Curse These Old Bones - Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Fire Country Capital 

The gates of the palace swung shut behind them with a metallic thud, and Asuma let out a curse the moment they were out of earshot. He shoved a hand into his pocket, pulling out a battered cigarette, and lit it with a sharp snap of his lighter. The first drag was like breathing freedom.

“Three fucking days,” he muttered, smoke curling around his words. “Three days in that gilded coffin. If I’d stayed one more minute, I’d have strangled a mandarin with my bare hands.”

“You’re just mad because you had to keep your mouth shut,” Taro said, his voice dripping with mock pity. “Did it hurt, Asuma? Not being able to puff out smoke and your ‘world-weary wisdom’ every five seconds?”

Asuma shot him a look, exhaling smoke through his nose. “Don’t act like you enjoyed it. I saw you squirming through half those banquets, trying not to stab your own thigh with a chopstick.”

“Shows what you know.” Taro adjusted his collar, the smirk on his face almost predatory. “I was getting work done, little bro. Not all of us get paid to sit around looking grumpy.”

Asuma barked out a laugh, flicking ash to the ground. “Oh, is that what you were doing? Work? Looked a lot like you kissing up to mandarins with too much perfume and businessmen with bad hair.”

“Call it what you want,” Taro said, shrugging. “But at least I wasn’t the one sulking in a corner like a kicked dog.”

The banter was sharp, but the grin tugging at Asuma’s mouth betrayed the warmth beneath it. He didn’t mind the jabs—hell, he’d missed them. They turned onto a bustling street, the noise and life of the capital washing over them like a tide. Vendors shouted, carts rattled, and children darted between legs, their laughter sharp and wild. It felt real—raw and imperfect in a way the palace never could be. 

For all their differences, it felt good to have his older brother back in his life, even if it meant enduring Taro’s endless schemes. For the last three days, Asuma had been little more than a shadow, following Taro through a series of meetings that had taken them from smoke-filled tea houses to gilded private chambers. What he’d seen had surprised him. Taro was sharper than Asuma had ever given him credit for. He moved like a gambler playing high stakes, every word measured, every smile weaponized. He’d bargained with mandarins, charmed merchants, and left every meeting with something in hand. It was like watching someone pull coins out of thin air.

“You’re not half bad at this,” Asuma admitted as they paused by a food stall, the smell of roasted chestnuts filling the air. “Didn’t think you had it in you to swim with sharks.”

Taro snorted, grabbing a handful of chestnuts and tossing a coin to the vendor. “What, you think you’re the only one with brains in the family? Just because you spent a few days praying in a temple and learning to grow magical arms doesn’t mean you cornered the market on wisdom.”

“No,” Asuma said, smirking. “But I didn’t think you’d corner it either.”

Taro cracked a chestnut with his teeth, shrugging. “I’ve got other talents. Like making money. Speaking of which…” He pointed a half-eaten chestnut at Asuma. “You still haven’t asked why we’re really here.”

Asuma raised an eyebrow, taking another drag from his cigarette. “I assumed it was about the fancy screens for the Chūnin Exams. The big gift for the Daimyo, right? That’s what this whole song and dance has been about.”

“Partly,” Taro said, grinning like a cat with a stolen fish. “But come on, Asuma. You know Dad better than that. You think he’d send me all this way just to hand over a TV and smile politely?”

Asuma exhaled, watching the smoke curl up into the air. “Alright. Spill it. What’s the real play?”

Taro pulled out his own cigarette and lit it, the grin on his face widening. “The screens? They’re about advertising. For Konoha.”

Asuma blinked. “Advertising? For the genin? You realize that’s going to promote every village’s candidates, right? Not just ours.”

“No, no, no,” Taro said, waving the cigarette like a baton. “Not the genin. The jonin. The proctors. Think about it—powerful, skilled ninja running the show, looking like absolute badasses while the whole world watches. Konoha’s branding itself as the village you don’t mess with.”

“Huh,” Asuma said, tilting his head. “I’ll give you that. Clever. Still doesn’t explain all the side meetings you’ve been dragging me to.”

“That’s where the fun begins.” Taro’s voice dropped, conspiratorial. “You know what I’ve been selling to those businessmen?”

Asuma squinted, wary. “Please tell me it’s not something illegal", he joked. The Hokage wanting to do something that was illegal ? It automatically made it legal — he was the Hokage, after all. 

“Video advertisements,” Taro said, grinning like a fox. “Dad’s idea. Between matches, during the broadcasts, merchants can pay to promote their businesses. Tailors, smiths, food stalls—you name it. It’s going to rake in cash.”

Asuma whistled low, his cigarette hanging between his fingers. “You’re turning the Chūnin Exams into a marketplace. That’s… something.”

“It’s genius,” Taro corrected. “But still, that’s just the side hustle. The real reason we’re here is bigger.”

Asuma crossed his arms. “Alright, Taro. What’s the big reveal?”

