Batman in Konoha

Dinner at the Uchiha household unfolded, as always, in a warm, almost ceremonial atmosphere. The large table in the center of the living room was covered with dishes: rice, stewed fish, vegetables in sauce, miso soup, and of course, a tray of Sasuke's favorite cherry syrup dango—the treat he'd been waiting for all day. The whole family was present—a rare moment when even the older sons were home at the same time and not out on missions.

Fugaku set down his chopsticks, dabbed his lips with a napkin, and looked at his sons across the table. His gaze was, as always, calm but firm—the kind that made shinobi with weaker nerves look away.

"Boys," he began in an even, clear voice, "don't take any missions for the next week."

Itachi raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. Shisui froze mid-bite, chopsticks in hand. 

"We're leaving," Fugaku continued. "It's a business trip. I want you to come with me."

"Whoa!" Shisui immediately lit up. "Should I buy a tie to look professional? Or maybe just wrap a rope around my neck?"

He leaned forward theatrically, tilting his head to the side with mock sorrow like a man about to be hanged. He stuck out his tongue and rolled his eyes. Sasuke snorted into his fist.

"Shisui," Mikoto said sharply, wagging her finger at him. "No death jokes at the table."

"It was a metaphor," he replied with an innocent expression. "The tie symbolizes corporate slavery."

"You won't need a tie," said Fugaku without blinking. "We're at a level of influence where formalities can be ignored."

"What a shame," Shisui sighed dramatically, leaning back in his chair. "I actually had one picked out. Bright yellow. With green polka dots. Very inspirational."

"Go with blue," Itachi said without looking up from his plate. "If they really do hang you, your tongue will match."

A short silence followed. Mikoto froze with her mouth slightly open. Sasuke blinked in surprise. Shisui stared at Itachi with sincere admiration.

"Medical humor," Itachi clarified, sounding slightly annoyed.

"Oh, it's over," Shisui whispered to Sasuke, covering his mouth with his hand. "We found our genius brother's weak spot. Itachi cannot tell a joke."

"Takes after Dad," Sasuke whispered back, hiding a grin in his fist.

Fugaku gave them a look that clearly said, I hear everything, but remained silent. Mikoto let out a dramatic sigh, lips pressed together.

"Young men," she said in the stern tone all three boys knew well, "your jokes are starting to cross the line. One more word—and someone will be going without dessert."

Shisui immediately tensed and turned to the tray of dango like it held the meaning of life. Sasuke stiffened too, as if their mother's threat wasn't a joke but a real B-rank technique. Even Itachi lifted his head slightly to glance at the tray.

The next few minutes passed in relative silence. Shisui barely held back another joke, and even Sasuke ate quietly just in case. Only Mikoto occasionally glanced at them with a soft, mischievous glint in her eyes—her sternness more a game she played to maintain household order.

When dinner ended, Mikoto stayed behind to clear the table while the older sons headed to their rooms. On the way, they chatted animatedly about what Fugaku might be planning. One thing was clear: with him, any trip was never just a trip. It was a test. A challenge. And most likely, an opportunity to learn something you'd never be allowed to share with anyone in the village.

"He's up to something again," Shisui guessed, folding his hands behind his head. "Remember that trip down south when we just happened to be near the caravan that got attacked? I still think he knew."

"Of course he knew," Itachi snorted. "He was testing how you'd handle it if I didn't step in."

"And? How'd I do?"

"You'd have died," Itachi replied calmly and walked into his room, leaving Shisui to scratch his head in thought.

Meanwhile, Fugaku had settled into his armchair in his room, a fresh issue of a financial magazine spread out in front of him. He traced a finger along one of the charts, eyes narrowed, as if the secret of the shinobi world were hidden in the fluctuations of currency rates. The rustle of pages and the steady glow of the lamp created a calm that bordered on meditative.

That calm was interrupted by hesitant footsteps—someone was approaching, but with clear uncertainty. A moment later, a small figure appeared in the doorway. Sasuke stood there, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his eyes darting from the floor to his father's face.

Fugaku set the magazine aside and looked at his son attentively.

"Something wrong?"

Sasuke exhaled loudly, as if steeling himself.

"In two days…" he began, then trailed off, eyes dropping. "It's Choji's birthday. I'm invited."

A flicker of movement passed over Fugaku's face—almost a smile. Almost. The corner of his mouth twitched upward for a split second.

Ever since Madara's fall, the other clans in Konoha had spit on the Uchiha name. But once Fugaku devised a financial system that let them all profit, those same clans had started smiling at the Uchiha. Now Sasuke received birthday invitations from the children of nearly every clan leader—part diplomatic gesture, part quiet hope that maybe Fugaku himself would show up and propose another profitable alliance.

