Naruto: Starting by Reading Minds in Naruto

Naruto remained attached to Tonbo’s side as they walked through Konoha, his shoulder brushing Tonbo’s leg. 

”Weren’t you buying something?” Tonbo asked. 

”We ran out of instant noodles.” 

”Then why are you following me instead of buying them?” 

Naruto grinned up at him. ”Because you were gone forever. I want to play.” 

”I came home from a long mission less than an hour ago. My wife and children are waiting for me, so I cannot spend the afternoon entertaining one troublesome boy.” 

The grin vanished at the word *children*. Naruto had seen fathers lifting their sons onto their shoulders and mothers dragging reluctant daughters away from sweets. He understood what parents were in the same way he understood distant countries: other people lived there. The thought that the strange man belonged to two children made him glance away. 

Tonbo noticed the change at once. His own happiness had struck an old bruise. ”You can come meet them,” he said. ”If you behave.” 

Naruto’s head snapped around. ”Really?” 

”Really,” Tonbo said. 

The boy hesitated, hope giving way to caution. ”Aren’t you scared I’m the Nine-Tailed Fox?” 

Tonbo looked down his nose at him. ”Only weaklings are afraid. A strong shinobi could crush that fox as easily as I could crush you.” 

”So you’re stronger than the Nine-Tails?” 

Tonbo cleared his throat. ”I could not beat it, but it could not catch me either.” 

Naruto stared at him in silence. 

At Tonbo’s gate, Naruto stopped obediently while Tonbo brushed road dust from his clothes and smoothed hair that months of Transformation had taught to lie differently. The lilacs survived the inspection. He straightened, drew one breath, and opened the door. 

”Ayame, I’m home.” 

Quick footsteps crossed the house. Ayame appeared in the hall and threw herself into his arms hard enough to drive him back half a step. ”You’re finally here.” Her voice tightened. ”If you had not kept sending messages, I would have thought you were dead.” 

Tonbo held her with one arm and rested his cheek against her hair. During the infiltration, every report he sent Hiruzen had been accompanied by a separate bird for his family whenever it was safe. The few words each carried had never been enough, but silence would have been worse. 

”I can look after myself,” he said. ”Look what I brought you.” 

He offered the lilacs. Ayame accepted them, her angry relief softening into a smile. ”Lilacs?” 

”For longing. Ino assured me the meaning was appropriate.” 

”Thank you.” 

Naruto peered around the open doorway. Tonbo beckoned him inside. ”I met someone on the way.” 

The boy stepped into the hall and bowed with more enthusiasm than balance. ”Hello, big sister.” 

Ayame blinked, then recognized the bright hair and whisker marks. ”Naruto, isn’t it? We met before Tonbo and I were married.” 

”You remember me?” 

”Of course.” 

No fear entered her voice. Naruto’s shoulders slowly lowered. 

Tonbo was already moving toward the children’s room. His awareness had found two familiar chakra signatures the moment he crossed the threshold, and patience deserted him. Ayame followed with the flowers; Naruto trailed behind her, looking around as if an ordinary family home were some forbidden place he had been permitted to explore. 

Tenyu and Maki sat awake in their cradles. About nine months old, they had been entertaining one another with solemn noises and sudden smiles. Both turned toward the door before Tonbo touched it. 

He stopped with his hand on the frame. The twins could not possibly remember him by sight after so long. Yet their attention fixed upon his exact position, anticipation bright in both faces. They had recognized his chakra through the wall. 

”There are my two little geniuses.” 

Ayame came in behind him. ”Mama,” the twins said, the syllables blurred but unmistakable. 

Tonbo placed a hand over his heart. ”A terrible betrayal. Say *Papa*.” 

Tenyu stared at him. 

”Papa,” Maki said. 

Her brother echoed her a moment later. Tonbo’s practiced composure collapsed. He lifted one child in each arm, and they answered his laughter with delighted sounds of their own. 

Their bodies were unusually strong for their age. More striking was the precision of their awareness. They followed small shifts in the room without searching, responding to presences before ordinary sight or hearing should have guided them. They had inherited his sensory talent along with their robust bodies. 

Naruto edged closer. ”Those are your babies?” 

”Tenyu and Maki,” Tonbo said. ”You may say hello. Quietly.” 

Naruto leaned toward them with his most careful smile. 

Both twins began crying. Naruto recoiled, hands flying behind his back. ”I didn’t do anything!” 

”We saw that,” Ayame said, already reaching for Maki. 

Tonbo soothed Tenyu. Could they sense Kurama inside Naruto? Was that why they were frightened? 

At this rate, everyone in his family might grow stronger than him. Well, perhaps not: he did have the advantage of a life in another world. Still, he would be delighted if his children surpassed him. 

”They don’t know you,” Tonbo told Naruto. ”Babies object loudly to unfamiliar things. Give them time.” 

Naruto nodded, though embarrassment still colored his face. He remained for the meal, eating cautiously at first and then with the speed of someone unused to a full table. Ayame kept him talking between mouthfuls. Tonbo described nothing of Amegakure, but supplied enough harmless complaints about rain and bland field rations to make Naruto laugh. 

After the meal, the boy took his leave. At the gate he looked back once, then again from the road, and a third time at the corner. 

So this was a family. Naruto looked back at the house with envy. 

Tōsei returned soon afterward and embraced his son with less force than Ayame but no less feeling. For the remainder of the day, Tonbo allowed reports, enemies, and unfinished techniques to wait. He held his children, listened to his father repeat household stories, and reacquainted himself with the shape of his own life. 

Night settled over the house. Once the twins had fallen asleep, Tonbo and Ayame checked them, left, returned to check them again, and finally closed the adjoining door. The quiet reunion that followed did not remain entirely quiet. 

In their cradles, Tenyu and Maki opened their eyes at almost the same moment. They listened, exchanged identical frowns, and climbed down with alarming confidence. Side by side, they crawled to the wall separating the rooms and sat against it in complete silence. For children who could sense their father through a closed door, the house possessed very few secrets.