Naruto: Starting by Reading Minds in Naruto

Tonbo spent several quiet days at home. He helped Tōsei weave small animals for sale, while Ayame joined them with lighter work between her daily walks. Pregnancy kept her from lifting or carrying much, but she refused to sit idle while the rest of the household worked. 

Tonbo saw no reason to ask his father to retire. Tōsei had lost an arm and his shinobi career, not his need for purpose. The regular rhythm of weaving, selling, and speaking with customers kept him active in a way enforced rest never could. 

Their work also gave the household a quiet routine after Tonbo’s absence. Tōsei cut and sorted the material, Tonbo shaped the more complicated bodies, and Ayame added simple decorative details. None of the pieces required much strength, yet every finished animal could be sold rather than discarded as practice. 

”Do you have no missions?” Tōsei asked. For days, his son had spent more time with a harmonica than with any visible form of training, and paternal concern was turning into impatience. 

”Shinobi are allowed to rest,” Tonbo replied. ”Three months of border duty were tiring enough.” 

Tōsei lifted the remains of his injured arm. ”Rest too long and your skills dull. One mistake against the wrong enemy, and you may end like me. I cannot even form ordinary hand seals anymore.” 

Ayame laughed at the familiar lecture, then glanced at Tonbo’s arms with sudden unease. Tōsei’s warning had given the danger a physical shape. 

Tonbo answered by forming a seal with one hand. The butterfly he had just woven stirred, gained color, and rose into the air. It circled Ayame in a slow spiral before settling in her hair, wings continuing to open and close. 

Her worry softened into a smile. 

”One-handed seals,” Tonbo said. ”And I train taijutsu and shuriken every day. The harmonica is part of my sound-based genjutsu research. I have not neglected anything.” 

He did not mention that the peaceful setting was itself useful training. Maintaining a delicate transformation on the butterfly while speaking, monitoring Ayame, and sensing the neighborhood exercised several kinds of control at once. Serious practice did not always require a training ground scarred by explosions. 

Tōsei’s planned lecture died. ”Yes, yes. You are remarkable.” 

”My husband is remarkable,” Ayame agreed, enjoying his defeat. 

Tonbo’s expression changed. A chakra signature was approaching the house at speed. 

”Someone is coming. I will be outside.” 

Body Flicker carried him to the front step. Bandages unwound from beneath his sleeves, wrapped his arms and head, and restored the appearance he used beyond the privacy of home. His forehead protector settled into place before the visitor arrived. 

A cat-masked ANBU landed in front of him. 

Inside, Tōsei watched through the doorway. ”I complain once, and a mission appears.” 

Ayame placed a hand over her belly. The possibility of another dangerous assignment erased her amusement. 

”Do not worry,” Tōsei told her. ”That boy is stronger than he lets people believe.” 

He meant it. After losing his arm, Tōsei had spent years trying to recover enough function to serve again. Failure had taught him precisely how exceptional one-handed seals were. Whatever foolishness Tonbo displayed at home, his skill was real. 

The ANBU presented a verified order. ”Hokage-sama requests your presence at the Hokage’s office if you have no urgent obligation.” 

The authentication marks prevented anyone from using a false verbal command to redirect one of Konoha’s senior shinobi. Tonbo examined them and nodded. ”Understood.” 

The messenger vanished. 

The wording meant this was not an emergency deployment, though a personal summons from Hiruzen was never trivial. Tonbo returned inside, reassured Ayame, and departed for the administrative district. 

Ayame accepted the explanation, but her hand remained over the child. Tonbo promised to send word immediately if the summons became a mission and left only after Tōsei repeated that he would keep her company. The delay cost less than a minute and mattered more than arriving early. 

Halfway there, he remembered his appointment with Iruka. He had promised to evaluate his former student’s progress that afternoon. The timing was unfortunate, especially because Tonbo had recently developed auditory genjutsu that needed a cooperative test subject. 

Not that experimentation was the purpose of the meeting. Iruka’s growth came first. Obviously. 

Tonbo considered why Hiruzen might want him. Renewed movement from Kumogakure would have triggered an urgent order rather than a conditional invitation. Another possibility was his recent request for Bringer-of-Darkness Technique, the Second Hokage’s visual genjutsu designed to deprive opponents of sight and particularly useful against the Sharingan. 

The technique’s difficulty and restricted status made immediate approval unlikely. Tonbo intended to continue sound research while the request moved through Konoha’s bureaucracy. Receiving a forbidden technique without a prolonged argument would be pleasant, but he did not expect generosity. 

Access depended on more than technical ability. Bringer-of-Darkness had been created by a Hokage and preserved as a military asset; the village needed confidence that a recipient would neither expose it nor turn it against Konoha. Tonbo’s record supported his request, though recent conflict with Shisui gave the advisers an obvious reason for caution. 

He crossed the village at speed and reached the building beneath the Hokage Monument. After climbing to the familiar office, he knocked. 

”Enter.” 

Tonbo found Hiruzen seated with Homura Mitokado and Koharu Utatane. The presence of both advisers ruled out a casual research discussion. 

”Hokage-sama. Advisers.” 

”Tonbo,” Hiruzen said, ”come forward.” 

”What do you require?” 

Hiruzen smiled and handed him a formal document bearing the authority of the Land of Fire. ”Congratulations. You are now a full jōnin of Konohagakure. Inoichi has also been promoted to head of the Intelligence Division, and we have agreed that you will succeed him as leader of the Analysis Team.” 

For a moment Tonbo only held the paper. He had expected another assignment or a decision about forbidden techniques, not two changes that altered his standing inside the village. Inoichi’s advancement also meant the Analysis Team would remain connected to a division leader who understood its work rather than being passed to an unfamiliar administrator. 

Koharu nodded. ”A full jōnin receives a stipend from the Land of Fire. The rank brings obligations as well as recognition. Perform your office properly.” 

”Konoha is entrusting important work to you,” Homura added. ”Protect it with the judgment you demonstrated on the border.” 

Tonbo opened the document. The stated duties resembled those of a special jōnin, but the authority, command expectations, and political recognition were broader. A fixed salary of five hundred thousand ryō per month accompanied the promotion. 

As team leader, he would approve analytical priorities, assign personnel, protect sensitive reports, and answer when conclusions reached the Hokage. The position demanded restraint as much as intelligence. A careless hypothesis from his desk could redirect ANBU, damage a clan, or persuade Konoha to prepare for a threat that did not exist. 

”Thank you,” he said. ”I will fulfill every responsibility within my authority and answer for the work of the Analysis Team.” 

He stored the document carefully. 

Promotion and a raise on the same day deserved celebration. Five hundred thousand ryō sounded substantial until Tonbo translated it into shinobi supplies: approximately five hundred explosive tags. It was enough to destroy an immortal enemy many times over, assuming the target cooperated by standing inside a prepared pit. 

Compared with Ichiraku’s daily revenue, the stipend represented only several strong business days. The amount was not transformative. 

The rank was. 

It recognized that Tonbo no longer possessed merely one exceptional specialty. More importantly, it gave him greater influence over the information Konoha used to make decisions. He intended to deserve both the trust and the leverage.