Batman in Konoha

After the grand parade, which marked the end of the official part of the celebration, the crowd slowly began to scatter through the streets of Konoha.

Booths with lotteries and sweets, stalls with toys and trinkets, lantern lights strung overhead — it all turned the village into a fairytale for one night.

At the edge of the central square, away from the main flow of people, Shisui stood by a wooden bench, holding a stack of paper cranes in his hands. He sent them into the sky one by one, watching as the wind caught the delicate figures and carried them above the rooftops.

Itachi tried to maintain his usual composure, but his gaze involuntarily flicked toward a chocolate éclair covered in glaze. He picked one up — and at that moment, the thin mask of his calm cracked.

"You've got chocolate on your cheek, clan heir," Shisui joked, wiping the smudge away with a napkin.

Itachi turned away in embarrassment, trying to reclaim his usual cold-blooded expression — but for a brief second, he smiled.

Not far away, Naruto and Sasuke were trying to catch tiny fish in a shallow tub of water — each armed with a paper scooper. They leaned in closer and closer, gripping the edges of the tub — and then, the inevitable happened. One of them slipped, the other tried to save him — and both nearly tumbled into the water.

"Careful!" Mikoto called out, snatching them both by the collars with such grace it seemed she'd been doing this her whole life.

She smoothed Sasuke's hair, adjusted Naruto's collar, and looked at them both with warmth. That evening, if only for a little while, she could care for Naruto like a son again.

Fugaku walked silently beside them. He didn't interfere, didn't impose, but paid for every whim of the children without a word. His face was unreadable, yet his eyes missed nothing — the street, the people, the flow of the crowd. As always, he was watching.

"You know, Fugaku," Shisui said, stepping a little closer, "our route just happens to follow the exact same path the Kumo ambassador took."

He tried to keep his voice light, but a note of caution crept into his eyes.

"And the Hokage gave a very clear order: no surveillance."

"We're just taking a walk," Fugaku replied calmly, almost lazily. "Konoha's streets are open to everyone. And if the Kumo ambassador just so happens to be in my line of sight at all times... well, that's fate."

He stopped near a café with an open terrace. The ambassador was sitting there, lounging back in his chair, sipping sake and waving lazily to the Hokage's advisors as he bid them goodbye.

"Didn't take long for him to get drowsy," Fugaku muttered, glancing at his watch. It was nine o'clock. "Everyone's enjoying the festival, and he's in a rush to sleep? Suspicious."

"Don't start," Shisui mumbled, visibly tense now. "The Hokage's hoping this alliance will help balance things with Kumo. We can't give them any reason to accuse us of anything."

"And we're not," Fugaku answered coldly. "We're simply escorting a tired guest to his hotel. So he doesn't get lost in the dark."

Shisui exhaled heavily. Arguing with Fugaku was like talking to a stone wall — one that not only listens, but judges.

A caretaker from the orphanage approached them. Her face wore a forced politeness, but her eyes betrayed exhaustion and barely contained irritation.

"It's time for Naruto to return," she said, without looking directly at either Uchiha.

The caretaker took his hand and led him away without looking back.

"Mikoto, take the boys home," Fugaku said, his eyes never leaving the ambassador fading into the crowd. "Shisui and I will take a short walk."

"Of course, dear," she replied, almost inaudibly.

Fugaku and Shisui followed the ambassador at a distance. The man walked at a leisurely pace, the gait of someone confident in his safety. At the hotel reception, he took his key and disappeared into a room — on the first floor.

"Well, there you go. All clear," Shisui finally said once the door closed behind the ambassador. "He's in. Let's head back."

Fugaku didn't answer. He stepped over to a bench across from the window, sat down, and stared at the building.

"Why the first floor?" he asked after a minute. "Higher floors are safer. Better vantage points. More expensive. What, the Hokage's cutting costs?"

"It was the ambassador's request," Shisui shrugged and sat beside him. "Said he doesn't like sleeping at altitude."

"There are no plains in Kumo. Everyone lives in the mountains," Fugaku narrowed his eyes. "Something doesn't add up."

The room on the first floor was perfectly visible from the outside. The curtains were drawn back, as if to accommodate wandering eyes. Inside, the Kumo ambassador acted like the textbook image of a disciplined diplomat. He changed into striped pajamas — the kind that looked like they came from a cozy home set — brushed his teeth, humming softly to himself, and then lay down on the bed with his hands folded neatly over his stomach.

Fugaku watched silently, his eyes narrowing.

"It's too perfect," he muttered. "He's performing. And he's doing it for us to see."

Shisui tilted his head slightly, eyes fixed on the window.

