The Uchiha mansion was in a state of bustling commotion—an unusual, almost unnatural condition for a household normally so disciplined and composed. But today was a special day. Mikoto was returning from the hospital… with a newborn daughter in her arms. And though the birth had gone smoothly, and Hikari and Reibi had accompanied her all the way to the doorstep, a quiet tension still lingered in the air.
Because of one man.
Fugaku stood at the center of the living room, immaculate in his attire: a white traditional shirt, a tightly wrapped sash, and black trousers. His face remained stoic as ever, but those who knew him well might have noticed the tension in his jaw, the weight in his shoulders, and the unnatural rigidity of his spine.
"Boys. Line up," his voice rang through the house—sharp and commanding, like an order on the battlefield.
Itachi appeared first—silent and precise, as always. Then came Shisui, bouncing in with a grin, adjusting his collar mid-step. Obito followed, a bit disheveled but making an honest effort to look presentable. Last in line was Sasuke, looking serious enough, though the teenage defiance burning in his eyes betrayed his disdain for the ceremony.
They were all dressed in white—a symbol of new beginnings. No black, no shadows. Today was a day of light.
Fugaku silently activated his Sharingan. He wasn't just inspecting their clothes—crisp shirts, clean pants, neatly combed hair—but their posture, their expressions, their discipline in every gesture.
"Acceptable," he finally said, deactivating the Sharingan and turning to personally check the rest of the house.
"He didn't even act like this when the new factory opened," Shisui whispered, winking at Itachi.
"I've seen him like this once before," Itachi replied evenly, arms crossed.
"When?" Sasuke turned to him, clearly intrigued.
Itachi leaned down and gently tapped his forehead with two fingers.
"When you were born."
"Ow!" Sasuke clutched his forehead. "Ugh, you're so annoying! I'm not a kid anymore, you know!"
"Which only makes your tantrum funnier," said Obito, poking his forehead the same way, hiding a smirk.
Shisui couldn't resist and followed suit.
"Oops, sorry," he said innocently. "It's hard to resist."
"You too?!" Sasuke stepped back, glaring at the older boys. "That's it! I'm not talking to any of you!"
Just then, Fugaku's voice cut through the room again:
"Silence!" he barked, stepping up to the window. "Mother is returning."
The boys froze at once. The conversation snapped like a string, and in the next moment, all of them—Fugaku included—were on their way to greet the family at the entrance.
Hikari entered first. She moved like a bodyguard, checking corners, doors, windows. Her gaze swept the room, assessing potential threats before giving a single nod.
"All clear."
Mikoto stepped inside next. Tired, pale, but calm. Her movements were gentle, radiating inner warmth. In her arms was a bundle—a baby girl with tiny fingers and rosy cheeks, sleeping soundly and peacefully. She had no idea yet what kind of family she'd been born into.
"Meet your sister," Mikoto said with a soft, tired smile.
The four boys stood in a half-circle, as if afraid to touch a miracle.
"She's so tiny," Sasuke whispered, leaning closer.
"My daughter," Fugaku said quietly, stepping to Mikoto's side. He gazed at the baby like he was seeing light for the first time in his life. For a moment, all the masks—soldier, businessman, Hokage—fell away, leaving just a man. A father.
"Our daughter," Mikoto corrected gently, but firmly.
"And our sister," Shisui added with a smile. "By the way… have you chosen a name?"
Mikoto and Fugaku exchanged a look. The answer was already known—long decided.
"Yes," Mikoto said, softly brushing a finger over the tiny nose. "Sarada."
"Welcome to the family, Sarada," chirped a voice from Hikari's shoulder. The small purple bat, Reibi, flapped its wings and fluttered through the air, landing beside them as if bowing in reverence to the newest Uchiha.
In that nearly magical moment, a sudden knock broke the peace. Everyone turned toward the window. Outside, perched on the sill, sat a postal hawk, tapping insistently at the glass with its beak to get attention.
Fugaku's expression darkened instantly. He stepped to the window, flung it open, and deftly removed a letter from the bird's claw. The hawk cawed and took off immediately.
Unsealing the scroll, the Uchiha clan head began to read. His face grew darker, eyes narrowing sharply. Everyone felt it. The silence returned—heavy, like the air before a storm.
