Batman in Konoha

A typical morning in the Uchiha household usually began in silence—accompanied by the clinking of dishes and the smell of steamed rice—but this time, the atmosphere shifted almost instantly, as if a cheerful gust of wind had blown into the house. Shisui had returned from a prolonged mission and, as always, made sure no one could miss it.

He burst onto the veranda without knocking, as if he'd never left. In one swift motion, he kicked off his sandals and, without waiting for an invitation, walked deeper into the house. The whole family was already seated at the low table: Mikoto was carefully pouring tea, Itachi was silently finishing his rice, Sasuke—his cheeks smeared with soy sauce—was poking distractedly at a cold omelet. Fugaku, as always, sat in composed silence.

"Wait a sec…" Shisui froze mid-step, staring at how different the head of the family looked. "Fugaku, did you… bulk up?"

He dropped down beside him and stared in disbelief at his adoptive father. His gaze swept across those unexpectedly broader shoulders, that neck carved like stone, and then kept going—upwards—because Fugaku now seemed... taller?

"And… taller?" Shisui squinted suspiciously.

Fugaku didn't even look up from his plate.

"Hidden jutsu," he replied curtly, still chewing.

"Riiight," Shisui drawled with doubt. "But I always thought stealth was kind of essential in our line of work. And you—how should I put this… now look like a casino bouncer. With a mountain of muscles and a stare that makes flowers wilt. Why?"

To everyone's surprise, Fugaku set his chopsticks down, looked Shisui straight in the eye, and answered calmly:

"So I can look down on everyone. Literally."

A pause followed. An unnaturally long one.

"Was that… a joke?" Shisui asked cautiously, as if checking whether someone had replaced Fugaku with a shapeshifter.

"Yes," Fugaku confirmed, face still like granite.

Mikoto froze mid-pour, the elegance in her movement momentarily lost. Itachi blinked, as if testing reality, and nearly choked. Sasuke, who had been diligently mashing the omelet with his fingers, went completely still, as if realizing for the first time that his father had emotions.

"Damn," Shisui breathed, looking around at them. "I… I'm gonna remember this day forever."

"You wanted to talk about your mission," Fugaku reminded him evenly.

"Oh, right. Well… not much to tell," Shisui shrugged and helped himself to some rice. "Guarding and escorting the Daimyo. A lot of bowing, formalities, endless meetings. Less action, more observation."

"Even a jōnin wastes time," Itachi said suddenly, still staring at his tea. Then he looked up at his father. "When can a shinobi ever step away from missions? To do something that truly matters?"

"Never," Fugaku said firmly. "Once you wear the Konoha protector, you take on the duty—minimum of five C-rank missions a year. You can take more. Never less."

"I know that," Itachi replied with a wave of his hand, though his voice had turned thoughtful. "I'm already a genin. I'm not interested in the rule—I want to know the exception. Why don't you take missions yourself?"

"A shinobi can be exempt if they serve the village in another capacity," Fugaku explained. "Academy instructors, medics at the hospital, or, in my case, police officers. One law for all."

"So that means…" Itachi furrowed his brows, clearly doing the math in his head. "I could either knock out five missions in a couple of months, if I'm lucky… or get stuck on a long, complicated one. But if I worked part-time at the academy, I could manage my own schedule."

He turned his gaze to Mikoto.

"But you don't take missions, and you don't work anywhere. Yet you're a jōnin. Why doesn't Konoha bother you?"

Mikoto smiled gently as she set the teapot aside.

"I left service when you were born. Became a homemaker by choice. That, too, is a contribution to a shinobi family."

Fugaku nodded.

"I pay the village the equivalent of three B-rank missions per year to keep her exempt," he clarified. "Officially, she's in the reserve."

"It's the same for all the wives of influential clans," Shisui added, leaning forward. "It's considered... improper for a man to let his wife earn money. Especially if he can afford to pay for her instead."

Fugaku's cheek twitched—just barely, almost imperceptibly. But inside, that moment echoed like a muted bell. His memory stirred. He remembered Martha.

