Naruto: Starting by Reading Minds in Naruto

”You came home at last,” Hiruzen said. 

He and Asuma sat opposite one another in the Sarutobi residence. Four years had changed the son more visibly than the father. Asuma carried himself with the balance of a veteran, his shoulders broader and his expression slower to reveal anger. Hiruzen offered neither praise nor reproach. If service with the Guardian Twelve had taught Asuma anything, demanding an answer too quickly would only cheapen it. 

Asuma looked around the familiar room. ”It hasn’t changed much.” 

”Some things have.” 

The cry of an infant answered him. A moment later, a narrow stream of water struck the floor between them. 

Hiruzen turned with the expression of a man betrayed during negotiations. Konohamaru lay upon a cloth nearby, newly freed from one diaper and clearly unwilling to wait for another. 

”I looked away for one moment.” 

Asuma coughed into his hand to hide a laugh. ”So this is my brother’s son.” 

”Konohamaru,” Hiruzen said as he reached for a towel. He often relieved the child’s caretaker after returning from the Hokage Tower. Official reports, border disputes, and hostile villages followed rules he understood. His grandson treated every routine as an opportunity for ambush. 

Tonbo’s claim that his twins were easy to manage returned with particular offense. 

”Wait there,” Hiruzen told Asuma. ”I need to finish this before he discovers another weapon.” 

Asuma watched his father clean the child with hands that had signed death orders, wielded a staff against armies, and taught three shinobi who became legends. Konohamaru gripped one of those fingers and quieted. 

During his years away, Asuma had continued asking what the king in the Will of Fire truly meant. The daimyō appeared to be the obvious answer, yet service in the capital had shown him that a title alone could not explain the sacrifices demanded of shinobi. Nor could the village be reduced to its walls, laws, or Hokage. 

Looking at the child, he felt the beginning of another answer. Not certainty; only a seed that might become one. 

Several days later, the visiting guards assembled on a broad training field behind Konoha’s northern ridge. Wind bent the grass in long waves while the visitors waited in two disciplined rows. Their injuries had been treated, but several still wore bandages from the attack. 

Three instructors stood before them: Yūhi Kurenai, Kurama Murakumo, and Asuma, present as captain and representative of the Guardian Twelve. 

Asuma lit a cigarette and glanced toward the empty place beside Kurenai. ”It is almost time. Where is Tonbo?” 

”He directs the Analysis Team,” Kurenai said. ”He also has responsibilities with the Barrier Team. He may still be handling those duties.” 

”Both?” 

Murakumo smiled at Asuma’s disbelief. ”He is one of Konoha’s more unusual jōnin. Head of the Analysis Team, captain of the Barrier Development Team, and a genjutsu specialist. Kakashi is not the only prodigy in your generation.” 

Asuma studied the grass. The last time he met Tonbo, he had been an angry fugitive determined to reject every word connected to his father. Tonbo defeated him, declined to drag him home, and turned the encounter into a lesson for three genin. Asuma still resented feeling helpless before him. At the time, he had believed only being Hiruzen’s son had kept Tonbo from dragging him back. 

He had also spent those years surviving assassinations, protecting officials, and killing enemies who knew his name. The boy Tonbo had defeated no longer existed. Asuma was confident he could now defeat Tonbo without much trouble. 

The guards had less patience. 

”Captain, one instructor has not arrived,” said a man in the front row. ”We should begin without him.” 

”He is civilian-born,” another said. ”Perhaps he reconsidered once he learned whom he was expected to teach.” 

A third gave a bitter laugh. ”We should include this insult in our report to the capital. At the very least, they should cut his pay.” 

Their protective service recruited from shinobi, temple fighters, and noble houses, but it operated with the pride of a standing military force. These guards defended the daimyō’s estate. They were accustomed to others waiting for them. 

Kurenai looked sideways at Asuma. ”Your people seem eager to make friends.” 

He had been tempted to agree with them until Murakumo described Tonbo’s offices. Now Kurenai’s dry tone made the temptation embarrassing. 

Asuma faced the formation. ”You came to learn, not to cause trouble. Speak again before the course begins and you will spend the first lesson sparring with me.” 

The complaints stopped. Their expressions did not improve. 

When he turned back, Kurenai was smiling. The small approval struck him with more force than expected. He extinguished the cigarette beneath his sandal and discovered that he had forgotten what he intended to say next. 

Among the rear rank, the guard occupied by Zetsu watched the exchange. Learning that Tonbo himself would teach the course changed a useful infiltration into an exceptional one. Zetsu had come to study Konoha’s release methods. Instead, he would observe the man whose barrier had overwhelmed Pain’s shared senses. 

”I am not late,” a voice said across the field. ”And discussing an instructor before he arrives is a poor beginning.” 

Every head turned. 

Tonbo walked down the slope with both hands in the pockets of his flak jacket. His new bandages once again concealed his eyes and brow. Pale petals drifted around him although no flowering trees stood nearby. Each step seemed to strike the earth beneath the guards’ feet. Pressure settled over their chests, tightened their breath, and forced their hearts into the rhythm of his approach. 

Zetsu’s borrowed body locked in place. 

The others fared no better. Men who had survived the road ambush strained against limbs that refused to answer. One tried to reach a weapon and managed only to move two fingers. 

Asuma felt the same weight. His skin prickled beneath his sleeves. Tonbo did not appear hurried or hostile, yet the field had narrowed until every instinct treated him as the only danger present. 

He glanced at Kurenai. Her red eyes remained fixed upon the approaching figure. An irrational annoyance rose in Asuma before he understood it. 

”Who is attacking us?” one guard forced out. 

Murakumo’s mouth curved slightly. ”No one. This is genjutsu.” 

Kurenai recognized the layered disruption a heartbeat later. ”Release.” 

She and Murakumo broke free first. Kurenai placed a hand upon Asuma’s shoulder and sent a sharp pulse of chakra into him. The false pressure vanished. The petals disappeared. Tonbo became only a young jōnin crossing the grass with a slight smile. 

Asuma’s face warmed after Kurenai withdrew her hand. For one foolish moment, he wished she had taken longer. 

The visiting guards remained trapped. Sweat gathered at their temples as Tonbo stopped before the formation. 

Hiruzen had told him to demonstrate his qualifications if arrogance interfered.