Batman in Konoha

Several months had passed since that night when the Nine-Tails' roar shook Konoha. Autumn had left behind crimson leaves, and winter arrived, bringing with it a crisp frost. The cold bit at fingers, and the air was laced with the smoke of hot rice and wood-burning stoves.

Fugaku Uchiha did not believe in peace. He knew the enemy behind that attack would show himself again. The one who had commanded the Nine-Tails hadn't vanished—he was merely waiting.

The investigation had stalled, as if it had hit a wall of ice. Witnesses were scarce; leads even scarcer. But the case wasn't closed.

The next move had to be made—to smoke out the rats.

And yet, despite the lingering threat, life continued. After the tragedy, the clan grew quieter, more focused. The Uchiha looked at each other differently now—with restraint, with awareness—but also with a newfound closeness.

Shisui had moved into Fugaku's estate shortly after the tragedy. The decision had come easily—not for Shisui, but for Fugaku. Shisui never asked. But he was alone, adrift, and Fugaku knew all too well what it meant to be left without support.

Mikoto welcomed him without a word. She simply laid out fresh bedding in the spare room and invited him to dinner.

Itachi hadn't said anything when Shisui brought his belongings, but there was something like relief flickering in his eyes. He showed his friend around the house, pointed out where to train in the mornings. Since then, they were rarely apart.

Sasuke, still too young to speak, simply reached for him with tiny hands—as if he instinctively knew this man was now part of the family.

The clan accepted Fugaku's decision without surprise. If the clan head chose to take in his second cousin—then so be it. The Uchiha understood: family was not just blood, but duty.

For the first time in a long while, Shisui felt like he belonged. Every day, Fugaku gave him more than orders—he offered knowledge, advice, a worldview that valued not just jutsu but strategy and responsibility. Shisui was learning, even when he said nothing, simply watching from behind.

Hiruzen approved with a quiet nod, a gesture steeped in long-earned wisdom. He had known Shisui since childhood, trusted him almost like a son, and hoped this young man might help bridge the rift between the Hokage and the Uchiha. Both sides needed a bridge.

In turn, Fugaku gained an unexpected but invaluable ally.

There was no idle time in his life: the investigation, clan meetings, police reports, patrols, politics… family. Shisui didn't solve every problem, but he shouldered some of the weight. He became Fugaku's eyes and ears when other duties called him elsewhere.

Winter whispered quietly at the windows. Gusts of wind carried snowflakes that settled on the sills and quickly melted, as if to remind them—the world could be cold, but the home must be warm.

Morning. The whole family gathered at the table. Mikoto flitted between bowls like a light-footed butterfly. Steam rose from rice, stewed vegetables, and meat, filling the air with a comforting aroma.

"Enjoy your meal!" Shisui declared cheerfully, deftly picking up a slice of carrot with his chopsticks. He sucked in a breath to cool it, then closed his eyes in delight. "Mmm! Mikoto-sama, did you use the broth from yesterday's mussels? This is a masterpiece!"

Itachi had already taken his first bite, but at Shisui's comment, he slowed down, chewing thoughtfully as if evaluating the flavor.

"Indeed," Itachi said calmly, glancing at his mother. "It's well prepared."

"Thank you, Shisui-kun," Mikoto said softly, a slight blush touching her cheeks as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm glad you like it. I did my best."

Beside her sat two toddlers in high chairs. Sasuke and Naruto—almost the same age—each holding a milk bottle, drinking contentedly.

After delicate negotiations between Fugaku and Hiruzen, Mikoto had been granted temporary permission to take in the son of her late friend Kushina. Only until his first birthday. After that, according to what Fugaku considered a foolish village policy, Naruto would be sent to an orphanage.

Silence at this table was a rare occurrence.

"Did you hear what happened yesterday at the Yamanaka flower shop?" Shisui spoke up unexpectedly. "They say the Daimyo's wife came in looking for a bouquet to match the color of her cat."

"Her cat is brown," Itachi noted. "That's the color of rot, soil, manure..."

"Exactly!" Shisui grinned.

Everyone listened as he recounted how the whims of the Daimyo's wife had added a few gray hairs to the Yamanaka clan head. Laughter and smiles spread around the table.

With his chatter, soft charisma, and unexpected stories, Shisui filled the house with a vibrant warmth. Mikoto smiled more often now—not politely, but genuinely.

Itachi had started talking about more than just training. Sometimes he shared what he saw at the Academy, his thoughts about the weather, or poems he'd read.

Sasuke and Naruto giggled when Shisui made faces at them.

Fugaku never said it out loud, but he hadn't adopted Shisui for his talents, politics, or impressive career path. He had taken the boy in for the light inside him—a light he shared freely with others. Without Shisui, their home would have been as quiet as a tombstone.

When breakfast ended, Fugaku rose from the table first. As usual—without a word. Just a slight nod to signal: it's time. Shisui set down his cup, gave Mikoto a quick glance, smiled at Sasuke and Naruto—and followed his teacher.