"Hey, what happened?" Obito looked around, noticing how the smiles vanished from all his brothers' faces. "It was all going so well… a birth, a celebration… What is it?"
"He's reading a letter," Itachi said quietly, watching every move their father made.
"And frowning again," Shisui added, pressing his lips together. "Looks like the fun is over."
"Every time Father gets a little happy," Sasuke muttered grimly, "fate throws a punch. Like it's testing him."
Fugaku finished reading the letter and crushed it in his fist.
"All the Kage have confirmed their participation in the upcoming chunin exams," he said, without even turning around. "In two months, they'll all gather in Konoha."
"That's bad?" Sasuke asked. "Isn't it good that the villages are cooperating?"
Fugaku turned slowly. His eyes were cold—like a predator sensing a trap.
"It means only one thing," he exhaled. "If sworn enemies are coming together, then they're preparing to strike Konoha."
///
Today was the day Konoha had been preparing for over the past two months: the third stage of the chunin exams. One-on-one battles. Fights meant to be witnessed by thousands—by allies, rivals, and potential clients.
The Hidden Leaf was buzzing with excitement. The main streets had turned into festival lanes: flags, souvenirs, paper lanterns, vendors at every corner with the smell of grilled meat and sweet sauce filling the air.
"Limited edition fighter cards! Sharingan-shaped cookies—only today!" vendors shouted, luring in the crowds.
Tourists had arrived from all corners of the world—from noble samurai of the Land of Iron to wealthy merchants from the Land of Sea. They came for the spectacle. And the chance to profit.
"Fight bets! Better odds than the official bookmaker! Don't miss your chance to win big!" called a guy with a bandana covering one eye, standing next to a homemade betting board.
The biggest money was riding on one name that had already become a brand: the Hokage's son—Uchiha Sasuke. His face was printed on posters and T-shirts.
The sun hung high in the sky, blazing down on the arena, as the crowds gathered for the long-awaited event, advertised for months.
Fugaku, regal and focused, walked at a measured pace toward the arena. Despite a mountain of organizational responsibilities, he knew—today, his son needed more than just a crowd. He needed his father.
To his left walked Sasuke, dressed in a black cloak bearing the clan emblem on his back. He carried himself tall, though a spark gleamed in his eyes—a mix of nerves and inner challenge. On his right, keeping pace, was Naruto—loud, energetic, in his usual orange jacket. He wasn't about to miss a chance to support his friend… and mess with him a little.
"Nice day today," Naruto grinned, squinting up at the sun. "No academy, front-row seats to your butt-kicking. It's a party."
Sasuke snorted.
"Remember this day. Today I become a chunin. You? You've still got two more years stuck in the academy."
"I'm using that time to train with my godfather!" Naruto shot back proudly. "Here—watch what he taught me!"
He quickly formed hand signs, and a shadow clone popped into existence beside him. The clone held out its hand as Naruto placed his own over it. In a flash, a spinning sphere of chakra began to form—bright, clean, buzzing like a drill.
"Rasengan! Fourth Hokage's technique!" Naruto shouted and slammed it into the ground. Dust shot up in a column, leaving a crater where the path used to be.
"When I finish the academy, I'll be stronger than you—just wait!"
Hikari, walking a few steps behind, let out a heavy sigh and formed hand seals. The stone shifted, closed, and the path re-formed, good as new.
Sasuke squinted at the crater, then at the clone, then back at Naruto.
"Using a clone as a crutch. Watch how it's really done."
A swirl of black chakra lit up in his palm, dense and ominous. He slammed it into the ground—this time, the crater was twice as deep.
The dust hadn't even settled when passing tourists turned their heads, faces lighting up. Moments later, they sprinted back toward the betting stands.
"Put it all on the Uchiha! Increase the stake on number seven!" came the excited shouts.
Hikari stepped up again and silently repaired the new crater. Only her upbringing kept her from rolling her eyes.
Sasuke stood, basking in the sight of Naruto's dropped jaw.
Mikoto, walking behind them, raised an eyebrow—just slightly. She knew exactly where that "sudden show of power" had come from. Reibi, curled on her shoulder, giggled, his little eyes gleaming.
