Batman in Konoha

A new structure had appeared in the back yard of the Uchiha compound—a squat, solid building of reinforced wood and stone. Where once there had been a small garden, lined with flowerbeds and walking paths, now stood Fugaku's personal gym.

Its architecture was utilitarian: clean lines, open windows for constant airflow, reinforced beams—and nothing unnecessary. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of metal, sweat, and oil used to keep the equipment running. The atmosphere hummed with raw, concentrated masculine energy. This wasn't a place for meditation—it was a place for work.

The machines had to be imported from the Land of Lightning. Nowhere in the Land of Fire—or even the surrounding nations—were such devices popular. Shinobi traditionally built strength through bodyweight training and endless sparring. No one wanted to get bulky, to sacrifice mobility for power that could be matched by the tip of a kunai.

Except for one exception.

The Raikage. For each of them, muscle was a symbol of rule, and their speed didn't drop with mass. Their Lightning Armor gave them acceleration.

He was another exception.

A shinobi with Venom running through his veins—a steroid-like drug that pushed his physical limits beyond what any ordinary ninja could reach.

To master the Eight Gates technique, he had to train his body past those limits. Unlike Maito Dai, simple exercises like push-ups or sprints were useless to him. Venom let him do those endlessly.

His only option was machines—loaded with weights that no regular shinobi could even budge.

Now, he was lying on the bench beneath a barbell. The steel bar hummed under the strain of plates etched with fuinjutsu to increase their weight. Every rep felt like an explosion from the inside. Sweat rolled down his temples and neck, pooling on his chest. His muscles thrummed like live wires. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out everything else.

The creak of a door broke his focus.

Slowly, he slid the barbell back into the rack. The metal clicked into place. Fugaku sat up, pulled off his training gloves, and wiped the sweat from his face.

Three men stood at the threshold.

Uchiha Yashiro. Uchiha Inabi. Uchiha Tekka.

Men whose faces he had known for years. Men who had opposed him since the first day of his leadership. Men who whispered at meetings, dripping poison into the clan's ears—and who, at last, had found the courage to come.

Fugaku didn't stand. He didn't need to rise to assert dominance.

"So," he murmured, shaking his head like a disappointed teacher, "you finally worked up the nerve. I was wondering how long it would take before you showed up to make your move. At least you brought two friends—three-on-one."

Inabi and Tekka flinched—just barely—at his calm certainty. Only Yashiro, the eldest of the three, stepped forward. There was anger in his eyes, but beneath it, Fugaku saw the fear. And he noted it.

"You stopped holding clan meetings!" Yashiro burst out, like he'd memorized the line.

Fugaku stood. No haste, no aggression—just a smooth, composed rise. Yet there was a grace in it that made Yashiro feel small beside him. Not weaker—smaller.

"They're a waste of time," Fugaku said, walking toward a water bottle and taking a long drink. "I speak with the ones who wear the police badge every day at work. As for the retirees and housewives—I have nothing to say to them."

"There!" Yashiro jabbed a finger at him, as if catching him red-handed. "That's exactly what I'm talking about! You despise your own people! You don't care about the clan's voice!"

Fugaku lowered the bottle and looked at him. Not with anger. Not with irritation. Just—cold curiosity.

"Very well," he said evenly. "Since you've come, speak. What exactly are you three so displeased with?"

Tekka muttered something under his breath but fell silent the moment Fugaku turned his head in his direction. Yashiro, emboldened, spoke again—louder now, as if trying to convince himself:

"You've gone soft! You bend to Konoha! You've forgotten who you are! You're supposed to defend the clan first—not the Hokage! We should've kept the Jinchūriki—it's power! It's a symbol! It's authority! We're Uchiha! That strength should have been ours!"

Fugaku frowned. His voice didn't rise, but it grew colder—sharper.

"Is that so?" he said, stepping closer. "Tell me, Yashiro… did you fully understand the Fourth Hokage's fuinjutsu? Did you study all the triggers, all the failsafes? Did you grasp how the seal activates?"

Yashiro clenched his jaw.

"You wanted to hide a bomb in our home—among our wives, our children, our brothers and sisters. A bomb that could detonate at any moment. All because you crave the feeling of power."

"We should've killed the brat!" Yashiro shouted, losing the last shred of self-control. "Seal the Nine-Tails into one of us—and that's it!"

His hysterical outburst was the signal.

"You've disgraced the clan!" Inabi roared, his face twisted with rage. "How could you let Might Guy into our ranks?! You train with that… clown—and his ridiculous father! A disgrace to Uchiha blood!"

"Because of you, we're Konoha's lapdogs!" Tekka barked, throwing his arms out. "Uchiha are meant to rule this village—not run errands for the Hokage like pathetic watch dogs!"

Their shouts echoed off the gym's stone walls. Loud, but trembling. Confident, yet desperate. They were vomiting years of resentment—but only because they thought Fugaku was vulnerable. Tired. Alone.

