Naruto: Starting by Reading Minds in Naruto

Danzō studied Tonbo across the Hokage’s office. ”I have heard much about you, though this is our first meeting. Bring back the intelligence, whatever the cost. If sacrifices become necessary, make them.” 

Tonbo’s ability to extract memories surpassed even Inoichi’s, and his skill with seals made him one of Konoha’s most versatile operatives. Danzō clearly valued those abilities. Under different circumstances, he might have tried to recruit Tonbo directly and purchase loyalty with rank. 

”Sacrifices,” Tonbo repeated. 

The word revealed Danzō’s priorities. That he had emerged personally to emphasize them revealed how badly he wanted the information. 

Tonbo’s inherited memories supplied a likely explanation for the unrest: Nagato’s conflict with Hanzō and Akatsuki’s takeover of Amegakure. If so, Danzō might already suspect the existence of the Rinnegan and covet its power. 

He could not expose that knowledge without explaining its impossible source. At most, he could allow it to guide his questions and preparations. The official report mentioned vanished patrols, changes in border traffic, and silence from long-standing contacts. None named Nagato, Konan, or Pain. Until he found evidence, those names remained private warnings. 

”Enough,” Hiruzen said. ”His orders are to gather intelligence and return with his team alive.” 

”Excessive caution serves the enemy,” Danzō replied. ”A small loss can protect the whole village. You have become soft, Hiruzen.” 

”I am the Hokage.” Hiruzen’s voice ended the argument. He turned to Tonbo. ”Inform your family tonight and depart tomorrow. The mission may be long. Do not leave matters at home unfinished.” 

”Understood.” 

Tonbo withdrew with the documents. As he passed Danzō, he felt the man’s cold attention follow him to the door. 

At home, the twins lay together in their cradle. 

”Tenyu, Maki, your father is leaving tomorrow,” Tonbo told them. ”Listen to your mother while I am gone.” 

The family had finally settled on Tobitake Tenyu for the boy and Tobitake Maki for the girl. Neither name predicted glory, rank, flight, or a career in ramen. After four adults exhausted every worse possibility, simple names had won. 

Both children inherited Tonbo’s misty blue eyes. They watched him with startling alertness, then smiled almost together. 

”They understand me,” Tonbo said. 

Ayame laughed from beside the cradle. ”They understand that smiling makes you do whatever they want.” 

Their sensitivity to adult moods did seem unusually strong. Somehow they always found the exact moment when a cry would command both parents’ attention or a smile would erase their exhaustion. 

”You haven’t left the village in months,” Ayame said. ”Will this mission take long?” 

She had grown up among shinobi and never expected marriage to spare her from departures. Her concern centered on his safety, not resentment that duty called. 

”It may,” Tonbo admitted. ”Intelligence work ends when the answers are reliable, not when a schedule says it should. I’m sorry to leave all three of you so soon.” 

”They are my children too. We’ll be fine. You concentrate on coming home.” 

The twins made soft, overlapping sounds, as if joining the instruction. 

Tonbo placed a polished figure of himself beside each child. Similar figures already remained with Ayame and Tōsei. They were more than toys: each held a substantial reserve of his chakra and a prepared defensive technique capable of activating in an emergency. 

”These will watch you when I cannot,” he said. 

Ayame picked up one figure and tested its weight. She knew enough of Tonbo’s work to recognize the seals hidden beneath the weave. ”And what happens if one activates?” 

”It raises a barrier, alerts the others, and gives you time to reach shelter. Father knows the release sequence.” 

”Good.” She returned it beside Maki. ”Then I will worry only the ordinary amount.” 

Tonbo leaned over the cradle, touched his forehead gently to each child’s, and promised to return. Neither infant understood the words, but saying them made the obligation real. 

That night, he prepared every layer he could control. Formulae spread across the bandages he would wear, storing portions of sealing procedures in advance to shorten their activation time. He inspected weapons, radios, field rations, binoculars, antidotes, wire, blank scrolls, and waterproof containers suited to the endless rain. 

This would be his most dangerous S-rank mission. Knowledge of the Rinnegan and Nagato’s remote bodies provided warnings, not victory. His memories lacked the operational details needed to enter Amegakure safely, locate the real controller, or prove what had happened. Konoha’s analysts would test every claim against independent evidence; Tonbo could not return with unsupported conclusions and call the mission complete. 

The Six Paths also resisted many advantages on which he normally relied. Their shared vision complicated ambushes, and his genjutsu might affect only one body rather than the mind directing all six. He prepared counters without assuming they would work. 

He organized his equipment around escape rather than victory. Smoke and flash tools could break sight lines; seals could delay pursuit; woven scouts could search without exposing a teammate. Against an opponent capable of destroying conventional formations, information gathered from a distance would be worth more than a glorious exchange at close range. 

Tonbo still trusted his combat experience. More importantly, Hiruzen had authorized retreat. He would not imitate a shinobi who remained in a lost battle merely to satisfy pride. Ayame, two infants, and aging parents expected him home. 

Across the village, Tessen Togekei checked his own equipment in a small second-floor apartment. He tightened his forehead protector and reviewed the wind techniques he had developed over the past two years. 

He was no longer the inexperienced genin Tonbo once led. Togekei had earned chūnin rank, completed missions without supervision, and learned to make decisions under pressure. This would be his first S-rank assignment and his first chance in years to fight beside his former teacher. 

He intended to prove that Tonbo no longer needed to protect him. 

Togekei also packed repair wire and spare components for his weapons. Wind Release had made his cutting tools deadlier, but an intelligence mission rewarded quiet utility more than spectacle. He reminded himself that impressing Tonbo meant following the objective, recognizing danger, and bringing the squad home—not chasing the strongest enemy he could find. 

In a chamber hidden from ordinary ANBU, Danzō addressed two masked operatives. 

”Your true objective is intelligence concerning the bearer of the Rinnegan,” he said. ”Use Tonbo’s strength to draw attention if necessary. You are Root. You understand which mission takes priority.” 

The command deliberately separated their loyalty from Tonbo’s authority. They would travel under his leadership while preserving a second chain of orders, and Danzō expected them to sacrifice the official mission—or their companions—if doing so brought him closer to the dōjutsu. 

”Understood,” they answered without emotion. 

The operatives vanished. 

Danzō looked toward the paling sky. If the legendary eyes truly existed, securing them could transform Konoha’s power—and his own. Hiruzen’s objections would matter less once results proved which of them had been right. 

Each participant approached the mission with a different purpose. 

At sunrise, Tonbo said farewell to his family and arrived early at the designated meeting point.