"I think you're just looking for something to pick apart," he said calmly. "You're the one who taught me — emotion clouds judgment. In an investigation, you follow facts."

"And I also taught you to listen to experience," Fugaku said, brow furrowing. "Experience isn't the voice of reason. It's the voice of survival."

He looked at the ambassador again.

"How many forms of analysis do you know?"

"Standard. With Sharingan enhancement. And—"

"That's enough."

Almost in unison, their eyes flashed red. The Sharingan ignited like mirrors in the dark, reflecting what was hidden.

Fugaku's gaze became razor-sharp. The Sharingan let him pick out the smallest details — minute eye movements, tension in muscles, even the cleanliness of the pillow. In the ambassador's teeth — microtraces of toothpaste. Breathing — slightly elevated.

And yet, nothing suspicious. Everything normal. Everything in place.

Fugaku exhaled slowly. He scanned the area — no strangers nearby. Even Shisui was facing away from him, eyes locked on the ambassador's room.

Fugaku closed his eyes. And when he opened them again — his pupils blazed with a deeper, more complex pattern.

Mangekyō Sharingan.

This gaze didn't just see truth. It ripped it out of the dark.

He stared again at the ambassador's face. And saw — emptiness.

A shadow clone. A construct of chakra.

At that moment, Shisui turned. Fugaku barely managed to deactivate the technique, returning his eyes to their normal state. But the look on Shisui's face said everything: he had activated his Mangekyō too. And he had seen the same thing.

"You know what nickname they gave me in the war?" Fugaku asked quietly, his eyes still on the window.

"I do," Shisui nodded. "I'm ANBU. We had to memorize the whole Bingo Book. Your name's in there: Evil Eye."

"And do you know why I was given that name?"

"They say enemies who looked into your eyes died of fear. Your monstrous illusions stopped hearts."

"Then you know what I'm going to do now."

With a single motion, Fugaku leapt from the bench, dashed to the window, and slipped into the room—silent as a cat in the night.

The clone, sensing the chakra surge, "woke up" and sat up abruptly, feigning surprise. But it was already too late.

The Sharingan flared to life. Fugaku's gaze cut through the illusion like shards of glass through the mind.

The ambassador—or rather, his clone—froze, eyes wide, face twisted in horror. He clutched his chest… and vanished in a puff of smoke.

Shisui was already beside him.

"He saw you. The clone passed on the memory. The original knows we've found him."

"I know," Fugaku nodded calmly. "But that's his weakness. The mental link was too fast. The fear too intense. He might not have withstood it."

"And if he did?"

"Then we'll find him anyway."

Fugaku moved toward the bathroom, Sharingan still active.

The wall, at first glance, looked normal—but it held a secret: faint scratches along the tile.

He found the button. With a soft click, a hidden hatch opened.

"Alert the Hokage," he said. "And tell him the Kumo ambassador had ANBU access codes and escape schematics."

Shisui froze for a heartbeat—then vanished in a blink.

///

The clock struck eleven. The village still sang, drank, laughed.

On the central square, a flute played. Fireworks lit the sky somewhere in the distance. Konoha celebrated its alliance with Kumo.

But in the underground interrogation chamber, silence reigned—like the moment before a storm.

The Kumo ambassador sat tied to a chair. His head lolled back, his face deathly pale.

He was alive, but unconscious. His heart had withstood the assault of Fugaku's genjutsu—but his mind had shut down, protecting itself from the terror.

They had found him on Hyūga Clan grounds—with Hinata, the clan head's daughter.

The discovery had shocked everyone.

Hiashi Hyūga stood by the wall. His face was carved from stone, but a throbbing vein in his neck betrayed the force with which he held himself back.

If not for Fugaku's genjutsu… he would've torn the ambassador apart right there in the house. No questions. No mercy.

Fugaku and Shisui stood at the opposite wall. Both stone-faced, silent, focused. Their work was done—but the consequences were only beginning.

Hiruzen was the last to enter.

He moved slowly, like a man who had just witnessed his own failure. His gaze was dull, his shoulders slumped.

He looked like an old man. Not a Hokage. Not a leader. Just someone for whom life had suddenly become unbearably heavy.

"I think it's clear to everyone what happened here," Fugaku began, voice calm but edged with steel. "The alliance treaty was just a front. The real goal was the abduction of the Byakugan. Only one question remains: what do we do with someone who hunts children?"

A heavy silence fell over the room.

"...We have to let him go," Hiruzen said at last, voice hollow with exhaustion.

His words struck like thunder. Hiashi's face contorted.

