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Batman in Konoha. Chapter 27
🕑 Added 2025-06-18 17:11:22 +0000 UTC"Explain," Fugaku said. "Why isn’t my son at the exam?"
"That’s exactly what we’re trying to figure out," Hiruzen replied, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. "Hotai returned only fifteen minutes ago. There’s a scandal brewing in Suna. I decided it would be unacceptable to interrogate your son without you present. This could escalate into an international incident."
Fugaku didn’t thank him—and Hiruzen didn’t expect him to. But there was a brief nod of acknowledgment. And that was enough. In the event of a diplomatic crisis, the Hokage had every right to throw Itachi into an underground cell until things were clarified, and no one would protest. But this conversation was taking place in the warmth of a home, over tea, not in the ANBU dungeons. It was a sign of trust. Or diplomatic flexibility. Possibly both.
"Hotai, start from the beginning," Hiruzen ordered. "Tell us everything in detail."
Hotai sighed like a man who had already replayed the events a dozen times in his head.
"I was assigned to escort a team of three genin: Uchiha Itachi, Yamanaka Yuiko, and Inuzuka Toru," he began. "We arrived in Suna to participate in the Chūnin Exams. The first stage went smoothly—except for the philosophical question."
Fugaku nodded. He already knew about the first stage, but he wanted to hear it from a firsthand witness.
"The second stage began the next day. Standard rules: teams are sent into the desert. The objective is to find another team, defeat them, take their scroll, and reach the designated checkpoint. We, the instructors, were strictly forbidden from interfering. I returned to the hotel—like the others. We passed the time playing cards."
Fugaku narrowed his eyes slightly. The idea of playing cards on enemy soil was deeply alien to him.
"About an hour in, I received a signal," Hotai continued. "We had sewn a fuinjutsu beacon into their gear in advance. The signal meant a critical situation—code red. We agreed that if it came to that, I’d break all the rules and extract the team at any cost. That was Itachi’s plan."
Fugaku felt a flicker of pride stir in his chest. Itachi was no longer a lone wolf. He was a leader now. But Fugaku pushed the feeling away. This wasn’t the time.
"I rushed out of the hotel, and by the time I reached the edge of the desert, Suna’s forces were already there. Not just a patrol—an entire battalion. Fully armed, like before a military operation. I hid. Formed hand signs, activated camouflage—and listened."
Hotai briefly demonstrated the invisibility technique. Clean, efficient. No unnecessary flair. A true veteran.
"I got there just in time to hear the commander giving his briefing. He said it outright: hidden cameras were scattered throughout the desert. One of them recorded... a massacre. One of the exam participants had slaughtered over a hundred other genin."
Fugaku stood like a statue. Not a flicker in his eyes. But inside, everything tensed. He already knew where this was going.
"The commander showed footage on a fūin-map," Hotai went on. "The image was blurry—sandstorm, dust. Almost impossible to make out. But you could still see it—dozens of bodies falling. The swing of a short blade. Blood. Screams. Death throes. And—eyes. Bright. Red. Glowing with Sharingan."
A heavy, crushing silence settled over the room. It could be cut with a knife. No one present had any doubt—only one Uchiha was representing the clan in this year’s Suna exams. Only Itachi.
"I understood," Hotai said quietly, not meeting his father’s gaze, "that if word of this reached the parents of the dead… they’d tear him apart. They wouldn’t even wait to hear his side. I headed into the desert ahead of the guards, hoping to reach him first. But… things didn’t go smoothly."
He gestured toward his torn and scorched clothing. Now, under the warm lamplight, the singed edges, claw marks, and burns were clearly visible.
"Sunagakure’s desert is home to lizards—fire-breathing ones. They sense humans through vibrations in the sand. I had to fight my way through before I reached the coordinates where the beacon signal came from."
He fell silent for a moment, as if reliving what he’d seen.
"I found Itachi in the nest of one of those beasts. He was alive, but... Yuiko and Toru were lying beside him. Dead. Itachi asked me to bring their bodies back to their families. The guards were closing in—there was no time for questions. I summoned Enma and immediately evacuated all three of them to Konoha through a reverse summoning."
"Enma?" Fugaku asked, his brow furrowing.
"The Monkey King," Hiruzen interjected. "My old battle partner."
His gaze never left Itachi. The old man’s eyes darkened, and his voice turned hard.
"Was it you?"
The boy slowly set his teacup down—the tea untouched—and met the Hokage’s eyes. There was no fear in them, no panic. Only exhaustion. And pain.
"No, Hokage-sama. It was a man in an orange mask."
Hiruzen shot a sharp, heavy glance at Fugaku. Fugaku met it with one of his own. Neither of them needed the name spoken aloud—they both knew who it meant.
"Hotai," Hiruzen said curtly, not even looking at his son, "go back to your room."
"But, Father, I—"
"Now!" the Hokage barked. "Tomorrow you'll be explaining yourself to the parents of Toru and Yuiko. Rest while you still can."
His son gave him a burning glare. The chair scraped loudly against the floor, and a moment later the door slammed so hard it sounded like it sealed anger behind it. But Fugaku gave a subtle nod of approval. Harsh—but right. Even close relatives shouldn't know what Itachi had seen. The orange mask was a forbidden subject.