Martha Wayne. A woman who not only gave him a son, but was also his partner—his equal. Even during pregnancy, she continued managing her network of private clinics, consulting with charitable boards, running foundations. Sometimes she gave orders over the phone from her hospital bed, cutting down weak decisions without hesitation. He respected her for that strength. Loved her for it. Never once tried to limit her.

If he—Thomas Wayne, not Fugaku—had ever dared to tell Martha she should quit her work, dismiss her staff, and just stay home with the child… she would've stood up, walked over, looked him straight in the eyes—and with that quiet dignity of hers, slapped him across the face.

And now…

He glanced at Mikoto. She was gently wiping a spot of sauce off Sasuke's cheek, patient and quiet, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. Her movements were smooth, her expression serene. No trace of regret. No hidden irritation. No conflict.

Mikoto was content. She'd been raised from childhood to be the wife of a clan head. Everything around her—this home, the children, her place in the family—didn't feel like a cage to her. It was a goal. A path completed.

Fugaku turned back to his tea bowl. The past and present rarely align. One thing must always be remembered—you cannot choose for someone else.

"How are things, Itachi?" Shisui asked. "Still chasing cats around?"

Itachi answered with his usual cold clarity:

"Our team has refused D-rank missions. Our sensei believes real field experience is more valuable. Next year, we'll be taking the Chūnin Exams."

"The whole team?" Shisui raised a brow. "Hmm. I figured you'd want to take it solo. There's precedent... plenty of strong genin have entered alone."

"I see no reason to turn down an alliance with capable people," Itachi replied curtly. His voice had taken on a firmer edge—almost adult. "My mentor is Sarutobi Hotei, the Hokage's eldest son. My teammates are Yamanaka Yuiko and Inuzuka Toru. My Sharingan, her mental techniques, and his tracking skills give us an ideal combination for reconnaissance, pursuit, and interrogation. That kind of advantage shouldn't be wasted."

Shisui leaned back slightly, watching him closely. He noticed the change right away—and understood where it came from. His eyes shifted to Fugaku.

Ever since that intense conversation between father and son, Itachi had changed. Not drastically—no, Itachi was still the same quiet, reserved boy who whispered bedtime stories to Sasuke when he thought no one was looking. His goals were probably unchanged—the same deep idealism, the same brilliant mind, the same steel will. But...

His methods had changed.

As if Itachi had finally realized: a hero doesn't have to sacrifice himself for peace. On the contrary—he must survive as long as possible to protect it.

Fugaku saw it. And it pleased him. He didn't smile, of course—Fugaku was not a man to waste gestures. But in his gaze, in the slight pause with which he looked at his son, there was something close to approval.

"And still," Shisui broke the silence, staring at Fugaku again, "I have to ask… are you comfortable like this? Seriously. Muscles are cool, sure, but mass slows you down."

Fugaku nodded. He didn't see the need to defend himself—he simply answered, like during a sparring match:

"You're right. Ordinary muscle mass slows you down. But these aren't ordinary. It's a hidden jutsu."

"He's the fastest shinobi in Konoha," Itachi said with a hint of pride in his voice. "While you were gone, he beat Maito Gai in a race."

"The race was during Gai's wedding," Mikoto added with a faint smile. The memory, it seemed, was still vivid.

"Wait. Gai got married?!" Shisui's eyes went wide. "Who's the brave soul?"

"Uchiha Suzumebachi," Mikoto said calmly. "The wedding was last week. At the clan shrine. Not everyone's recovered yet."

Shisui let his forehead drop onto the table.

"I… I understand your pain now, Itachi," he groaned. "While I was wandering around the Daimyō's palaces, real life was happening here… weddings, races, records… And I was there, stiff in a kimono, bowing on autopilot…"

Itachi gave the faintest smirk. Sasuke laughed out loud. Mikoto, sympathetic, cut Shisui a slice of pie.

/////

Author notes:

If you've made it this far, you're already a hero.

Be a legend — leave a comment and power stone.

Your thoughts, theories, reactions — even a single emoji — are fuel that keeps me writing.