"What did you say?" he stepped forward, fists clenched so tightly the knuckles turned white. "Tell me I misheard. Tell me you didn't just say we're letting that scum go—the one who planned to carve the eyes out of my three-year-old daughter and use her body as some kind of—incubator!"

Hiashi's voice trembled with a raw, guttural fury boiling in his chest.

"I understand your pain, Hiashi," Hiruzen said quietly. "Believe me—I'm a father too. But I can't think only of my own children. I'm responsible for everyone in Konoha."

"Then explain to me what the damn problem is!" Hiashi growled. "Why don't we just destroy this filth?"

"You're not thinking clearly," Hiruzen said, shaking his head. "You're burning too hot—and you can't see the bigger picture.

If we lay a finger on the ambassador, Kumo will use it as pretext. They'll raise a diplomatic storm, paint us as aggressors. Smaller villages will side with them. We'll be surrounded. It's a trap."

"So what?" Hiashi spat. "Let them come! We have a jinchūriki—let him burn them all to hell!"

Hiruzen shook his head like a teacher correcting a disobedient student.

"Naruto is still a child. He doesn't control the Nine-Tails' chakra. And even if he did—we're in no position to wage open war. We don't have the military strength or diplomatic weight to dictate terms."

"And I'm just supposed to forget?" Hiashi's voice had grown quieter—but more dangerous. "Forget that this... creature carried my daughter around in a bag like she was cargo?"

His breathing was heavy. His fingers trembled.

"Why don't we accuse Kumo? Let the international community come down on them. Let them feel what it's like to sit in the defendant's chair!"

"If that were possible," Hiruzen sighed wearily, "I'd have done it already. But without irrefutable evidence, we'll only look like hysterics. A few suspicions and testimonies won't be enough. And even if we do find hard proof, they'll claim the ambassador acted on his own. I've played this game for many years. I know how it works."

Hiashi lowered his head. His fists trembled, nails digging into his palms. He wanted to say more—but couldn't.

Instead, Fugaku spoke—his voice sharp and precise:

"No one's going anywhere. At least not until I find out how this man knew the access codes to the ANBU underground routes."

"What?" Hiashi's head snapped up. "What codes?"

Hiruzen said nothing. He already knew. Shisui had reported everything.

"This man couldn't have entered the Hyūga estate through conventional means," Fugaku continued. "He used one of the underground routes that run beneath all of Konoha. These paths are known only to a select few—Hokage and ANBU commanders. He had access codes. Which means someone sold them."

The silence deepened. Even the bead of sweat that ran down Hiashi's temple seemed to fall with a crash.

"That's... impossible," Hiruzen said slowly. "Every ANBU is marked with a secrecy seal. No one could leak that kind of information. Not for money, not under torture. If you're implying that I—"

"I'm not implying anything," Fugaku cut in coldly. "I'm going to ask questions. And I will get answers."

He stepped toward the ambassador and grabbed him by the hair, yanking the limp head upright. The man groaned faintly, starting to come to.

"We can't harm him!" Hiruzen objected again. "He's an official representative of Kumo. Any injury will be considered an act of aggression."

"I don't plan on breaking his bones," Fugaku said quietly. "I have methods that leave no marks. Leave us alone."

Hiruzen nodded slowly. He understood that Fugaku wouldn't ask twice.

Hiashi didn't argue—he wanted the truth too much.

Shisui only gave Fugaku a long, searching look, as if to warn him: Don't go too far.

All three exited the room, standing behind the tinted one-way glass. They could see everything. But not everything was clear.

Fugaku stepped in front of the window, blocking their view. From his inner coat pocket, he drew a small canister.

It was a fear neurotoxin—developed by the Scarecrow. A gas that triggered hallucinations and surfaced the subconscious mind's deepest terrors.

One short spray—and the ambassador's face was swallowed by a faint mist.

Within seconds, he began to writhe. His face twisted with horror, lips quivering, throat emitting broken, incoherent moans.

He screamed something. Then started sobbing. And finally—he began to speak.

Fugaku asked questions. He listened. Then, without a word, he struck the man's neck with the edge of his hand.

The ambassador went limp again.

Fugaku turned to the door and opened it.

"You can come in," he said.

"Was that your genjutsu technique?" Shisui asked softly, eyes fixed on the curled figure of the ambassador. "I've never seen someone manipulate the subconscious like that. It was... frighteningly beautiful."

"Something like that," Fugaku replied evasively. He didn't even glance at Shisui. His attention was fixed on Hiruzen.

"You heard his confession. He got the security codes from Danzō.

In exchange for an A-rank jutsu scroll.

He sold Hinata's eyes like they were just merchandise—just to grow stronger."