"He's borrowing my chakra again," she whispered. "Adorable."
Sasuke, meanwhile, had no idea the price for showing off would come quickly.
"I'm gonna train twice as hard! No—five times!" Naruto shouted, summoning five shadow clones at once. Each tried to form a Rasengan one-handed. "I never go back on my word! I will surpass you, Sasuke!"
Sasuke paled. Even he realized he'd gone too far. He should've stopped at the verbal jabs…
///
The arena was already packed to capacity. The stands buzzed with chatter as people discussed their favorites and waited for the show to begin.
In the special VIP box, which offered the best view of the arena, the rest of the Uchiha family had already taken their seats. Mikoto held baby Sarada in her arms. Hikari sat nearby with binoculars. Shisui and Itachi, both wearing clan cloaks, flanked them. Obito lounged with Reibi perched on his shoulder.
But Fugaku, as the Fifth Hokage, was expected to be in the central, honorary box—among the leaders of the other great villages.
He sat leaning slightly forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. Calm, but observant. On either side of him sat the other Kage.
Kazekage Rasa—a silent man with red hair, about the same age as Fugaku. His face showed no emotion, no trace of goodwill. Today, his daughter Temari was scheduled to fight.
Tsuchikage Ōnoki—an old man, nearly half the height of the others, with massive eyebrows, a red nose, and perpetually drowsy-looking eyes. But his sharp mind and devastating command of Dust Release made it dangerous to underestimate him. His granddaughter, Kurotsuchi, had made it to the third round.
Mizukage Yagura—a man with the face of a teenager and the eyes of someone much older. A scar beneath one eye ran down to his cheek. Quiet, almost invisible, but a threat lurked in his silence. Representing his village today was Haku—heir to the Ice Kekkei Genkai, a genius feared even by jonin.
And finally, the acting Raikage—Killer Bee. Loud, flamboyant, wearing sunglasses and rapping under his breath. His brother A, with a broken spine, still hoped to return to duty, but for now the burden of leadership rested on Bee. Their village's representative was Omoi—a silent genin with a short sword and a perpetually exhausted face.
Fugaku nodded to each Kage. There was more in those polite gestures than mere formality. This was a tournament. It was also diplomacy. But behind the curtain, the real game was already underway—politics, influence, and preparation for whatever was coming.
The chunin exams had long since ceased to be just a rite of passage for young ninja. They were a spectacle. A showcase. A storefront. And like any storefront—it had to sell. Every thrown kunai, every explosion, every leap in front of the Daimyō and potential clients had to say one thing: hire us.
There were only ten participants—chosen not just for strength but for their ability to impress. Five from the great villages. Five from smaller villages that had paid Konoha for the privilege of entering their best into the finals. Everyone knew the rules. This wasn't a tournament. It was an auction.
The matches followed a carefully scripted rhythm. First—the warm-up. Gennin from the great villages versus those from the minor ones. Classic storytelling: showcase strength, crush weakness, raise the stakes before the real spectacle.
Sasuke, as the Hokage's son, fought in the fifth match. His opponent: a genin from the Land of Grass—quick, well-trained, but not a threat.
Fugaku didn't even flinch. Only for a moment did his lips tighten—when the opponent tried to release a poison mist. But Sasuke reacted instantly, shattering the enemy's gas mask and landing a single, precise blow to the solar plexus—forcing the genin to inhale his own toxin.
No blood. Total control. Perfect.
Exactly how it was meant to look.
After the fifth match, the announcer and referee—a jonin in a standard but spotless shinobi vest—stepped into the arena. His chakra-amplified voice thundered across the stands:
"The first stage of the tournament is complete!" he declared solemnly, and the crowd erupted in applause. "But today you're in for something special! We've decided to break tradition—and add a little excitement!"
He paused, letting the tension build.
"The second stage will have no one-on-one battles! No brackets, no turns… all five remaining fighters—on the arena at once! Every ninja for themselves!"
The stands exploded. People leapt to their feet, shouting, cheering, applauding. Some immediately rushed to the betting booths—odds began to spike across the board.
"You've got fifteen minutes!" the announcer went on. "Use the restroom, grab some food, catch your breath—because what's coming next is pure madness!"
