Naruto: Being a Shinobi with no System But...

Anko’s one-bedroom apartment had unofficially become Team 5’s regular gathering spot.

Neither the grand Uchiha Clan compound nor Roshi’s Western Suburbs estate could match its simplicity. The cramped space, the faint scent of instant noodles, and the unspoken sense of ease made it the perfect place for them to unwind.

By unanimous agreement, Roshi had even dipped into the team’s public funds to buy everything the apartment had been lacking—proper utensils, a few cushions, and, at Anko’s insistence, a better kettle for tea.

Two days into his newly reinstated vacation, Roshi, as usual, arrived first. He carried a bag of rice flour, a bottle of milk, and a small collection of ingredients—brown sugar, white sugar, honey, roasted peanuts, and sesame seeds.

Usually, they bought their dango ready-made from the village stalls. But that morning, on a whim, Roshi had suggested they try making it themselves.

The moment he mentioned it, Anko’s eyes lit up like fireworks.

”Hot water! You’ve gotta knead rice flour with hot water,” she said, pulling out a basin like she was leading a battle.

A few minutes later—

”…You added too much water,” Roshi observed, watching the sloshing white paste.

”Then add more flour!” Anko barked back, kneading with all her strength.

After a chaotic series of adjustments and several muttered curses, they finally managed to produce a proper dough. The two of them rolled it into small, round pieces and dropped them into boiling water.

When the dango began floating to the surface, their excitement was genuine.

Roshi had prepared a variety of toppings—brown sugar syrup, honey, crushed peanuts, and sesame seeds—and soon the tiny table was filled with sweet, steaming bowls.

”Mmm! Ours tastes just as good as the ones from the shop!” Anko said, cheeks puffed with food, eyes narrowing in bliss.

Watching her devour her creation, Roshi couldn’t help but smile. ”Speaking of which, how’s your training going?”

Anko straightened slightly, still chewing. ”My speed and strength are both improving, and my snake jutsu have gotten faster and stronger. I’ve also mastered a few new jutsu—” She trailed off mid-sentence. The brightness in her tone dimmed.

”And… there’s still that.”

Her hand unconsciously rose to the back of her neck.

”The curse mark Orochimaru left on me.”

She turned around and pulled down her collar slightly, revealing the faint, black pattern etched against her pale skin.

”He said it was some kind of ’power seed.’ But Lord Third sealed it himself.”

Her voice softened. ”Even so, when I sense Orochimaru nearby—or anything related to him—it still… burns. Faintly.”

Roshi’s expression didn’t change, but his mind was already turning.

The Heaven’s Curse Mark—one of Orochimaru’s earliest experiments, based on Jugo’s natural Sage Transformation ability. A prototype version. It lacked the transformation stages seen later, unable to draw out power—but it could sense Orochimaru’s presence.

And, more importantly… it was also one of Orochimaru’s potential resurrection anchors.

Something that would have to be addressed, eventually.

Before he could speak, a soft knock sounded at the door.

Anko, glad for the interruption, hurried to open it.

Standing outside was Itachi, calm as always.

”Sorry, I’m late,” he said lightly. His eyes flicked briefly to the table, pausing on the array of freshly made dango.

”You’re just in time!” Anko said cheerfully, grabbing his arm and pulling him in. ”Come on, try some—we made them ourselves!”

The three of them sat cross-legged around the low table, sharing tea and sweets. For a while, the room was filled with quiet laughter and the smell of roasted sesame.

Later, as they stepped outside, Roshi and Itachi walked together through the quiet corridor.

”Itachi,” Roshi said casually, ”the Chunin Exams—they’ll be officially announced in about a month and a half, right?”

”Yes, Captain.”

Roshi’s gaze stayed forward. ”Good. Tell Fugaku-san that I’ll be waiting for him at the Western Suburbs House. Two mornings from now.”

Itachi’s pace faltered slightly. ”…Understood.”

”And the investigation?” Roshi asked.

