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Batman in Konoha. Chapter 12. Pain of loneliness
🕑 Added 2025-05-30 12:55:27 +0000 UTC1700 words.
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Fugaku made a powerful move in his invisible game with an unknown enemy: he exposed all the hidden spies. The effect was staggering. After the introduction of the potion, now mandatory for every Konoha shinobi, fifteen more metamorphs were uncovered. There were no longer any unnoticed spies left in the village.
Now, the potion was taken daily. No exceptions. No leniency. It had become as much a part of shinobi life as breakfast or morning weapon checks.
Fugaku knew this wasn't victory. It was the calm before the storm.
Just as he had predicted, the rest of the world didn’t stay indifferent. Panic spread through the nations like wildfire in a dry forest. By the third day after mass production began at the Konoha hospital, the potion’s formula had been stolen by enemy shinobi. The stolen recipe spread to other villages like hotcakes. Across all nations, people began identifying their own metamorphs.
The global public quickly found a convenient target: the Akatsuki. A small, mysterious organization surrounded by dark legends—rumors claimed their leader had the eyes of a god. A perfect image of the enemy.
A bounty was placed on their heads. Any collaboration with them was declared illegal.
But time passed. And... nothing happened.
A whole year had gone by since the tragedy—that night when the Kyūbi struck the village. There had been no new attacks against Konoha. But Fugaku didn’t relax. He knew the real enemy was still watching from the shadows, waiting. Like a hunter before the leap.
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An autumn evening wrapped the village in soft golden light and the tangy scent of fading leaves.
The Uchiha compound. Just after dinner, someone knocked at the front door.
"Good evening, Hokage-sama," said Shisui with a slight bow as he opened it. As usual, he was polite, but his eyes sparkled with liveliness.
"Shisui-kun, good to see you," Hiruzen said with a tired but warm smile. There was something almost fatherly in his gaze. "How’s life in the new house?"
"Honestly? I love it," Shisui leaned in and added conspiratorially, "I actually made Fugaku laugh once."
"Lies," came a stern voice from behind him.
Fugaku appeared in the doorway—grim as ever, arms crossed over his chest.
"I sneezed," he added without blinking.
"Right after my joke," Shisui finished cheerfully, squaring his shoulders like a proud victor. His charisma sparkled even in the most ordinary moments.
Itachi stepped into the hallway. He gave a flawless bow—respectful, just as he'd been taught. This was his second time meeting the Hokage. The first had been during the Academy entrance ceremony, where Hiruzen had delivered a speech. Since then, there was no childish naivety in the boy’s eyes—only something close to awe. Not for the title, not for the fame, but for personal strength—the kind hidden behind calmness.
“Boys, go help Mikoto in the kitchen,” Fugaku said sternly. “The Hokage and I need to talk.”
Once they were gone, the adults moved into the sitting room. It was spacious, but tastefully furnished. A pair of chairs by the window, a low table.
Hiruzen sat down and reached into the inner pocket of his kimono.
"Mind if I smoke?" he asked, pulling out his old pipe, steeped in the scent of tobacco and time.
"I do mind," Fugaku replied coldly. "I have four children here. Secondhand smoke is harmful."
"Three now," Hiruzen said gently, but with pain in his voice, placing the pipe back. "Naruto… it’s time to move him to the orphanage."
Fugaku didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted toward the playpen. There, surrounded by toys, sat Sasuke and Naruto. They couldn’t speak yet, but they could drum—banging on a xylophone and toy drum with such passion it was like they were giving a concert. Shisui had once joked that when they grew up, they’d start a rock band.
“A little copy of Minato,” Hiruzen remarked with a sad smile. His gaze lingered on Naruto’s blond hair and clear blue eyes. “So… happy.”
“Then why take him away?” Fugaku said calmly, but there was clear steel in his voice. “You think we’re experimenting on him? That sounds like something your student would do.”
Hiruzen closed his eyes. Even his breathing now carried the weight of exhaustion.
“You know why,” he said slowly. “Naruto isn’t just a child. He’s… the Nine-Tails’ host. A jinchūriki. A strategic asset of Konoha.”
“Even weapons need care,” Fugaku cut in. “Put a kunai in the hands of an experienced warrior—he’ll sharpen it, maintain it, and it’ll be sharper than a razor. Give a kunai to a child—he’ll break it or cut himself.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Hiruzen muttered, sinking deeper into his chair as if under the weight of something invisible. “Since the founding of Konoha, there’s been an unspoken rule: ‘The jinchūriki must stay close to the Hokage.’ It’s the same in every other country. The jinchūriki are either direct relatives of the Kage—or adopted. But they all live under the same roof.”