The crowd surged toward the exits, arguing about favorites, placing bets, debating strategies, and scrambling for street food as excitement buzzed through the air.
In the Kage box, everything remained calm. No one stood. No one cheered. This wasn't a gathering of fans. This was a gathering of generals.
"Quite the show you've put together, Hokage-sama," croaked Tsuchikage Ōnoki, rubbing his lower back. His voice was dry and brittle, like cracked wood. "A royal rumble, huh. In that kind of chaos, a judge might not even notice if someone dies."
"You're risking your own son," Yagura said, narrowing his eyes.
"I trust him," Fugaku replied flatly. "The break will last fifteen minutes. In that time, there's something I want to show you."
He reached into the inner pocket of his cloak and pulled out four fūinjutsu cards, each inscribed with chakra engravings—data storage capable of projecting video.
He placed one in front of each Kage and activated them with his chakra. In the air, shimmering holograms flickered into life.
On-screen: two captured shinobi, brothers. They sat on the stone floor of a cell, tied up, but still breathing. One of the observers—clearly a scientist or medical-nin—approached the first brother and sprayed green gas in his face.
At first—silence. Then—laughter. A grin tore across the infected man's face, his eyes spun wildly, and without a word, he lunged forward, roaring as he wrapped his hands around his brother's throat.
Blood. Choking. Laughter.
The hologram froze.
"What is this filth?" Rasa snapped, flicking the card aside in disgust.
"It's Konoha's latest development in biochemical warfare," Fugaku replied evenly. "Working title: the Madness Virus. One breath, and the victim loses control. All emotions disappear—what remains is pure rage and the drive to kill. They don't distinguish friend from foe, child from enemy. They attack the nearest person. After seven days, they die from dehydration—if they don't kill themselves first. Airborne transmission."
He paused. His voice dropped, but the tension in the air thickened.
"Several canisters are already planted in your villages."
"You... threaten us?!" Ōnoki roared, and despite his age, his voice still carried weight.
"This is not a threat," Fugaku said, looking him directly in the eye. "It's insurance. I know you've formed a temporary alliance. That you intended to use this exam as cover. That your plan was to strike Konoha while everyone's distracted by the spectacle."
"How do you—" Yagura began, but Fugaku cut him off.
"My intelligence network is better than yours," he said curtly. "And I also know your economies are failing. You can't compete with me. I've already captured the market. You've run out of innovation. That's why you decided to kill me and take my business."
He shook his head.
"You still think like thugs. But that's the past. The shinobi world isn't what it used to be. We're no longer bandits. We're corporations."
Fugaku reached into his cloak again and produced four more fūin cards, laying them before the Kage.
But there was nothing grim in these projections. On the contrary—once activated, they displayed a clear, full-color image: a massive airship with a sleek silver hull, a gondola beneath it, and the logo Uchiha Enterprises on both sides. Below the vessel, miniature houses, roads, and forests passed by. The machine moved through the sky—majestic and silent, like a whale in water.
"What is that…?" Rasa frowned, squinting into the hologram. "A... ship?"
"It's the future," Fugaku said calmly. "It's a dirigible."
The Kage fell silent, eyes locked on the floating images.
"It flies. It needs no roads or trails. It's immune to weather, terrain, swamps, and caravan raiders. It's fast, spacious, self-sufficient. And its pilot doesn't need to be a shinobi."
Fugaku paused, then continued in a tone almost like a business pitch:
"When my airships hit the market, the profession of shinobi escorts and shinobi couriers will become obsolete. So will the entire concept of protecting merchants and diplomats between nations. They won't need your people anymore. All they'll need—is a ticket."
He slowly looked around at each of them.
"And after that, the chunin exams will disappear too. Because no one will need them anymore. This one... is the last."
The silence was so thick, it felt like the world itself had muted.
"I've already signed a deal with Mifune," Fugaku went on. "We'll build a new arena in the Land of Iron. It will operate daily. Fights— free from political restrictions. Anyone brave enough can step into the ring. No intrigues, no sabotage. Order will be enforced by samurai. And every day, thousands of spectators from across the continent will be brought there… on my airships."
"So," Rasa hissed, clenching his fists, "Mifune gets rich off tourists—lodging, food. You get ticket sales. And we… get nothing?! You're leaving us with nothing?!"
