— Knock-knock-knock
— Who the hell could that be? — Saitama grumbled irritably, placing a pot of vegetable oil on the stove. But he wasn't in a hurry to go to the front door. They must have the wrong house. Who could possibly need him, especially this early?
Yesterday, all the way back from visiting Naruto in the hospital, the bald guy had been pestering Mitarashi with his complaints about the absence of the most important, the most necessary thing in his life. The guy said he would demand it from the Hokage. Demand potatoes... The kunoichi had merely snorted at this statement, probably imagining such a scene. However, to Saitama's surprise, this morning she had somehow found and brought him a couple of bags of this most important product, in the bald guy's opinion. Then, without a word or permission, she undressed and went into the shower.
Saitama had no idea why Anko didn't shower at her own place and why she spent so much time with him, but the bowl of peeled, thinly sliced potatoes made him swallow and distract himself from strange thoughts. Shinobi were eccentric people anyway. If the girl liked being at his place, then so be it.
Knock-knock-knock
The confident and loud knocking on the door rang out again.
Saitama wiped his hands with a towel and went to the hallway. Opening the door, Saitama couldn't help but let out a pained groan.
— I don't give alms, — the bald guy stated flatly, then slammed the door shut in front of the stranger's face with a bang.
Going into the kitchen, he took out salt, spices, and sauce from the cupboard. He took out ham from the refrigerator and began to set the table for two. After all, it was Anko who bought the potatoes, so, fine, he would treat the girl. He hadn't had fries in a long time. And here was such a wonderful chance to cook and taste the food of the gods. All thanks to Mitarashi.
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK
The steady, heavy knocking interrupted his thoughts again.
Saitama's eyebrow twitched.
— Persistent, aren't they? — the guy muttered and returned to the doorstep to explain his position to the stranger.
Freezing on the threshold, the bald guy cast an evaluating glance over the visitor from head to toe. He frantically tried to think of a polite way to get rid of the unexpected guest with a rather repulsive appearance.
A wrinkled face with a cross-shaped scar on the chin, one eye and forehead wrapped in bandages, the other almost closed, disheveled greasy hair hanging over the bandages; the old man's clothing consisted of a white shirt and a long black cloak. His right hand was apparently resting under the cloak, and with his left, the stranger leaned on a wooden cane.
— Old man, I already said I don't give alms, — Saitama said.
Silence hung in the air. The old man's face expressed nothing, there wasn't even a hint of emotion. Just a frozen mask of cold indifference.
— I understand, — the bald guy sighed wearily. — You're an old invalid, who's been through war and seen a lot. You have a very tearful story, hungry grandchildren are waiting at home, or maybe you don't even have a home, blah-blah-blah... But sorry, I can't help you with anything. I barely have any money myself.
Saitama was about to close the door, but the old man's cane darted into the opening, preventing him from closing the exit.
The bald guy's eye twitched again, and a vein in his temple pulsed.
— Ah, so that's how it is, huh? — the guy hissed. — You're not going to leave just like that, are you?
The old man said in a calm, hoarse voice:
— My name is Danzo, and I'm here on bu...
— Shut up, I get it, — Saitama raised his hands, showing that he surrendered. — What a pushy one. Fine, wait here, — he threw out and left, leaving the door ajar.
After a couple of minutes, the guy returned with his wallet. Taking out a wad of ryo, he counted out several hundred and handed them to the old man with a trembling hand.
The old man fully opened one eye and stared at the money in bewilderment.
Saitama bit his lip and clicked his tongue.
— Look at him, turning up his nose. It's not enough for him, apparently.
The guy counted out several hundred more and finally shoved a thousand ryo under the old man's cloak.
After which, he closed the door and slid down the wall. A couple of moments later, the knocking rang out again. The bald guy gritted his teeth:
— What a greedy bastard.
Suddenly jumping to his feet and opening the door, Saitama looked at the old man with anger. A powerful killing intent crashed down on the latter, however, to give the stranger credit, he kept his composure, only swallowing loudly and leaning on his cane.
Remembering that elderly people should be treated with respect, Saitama slowly exhaled, pulling himself together. He counted out several thousand more ryo and shoved them under the man's cloak.
— Don't ask for more, I won't give it, — the bald guy stated sternly. — And listen here, old man. Mark my words. If I see you near my house again, I won't care about your age and I'll kick you out of the neighborhood. Do you understand me?
The old man's eyebrow rose, and his mouth slightly opened.
— That's wonderful, — Saitama nodded. — Silence means consent.
After which, the bald guy closed the door behind him, clicking the lock.