”All primary targets have been verified.”

”Next, start contacting the lower-level members of the Military Police. Clerical staff, logistics—the ones people overlook. No need to rush. Take it slow.”

”Yes, Captain.”

Two days later—Western Suburbs Old House.

For Uchiha Fugaku, it was his first time stepping into this old mansion—a place that had stood since Konoha’s founding.

The moment he entered the inner hall, his gaze fell upon Tsunade, seated at the head of the room, and Roshi beside her.

He immediately understood.

When Roshi had sent the invitation through Itachi, he hadn’t mentioned Tsunade would be there.

The last time they met, Roshi’s words had been polite in tone but cutting in substance. Now, with the Senju Princess present, he expected no less intensity.

”Fugaku,” Tsunade greeted first. ”It’s been a while since I returned to the Village, yet we haven’t met.”

Fugaku bowed slightly. ”Lady Tsunade. It’s an honor.”

”Alright, enough formalities.” Tsunade’s tone sharpened. ”Let’s get to the point. The deaths of Fourth Hokage Minato Namikaze and his wife—how is the Uchiha Clan involved?”

Direct, as always.

Fugaku’s expression didn’t change, though his eyes flicked briefly to Roshi. So that’s how it’s going to be.

He met Tsunade’s gaze head-on. ”It is related,” he admitted. ”But not by the hands of any Uchiha within Konoha.”

He paused deliberately. ”To my knowledge, only Uchiha Shisui possesses ocular power strong enough to reach that level. But his whereabouts that night were accounted for.”

He left his own involvement unsaid. Some truths had to be measured out carefully.

Tsunade’s eyes narrowed but softened slightly. He wasn’t denying everything—a small but significant sign of sincerity.

”On the night of the Kumogakure envoy incident,” she pressed, ”did your clan or the Military Police notice anything unusual?”

”Similar to the Nine-Tails’ aftermath,” Fugaku replied. ”I personally checked patrol logs and movements. No suspicious activity.”

”Then who do you suspect?”

He hesitated only briefly before answering, ”Uchiha Madara.”

The name dropped like a stone into still water.

Tsunade’s brows drew together. ”He was killed by my grandfather at the Valley of the End.”

”Before that battle,” Fugaku countered, ”Madara had already left Konoha for years. There’s no proof he didn’t leave behind contingencies.”

Fugaku didn’t worship Madara—quite the opposite. In his mind, Madara’s choices had damned the clan for generations. But Madara’s influence still lingered like a curse that wouldn’t fade.

Tsunade tapped her fingers on the table, deep in thought.

The logic was far-fetched—but with someone like Madara, ”impossible” wasn’t a word that held weight.

Finally, she nodded. ”Whether it’s him or not, we’ll investigate. If the suspect truly possesses the Sharingan—possibly even advanced ocular techniques—we’ll need the Uchiha’s cooperation.”

Her tone left no room for argument. ”We’re assigning Uchiha personnel to Anbu. Four members. Directly under the Hokage’s command.”

Fugaku’s eyes flickered slightly. This was no simple order—it was both an opportunity and a leash.

Tsunade continued, ”In exchange, the Military Police Force will relinquish one full squad slot.”

A long silence followed. Finally, Fugaku inclined his head. ”…Understood.”

After he left, Tsunade exhaled softly and looked toward Roshi.

”What do you think? About Madara.”

Roshi thought for a moment before replying. ”Possible. Maybe not him personally—but the ideology he left behind still festers.”

He paused. ”The Uchiha don’t want to destroy Konoha. They want to own it.”

Tsunade nodded. That much, she understood.

For all their grievances, the Uchiha had never truly tried to leave Konoha. They wanted legitimacy, not rebellion.

”I just hope this plan of yours works,” she said.

”It will,” Roshi replied. ”Anbu operates in shadows. Constant motion, constant pressure. The Military Police have been idle too long. Give them work—and less time to dream of power.”

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