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

”I’ve been secretly investigating the Fourth Hokage’s death,” Fugaku said at last, his tone unreadable. ”But so far, there have been no results.”

His expression flickered—conflict, doubt, restraint—before settling back into that familiar Uchiha calm. When he finally spoke again, his voice was smoother and calmer.

Roshi simply nodded. Whether Fugaku truly had no leads or was concealing something didn’t matter. He already understood the situation—and knew that neither of them could afford to speak the full truth aloud.

The only issue they could touch upon was the Konoha Military Police Force.

”Relinquishing control of the police force is something the clan members will never accept.”

That wasn’t arrogance—it was the web of interests too deeply entangled. The Military Police Force wasn’t some hollow title or troublesome burden; its authority was woven into the very fabric of Konoha’s governance.

Village laws and regulations—especially those concerning commerce and daily life—were set by the higher-ups in principle. But in practice, a single directive from the police force could stop any merchant, inside or outside the village, dead in their tracks.

Maintaining public order was only the surface; their power ran deeper. The ”arrest of people with criminal tendencies” was often subjective—if the police force believed you were suspicious, then you were. Appeals had to go through the Hokage, an Advisor, or a Police captain.

Aside from the Anbu and Root, every other department operated under their shadow.

”Even as clan head,” Fugaku admitted, ”I can’t force the Uchiha to withdraw from the Police Force.”

He paused, then added quietly, ”Doing so would only make them… rebel sooner.”

”By ’cannot,’” Roshi asked evenly, ”you mean you can’t make them completely relinquish control?”

”Precisely.”

As expected of the Uchiha—unyielding, absolute in every thought and deed.

”Then what about letting others join?” Roshi suggested, watching closely.

For a moment, Fugaku’s rigid posture eased, and the edge in his expression softened. ”If the Village is willing to provide funding for new personnel,” he replied, ”we could consider adding a squad.”

He wouldn’t take even the smallest loss.

Roshi almost laughed aloud in disbelief. The Uchiha needed to bleed to survive—to yield, to breathe, to recover. This wasn’t about the Village spending more to strengthen their grasp over power.

And even if he had the authority as a Special Jōnin to propose such a plan, Roshi would never be foolish enough to do so.

More funding, more personnel? He could already see the outcome. The newcomers would be ostracized, cornered, and pushed out under ”reasonable” pretenses—only to be replaced by Uchiha again. Even if Fugaku resisted that internal pressure, the result would backfire entirely, deepening hostility instead of easing it.

”If you bring those terms to negotiation,” Roshi said coldly, ”it’ll be meaningless.”

He met Fugaku’s gaze directly. ”Since we’ve come this far, I’ll ask plainly—Clan Head Fugaku, can you make room within the existing Police Force roster?”

Fugaku fell silent.

Dismiss a few unqualified clan members? Possible. But their seats would simply be filled by new Uchiha. With the clan’s growing population, there were already too few positions to satisfy everyone. Internal rotation was a long-standing practice.

But dismissing Uchiha to bring in outsiders? That would ignite chaos.

Yet… the path this young man proposed—was it perhaps worth trying?

”I can try,” Fugaku said after a pause. ”But it will take time…”

”Can you guarantee it will actually work?”

If not, this move could become a fuse—igniting years of suppressed resentment, driving the radicals to cast him aside as a weak leader, and plunge the clan into open rebellion. Then there would be no turning back.

That was why Fugaku, even while aware of the danger, had chosen to remain balanced on the edge—neither with nor against the radicals.

He couldn’t abandon his people. And so, he could never afford to appear opposed to them.

Roshi closed his eyes, taking a slow breath to calm the storm in his chest.

”If you proceed like this, Clan Head Fugaku,” he said softly, ”you won’t succeed. Forcing it will only make things worse.”

A flicker of anger crossed Fugaku’s eyes.

”Compile detailed information on every member of the Military Police Force—their backgrounds, abilities, positions—and have Itachi deliver it to me.”

Fugaku froze. That request was tantamount to betrayal.

”If you can’t even do that much,” Roshi continued, his voice quiet but cutting, ”then from this moment on, consider me an enemy.”

He didn’t acknowledge the fury rising in Fugaku’s eyes.

A faint, weary thought crossed his mind—he missed Wasabi Jirocho. The man’s strength was mediocre, but his competence and decisiveness had never been in question. Compared to that, Fugaku might be a skilled ninja, but as the head of the Uchiha—he was a small talent burdened with a great responsibility.

Roshi didn’t wait for a reply. He turned and walked away, his figure vanishing into the forest’s shadows, leaving Fugaku alone beneath the moonlight.

It was still early. He could still visit the Forbidden Jutsu Archive.

The paperwork had already been approved. The archive’s caretaker—a stern-faced middle-aged ninja—checked his identification and the Third Hokage’s authorization before silently handing him the catalog.

Roshi didn’t hesitate. He already knew what he was looking for.

After spending some time dealing with the Uchiha’s problems, his mind inevitably drifted to Uchiha Obito—and his Kamui. In terms of pure ability, Kamui was nearly untouchable, but if the intelligence was clear, there might be a way to trap him.

To counter him, Roshi needed something that could match Space-Time Ninjutsu—even if imperfectly.

And there was one such technique: the Flying Thunder God.

It was brilliant, but brutally demanding. Roshi knew it wasn’t his style.

Not because he lacked spatial aptitude—anyone capable of summoning could manage that much—but because it demanded sensory ability far beyond the ordinary. One had to feel the chakra mark left behind as naturally as one’s own heartbeat. Tobirama Senju, who created it, and Minato Namikaze, who perfected it, were both monsters in that regard.

It also required reflexes and vision that bordered on the superhuman.

In the end, the Flying Thunder God simply didn’t suit his combat approach.

But he didn’t need mastery—just the core function: to leave a mark, sense it, and move instantly.

Forbidden Jutsu scrolls couldn’t be removed from the archive. They could only be studied within the sealed chambers.

He pushed open the door of a study room—a long table, a single chair, and sealing barriers shimmering faintly along the walls.

Roshi sat down, unrolled the scroll, and began to read.

For the sake of a stable future—today’s hardwork would begin.

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