— What pushy homeless people there are these days, — the bald guy muttered, putting his wallet under the mattress, and went into the kitchen.
Saitama understood that the man wasn't to blame. Some people were unlucky in life, and everyone survived as best they could, but still...
If he kept giving money away to everyone like that, sooner or later he himself would have to go begging. And that was despite his jonin salary and periodic missions. Of course, one should be kind and help those in need, but there was a limit to everything.
The oil in the pot had boiled. Distracted from his sad thoughts, Saitama took the bowl of potatoes and began to lower the slices into the hot oil. Alms were alms, but breakfast was on schedule...
Anko came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a relatively short white towel. Droplets of water were still visible on the girl's body, her hair was wet. She sat down in the armchair, seductively crossing her legs.
— Who was it? — Mitarashi inquired.
The bald guy remained silent. He only cast a disgruntled glance at Anko and returned his attention to the pot.
The kunoichi pouted resentfully at such neglect.
She considered herself quite beautiful. Beauty, of course, was a subjective concept. Nevertheless, her external parameters were all in order. The girl often caught male gazes full of lust and desire on herself. Not surprisingly, her attractive figure and pretty face beckoned members of the opposite sex like a magnet. This fact was foolish to deny. If not for her reputation, finding a boyfriend would have been a piece of cake for her. However, what could she do? A student of the snake sannin was not a title to be proud of. And Anko's character left much to be desired.
And now the girl wanted to impress Saitama, but he didn't seem to notice at all.
— Damn beggars...
— What? — Mitarashi asked again.
— Begging for alms... some beggar, — Saitama said in a subdued voice. — Had to give him something to make him go away.
— Uh... — the girl didn't know what to say, because there couldn't be any beggars in the Sarutobi clan quarter. They simply wouldn't get in here.
— Are you sure?
— Uh-huh, — the guy grumbled, turning down the heat on the stove. The room slowly began to fill with the aroma of fried potatoes. The bald guy's stomach issued a demanding rumble in time with the gurgling of the oil in the pot.
Anko scratched her chin in bewilderment. Saitama was confused about something. Definitely. It was impossible for anyone to break in here.
— And what did this beggar look like? And what did he say? — Mitarashi asked.
Stirring the potatoes with a spatula, although it wasn't really necessary, the bald guy began to describe the strange old man. Well, and in a few words, he retold their recent "conversation."
As he spoke, Anko's eyebrows rose higher and higher. When the bald guy finished, the kunoichi processed what she had heard for a while, but then she suddenly began to shake as if in some kind of fit.
— What's wrong with you? — Saitama inquired, watching the girl's strange behavior out of the corner of his eye.
But Mitarashi didn't answer. Her body shook in silent convulsions, and then muffled sobs were heard, as if a pug was being strangled. Then the girl couldn't hold back and burst into loud laughter, wiping away the emerging tears from time to time.
— Ah, so that's how you laugh, — the guy said with relief. — I already thought I'd have to carry you to the hospital.
— Saitama, you're something else, — she said, shaking her head after laughing. — Heh...
— What's the matter? — the bald guy didn't understand.
— Never mind, — the kunoichi waved her hand. — The main thing is, don't tell anyone about this, okay?
— Why?
— Just trust me. It will be better for everyone...
***
Danzo thoughtfully left the Sarutobi clan quarter. The man had somehow even forgotten about the money Saitama had given him.
The reasons for his thoughtfulness turned out to be simple.
Firstly, Kotoamatsukami hadn't worked! To successfully apply this technique, it was necessary to be opposite one's target. There was no need to even unwrap the bandages, only deactivate the suppressing seal – and one could calmly use the dojutsu. There was also no need to speak to the one being influenced; an active mental message with the corresponding suggestion was sufficient. And, of course, the necessary minimum of energy replenishment – almost a quarter of the chakra reserve. In the current case, Danzo had poured in about a third...
But nothing had worked. The bald guy hadn't even noticed the effect. From which it followed that Saitama was completely immune to the Mangekyo Sharingan's genjutsu.
Due to the Hashirama cells implanted in Shimura's body, Kotoamatsukami could be used more frequently. Now it could be used once every six months. The loss of the dojutsu for such a period was regrettable, because when you could hypothetically influence the right person at any moment, subtly instilling the necessary thoughts, you felt much more confident. Even if you didn't actually use this technique usually.
But that wasn't the main thing. Because there was also a "secondly."