They were wrong.

With every second, he stood taller. Straighter. And the taller he stood, the quieter they became. Silence didn't descend—it pressed on them, like a shadow falling.

He stood like a statue carved from granite. Bare chest slick with sweat, muscles pulled taut like cables. His eyes—cold as blades. Next to him, they looked like boys who'd stumbled into a room meant for men.

"I've heard enough," he said. His voice was calm, almost quiet—but within it was steel, sharp enough to cut. "One of you is a would-be child-killer. The other—a degenerate offended that I train with someone stronger than he'll ever be. And the third? A parasite who dreams of power but has never had the spine to claim it. But do you know what you all have in common?"

He stepped forward.

"Cowardice."

Yashiro instinctively stepped back—then forced himself to stand tall. Inabi's fists clenched. Tekka inhaled sharply.

"Even now, you waited until the end of my training. Not when I was fresh. Not when I was ready. You came when you thought I'd be tired. Like jackals, attacking a wounded lion."

They didn't answer. Only shifted into fighting stances. Their eyes flashed red—one, two, three.

Fugaku smirked—viciously, and with a flicker of pride.

"So you've awakened your Sharingan too. That means I lose my advantage. Fine." He drew in a slow breath. His own eyes lit up—three tomoe in each, glowing with blood and power. "If you've mistaken me for easy prey, that's my mistake. I let you believe it. But I have just one request."

He tilted his head slightly—mocking.

"Please… don't hold back."

Fugaku opened the First Gate—and charged.

///

It had been two years since the shadow of the Nine-Tails swept across the village.

Two years since the heart of Uchiha Fugaku changed forever.

And two years since the last time the Uchiha clan gathered in whispered, distrustful, secret meetings.

But darkness always returns.

Tonight, Fugaku called an emergency meeting.

As tradition demanded, every member of the clan made their way to the Naka Shrine.

Officially — for a special evening prayer.

The neophytes, like Uchiha Guy, still didn't know that the prayer was just a mask.

And the prayer always ended the same way.

When the last candles burned down, a segment of stone beneath the altar slid aside with a dull click. A hidden staircase revealed itself, leading down into the underground chamber beneath the shrine. One by one, the Uchiha descended — into the hall where the Stone of Insight stood, bearing the final words of the Sage of Six Paths.

Atop the dais beside the stone sat Fugaku. Next to him stood three striking posts.

Yashiro, Inabi, and Tekka were tied to them like butchered meat, left on display.

Their faces were bruised, lips split, eyes swollen shut.

Their arms were twisted, their wrists bloody from the ropes.

They mumbled something — but it was incoherent.

Fugaku sat calmly. A face of stone. No anger. No exhaustion. Only cold, relentless composure.

When everyone had settled onto the tatami mats, he began to speak:

"Uchiha Tenma. You all know that name. He was the previous leader of our clan. Ruled with an iron hand for decades. A hero of two wars. A genius. A symbol of Uchiha strength."

Many nodded. In the front row, Shisui and Itachi exchanged a wary glance.

Fugaku continued:

"But there is a natural order. In the wild, every alpha one day grows old and weak. And a younger lion tears out his throat and claims the pride. One day, such a lion came to the Uchiha. He was smarter. He was stronger. He attacked Tenma… and tore out his power with his bare hands. That young alpha—was me."

He stood. The room tensed.

Fugaku stepped toward the bound men. Slowly, with ice-cold precision, he grabbed Yashiro by the hair and lifted his head so the whole room could see his face.

"They thought I had grown old. That I could be overthrown. That I had gone soft. They chose to attack."

He let go. Yashiro's head dropped limply.

"And now, they have something to say to you all."

No one could make out the mumbled words.

Fugaku barked sharply:

"Louder!"

"Fu… Fugaku… is our leader…" Yashiro whispered. Saliva mixed with blood dripped from his mouth onto the floor.

"We… would give our lives for him…" rasped Inabi.

"We… are worthless…" Tekka murmured.

"We… will not oppose him…"

"We… will not scheme behind his back…"

"Fugaku… is our leader…"

The phrases circled like a litany. Like a prayer. 

Fugaku had broken them—physically and mentally.

The wives of the men wept. Someone leaned forward—then recoiled. No one dared break Fugaku's order. No one dared move to untie them.

Fugaku swept his gaze over the gathering.

"This is a lesson. For them. And for all of you. Do not forget: only a strong leader can lead the pride into the future. A weak one leads it to ruin."

He paused.

"One day, someone younger will come. Stronger. Smarter. He will defeat me—and I will accept it. But that day… is not today."

The Uchiha looked at him.

Some with respect.

Some with fear.

But all with understanding.

He did not ask for loyalty.

He took it—by force.

And that… was irresistible.

/////

Author notes:

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