Fugaku turned to his son, his voice shifting into formal command.
"Genin Uchiha Itachi, report the events in full. From the beginning."
Itachi nodded, gathering his thoughts. His voice was hoarse, but clear, precise. He was holding himself together—barely, but enough.
"After the second stage began, we entered the desert. Toru quickly picked up the scent of a nearby enemy team—he was incredibly sensitive to smells. We attacked, won without casualties, and secured the second scroll. Everything was going according to plan. We started heading for the finish line, but…"
He paused, his gaze going distant.
"Something was... off. There were no traps, no other teams. We walked almost in a straight line. But normally, that route is where the cleverest teams lie in wait—ambushes for tired opponents carrying both scrolls. This time—nothing. It didn’t feel right."
He took a sip of tea. The cold liquid trembled in the cup, mirroring the tension in his body.
"Then Toru said he smelled blood. A lot of it. Not one team—an entire battlefield."
Itachi's voice finally gave out. He dropped to a whisper.
"We didn’t even have time to react. He appeared in front of us out of nowhere… a man in an orange mask. Only one hole for his eye. Sharingan."
He clenched his hand into a fist.
"He didn’t say a word. Didn’t introduce himself. Didn’t make any demands. He just... killed. In a single motion. Yuiko was first. Then Toru. I didn’t even see how he moved. I just realized they were dead. And that was it."
Fugaku heard the tremor in his voice but didn’t interrupt. His son had to finish.
Itachi closed his eyes, then continued:
"He didn’t attack me. Didn’t explain anything. Just vanished. As if… that was all he came for. To kill. For no reason. Evil for the sake of evil."
Fugaku silently formed hand seals and created a shadow clone.
"Go home," he said. "The clone will escort you. The Hokage and I will continue this conversation without you."
Itachi nodded. Left without a word, without looking back.
Only two men remained in the room. Two men who had seen too much to afford illusions.
The smoke from Hiruzen’s pipe had faded, leaving only the scent of scorched tobacco.
"What do you think?" he asked quietly.
"My son is telling the truth. No hesitation, no false signals, no microexpressions. I was reading him with the Sharingan the entire time. But even without it—I would’ve known. He’s not lying."
Fugaku paused, then added:
"Only you, I, Shisui… and the Nine-Tails know about the man in the orange mask. No one else."
"He’s back, then. And he wants to stir up chaos again," Hiruzen exhaled heavily. "Letters will soon flood into Konoha—complaints, threats, demands to hand over the culprit. The world won’t bother with details. They’ll be shown footage—with a Sharingan and blood."
"Something doesn’t add up," Fugaku said quietly, staring into the void. He clenched his fist as if trying to knot his thoughts together. "We’re dealing with an unknown Uchiha—possibly Obito. And this man slaughtered over a hundred genin in a single hour."
He glanced at Hiruzen.
"From Itachi, we know the attacker possesses a space-time jutsu of the highest level. So fast even Toru’s nose couldn’t detect it. That means if he wanted to, he could’ve done far more than a massacre in the desert... He could’ve caused a full-scale catastrophe."
Fugaku paced the room, then stopped abruptly.
"Imagine this—he teleports to the central square of Konoha with a box full of explosive tags. A million tags. Leaves it, ignites it... and vanishes before anyone can react. Unlike the Nine-Tails attack, there’d be nothing left of the village. Just a crater."
Silence fell—cold, oppressive. It was exactly this kind of threat that once made the entire shinobi world fear Minato. Space-time techniques weren’t just powerful—they were unpredictable.
"Given his power," Fugaku continued, "I think disrupting the exam was just a way to draw attention. That he spared Itachi on purpose. To send me a message. To make it clear—he can reach my loved ones at any moment. That he can destroy their lives—not just by killing them, but with something worse. And he wants me to find him."
"Don’t you think that’s a bit too elaborate?" Hiruzen asked, doubtful. "If he’s that powerful, why didn’t he just come to your home and attack you directly?"
Fugaku slowly turned to him, his voice tinged with restrained anger.
"I don’t know. Not yet. Maybe something’s preventing him from acting directly. Or maybe he wants it all to look like chaos. Or maybe... he’s just playing. But whatever it is—this isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with a criminal genius. And it won’t be the first time I break him."
Hiruzen exhaled through his teeth, glancing out the window. The sky on the horizon was already starting to lighten—dawn was near.
"Only a few hours until the first newspapers hit. Suna will definitely seize this incident. They’ll declare Itachi an international criminal..."
"It doesn’t matter," Fugaku cut him off. "Suna can’t take on Konoha alone. And the smaller nations… they still remember what I did to the Raikage."
"Fine," Hiruzen nodded. "We don’t need to fear war or open retaliation. But what will you tell the people? Your clan? They’ll see the Sharingan and the killings on the recordings. No one will doubt it was Itachi."