"Choji said there'll be clowns at the party," Sasuke said, standing across from his father's chair. His gaze dropped again, and it was as if he was speaking not to Fugaku, but to his own socks. "Magicians, games... They even said a real white bear from the Land of Snow is coming. Can you imagine? A real one."

His voice held a kind of reverence—a six-year-old's awe at a celebration that felt like pure magic. Fugaku listened in silence, not rushing him. He sensed there was more behind those words than just childish excitement.

"What is it you want from me?" he asked at last, voice calm but weary. He set the magazine aside and laced his fingers together. "Money for a gift?"

"Uh... no," Sasuke scratched his cheek, cheeks reddening slightly. "Mom already bought one. She said a card set would be good—a kind of diplomatic gesture. Supposed to be really cool."

He hesitated, shifted again, and exhaled.

"It's just... Naruto wasn't invited."

Now Fugaku understood. There it was—in his son's voice, that flicker of awkwardness and unease, the kind that came when a child faced something unfair for the first time and didn't know what to do about it.

Fugaku's expression darkened.

He knew the fear hadn't gone away. Despite the years since the Nine-Tails' attack, despite Naruto being the Third Hokage's honorary grandson, despite Jiraiya's assurances that the seal had been strengthened and the toad guardians stood watch at all hours… people still avoided Naruto. Treated him like a living bomb that might go off at any moment.

The only homes where Naruto was truly welcome were the Sarutobi residence—and theirs, the Uchiha household.

"Why are you telling me this instead of Choji?" Fugaku asked, his gaze sharp as it studied the boy's face.

Sasuke shrugged.

"If I ask Choji, he'll say, 'Okay, I'll ask my dad,'" he replied with quiet resignation. "And his dad won't let it happen. He'll say it's not safe, or something like that. But if I just bring Naruto with me... and say you said it was okay... then nobody will argue. They all respect you."

There was no boasting in his tone. No manipulation. Just a statement of fact. And there was something adult in that. Sasuke understood the balance of power. He knew who actually held influence in the village—whether it was official or not.

Fugaku leaned back in his chair in silence, studying his son with a new look in his eyes. He had always seen Sasuke as a child—young, stubborn, sometimes petulant. But now... now standing before him was a boy starting to think like an Uchiha. Like a strategist. Like a genius. Like a Fugaku.

"All right," Fugaku said slowly, allowing the corner of his mouth to lift just slightly. "Just make sure Naruto doesn't show up empty-handed. There should be a gift."

"He's already working on it!" Sasuke beamed. "He made it himself. He's drawing a comic for Choji—about how Choji beats the Nine-Tails with a belly slam. It's really funny!"

"A rather diplomatic approach," Fugaku murmured with a faint tilt of his head.

Sasuke, unable to contain his joy, nearly bounced in place.

"Thanks, Dad!"

He spun around and dashed out of the room at full speed.

Fugaku watched him go and closed his eyes for a brief moment. In that simple act, he saw many things: loyalty, maturity, concern for a friend… and a touch of strategic thinking. Which meant he was on the right path.

///

Later that evening, when the house had fallen quiet, broken only by the creak of the floorboards and the faintest of footsteps, Shisui appeared in the doorway of Fugaku's study.

"What do you need at this hour?" Fugaku asked, without real severity, closing a folder of documents.

"Just wanted to check what I should bring tomorrow. Backpack? Tent? Or maybe a crate of explosive tags?"

"We're not going on a mission," Fugaku replied with a restrained smile. "It's a business trip. We're staying at a hotel, eating at restaurants. Bring only what you always carry."

He nodded toward his own belt, where neatly sealed fūinjutsu symbols stored everything necessary for combat, survival, and rapid evacuation.

Shisui nodded in understanding, then walked over and sat down across from him, unhurried. Rubbing his palms together, he straightened and looked Fugaku directly in the eye.

"Actually, I wanted to talk," he began, this time without his usual playfulness. "No one's listening in, right?"

"If it were something serious, you know we have the rings."

"It's not that serious," Shisui shook his head. "But... personal. I'd rather the others didn't hear."

"There are standard dampeners installed in this room," Fugaku confirmed. "Once the door closes, no sound leaves. This is my house, Shisui—I don't allow leaks."

The boy nodded, sighed, and hesitated a bit, choosing his words carefully.

"It's about Sasuke," he began cautiously. "I know you want to make him an elite shinobi, and he really is talented. But... don't you think it's a little unfair that you're only taking me and Itachi on this trip?"

