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Batman in Konoha. Chapter 25. An Investment in Childhood
🕑 Added 2025-06-15 17:59:14 +0000 UTC"From where I'm sitting, you seem to be doing just fine making money without us," Shikaku Nara remarked lazily, settling into his chair like it was the end of a long meeting, not the beginning of an important conversation. "Last I checked, you’re the richest man in the Land of Fire."
Fugaku allowed himself a brief, cold smirk—irony in his voice as sharp as a blade pressed to the throat.
"And do you think that’s enough for me? Without ambition, I wouldn’t be where I am today."
The words landed like a kick against a locked door. The ice cracked. A few men chuckled. One stood and walked to the bar without waiting for an invitation, another poured himself something stronger. The atmosphere in the room began to shift—slowly, but surely—from formal to something more alive.
"Are you really still not satisfied with all your wealth?" Inoichi Yamanaka raised an eyebrow, pouring himself a glass of wine. "Your enterprises have crushed nearly every niche we had left."
"That is true," Shibi Aburame said tonelessly, adjusting his glasses. "My clan used to lead in shinobi apparel. Now... Uchiha caps are everywhere. Especially among the children."
Fugaku glanced out the window. In the yard, under the watchful eyes of the mothers, the children had started playing again—chasing each other, swinging toy swords. Nearly every one of them wore that same cap: thick fabric, protective brim, and on the side, the embroidered Uchiha eye as a mark of quality. A simple idea—one no shinobi had thought of before. He had set up production quickly, and with the Uchiha name already known, his products flooded the market. The competition never stood a chance.
"My business has suffered too," Chōza Akimichi grumbled. "People buy your ‘quick breakfasts’ before missions now. My restaurants have lost nearly a quarter of their customers. Even shinobi have gotten too lazy to eat properly!"
"Nothing personal," Fugaku said, meeting his eyes. His tone was even. "In business, like on the battlefield, victory doesn’t go to the loudest—but to the fastest and most precise."
The comment hit a nerve. Chōza snorted and clenched a fist, but said nothing.
Fugaku, unlike most of them, didn’t just run his business—he commanded it. Like a general commands an army. He traveled across nearby nations, signed deals, built factories, and personally oversaw operations. His shadow clones were stationed at key sites to keep everything running smoothly. It cost him chakra. It slowed his own progress. But to him, that was the price of building the future—and he never complained.
"So what do you want from us?" Shikaku finally asked, rubbing his forehead tiredly.
"The same as last time," Fugaku replied calmly, leaning back in his chair. "Your money."
Chōza jumped to his feet.
"You’ve got to be kidding! We all invested back then—when the village was in danger! And you—"
"And you made the right decision," Fugaku cut in smoothly. "You helped save Konoha."
"You profited off a vaccine you should’ve given away for free," said Hiashi Hyuga coldly, sitting upright as if even the chair couldn’t make him relax. His eyes were icy.
"I offered a product. I named a fair price. Or would you have preferred that I sold every single dose instead of handing the formula over to the hospital?"
No one answered, but the stares stayed sharp. The tension in the room thickened.
"So what are you offering now?" Hiashi asked. "Does the richest man in the Land of Fire want to borrow money?"
A wave of chuckles rippled through the room. A few men smirked. Others scoffed. There was a thin thread of mockery in the air—but no open contempt.
"Closer to the truth than you think," Fugaku said unexpectedly, his voice calm. Silence followed. He set his glass down and leaned forward. "I have… a financial operation. Very reliable. Proven. Don’t ask me what it is—I won’t tell you. Just know this: the return is guaranteed."
Several men exchanged glances.
"And what exactly do you need from us?" Inoichi asked cautiously.
"Regular contributions," Fugaku said. "At the beginning of each month, each of you brings me an amount you can spare without hurting your family or your business. At the end of the month, I return it—plus one and a half percent."
"That’s…" Inoichi frowned. "That’s like a bank deposit. Only… with much better terms."
"Exactly," Fugaku nodded. "Banks give one percent a year. I’m offering one and a half—per month. And I don’t lock your funds. Don’t want to invest next month? Don’t. It’s all voluntary."
"If it’s really that simple…" Shikaku said thoughtfully, meeting his eyes, "why don’t you invest more yourself?"
"I already do," Fugaku shot back. "Every month. But I’m not stupid. If I can scale the profit—I will. And for that, I need your money."
"If we’re getting one and a half percent..." Chōza Akimichi began, "then how much are you making?"
"None of your business."
Short. Sharp. Just a trace of threat. He didn’t smile. He wasn’t playing nice. He wasn’t their friend. He was offering a deal—on his terms.
"This scheme belongs to me," he continued. "I’m not offering you shares or partnership. You don’t get access to information. You can’t demand anything from me. You bring the money—I make the profit—you get your cut. Simple as that."