"And that’s where you come in," Fugaku said, voice turning hard as stone. "You’ll speak to the public and tell them your truth. You’ll say Suna broke the rules of the exam. That they ordered their genin to unite and assassinate competitors—to weaken other villages and give themselves an advantage in the finals. And that Itachi, after losing his teammates, didn’t waver. He destroyed their killers. Not out of hatred—but out of duty. Out of justice. Out of the Will of Fire."
Hiruzen said nothing. His face remained calm, but his brows had drawn together.
"You’ll offer Itachi a promotion to chunin. Call him a hero," Fugaku concluded. "So no one dares question his honor."
"And you think people will believe that?" the Hokage asked, his tone sharp.
"Of course," Fugaku replied evenly. "Because you are the Hokage. The people of Konoha will listen to you—not the Kazekage and his lies."
He stood abruptly.
"You will do this, Hiruzen. As payment for the debts you’ve accrued over the years. For the civil war I helped you prevent. For the Raikage I eliminated. For giving Naruto back his right to a childhood."
Fugaku turned and headed for the exit, his footsteps sounding like a hammer hitting stone in the room.
"I won’t allow my son to be branded a criminal."
///
Two weeks had passed.
Konoha was still gripped by the recent events. Conversations, rumors, retellings—every corner of the village buzzed with them. Itachi’s name echoed in shops, on training grounds, even in the Academy. He had become a hero. A symbol of strength, resolve, and unwavering loyalty.
To the common people, he was the embodiment of the perfect shinobi: he endured the loss of his teammates, didn’t break, and avenged them by killing a hundred enemies. His act had become legend. Some even compared him to Minato, who once single-handedly wiped out a thousand enemy ninja.
At the official ceremony, the Hokage personally awarded Itachi a medal. The crowd gave a standing ovation. Words of gratitude gave way to speeches about the Will of Fire and role models for future generations. Itachi stood still, his face unreadable—but Fugaku could see it. His son was holding himself together by sheer force of will.
Meanwhile, Suna was spewing venom from the pages of its newspapers. They called Itachi a butcher, spoke of a massacre, of savagery, of how a "mad Uchiha with a Sharingan slaughtered a hundred of the Sand’s finest genin." They even added Itachi to their version of the Bingo Book, placing a bounty on his head.
But beyond the outrage, they did nothing.
Other nations chose to stay clear of the strange war of words. They merely whispered among themselves: "Itachi started a massacre in the desert. He’s Fugaku’s son? Better stay out of it."
Only Hiruzen, Itachi, and Fugaku knew the truth. Not even the ANBU archives recorded the full details.
Fugaku and Itachi had agreed—the secret would stay between them. Even their family didn’t need to know everything. The less you know, the better you sleep.
Mikoto accepted it calmly, without unnecessary questions. She had always supported her husband’s decisions. Sasuke, in contrast, was glowing with pride. Every time someone mentioned Itachi’s name, he stood taller. His brother had become a legend.
Shisui… might have suspected something. His jokes became slightly more careful than usual, but he never asked the wrong questions. Like Fugaku, he understood the value of truth—and the weight of silence.
Yuiko’s and Toru’s parents had come. Through tears, they thanked Itachi for bringing back their children’s bodies. They said, "You did the right thing. We’re proud our children fought beside you. They didn’t die in vain."
But what Itachi himself thought—no one knew.
“Father,” he said one evening, “I joined the ANBU.”
Fugaku set aside the documents he was reading and looked up, studying his son’s face. His eyes were serious.
“A wise decision,” Fugaku said slowly. “With your reputation, ordinary squads aren’t a good fit anymore. But tell me—what are you looking for in ANBU? What do you want to gain?”
“Combat medicine,” Itachi replied without hesitation.
Fugaku raised an eyebrow.
“Explain.”
Itachi clenched his fists.
“When he… killed Yuiko and Toru, he vanished immediately. But they were still alive. I saw their bodies twitching, saw the light fade slowly from their eyes. I… couldn’t do anything. Nothing, Father. I wasn’t powerless because I lost the fight—but because I didn’t know how to save them.”
He paused for a moment, as if collecting himself.
“I read medical handbooks. Went through every textbook I could find. And I realized—if I had known more, if I had the skills, I might’ve been able to save them. A slim chance, but it was there.”
Fugaku listened silently. He didn’t interrupt. His gaze only grew deeper, heavier.
“Then why ANBU? Why not the hospital?”
“Because I don’t want to spend my life treating colds,” Itachi answered, with a sharpness that had begun appearing more often in him. “At the hospital, I’d be just another doctor. In a regular team, I’d be treated like a fragile asset—protected like a first-aid kit. I’m not going to waste my potential,” the Sharingan flared in his eyes. “I want to fight and heal. Be a warrior and a medic at once. Only ANBU trains for that.”
He steadied himself and let the Sharingan fade.
“I’ve already submitted my request. I want Yakushi Nono as my mentor. She’s the best in the field.”
A pause followed. Fugaku quietly considered every word.
“So you’ve decided to forge your own weapon,” he finally said. “I’m glad you didn’t break. Glad you’re moving forward, even with your comrades’ blood on your shoulders. Every time we’re pushed down—it’s not a fall. It’s a chance to rise stronger.”
He stepped closer and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.
“Don’t lose that will. It’s stronger than our eyes.”
