Naruto: Starting by Reading Minds in Naruto

Tonbo crossed Konoha above the rooftops and descended inside the Kurama estate.

Only a few servants remained. None questioned his presence. In their memories, the estate belonged to a former branch of the clan that had moved away as Fire Country prospered. Konoha now maintained it as a quiet retreat. Tonbo had visited several times to paint, conduct research, and entertain his children.

He asked one servant who had employed her before Konoha took possession. The woman began to answer, stopped, and decided the name had never mattered. Another recalled receiving instructions from a clan steward but could describe neither the steward’s face nor when he had departed. The genjutsu did not force them to defend a detailed lie. It made the missing details feel too unimportant to pursue.

The explanation fit every visible fact.

It was also false.

Yakumo’s room remained as she had left it. Her brushes stood in their jars. An unfinished landscape rested near the window. Three cups occupied the shelf, including the chipped one she preferred. Nothing physical had vanished; only the meaning attached to it had changed.

The chair beside the easel had worn grooves where Yakumo placed her feet. A scorch mark crossed one section of wall from a training accident. Tonbo recognized both immediately, while the altered layer of memory offered harmless substitutes: a short former resident had used the chair, and an old heating lamp had damaged the plaster. Each explanation was plausible enough when considered alone.

Tonbo touched the edge of the painting and compared ordinary recollection with what Heart Steel had restored. Without the sealed memory, he would have called it the work of the estate’s former owner and felt no reason to ask a name.

The back hill preserved more traces. Weather had softened the marks left by their training, but the places where painted rain and wind had struck the earth were still visible. His unprotected mind supplied another answer: Tonbo had come here alone to test atmospheric genjutsu, and painting happened to be one of his hobbies.

Yakumo had altered cognition, not matter.

”Impressive,” Tonbo murmured.

The genjutsu had removed a person from the world’s active history while allowing every object she touched to remain. Minds repaired the contradiction by assigning those objects to someone else or refusing to notice the question.

Heart Steel had protected him, but too slowly. He had set the technique to restore guarded memories once every seven days. More frequent activation placed strain upon the brain and blurred the division between ordinary experience and archived recollection. Seven days had appeared safe when he designed it.

Now he knew what could happen inside the gap.

If Yakumo’s technique had required him to make a decision during those days, he might have acted against everything he intended to protect. Remembering afterward would not undo it.

He searched the estate, the village archives, and the Kurama clan records.

The records proved that the technique had not rewritten paper. Supply requests still carried quantities suited to one more resident. Medical entries referred to recurring examinations after the fire, although the patient’s name no longer drew attention from the clerks who handled them. Notes connected to Kurenai survived in separate files, but readers treated the references as routine clan work and never assembled them into the life of a surviving girl.

The same answer appeared everywhere. Kurama Murakumo, his wife, and their daughter Yakumo had died in the house fire years earlier. People who had known her possessed no strong memory of the girl surviving. The physical records were not perfectly clean, but the contradictions slid away from attention unless Tonbo compared them deliberately.

Even members of the Kurama clan repeated that conclusion. They remembered grief, funerary arrangements, and the decline of the main household. When Tonbo placed contradictory documents beside one another, their attention moved toward dates, seals, or filing errors instead of the person those records described. The false history endured because every mind helped repair it.

Someone as observant as Shikamaru might eventually have found the gaps. Most people would never look.

Tonbo needed a defense that did more than restore selected memories after a delay.

The Hundred Puppet Soul Binding array recovered in the Land of Hot Water might offer one direction. So might the Spiritualization Technique once used by Katō Dan, or the Dead Demon Consuming Seal and other arts touching the soul. If altered cognition acted through the brain, medicine and nerves mattered. If it reached deeper, he needed to understand what shinobi called spirit.

A useful defense had to preserve identity while the attack was occurring, not merely return an archived recollection afterward. Tonbo needed an anchor capable of comparing the mind’s current account with something the genjutsu could not revise. He did not yet know whether that anchor belonged in the nervous system, chakra, or soul. Yakumo’s work gave him a real phenomenon against which to test each theory.

He set himself a new goal: improve Heart Steel until it could answer techniques like Yakumo’s disappearance, Infinite Tsukuyomi, and the divine Omnipotence described by his future knowledge.

Forced Execution would give him an offensive answer. He wanted a defense as well.

The Chūnin Examination prevented him from disappearing into research immediately. Tonbo recorded the contradictions, reinforced the sealed memory, and left the estate.

Near the market, a dispute had gathered an audience.

Moegi and Udon stood close to Konohamaru, frightened but unwilling to abandon him. Naruto’s team had reached the street from the opposite side. None of them knew that Tonbo was watching, and he chose not to interfere while words and restraint could still end the encounter.

Kankurō held Konohamaru by the front of his shirt. The Sand shinobi’s wrapped puppet shifted upon his back as he raised his other hand. Sakura stood between him and the rest of the children.

A shuriken struck the cloth beside Kankurō’s wrist.

He released Konohamaru and reached toward the puppet.

Two pebbles flew from the tree above. Sand rose automatically and caught them before they reached his face.

Sasuke crouched upon a branch, another stone ready between his fingers. ”Visitors should learn Konoha’s rules before attacking Academy students.”

Gaara stood below him. Killing intent filled the street so suddenly that even the watching civilians fell silent.

It was not a threat performed for effect. Gaara looked at Kankurō as if killing his own brother would be no more difficult than brushing dust from his sleeve. The sand responding around him made the intent physical.

”Kankurō,” Gaara said. ”Stop.”

Temari folded her fan. Her gaze lingered on Sasuke with open interest.

Kankurō secured the puppet, though his pride had not recovered. ”These Konoha shinobi grew up in peace. That isn’t the same as strength.”

Gaara looked at him. Sand curled around one ankle.

”Do you want me to kill you?”

Kankurō went still.

Konohamaru’s knees shook, but anger held him upright. ”I’m the Third Hokage’s grandson. You can’t frighten me in my own village.”

Gaara’s gaze pressed harder.

The sensation reminded Konohamaru of Tenyu’s killing intent during their challenges, except Gaara’s was colder and carried the weight of real deaths. Sakura recognized it too. Battlefield Simulation had shown her enemies who felt like this; knowing the sensation did not make the person before her less dangerous.

She drew a kunai and stepped in front of Konohamaru.

Naruto moved beside her. ”Pick on someone in the examination.”

Gaara ignored him and looked up at the tree. ”Your name.”

”Uchiha Sasuke.”

”Gaara of the Sand. I will fight you there.”

He turned away. Temari and Kankurō followed.

Naruto shouted after them, furious that a confrontation involving his self-appointed little brother had ended with Sasuke receiving the challenge.

Tonbo watched from the far end of the street for one breath, then continued toward the Tower.

The children could remember every person before them. Yakumo had left behind a room full of proof and almost no one capable of asking who it belonged to.