Fugaku straightened in his chair, his expression cooling.

"He has no place with us," Fugaku said sharply, without softening his tone in the slightest. "Sasuke is still too young to understand the nuances of business. He himself wanted to finish the Academy in one year—and I'm helping him do that. I hired him the best tutor in Konoha."

"Ebisu," Shisui nodded. "Yeah, he's great in his field. Especially when it comes to discipline and standard curriculum. But still…" He shrugged. "I think it would be better if you trained Sasuke yourself."

Fugaku gave him the look he often wore when the topic turned to logic and efficiency.

"It's not efficient," he said calmly, but with weight. "To teach Sasuke properly, I'd first have to study the current education system—curricula, methods, training protocols. That takes time. And an hour of my time is worth more than what Ebisu charges for an entire month."

He shrugged lightly, as if the entire equation had already been calculated down to the last coin.

"The tutor is in place. The contract's signed. Ebisu assures me that Sasuke will graduate with top scores by year's end. Do you doubt his competence?"

"No," Shisui admitted reluctantly. "I've seen their sessions. Ebisu's really giving it his all. He even taught Sasuke to perform the Clone Illusion technique with almost no mistakes."

He fell silent, but it was clear he wasn't fully convinced. Something deeper still troubled him—and he finally voiced it:

"But family isn't just about training. There are feelings. Emotions."

Fugaku's gaze snapped up sharply.

"And needs," he cut in. "Needs that I meet. Mikoto wanted the son of Kushina to have a happy childhood—I made it happen. Itachi wanted normalcy after the incident at the exams—I gave him that. You wanted to train under my guidance—and I agreed. Everyone gets what they ask for."

"That sounds like a business transaction, not care," Shisui said quietly but firmly. "I mean, sure, I can manage without extra attention. But others… they're not like me. They need to talk. They need support. Simple kindness. A smile. A word of praise."

Fugaku didn't answer right away. He walked over to the bookshelf and ran his hand along the spines.

"That's why you're in the family," he said at last, without turning around. "You fill the gap I can't. I'm not a people person. I'm a strategist. An architect. And I know my weaknesses. You're the balancing factor. The emotional shield. The mediator. The one who listens, who laughs. Who stays when I need to be elsewhere."

He walked to the door and opened it. But before leaving, he tossed a final remark over his shoulder:

"Delegation of responsibilities. Remember that term, Shisui. It saves businesses. And sometimes… families."

He stepped out without looking back. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Shisui alone with his thoughts.

///

The next morning, Fugaku, Shisui, and Itachi departed Konoha, heading northeast. Along the way, they turned off toward a small, well-kept stable nestled between two hills. It was quiet here, the air thick with the scent of hay and early morning dew.

"We're not going on foot?" Itachi asked, surprised, eyeing the horses in their stalls.

"No," Fugaku answered without slowing down. "Today, we're not shinobi. We're businessmen. Representatives of a family with status and wealth. That's what people need to see. Respect begins with perception."

Itachi frowned slightly.

"But… horses are slower than shinobi. And they get tired. Jumping through the trees would be faster than following the road."

"Not in my case," Fugaku said curtly.

The stable master, an old man with thick eyebrows and impeccable posture, was already waiting. He led out a carriage and a pair of horses—two black stallions with gleaming manes, radiating strength and presence.

"These are Iron Country bred," the man said with pride. "Expensive, but powerful."

Fugaku pulled a small pouch from his cloak and placed a heavy coin into the man's palm. The stable master bowed and stepped away.

While Itachi and Shisui settled into the carriage's soft leather seats, Fugaku approached one of the horses and leaned close to its neck. From an inner pocket, he pulled out a syringe and injected it beneath the mane. The horse squealed, shuddered—and right before their eyes, its frame bulked out, muscle swelling as if inflated with air. A moment later, he repeated the process with the second stallion.

Venom steroid. A special version. Veterinary-grade. Now the horses could outrun a cheetah and stay tireless for three days.

Fugaku took the reins. One sharp flick—and the horses launched forward. Hooves cracked the road, the earth trembled beneath them. The carriage roared to life, tearing down the path in a cloud of dust, drawing awe-struck stares from the rare passersby.

The horses galloped so fast that the scenery blurred into a seamless ribbon of green, light, and wind. The rush of air lashed his face, but Fugaku wasn't distracted—on the contrary, he was invigorated. His mind was running at full capacity: one by one, new business models emerged, logistics calculations aligned, political strategies took shape. He was planning.

It was in moments like this—when he was fully immersed—that they always showed up.