Fugaku tilted his head slightly.
"Business is war, Rasa. First strike wins. You—struck in the wrong direction." He paused for a moment, then let his gaze sweep across the Kage. "The era of hired killers is over. We're entering an age of contracts and investments."
He clasped his fingers together.
"You have two options," he said calmly. "First: we sit down at the negotiation table. Like civilized people. I explain how you can profit on your own lands. How to feed your villages and give your people work. You sign a contract with Uchiha Enterprises. My agents and managers will be stationed at every key location—just like we did with Mifune. I take fifty percent of the revenue."
"Fifty?!" Onoki hissed. "That's robbery, boy."
"That's the price of civilization," Fugaku snapped. "And yes, there's another option."
He straightened, and his chakra pressed down on the air like a coiled storm.
"Option two: you attack. Right here. Right now. Don't count on your armies outside these walls. They won't help. The people in your homes, palaces, towers—they'll die instantly. Four against one. You won't beat me. But you will die with the outdated honor of shinobi. You'll become symbols of a dead age."
Fugaku lowered his hands and finished, still calm:
"Either option works for me."
A strange sensation rippled through the air—like even the arena itself had tilted. The Kage exchanged glances. Onoki narrowed his eyes darkly. Yagura, for the first time, looked not threatening, but thoughtful. Rasa stared at the airship hologram in silence, jaw tight. Killer Bee said nothing, his expression grim.
The gong roared.
Five fighters stepped into the arena—each in their own uniform, wearing their village's symbol. And from the first second, it was clear.
They had struck a deal.
Four participants—from Sand, Stone, Cloud, and Mist—simultaneously launched their jutsu at Sasuke. A stream of fire, an arrow of ice, a stone fist, and a cutting gust of wind all came at him from different angles.
Sasuke stood in the center, unmoving. And then—
Chakra surged. The air shimmered. In front of the crowd, before the stunned faces of the Kage and Daimyo, purple energy burst forth, taking shape.
A translucent, colossal warrior—Susanoo.
"Mangekyo Sharingan…" Onoki whispered, pale. "Those eyes… they're…"
"Yes," Fugaku answered, watching the arena. At that moment, his own eyes gleamed with the same ominous pattern. "My son has Madara's eyes. Just like everyone in my family."
He paused.
"This is power that can defeat jinchuriki. The tailed beast system no longer gives you an advantage. You can't even use them against Konoha."
Sasuke wasn't just defending. He moved with grace, with precision, with unshakable confidence. His Susanoo shattered enemy jutsu, grabbed fighters, and hurled them into the walls. One by one, they fell—not dead, but soundly defeated.
The crowd erupted.
Shisui leapt from his seat, applauding. Hikari smiled faintly. Itachi observed in silence, tracking every move his brother made. Mikoto never took her eyes off Sasuke; pride shimmered in her gaze. Obito nodded in satisfaction. Reibi flapped his wings in delight.
Fugaku turned back to the Kage.
"One Konoha genin just defeated four of yours. Publicly. Decisively. In front of the Daimyo, the clients, the whole world."
He paused.
"This year, every contract is mine. Every client—mine. Every ryo—mine."
Then he leaned forward just slightly.
"…So—are you still planning to attack me?"
A long silence followed. None of the Kage spoke right away.
At last, Rasa exhaled slowly and raised his eyes. His voice was tight, but steady.
"We want to talk. We want… to do business."
///
Three years had passed since the last Chunin Exams.
Not a single war had broken out between the villages since then. No local skirmishes, no outbursts of aggression, no covert sabotage. And the reason wasn't fear. Not because Fugaku held the Kage by the throat, like Madara once dreamed. But because war had become unprofitable.
Contracts, investments, air transport, unified trade corridors, centralized tournaments that drew money, crowds, and global attention. Too much had been built to throw it all away. Destruction had become stupid. Even the most hot-headed youths and ambitious juniors now calculated profits before sharpening their kunai.
And in such a system, there was no room for revolutionaries, fanatics, or anti-establishment warriors.
Tonight was New Year's Eve.
Snow was slowly settling on the roof of the Uchiha mansion. One of the airships floated gently over Konoha, glowing like a star. Festive music drifted from its speakers. People down below clapped, children waved, and some released paper lanterns into the sky.