Muted conversation rose around the room. Some men leaned toward their neighbors, whispering. Others started calculating in their heads. Some were already imagining how much they could make in a year.
Then Hiashi’s cold voice cut through the room:
"And what guarantees do we have that you won’t just run off with the money?"
Fugaku slowly stood. His figure cast a long shadow across the wall. He walked to the door, then turned back and said:
"Gentlemen… if you really think I’d abandon my clan… my wife… my sons… for money,"—his voice turned glacial—"then you truly don’t understand who you’re dealing with."
And he left without waiting for a response. The room lingered with the scent of strong alcohol, heavy tobacco—and something else. Something intangible, yet growing in each of their minds:
Greed.
///
The investments worked. Just as he expected.
At first, the clan heads acted cautiously, almost suspiciously. The initial payments were symbolic—like they weren’t testing a financial system, but Fugaku himself. But he returned every sum without fail—plus exactly one and a half percent. No more, no less. Strict. Punctual. His word proved stronger than any seal. And that impressed them.
Very soon, doubt turned into excitement. The money started flowing in. Everyone wanted more. Everyone wanted in.
And Fugaku, watching their hungry enthusiasm, noted silently: It’s time.
He entered the Hokage’s office precisely at the scheduled time.
Hiruzen looked up from a pile of documents, frowned—and for the first time in a long while, genuine surprise flickered in his eyes.
"It’s really you?" Sarutobi set the papers aside and pulled his chair closer to the desk. "When the secretary said Uchiha Fugaku had made an appointment, I thought it was either a mistake or… a joke."
"And why would you think that?" Fugaku sat in the chair across from him—straight, composed, with dignity. No waiting for permission. No bowing his head. He spoke to the Hokage as an equal.
"Because you haven’t stepped into this office in ten years. Last time was the day I appointed you head of the police. Remember?"
"I remember." Fugaku’s voice carried neither gratitude nor irony. "I’ve had no reason to come since then."
"Until today, it seems." Hiruzen narrowed his eyes slightly. "Is this about your… business? The upper circles can’t stop whispering about one and a half percent a month. Almost like the Nine-Tails attack—just more profitable."
"I’m surprised you even listen to gossip," Fugaku said dryly. "Considering your own son delivers his payment to me on behalf of the Sarutobi clan every first of the month."
"I’m going to smoke," the Hokage said, pulling a tobacco pipe from his drawer. "No objections accepted. My territory—my rules."
Fugaku merely nodded. The room began to fill with the scent of tobacco.
"What do you want, Fugaku?" Hiruzen asked, opening a window and letting the smoke drift outside. "You’re not the type to come for idle talk."
"I came to speak about Naruto."
Hiruzen hesitated, as if he didn’t immediately recognize the name—though he did. He was just buying time. Or testing how far the conversation would go.
"What about him?"
"Everything. Or rather—nothing. In all these years, the only time he’s interacted with other children was at my son’s birthday a month ago. That’s it—no games, no conversation, no friends. He’s back at the orphanage, alone. And not even anyone to brag to that he visited the Uchiha household. Do you understand what loneliness does to a person? It corrodes, like acid."
"We’ve discussed this already," Hiruzen said, frowning as he took a long drag. "Measures have been taken. Naruto’s birthday is in a month. He’ll be released from the orphanage, given an apartment, provided for."
Fugaku leaned forward. His voice was low, like distant thunder.
"An apartment? For a four-year-old? To live alone?"
"It’ll be easier without outsiders," Hiruzen said curtly. "A jinchūriki must not form attachments. That’s policy, not personal."
"It’s isolation. Punishment for something he never did. You’re not raising a weapon—you’re planting a bomb that will one day explode in the heart of Konoha."
"You think I don’t know that?" Hiruzen stood and moved to the window, exhaling a plume of smoke. "The clans are already unhappy with my return. They fiercely oppose even placing Naruto under the care of Jiraiya or Kakashi—Minato’s most loyal people. They’re convinced I’d use them to manipulate the jinchūriki. Even guardianship looks like a scheme to them."
Fugaku stood as well. His voice was calm, but there was steel behind it.
"And if they didn’t oppose it… would you adopt Naruto yourself?"
Hiruzen turned around. There was more than just weariness in his eyes.
"Without hesitation," he said with a sigh. "Minato was like a son to me. I remember helping him master his signature jutsu, how he introduced me to Kushina, how deeply he regretted Obito and Rin’s deaths… I would’ve taken his son as my own. If not for… if Naruto weren’t a jinchūriki."
"Even with a demon inside, he’s still a child," Fugaku said, his voice like a verdict. "An innocent boy who just got unlucky. And he deserves not isolation—but a childhood. Fight for him, Hiruzen. Call a clan council. Demand guardianship again."