So, the bald jonin had absolutely clearly outlined his position. He could pretend to be an idiot all he wanted, but Danzo had understood everything. Saitama had expressed his thoughts in a very original way; most likely, he knew he might be being watched, but it was as clear as day – the bald shinobi wanted nothing to do with Root in general, or with Danzo in particular. Apparently, someone had already enlightened him regarding the activities of this organization. Had Sarutobi been quick about it? Well, that was to be expected. So, there would be no dialogue between them. Too bad. But what then remained?
He had a spy by his side with the power of an "S+" rank shinobi. Super strong, super fast, neither poisons nor techniques worked on him. One could try using chakra suppression seals on him, however, given the uncertainty of whether he even had chakra (or if the shinobi simply concealed it perfectly), another failure could be predicted.
Hmm. This ninja was extremely dangerous and could bring much trouble to the village.
Danzo grimaced. He remembered the directed pressure of killing intent that Saitama had demonstrated on him. If not for the iron will tempered in the cauldrons of wars and... the cane at hand, the Root Leader would have shamefully fallen to his knees. Terrifying killing intent, many bijuu would choke with envy.
"And what to do? Leave everything as it is?" — the frowning Shimura had already descended through a secret passage into the underground tunnel that led to the labyrinth beneath Konoha. He walked firmly towards his office. There was no point in pretending to be a frail and lame old man here. Everyone here was his own.
Occasionally, he encountered silent subordinates at their posts – absolutely loyal, brainwashed, perfect tools that would never betray him. It was a pity that not all Konoha shinobi could be branded with Ne's seals to be completely sure of tomorrow.
Reaching his office, Danzo wearily slumped into his chair, after first taking out a bottle of sake from a wooden cabinet. Alcohol was kept in his office only to pour for the elders who occasionally visited him on business. The Root Leader himself usually only pretended to drink, barely touching the cup with his lips, to keep his old "friends" company.
However, everything had changed now. Shimura, uncorking the bottle, began to drink straight from the neck, in quite large gulps. After draining half the container, he exhaled loudly and placed the bottle on the table with a dull thud.
Everything needed to be carefully considered, and a solution found. Perhaps a solution would be found much faster on a drunken head. But that wasn't certain.
"Blackmail?" — Danzo asked mentally.
"No," he immediately answered his own question. "The bald guy has no attachments, and there is no information on this shinobi..."
"Unless..." — after a couple of minutes of active brainstorming, the half-closed eye of the Ne Leader opened in a flash of insight, and his lips twisted into a gruesome grin. Shimura drained the remaining contents in one gulp.
— Yes, — he rasped. — A good idea. But this plan can only be implemented after Hiruzen's death...
***
After the mission in the Land of Rivers, Uchiha had been angry for a long time. First at Naruto, seeing the power he possessed. Then he was angry at himself, for his weakness. After all, he – the heir of the Great Clan – was forced to "eat dust," watching his teammate become stronger and stronger.
At the moment when Sasuke felt the killing intent of the Nine-Tails, fear overcame him. And not only from the overwhelming visions of his own death, but also from the fact that Uzumaki had shown the difference between them. Naruto possessed a bijuu. He was a jinchuriki. And jinchuriki, as everyone knew, had always been famous for their strength. Thanks to the demon sealed inside them, they possessed increased chakra recovery, a larger reserve of it, and incredible resilience, as their body's regenerative abilities were increased many times over. Competing in strength with a tailed beast's host was not impossible; there were enough geniuses. However, realizing that despite all his training, the gap between him and Naruto was only widening, Uchiha became consumed by complex, contradictory feelings. More precisely, a whole cocktail of feelings raged within him.
He was both afraid, and angry, and... envious. Yes, he envied the blond with a black envy. Why wasn't he the host of the demon? Such power would have been useful to him to kill his brother and avenge his clan. But no, the power went to an idiot with a stupid dream, and he got a personal teacher as well. Why?
For several days, while Naruto lay in the hospital, Uchiha trained like a madman, realizing that time was slipping through his fingers like bijuu sand. His older brother was an S-rank shinobi who had the power to destroy an entire clan. And Sasuke was just a genin who at the moment couldn't even stand against an average jonin. Itachi probably trained periodically as well and hadn't stopped developing.
To the question "What to do?" he knew the answer. He needed a mentor. He counted the moments until Uzumaki would introduce him to Master Saitama. Uchiha, when he finally decided to visit the blond in the hospital on the fourth day, could barely force a smile. After all, the envy and anger that had been suffocating him hadn't gone anywhere, although they had noticeably decreased over the past time. Finding Sakura in the ward, he tried to appear as friendly as possible with both of them. Especially with Naruto. True, he wasn't sure if it all looked natural, but it was what it was...
