Naruto: Starting by Reading Minds in Naruto

 

Shisui’s death unsettled the shinobi already watching the Uchiha and passed almost unnoticed by everyone else.

Clan heads possessed their own patrols, disputes, businesses, and children. They read the restricted notice, measured whether the loss altered Konoha’s defenses, and returned to obligations closer to home. Hiruzen and his advisers did not have that freedom. The strongest Uchiha loyal to reconciliation had vanished while suspicion hardened on both sides.

Tonbo received no further answer to his report. He obeyed the order to remain outside the investigation, though not by pretending nothing had changed. Inner Archive preserved his conversation with Itachi. The Analysis Team flagged sudden changes in Police assignments and clan movement through ordinary channels. Tonbo refused to turn those measures into an unsanctioned operation.

Position defined responsibility. He led analysts and a barrier-development unit; he was not Hokage, clan head, or ANBU commander. Attempting to control every crisis would not make him virtuous. It would make him another official acting beyond oversight because he trusted his own fear.

Weeks passed.

Itachi continued escorting Sasuke to the Academy when missions allowed. He corrected throwing posture, listened to accounts of Kiba’s latest score, and smiled at the appropriate moments. Sasuke sensed a difference without knowing its shape. His brother’s attention had become perfect in the way a mask was perfect.

At Konoha’s barrier station, a warning seal flashed.

”Localized spatial distortion inside the eastern perimeter,” Yamanaka Tōru reported.

He sat within the sensor array wearing a circlet connected to the village barrier. The system translated shifts in chakra, pressure, and boundary continuity into signals his clan-trained mind could organize. This disturbance lasted less than a heartbeat, like a door opened and closed without crossing the wall around it.

Tōru ordered an ANBU response and deepened the scan. Thousands of chakra signatures entered his awareness. Residents, patrols, summons, underground animals, and maintained techniques formed overlapping layers. None occupied the point where space had folded.

This was not the first event.

The earliest had been dismissed as an equipment error. Later occurrences survived recalibration, independent sensors, and repairs. Each investigation found an ordinary alley, roof, or patch of ground. No intruder. No seal. No lingering chakra sufficient to identify a technique.

Tōru compared the new echo with archived readings. Duration varied, but every event contained the same sequence: local pressure loss, boundary displacement, and a return without a corresponding passage through the village perimeter. The intruder did not break the barrier from outside. He appeared inside its enclosed space and left by folding the same point away.

The distinction mattered. Reinforcing the outer wall would accomplish little against a technique that ignored distance. The response needed mobile sensors, unpredictable observation, and a way to mark the distortion during the fraction of a second it remained open.

Tōru assigned one specialist to prepare a sealing flare that would scatter chakra dust across the next location. It might cling to whatever crossed. It might only stain an empty alley. Failure would still narrow the problem.

The report reached Hiruzen within minutes.

Danzō sat across the desk, his newly bandaged right eye adding another concealed fact to a room already full of them. They had been discussing the Uchiha when the barrier message arrived.

”Again?” he asked.

Hiruzen read the coordinates. ”The pattern resembles the disturbance recorded after Tonbo’s Amegakure mission. Togekei and Murakumo encountered a masked shinobi capable of intangibility, absorption, and Wood Release.”

The figure had also extracted an ally through direct contact and escaped a battlefield Nagato controlled. Tonbo’s report stopped short of explaining the mechanism, but Togekei described the disappearance as a spiral pulling matter toward a point. The barrier echo suggested that point connected to somewhere outside ordinary space.

”Those abilities do not prove he can cross Konoha’s barrier.”

”No. They make him one of the few identified persons whose technique might produce this signal.”

Danzō’s fingers rested upon his cane. He had investigated similar distortions since his own encounter with the masked figure and found nothing useful. ”A foreign village could be testing a transportation seal.”

”Then we treat the event as intrusion until evidence narrows it. Increase random patrols. Change response routes after each signal. Do not let whoever causes it learn our entire procedure from repetition.”

”You still rely upon caution after losing Shisui.”

Hiruzen looked over the report. ”Caution is not inaction. It is refusing to strike a target we have not found.”

Beyond their awareness, the masked figure watched ANBU cross a rooftop he had abandoned seconds earlier. His single visible eye followed the formation through the spiral opening of his mask.

”Konoha improves,” Zetsu said from the wall beside him. ”The barrier feels the transition now.”

”Feeling it has not helped them stop me.”

”Repeated visits teach them. I can gather what we need without giving them the same lesson.”

The masked man looked toward the Uchiha district. ”The clan allowed itself to become a prisoner of the village it founded. Shisui thought loyalty would save both.”

”Do you intend to save them?”

”They are material for the world that comes next, like Konoha. Nothing more.”

Space folded around him. The barrier station registered another brief echo and found the roof empty.

At Tonbo’s home, the afternoon crisis involved an argument about a fictional dragon.

An in-world drama showed a wandering shinobi defending a small country from mercenaries who used an enormous summoned beast. Tenyu insisted the creature’s scales would stop Tonbo’s punches. Maki insisted their father could strike it out of the sky.

”You have observed several of my techniques,” Tonbo said. ”Decide what evidence supports either claim.”

Tenyu studied the painted beast on the screen. ”It is larger than the cliff you broke.”

”The cliff did not move,” Maki replied. ”Dad can make flying animals.”

”That proves he could reach it, not beat it.”

Tonbo approved of the distinction. Before he could ask the next question, someone knocked.

Tenyu opened the door to Tessen Togekei and Anko Mitarashi carrying travel gifts and a box of sweets.

”Sensei,” Togekei said, ”you appear offensively relaxed.”

”Competence creates free afternoons. You should try it.”

Anko looked from Tonbo’s uncovered face to the old bandages folded near his equipment shelf. ”You spent years hiding a perfectly ordinary face.”

”Ordinary?”

”Acceptable, then. Do not become greedy.”

The twins abandoned the dragon debate for the sweets. Tonbo inspected the returning pair. They stood closer than they had before their journey, comfortable enough to insult each other without checking whether offense followed.

”How was the trip?” he asked.

”Long,” Anko said. ”Useful. Togekei learned that a vacation itinerary is not a mission schedule.”

They had visited the Temple of Fire, slept in fishing villages along the eastern road, and spent three rainbound days in a town too small to appear on most maps. Togekei described local security arrangements. Anko described dumplings, hot springs, and the owner of an inn who defeated two thieves with a broom.

”She had excellent footwork,” Togekei conceded.

”You tried to recruit her for Konoha.”

”I gave her information about civilian self-defense instructors.”

”You offered her an application.”

Ayame laughed from the kitchen. The twins demanded the broom story, forcing Anko to perform every movement with a wrapped sweet standing in for the weapon.

”She changed the itinerary every morning.”

”Because I discovered better food.”

Tonbo glanced at his former student. ”And you survived uncertainty. Remarkable progress.”

The barrier echo remained unknown to him. For one afternoon, the village’s hidden dangers stayed outside the room while friends returned, children argued, and Anko divided sweets with military precision.

Ordinary life did not erase danger. It established what danger threatened.

When Togekei and Anko eventually left, Tonbo gave his former student a sealed contact tag calibrated to Sealed Horizon. It was not a wedding gift, he explained, nor an invitation to test the household barriers for amusement. It was a reliable way for either of them to reach the family during an emergency.

Togekei accepted it without a joke. Some bonds required no formal title to deserve protection.