Hiruzen sank back into his chair with visible exhaustion. There was pain in his eyes—not from the words, but from the memories they struck.
"They won’t listen to me anymore," he muttered, waving a hand. "They don’t care what I say. Doesn’t matter who I am. Hokage, veteran, the Professor… They’re just waiting for me to die."
"You’re right," Fugaku agreed quietly. "They’re young, ambitious. Eager to prove themselves. Tomorrow, if you stand alone—they’ll cast you aside like a mangy dog that sat on the porch too long. But if I stand beside you… none of them will challenge you."
Hiruzen looked at him with suspicion—but there was a faint, fading spark of hope behind it.
"You’ve gathered blackmail on them?"
Fugaku gave a slight smirk.
"I don’t need leverage to influence them. It’s simpler than that. They won’t oppose the man who pays them. Especially regularly. Especially reliably."
"A financial scheme," Hiruzen exhaled slowly, as if only now seeing the full picture. "You started all this… for Naruto?"
"For him," Fugaku confirmed without hesitation.
The words hung in the air like a hammer against the heart. Hiruzen looked away. He had always known what the Uchiha was capable of—but not this. Not from him. Not from anyone.
"But the scheme exists, right?"
"No. I just pay them out of my own pocket. I have enough to afford one and a half percent a month. I’m investing in a boy who deserves a real childhood."
He had already turned to leave when Hiruzen stopped him with a voice:
"Wait. I... I’m astonished, Fugaku. And grateful. But why don’t you adopt Naruto yourself? I’ve seen the way Mikoto looks at him. It’s like she—"
"Like she sees Kushina’s legacy in him," Fugaku cut in. "And she does. My wife wishes the boy a better fate. She doesn’t care where he finds happiness—whether it’s with her or on the other side of the world. But I know this: he wouldn’t fit into our home."
"In that nest of crows, he looks like... a chick," Hiruzen said with a knowing smile.
"Raise the son of a hero the way he deserves," Fugaku’s voice hardened. "Or our next meeting won’t be so pleasant."
///
A month later, in the Sarutobi clan’s garden, streamers and garlands rustled softly in the breeze. It was a modest but warm celebration for Uzumaki Naruto’s fourth birthday.
The sky was clear, the air rich with the scent of sweets and blooming trees. On a rug laid out in the grass stood presents wrapped with crooked bows. On the table sat a homemade cake with four candles.
Only two children had come.
Sasuke Uchiha—quiet and serious—who seemed to have arrived more out of family obligation than desire. Though once there, he didn’t seem to mind staying.
And a girl with short pink hair—Sakura—whom Naruto had met just days earlier, defending her from a group of boys. She’d come holding a shyly wrapped present in her arms.
But for Naruto, that was more than enough.
He was glowing.
Two friends—that was two more than he had a month ago.
Among the adult guests were Jiraiya and Kakashi. Both looked slightly awkward, like they were trying to make up for too much, too late. They came with armfuls of gifts and joking apologies.
"Four gifts each," Jiraiya explained, ticking off fingers. "One for today, and one for every birthday we missed."
Naruto just laughed and dove into the boxes.
He ran around the yard wielding a wooden sword like he was defending the village from a hundred enemies. Falling, rising, swinging again and again, as if joy was bursting from his very bones.
And, of course, at some point, he crashed into someone’s legs.
He looked up—and froze.
Standing before him was Fugaku Uchiha. Arms crossed over his chest, looking down with that same cold gaze that could make even grown men feel as though wings of ice had spread behind their backs.
"Watch where you’re going," he said simply.
Fugaku immediately turned back to Hiruzen, continuing their conversation as though nothing had happened.
"I’ll decline your position, Hiruzen. Walking the line between light and shadow, I can serve Konoha better."
Fugaku turned his head slightly—just enough to notice the boy eavesdropping.
Naruto quickly scurried off—running toward the one person who always made him feel safe.
"He’s so... scary!" Naruto complained, clinging to Mikoto’s leg.
She smiled gently, crouched beside him, adjusted the collar of his shirt, and whispered to him like it was a great secret, something only one person in the world could be trusted with:
"My husband only pretends to be scary, Naruto. Inside, he has a kind heart. He just doesn’t know how to show it."
Naruto stared at her with wide eyes.
"Really?"
"Really," Mikoto nodded. "But don’t tell him I said that. He’ll grumble all evening."
Naruto laughed—and then ran off again. Toward Sasuke, toward Sakura, toward the presents, toward life.
And no one—not the clan leaders, not the elders, not anyone—could change one simple truth: this day had become the beginning of a new chapter in the life of a boy with a seal on his belly and the sun in his heart.
