumo clan tools he’d acquired from Bat-Kage.
A regular jar could hold a bijū for maybe an hour. But this—this wasn’t a bijū. She had no chakra. Only an eternal hunger.
Reibi was a yōkai. An immortal spirit. A ghostly entity untouched by time. Impossible to kill. Only contain.
Fugaku knew: he could simply throw the vessel into the ocean—into depths quieter than death. And Reibi would vanish. Oblivion was the worst fate for one who could not die.
But instead, Fugaku had spent three days speaking with her.
Just a few minutes of conversation with the spirit sealed inside the vessel had revealed two key truths.
First—contrary to expectations—Reibi was not evil.
She didn’t seek destruction like a bijū. She didn’t crave power like Orochimaru. She didn’t want to spread chaos like some yōkai from the old legends. No, it was all much more… mundane. She simply wandered the world, almost like a tourist, feeding not on chakra but on negative energy—fear, pain, hatred. She passed through libraries, slipping through walls just to read. Sometimes she spooked cats. Once, she spent weeks living in a theater, watching the actors. All of it—harmless, leaving no trace. So unobtrusive that most people never even knew she existed. A ghostly yōkai, living in the shadows of human emotion.
Second—and far more surprising—Reibi was a child.
Not physically. She was a millennia-old being, as powerful as a tailed beast. But inside… she behaved like a ten-year-old. Impulsive, emotional, disarmingly honest—and lonely. Her mind hadn’t matured with time—her spectral nature didn’t allow it. It was as if her consciousness had been frozen at the beginning of a long journey.
Fugaku had spent a long time thinking about what to do with her. Destroying her was impossible. Sealing her away forever—inhuman. And then, finally, he found a solution.
He placed his hand on the surface of the vessel, and the fūinjutsu symbols pulsed beneath his palm. A thought—and he vanished.
His consciousness plunged inward.
An endless gray desert. Deathly silence. Eternal night—no moon, no stars. Only faintly glowing sand, dunes, and shadows black as oil shifting on the horizon. There was no wind, no scent, no sense of time. This place felt alien to the living. And yet, something—someone—inhabited it.
Between the dunes crawled a massive leech. It had no eyes—only a white theatrical mask covering something darker beneath.
"You came!" Reibi exclaimed when she saw him. Her voice sounded like wind chimes, brimming with genuine joy.
The creature surged toward him, gliding over the sand, coiling around like a giant snake playing with its shadow.
"You left me alone for twelve hours! It’s so boring here! You could’ve at least left a book!"
"You missed me?" Fugaku asked coolly, hands clasped behind his back. "Or the food I bring?"
Reibi froze for a moment, then nodded enthusiastically—with her entire leech-like form.
"Oh, the radiation from your Mangekyō is so delicious!" she purred. "Dense, heavy, with a twist of self-destruction. You have no idea how... fulfilling it is. Like all your psychological pain condensed into a little ball. It’s like a lollipop that never ends. Mmm…”
She trembled with pleasure and wagged her tail like an enormous, overjoyed dog.
“You only feel that way around me?” Fugaku asked, eyes sharp.
“Well, your whole family is a feast for a being like me,” Reibi admitted, glowing with satisfaction. “Everyone has a Mangekyō. You all radiate emotions like a stove gives off heat. I’d gather you all in a pile and just… lie there!”
Fugaku closed his eyes for a moment. Every member of the family under his watch had already visited this place and met Reibi. It was on a family council that they had decided what to do with her.
“If I let you out,” Fugaku said, “what will you do?”
“I’ll go traveling again,” Reibi replied confidently. “And I’ll visit Konoha sometimes—your home is delicious.”
“I can’t allow that,” Fugaku said, frowning. “You being free is a risk to the whole world. What if someone like Danzō gets ahold of you again?”
“Ugh! That disgusting old man!” Reibi slammed her tail on the ground. “He used me! He hurt me!”
“I came to make sure that never happens again,” Fugaku said, removing a scroll from his back—adorned with the emblem of a bat and a Sharingan. “This is a personal summoning scroll. It links my whole family to the Bat Clan. I can bind you to it. It would make you part of our family. Our familiar.”
“Familiar?” Reibi tilted her mask. “Is that like... a pet?”
“No,” Fugaku replied calmly. “It’s like being a family member. With us, not beneath us. You won’t be able to drift far or melt into the world like before—but no one will ever be able to catch or seal you again. You’ll be free, within our protection. You’ll have a roof over your head. And—yes, food, of course.”
“Forever?” Her voice went thin, almost afraid. “Does that mean… I’ll be stuck in a house forever?”
“Not in a house. In a family,” Fugaku corrected. “You’ll be able to travel with any of us. If you want, you can stay with Shisui at the police station—he liked you, by the way. Or with Itachi at the hospital, Hikari on a scouting mission in the forest. Or with Mikoto, checking on Uchiha Enterprises branches on another continent.”
“They… they don’t mind?” Her voice trembled, and her tail shivered with it.
“We already discussed it. Everyone agreed. You’ll be one of us.”
Reibi froze.
“People… never accepted me. I was always a shadow. A rustle behind someone’s back. And you… you want me to stay?”
“To become part of our family,” Fugaku said. “To have a permanent place where you’ll always be welcome. Do you agree?”
Reibi wagged her tail so fast that, for the first time, the desert air trembled.
“Yes! Yes-yes-yes! What do I need to do?”
Fugaku placed the scroll on the sand and began to unroll it.