They headed toward the back of the house, where a door led down to the basement. It was now a laboratory—new, sterile, with fuinjutsu tags on every stone. Built according to strict standards, protected against spies.

Itachi caught up with them at the stairs.

"Can I come with you?" he asked, serious as always. His voice was calm, but his eyes held focused anticipation.

"No," Fugaku said sharply, not slowing his pace. "You haven't even graduated the Academy. You have no business in the lab."

Itachi didn't react outwardly, but his gaze dimmed slightly. He understood his father wasn't being cruel. Just stating facts. Father always spoke in facts.

Shisui stepped closer and placed a hand on the younger Uchiha's shoulder. His usual smile—not playful, but reassuring, almost brotherly—softened the refusal.

"Hey, do this instead," he said, lowering his voice like sharing a secret. "On my desk is a book—The History of the Land of Iron. Really cool stuff. It covers samurai techniques they never teach at the Academy. Learn something useful, and we'll train together later."

He winked, and Itachi gave the faintest of smiles.

"All right. Thanks, Shisui-nii-san."

He went back upstairs, and only when he vanished around the corner did Fugaku say curtly:

"You spoil him."

"I know," Shisui shrugged. "But training's the only way I can get Itachi to smile. One day, I swear, I'll make him laugh."

"Hell will freeze over first."

They descended the creaking wooden stairs. At the heavy door, Fugaku paused, eyeing a glass carafe of water and, next to it, a tightly sealed vial of colorless liquid. He uncorked the vial, let a single drop fall into a glass, and handed it to Shisui.

"Drink."

"This again?" Shisui grimaced but took the glass. "I'm almost used to the taste by now…"

He drank in one gulp, trying not to wince. The aftertaste was metallic, slightly bitter, and left an odd sensation on his tongue.

Fugaku watched him closely, unblinking. No reaction. No shapeshifter, clone, or parasite could pass this test. Ever since the incident with the white metamorph—whose nature had fooled even the Sharingan—he'd become a paranoiac.

"I still say we should make everyone who enters the village drink this stuff," he muttered.

"You already proposed that. Hiruzen refused," Shisui replied with a shrug.

"He said it would undermine trust. That people wouldn't understand. That the clans would revolt. The same old nonsense."

"Trust…" Shisui gave a wry smile. "Great idea—if you forget how the Nine-Tails tore through half the village. I say let people be offended. At least they'll still be alive."

"Exactly," Fugaku said, unlocking the door.

They stepped into the lab.

The light hit his eyes—bright and white. The entire room gleamed, scrubbed to a shine. A few metal tables stood lined with equipment: microscopes, sealed flasks, reagents in numbered jars. In one corner—an operating table with leather straps; in another—a freezer. And at the far end, behind a glass partition, floated a massive capsule filled with orange liquid. Suspended inside was a dead metamorph. One arm was missing.

"I ran into Orochimaru in the Hokage's office yesterday," said Shisui, gazing at the capsule. "His sample ran out. He wants more."

"Tell him he won't get any," Fugaku replied without even glancing over. "He should learn to take care of what he's given. Or better yet—keep his hands to himself."

"You really want me to say that… to him? To the White Snake of Konoha? The one rumored to eat children?" Shisui sighed theatrically. "Fugaku, you might as well hand me a kunai and say, 'grab the sharp end.'"

"A valuable lesson. Learn to say 'no' to psychopaths. Especially the ones with long tongues and venomous fangs."

"Lessons like that, I'm afraid, only you can teach," Shisui shook his head. "Only you."

Fugaku didn't answer. He was still recalling that meeting.

Orochimaru had sat in the chair like it was a throne. His movements were overly smooth, like a snake stirring from winter slumber. His voice—silken, mocking.

"My, my… so many talents in the Uchiha clan leader," he had said, his tongue flicking lightly across his lips. "A warrior's body, a scholar's mind. How many years have you worked on this? Five? Ten? It doesn't matter. I've been learning this world since birth. You'll never match me."

Fugaku hadn't argued. He simply stood and left. That conversation made it clear why Hiruzen hadn't chosen Orochimaru as his successor. A wise decision.

"So, what's on the agenda today?" Shisui asked, rubbing his hands with barely contained enthusiasm. "Yesterday was tissue analysis. Something more... explosive today?"

Fugaku walked to the freezer, unlocked it, and retrieved a test tube filled with a yellow liquid. It gleamed thickly under the cold lights, leaving sticky trails on the glass.

"New compound," he said briefly, casting a glance toward the capsule. "Get the metamorph."

Shisui sighed and rolled up his sleeves.

"Not a single day without an autopsy... And people wonder why the Uchiha clan has a grim reputation."

Above them, in the house, Sasuke reached for a sunbeam, Mikoto prepared lunch, and Itachi read about the techniques of ancient swordsmen.

Life went on—just like always. 

But beneath it—darkness boiled.

/////

Author notes:

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