Inside the house—warm light, the smell of food, soft laughter, and a quiet sense of peace.
The entire family was gathered at the long table. Not just the clan. Family.
Obito sat next to Shizune, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh and cover her mouth. Despite the years, he'd never quite lost that clumsy, boyish crush—especially on medics.
Shisui was chatting with Inuzuka Hana, his fellow officer at the police department. She sat in a relaxed pose, her dogs sprawled nearby. It was clear—they were more than just work partners now.
Itachi, composed as always, held Izumi's hand. She beamed: it had taken her years of persistence—from preschool to adulthood—to break through the shell of his emotional restraint. He almost never smiled, but when he looked at her, a rare softness touched his features.
Hikari, in an elegant kimono decorated with a moon and arrows, gently brushed Naruto's shoulder. He turned to her immediately, flashing a warm, slightly confused smile. Their bond wasn't loud, but it was solid.
Sasuke and Temari sat closer to the fireplace. He was lazily chewing something off his plate while she argued with him about a detail from the new economic treaty between Konoha and Suna. And judging by Sasuke's face, she was winning.
Reibi perched on the armrest next to three-year-old Sarada, who swung her legs while happily devouring a sweet mochi. A demon of darkness and a toddler—both looked completely content. Every so often, Reibi would snatch a falling crumb midair, and Sarada would giggle.
Mikoto sat beside Fugaku. Her eyes no longer belonged to the housewife who once hid her strength. Now they held the cold calculation of a strategist. But tonight—in this moment—her gaze was gentle. She looked at her children, at those she had saved and protected.
Fugaku stood. He didn't tap his glass or raise his voice. He simply stood—and the room fell silent. His words always carried weight. No pressure needed.
He looked at each of them. Those bound by blood. Those bound by spirit. And those who had stayed, no matter what.
"I have nothing new to say," he began simply. "Because you already know what matters most."
He raised his glass. His voice was quiet, but there was no weakness in it—only calm, unshakable resolve.
"Nothing is more important than family."
For a moment, silence.
Then—clinking glasses, bursts of laughter, warmth spreading through the room like time itself had loosened its grip.
That night, no one in the Uchiha mansion spoke of clan tragedies, wars, or loss.
Tonight was an era they had built themselves. An era where the place of power—was home.
And everyone understood: from this bond, from this family, something more than a new generation had begun.
A new shinobi era had begun.
///
Author's Afterword:
And that's it. The story is complete.
I know it's unusual. These days, everyone's used to Chinese-style webnovels with a thousand chapters, and here I've given you only 65. What can I say? I'm a fan of real books—where quality is measured by content, not length. I planned from the start to keep it around this size—and I'm glad I didn't stretch it out.
Of course, I've taken my share of criticism along the way.
Some people said they hated the Uchiha clan. Others couldn't stand grim protagonists. Some thought there was way too much Batman.
From the looks of it, many never even read the synopsis and were expecting something else entirely.
I'll admit, it got tough near the end. The last twenty chapters were hard to finish—motivation dipped, stats dropped, and the comment negativity rose. But I still wrote them. I dragged myself to the finish line, whatever it took. And now, the final period is in place.
And you know what? I'm satisfied.
I wanted to tell a story of Batman in the world of Naruto. The story of Thomas Wayne, reborn as Fugaku Uchiha. A story with a living, breathing hero—not some perfect Gary Stu. A brooding man who gradually learns to see those close to him, and becomes more human.
And I think I managed to tell that story.
In two months, I wrote the equivalent of two full novels. Hopefully, the content measures up. No filler, no pointless rambling, no self-indulgent prose—just plot and purpose.
If I brought you even a couple of positive emotions while you were reading this, then it was all worth it.
And if something about the story annoyed you—well, that's life. You can't please everyone.
Thank you for reading this fanfic all the way through. The story is complete for me, and there won't be a continuation.
But I've started a new project — also set in Naruto, just from a different angle. This time I'm writing an adventure about the Uzumaki twins, with humor, trolling, manipulators, and a twisted take on canon. If you enjoyed my previous fanfic, I think you'll like this one too.
I'd be glad to see you there.