“Just follow my instructions. I’ll handle the rest.”
The desert began to hum. The seals on the scroll lit up.
///
Fugaku slowly opened his eyes.
He was back in the real world—and immediately noticed the clay vessel on the table begin to emit faint clicking sounds. The seals on its surface flared once, as if bidding farewell, then started to fade one by one. Then—cracks. First a single line, then dozens. The clay groaned like a living creature and shattered with a loud crunch.
In the middle of the fragments, surrounded by a soft haze of chakra, sat a strange… bat.
She was the size of a house cat. Her body was sleek and polished, with deep violet skin that looked like dolphin hide. Her eyes were large and golden-yellow, her snout white and round. She didn’t look threatening—if anything, she looked adorable.
“Whoa!” she cried, examining herself. “I have legs! And wings!”
She bounced up, spread her thin membranous wings, and spun in the air like she was dancing.
“Did you prefer your previous form?” Fugaku asked evenly, watching her.
“Are you kidding?!” Reibi flipped midair. “Every crawler dreams of flying! And now I’m cute on top of it!”
She made a loop under the ceiling, playfully nudged the dangling scroll a couple of times with her nose, and then gently landed in Fugaku’s open palms. He caught her effortlessly.
The small warm body settled in his hands. After a moment, she began to make a strange sound—something between a purr and a contented hum.
///
The central square of Konoha was packed.
Today was the inauguration of the Fifth Hokage. The real one. Official. The Daimyō had finally sent all the documents, seals, and symbols of authority. Everything was done by protocol.
The square was decorated with clan banners, silk streamers, and village seals. People crowded on rooftops, fences, even in trees. Some held children on their shoulders. It felt like a festival… and the beginning of something important.
Hiruzen stepped up to the platform. Calm and composed, but this time—without his usual weariness. He stood firm. There was no doubt in his eyes, only understanding.
“Today, I pass on the mantle to one who has truly earned it,” he said, his chakra amplifying his voice across the square. “To the one who saved Konoha in its darkest moment. Who did not waver when fear clouded the minds of others. To the one who proved that strength and honor can walk hand in hand.”
He removed the Hokage hat. Red and white, bearing the kanji for Fire.
And placed it into the hands of Fugaku Uchiha.
Fugaku stepped forward, climbed to the center of the platform, and looked out at the crowd. His people.
He felt the weight of the hat in his hands. It was heavier than it looked. It carried more than a symbol. It held burdens—decisions, blood, ideals, expectations.
The crowd fell silent.
Fugaku easily spotted his own. In one of the front rows stood Shisui, Itachi, Hikari, and Sasuke—all in formal clan attire, backs straight, expressions reserved. Beside them was Mikoto, holding Reibi in her arms. Tiny, but clearly content with life.
Fugaku let his gaze rest on them for exactly one second. Then he looked away.
Right now, he was not a father.
Not a husband.
Not even a clan head.
He was the Hokage.
“The past few weeks have been hard for Konoha,” his voice, carried by chakra, echoed across the square. “We’ve seen fear. Loss. Betrayal. We’ve endured pain. But I did not step up here to reopen those wounds.”
He took a step forward. His shadow fell across the edge of the platform.
“I want to speak about Konoha. About its purpose. About what makes it unique.”
People listened. Some stood frozen with mouths slightly open. Others gripped a loved one’s hand. All of them—listening.
“What have I always seen in Konoha?” he continued. “A chance. An opportunity. The freedom to choose. Our founders, the Senju brothers, built this village as a place where anyone could become what they choose to be. Where destiny isn’t dictated by strength—but by will. Where children grow, learn, and find their path. A shinobi academy with dozens of paths to explore. Squad leaders who share wisdom and help uncover potential. A system built not to create soldiers—but to help you discover yourself.”
There were murmurs of agreement in the crowd. Someone nodded. Someone clapped.
“But there are those,” Fugaku continued, his voice turning harder, “who betray that principle. Who choose their children’s fate for them. Who brand others—not for what they’ve done, but for how they were born.”
He turned his head toward the Hyūga clan. And did not look away.
“We do not keep slaves. Not in basements. Not in hidden halls. I—as Hokage—vow to continue the will of the founders. I vow to fight for everyone’s chance. Even for those who believe they don’t deserve one.”
The crowd erupted. Someone shouted “Yes!” Another—“Go, Fugaku!” Applause followed. The response was alive.
The Hyūga row did not move. Hiashi turned and silently left the square. His entire retinue followed. They didn’t say a word. But their silence was louder than any speech.
A few Hyūga, standing farther off, lingered for a moment. The ones with the mark on their foreheads. They looked at Fugaku… with hope. Cautious—but real.
As the square roared with cheers, Hiruzen stepped onto the platform beside him. He lit his pipe, took a drag, and gave a skeptical shake of his head.
“Starting your first day by angering one of the most powerful clans in the village?” he muttered. “Wouldn’t be surprised if they’re already plotting your downfall by tonight.”
Fugaku’s face didn’t change.
“You knew what I’d do. That’s why you handed me the title.”
“Perhaps,” Hiruzen said slowly, eyes on the horizon. He exhaled a plume of smoke. He didn’t smile—but there was no bitterness in his voice. No reproach.
Only the faintest trace of respect.
Fugaku stood tall.
The wind stirred his black cloak.
A new era had begun.
Comments
marlassett
Hell yeah, Hyuga situation long overdue. Step on it Fugaku!