“How convenient. A living bomb two steps away. If things get out of control, all it takes is to reach out and press the panic button,” Fugaku scoffed, arms crossed. “So why isn’t Naruto living with you? You’re the Hokage now. Why don’t you take him in yourself?”
Hiruzen exhaled heavily, his eyes closing for a moment, as if weariness had settled in his bones.
“Because my position isn’t stable,” he admitted. “Many in Konoha think bringing me back was a mistake. They fear I’ll use Naruto to tighten my grip on power—to become the eternal Hokage once again.”
He paused, then ran a hand over his face, as if trying to wipe away the fatigue. His voice dropped, almost to a whisper:
“The clans won’t listen. They won’t try to understand. If I truly craved power... I would’ve adopted Kushina twenty years ago. She was a jinchūriki. I could’ve brought her under my roof, made her a symbol of the Hokage’s will. But I didn’t. All I want now is to find a successor—someone who can keep Konoha from falling. Not with a fist, but with a mind.”
“No,” Fugaku said coldly. “You’re not keeping Konoha together. You’re indulging it. You’re feeding the bloated clan leaders exactly what they want to hear. And your decision to place Naruto in an orphanage—it’s not protection. It’s an act of desperation. A way of washing your hands of it. Telling everyone, ‘The jinchūriki isn’t mine. He belongs to no one. You figure it out.’”
He stood abruptly, his gaze turning sharp—almost predatory.
“You’re too old, Hiruzen. Not stupid. Not weak in spirit—no. Just old. Tired. And no longer able to take a hit. I don’t think you’re a coward like Danzō. I respect you. Kagami always said you were the kind of man who would die defending Konoha if it came to that. I believe that. But you can’t put the clans in their place anymore. All you do is retreat. Soften the edges. You’re not solving the problem—you’re muffling it. And that’s not strategy. That’s weakness. And a weak leader only leads his people to the cliff.”
Hiruzen listened to the end. His expression didn’t change a bit. He looked at Fugaku the way a teacher looks at a student who’s grown up and is now speaking a bitter truth. There was no anger, no offense—only weary acceptance.
“At the last council meeting, you showed yourself to be a true leader, Fugaku,” he said at last. “The entire Hyuga clan went silent when you stood. Even Nara stopped scratching his head. Maybe… you want to take my place?”
Fugaku turned his gaze aside. Through the window, the dark crown of a tree swayed gently in the wind, and the distant night sky lay calm, with only a single star shining.
He had thought about it. Hokage. The voice of the village. The peak of power. Power that could be wielded properly. Justly. Without illusions. But… not yet.
It was too early.
The Uchiha clan had not yet solidified its position. Business projects were still in development. And personally—he still hadn’t completed his own training. He needed more time. At least three more years. To jump into politics now would be to lose everything.
Fugaku’s silence lasted only a moment, but Hiruzen understood. He nodded, as if placing a period at the end of a sentence.
“As long as I have no replacement, I’ll deal with things the only way I can,” he said evenly. “The clans are already at their limit with the jinchūriki living under the Uchiha roof. They feel out of control. And that’s their greatest fear.”
“You’re lucky I don’t want a ticking time bomb sleeping in the same room as my son,” Fugaku growled, stepping forward. “Take Naruto. And get out of my house.”
Hiruzen rose slowly. His movements were quiet, deliberate—the movements of an old shinobi long used to wearing the mask of composure. He walked over to the playpen. Naruto, seeing him, shrank into the corner and burst into tears. He could feel that this man had just decided his fate—and not for the better.
Hiruzen lifted the child into his arms and, with a subtle pulse of chakra, lulled him to sleep. Naruto would not remember this house. Wouldn’t remember how he’d been treated here—with warmth. But he would forever remember the pain of loneliness.
When the door closed behind Hiruzen, Mikoto stood in the corner, a hand pressed to her chest. Her eyes were filled with pain. She didn’t say a word, didn’t take a single step—she only breathed heavily, as if trying to hold back something tearing her apart inside.
He was the son of her best friend. And she knew that now, he faced nothing but solitude.
A moment later, her face returned to perfection. Warm. Calm. The face of a wife who supports her husband’s every decision, no matter how hard it is for her. Just as she’d been taught.
Fugaku remained standing, still staring at the door. His eyes were empty. He knew he had done the right thing. It was the only way to protect his family. And yet, it didn’t make the weight inside any easier to bear.