And now the hour had come. Today he would finally be able to see the mysterious master who had helped the blond become stronger in such a short time. He wondered what this man looked like. Sasuke had asked Naruto about his appearance and tried to find out at least something about the mysterious master, but the genin had just waved him off and said that he would see for himself, let it be a surprise. The only thing Sasuke understood was that the master was simply incredibly strong, as he was capable of defeating any enemy with a single blow. But that was all, again, only according to Naruto. What the situation was in reality was unknown.
Uchiha's imagination for some reason painted a powerful, long-haired elder with a beard. Also, for some reason, he imagined that the master was of enormous height, and his body was bulging with muscles protruding from under his clothes.
Sasuke shook his head, trying to shake off the delusion. What was the point of guessing? Soon he would see everything himself. Naruto had arranged a sparring match with his master. This was an excellent opportunity to observe this Saitama in action.
— Sasuke? Are you even listening to me?
— Hmm? — startled from his thoughts, the boy turned to his teammate.
They had stopped not far from their destination – training ground 66, where Naruto usually trained.
Even despite the presence of sparse clouds in the sky, the absence of wind made the weather particularly hot. And it was still at least a couple of hours before noon. It would only get worse.
— Stop daydreaming, dattebayo. I'm asking, are we going to participate in the Chunin Exams?
— Chunin Shiken... — Uchiha slowly drawled, furrowing his brow.
They had only recently become genin. And the "applicants" for the next stage would most likely be older and more experienced than them. Sasuke had no idea what might await them there, but in any case, it was a wonderful chance to test himself and perhaps even become stronger.
— Kakashi-sensei hasn't said anything about it yet, — Naruto grumbled discontentedly. — There are five days left until the Chunin Exams, and I'm going to train even harder than before. I'm too weak...
Sasuke choked on his breath and coughed. Naruto was about to pat the dark-haired boy on the back, but Uchiha raised his palm warningly, indicating that he shouldn't.
Naruto, a weakling? Funny. If the blond idiot said he was weak, then who should Sasuke consider himself to be? After all, he wouldn't last even a couple of seconds against a jinchuriki. Unless he managed to perform a substitution technique. A bijuu. And yet his Sharingan still hadn't awakened.
Uchiha decided to change the subject:
— Naruto, you still haven't told me what you saw there.
— Where? — the blond asked on the go, demonstratively looking around.
Sasuke rolled his eyes:
— Don't play dumb. You tried to change the subject just like that yesterday; it won't work twice... So what did you see when the clones dispersed? There, near Takumi?
Naruto stopped. Uchiha turned around and stared at him expectantly.
— Sasuke, I don't want to talk about it, — the boy's gaze fell on the grass beneath his feet. His head was lowered, his eyes hidden by the long fringe of blond hair. — But you need to understand one thing. This world is far from a fairy tale; there are sick bastards in it who will kill and torture others just because they like it, or because they think they have the right to. And if you want to protect yourself and those who are dear to you, then you must bust your gut now to become stronger. To be able to resist these monsters. To stop them at the right moment.
Sasuke raised an eyebrow in surprise. He hadn't expected such a serious speech from the blond. Naruto had always given the impression of a simple-minded fool; however, now he was talking about the right things. Obvious, trivial, but still right.
So far, Uchiha had no one to protect; he had completely different goals. For the sake of power and the opportunity to take revenge, he was ready to do anything. He hadn't previously thought about protecting anyone. Except perhaps in the distant past, when he still had a family. But that felt like a completely different life. That Sasuke and the current Sasuke were completely different people. However, Uzumaki was also his complete opposite. Naruto and Sasuke... Yes. They were too different. Like fire and water.
— And how will you stop them? — Uchiha decided to inquire, putting his hands in his pockets. — Will you beat them up and then wag your finger at them so they don't do it again?
Naruto raised his head quite sharply, fixing his gaze on his teammate.
Sasuke swallowed. Despite the blue irises, the jinchuriki's pupils were narrow and vertical at that moment.
— You know, Sasuke, — the blond chuckled. — I used to think that every person deserved to live. That if you slipped up once and hurt someone, there was still a chance to bring the evil person back to the right path. To reach out to them.
Naruto's fist clenched, and his knuckles cracked.
— But some people commit too terrible acts, — Naruto said grimly. — Too terrible to simply forgive them. These people are actually monsters in human form. They poison this world. Therefore, I will do to monsters what my mentor does...
— And what is that? — Sasuke asked for formality, although he already knew the answer.
— Destroy...
Uzumaki took a confident step forward. Uchiha stood for a few moments in thought, then, shaking his head, followed...