Hiashi's face was contorting. He didn't scream, didn't lash out, but it was clear—his rage had become almost physical. It took him as much strength as a battlefield to not tear everything and everyone apart.

"That's still... unconfirmed," Hiruzen muttered, and his voice held no certainty. Only pain. Only the exhaustion of old age. "It's possible... possible that the ambassador was deeply conditioned. Maybe he was programmed to accuse Danzō..."

"That's easy to verify," said Fugaku, stepping forward. His voice had turned sharp—like the edge of a blade. "Bring Danzō here. I'll ask him just a few questions. If he's innocent, I'll kneel and apologize to him myself."

"That's out of the question," Hiruzen snapped. "Danzō is a respected shinobi, not some street fool. I'll handle the investigation. If he truly is guilty—I'll punish him."

Fugaku's gaze locked onto his, cold as a steel blade poised to strike.

"Keep your word, Hiruzen," he said, low and almost threatening. "Because if you protect your old friend—you'll end up in the same coffin."

For a moment, silence fell between them—dense and heavy, like the onset of a storm. Then Hiruzen slowly nodded.

"Fair," he said with a note of resigned diplomacy. "If I can't judge a friend, then I'm no longer worthy of the Hokage title."

A muffled sound broke the stillness. The ambassador twitched, murmuring something in his sleep, still trapped in whatever nightmare gripped him.

"Are we really going to let him go like nothing happened?" Hiashi didn't even try to hide the fury in his voice. Every word was sharpened by anger. "After everything he did?"

"It's... the only way to preserve peace," Hiruzen exhaled, like every word cost him dearly.

"So he just walks away?" Fugaku asked, voice calm—but laced with quiet menace. "Returns to Kumo. To his family, his friends... as if nothing happened. That won't do."

In one swift motion, Fugaku drew a kunai. Before anyone could react, he stepped forward, grabbed the ambassador by the jaw, and carved kanji into the man's cheeks.

The wounds were deep and positioned so that, when they healed, they would form clear, unmistakable scars.

"Child Kidnapper."

Blood streamed down the man's face, dripping to the floor. He groaned again—but didn't wake.

Hiruzen hadn't had time to stop it. He just stood there, as if his strength had deserted him.

A faint shadow of a smile appeared on Hiashi's lips. It wasn't cruel, or triumphant—more like relieved.

It wasn't revenge. It was justice.

At least, some form of it.

Shisui said nothing. He watched.

He—who had chosen Konoha over the clan, who still served the Hokage—remained silent. Only studied Fugaku closely, as if trying to see beneath that harsh mask... and find something new.

"What have you done..." Hiruzen finally whispered. "Now Kumo will declare war on us."

"War can't be avoided," Fugaku replied, his voice like ice. "It can only be delayed—until the enemy has the advantage."

He stepped closer to the Hokage and looked him in the eyes.

"You're old, Hiruzen. Still kind. But that's not a virtue—it's a weakness. Your claws have fallen out, and your fangs have long since dulled. You're no longer a protector. You're a keeper of balance. But jackals grow bold when the lion stops roaring."

He fell silent, leaving the words to hang in the air like a sentence.

"Once, Uchiha Madara was able to terrify the entire world—with nothing but his eyes," Hiruzen said as he stepped back toward the door. "I saw Madara's eyes. And I have to admit… there's even more darkness in yours, Fugaku."

He left without looking back.

Hiashi followed. Just before stepping out, he cast a brief glance at Fugaku—and gave a slight nod.

From the reserved head of the Hyūga Clan, it meant more than gratitude. It was a promise. A debt to be repaid.

The ambassador from Kumo was still tied to the chair. By morning, he would be thrown out like a dog.

And that same morning, the Hokage would address the people of Konoha and announce the official dissolution of the alliance with Kumo.

The true reason would remain hidden from the peaceful villagers.

As they walked through the gray corridors, Fugaku asked:

"You stayed with me. Not with the Hokage. You didn't try to stop me. Why?"

Shisui hesitated for a moment. Then answered honestly:

"Because I imagined what would've happened if we hadn't caught him. He would've escaped with Hinata. And the Hokage… Hiruzen would've ordered Hiashi to stay silent. For the sake of peace. For the sake of balance."

He shuddered, as if from an unpleasant memory. Then he continued, his voice calm and certain:

"I think you're right. Hiruzen no longer has the strength to protect Konoha. We need a leader who isn't afraid to be cruel—if it means keeping the village safe."

From that day on, Shisui remained an ANBU operative. He still served Konoha.

But his faith had changed.

He no longer believed in the Hokage.

He believed in Fugaku.

/////

Author notes:

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