The carriage gave a gentle sway as Itachi and Shisui deftly emerged from inside, climbing onto the front bench and settling beside him, legs swinging casually.

"What are you doing here?" Fugaku asked without looking. "Not comfortable inside?"

Though he already knew the answer.

"Nah, the inside's great," Shisui said with a shrug. "Cushions are soft—bounce once, and they catch you. And the books…"

"Especially appreciated that you picked them to our taste," Itachi added, brushing dust off his knees. "History for Shisui. Herbology for me."

"But it's better with you," Shisui concluded, giving Fugaku a half-smile.

Fugaku frowned slightly. They always gravitated toward him. Itachi—quietly, cautiously, as if gauging whether he was allowed near his father that day. Shisui—openly, cheerfully, as if trying to break through the armor behind which Fugaku hid his thoughts. Sometimes, it reminded him of his old life, before the reincarnation. The worry for Bruce. Alfred's loyalty. Now those same emotions had returned, just in different faces. In the Uchiha family.

"What did you turn those horses into?" Shisui asked with admiration, watching the animals' powerful backs, slick with sweat but not the slightest bit tired. "Is that your hidden jutsu?"

"Yes," Fugaku replied curtly.

"Why haven't you taught us?" Itachi joined in. "It could boost our combat capabilities. Especially now, when the situation is unstable."

Fugaku glanced at them, and his expression softened slightly. Shisui was looking at him with childlike curiosity—the gaze of someone already dreaming of becoming stronger, faster, better.

"And why are you interested?" he asked Shisui. "Didn't you say that getting big is bad? That a shinobi should be small and unnoticed?"

Shisui smirked and looked down, then said in a near whisper, genuine awe in his voice:

"I thought that… until that one training. When a kunai bounced off your skin. Like you were made of stone. That's when I realized—size isn't always a disadvantage. Jiraiya's over two meters tall, and no one doubts he's a legendary Sannin."

"Father," Itachi said, serious and confident. "In our war, that kind of strength could change everything. It's a resource. One we shouldn't ignore."

Fugaku said nothing. He had already considered this—more than once. Giving his sons access to the Venom steroid... The effect was remarkable: an increase of twenty centimeters in height, perfect musculature, accelerated regeneration, skin density impervious to regular weapons. Superhuman stats. Impressive, efficient, commanding. The one who took Venom didn't just become stronger—they became the embodiment of physical supremacy.

But everything had a price.

"This method puts heavy strain on the body," he said finally. "I can't pass this technique on to you until you've completed your physical development. Using it too early would tear your bodies apart from the inside."

Both boys exhaled quietly, but the disappointment was clear. They didn't argue—their trust in their father was absolute—but the hunger for strength burned in both of them.

For a moment, Fugaku thought of Mikoto. She was already a grown kunoichi. Maybe she'd appreciate the abs, the toned physique, the powerful arms. Women valued aesthetics, after all. But then he shook his head. No. Mikoto was no longer a warrior. She was the heart of the home. The warmth. The pillar. Turning her into a weapon served no purpose.

"Fugaku," Shisui said, squinting thoughtfully, "you didn't bring us just for business courses, did you?"

Fugaku nodded, not even pretending to deny it.

"Correct. But there will be training. This isn't a diversion."

"Why do we need that kind of training at all?" Itachi asked. "We're shinobi. We fight, not trade."

Fugaku gave a faint smile—not of amusement, but of fatigue and calculation.

"Have you been paying attention to Konoha's politics?" he began. "A Hokage is supposed to be a protector. A strategist. A leader. But in recent years... Hiruzen does nothing but bow his head. External threats? He sends envoys with apologies. Clan conflicts? He pretends everything's fine. He no longer controls the situation. He's old, and he no longer has the strength to hold the line."

He spoke calmly, but his words carried a cold finality. As though he were delivering a sentence.

Shisui and Itachi didn't interrupt. They knew Fugaku never spoke idly.

"That's why in a year—maybe a year and a half—I will replace him. I will become Hokage."

They weren't surprised. As if they'd known all along. As if they'd just been waiting for him to say it aloud.

"But power takes time. I won't be able to handle everything. My clones will be needed in Konoha—at negotiations, at council meetings, in the decisions that will shape the village's future."

He looked at them—one by one, closely, as if weighing them.

"But the Uchiha business must not stop. Not for a day. Not for an hour. Because money is power too. One of you will lead it."

Now something new appeared in their eyes. Understanding. Responsibility. A future that suddenly felt much closer than they expected.

That was how their journey began—not as ninja, but as representatives of a new, rising power in Konoha. A family that knew how to fight—and how to trade.

/////

Author notes:

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