Taro laughed, pulling a stack of papers from inside his coat. He waved them under Asuma’s nose, the Daimyo’s seal stamped clearly on the top.

“What’s that?” Asuma asked, frowning.

“This,” Taro said, his voice brimming with satisfaction, “is the first cross-country authorization for a brand-new business.”

“And what kind of business?” Asuma asked, suspicion creeping into his tone.

“A bank,” Taro said, his grin spreading. “It’s called a bank. Don’t ask me where Dad got the idea, but it’s brilliant. Loans, interest, investments—all those rich bastards in the capital paying us to hold their money. We’ll make the Sarutobi clan richer than ever.”

Asuma stared at his brother, his cigarette dangling from his lips. “You’re insane,” he said finally, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Maybe,” Taro said, clapping him on the shoulder. “But mark my words, little bro. This? This is going to change the world.”

— — — — 

Konoha 

Hiashi Hyūga moved with the authority of a man who expected the world to bend to his will. His clan robes, immaculate and traditional, flowed behind him as he walked, a physical reminder of the decades of Hyūga dominance. Behind him, Hoheto Hyuga followed in silence, his Jonin uniform stark and functional. Hiashi did not look back. He didn’t need to. Hoheto’s presence wasn’t a question—it was an expectation.

“Do not disappoint me, Hoheto,” Hiashi said.

“I will not, Hiashi-sama,” Hoheto replied, his voice steady but tinged with the weight of responsibility. He was a bit stressed, Hiashi could feel it. “I will be worthy of the Hyūga.”

Hiashi inclined his head slightly. He had chosen well. Hoheto was no prodigy like Neji, but he possessed the discipline and temperament to lead. Starting today, he would serve as vice commander of the newly revived Konoha Military Police Force—a role the Hokage had entrusted to the Hyūga, a gesture of confidence and trust that Hiashi did not take lightly.

“Our Lord Hokage has placed great trust in us,” Hiashi continued, his tone as unyielding as his posture. “Do not squander it. Make the Hyūga proud.”

Hoheto nodded, falling into step without hesitation. Hiashi’s expression betrayed nothing, but his thoughts turned inward. Even after the whole debacle, the Hokage had reiterated his offer to promote Neji to chunin and make him a captain of the military police. But…To elevate a genin who had failed so publicly in the Academy Exams would invite ridicule from the other clans. The Inuzuka would jeer. The Akimichi would laugh behind their hands. Even the Nara, with their endless tact, might arch a brow. No. Hiashi’s refusal of the offer had been the only sensible response. Let him remain a genin. Let him earn his redemption.

The streets of Konoha gave way to their destination: an unassuming building nestled in the heart of the village. Once a clandestine base for ROOT, it was now being repurposed, its oppressive aura softened by the work of the artisans repainting. In a month, the Hokage would announce the reformation of the Military Police Force. Today, it began in earnest.

A chunin greeted them at the entrance—a Hyūga, one of the many who would form the backbone of this new force. He bowed deeply, his deference as it should be, before leading them inside. The air grew heavier as they descended into the facility, the walls closing in with a quiet weight. Hiashi activated his Byakugan without hesitation, his vision cutting through stone and shadows alike.

They entered the main chamber, a wide underground room where a group of ninja had already gathered. Hiashi’s eyes swept across them, reading their chakra and ranks with practiced ease. Forty ninja in total. Eight jonin. Thirty chunin. Two genin, clearly there for administrative roles. He allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. Twenty-two non-clan ninjas, eighteen from major clans. 

Of the eighteen, nine were Hyūgas. Three of the eight jonins—including Hoheto—were his kin. The others were of civilian origins, except form one Aburame. Among the chunin, he noted three Inuzuka, two Aburame, a Nara, a Yamanaka, a Kurama and…He smiled. Six Hyugas. The Hokage had been true to his word - and Hiashi would respect his. This was their moment to cement the Hyuga's dominance within Konoha’s military structure. Hiashi’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile ghosting across his otherwise impassive face.

The room fell silent as the Hokage entered. The man’s energy radiated through the chamber like a charged storm. He wore a stylized version of his robes, his forearms bare, revealing the strength that underpinned his authority. For a brief instant, Hiashi’s thoughts flickered to the image of this man crushing Danzo Shimura’s skull with a single blow. The brutality had been swift, efficient, and decisive—everything Hiashi respected in leadership.

“Lord Hokage,” Hiashi said, bowing deeply. The others followed, saluting in unison. Hiashi’s chest swelled with pride. This was Konoha at its best: united, strong, unyielding. The Hyūga’s choice to settle in this village generations ago had been wise. Kumo, for all its ambition, could never match the strength of Konoha’s heart.

The flicker of chakra behind Hiruzen caught Hiashi’s attention. His Byakugan zeroed in on the source: a figure with a slouched posture and the unmistakable streak of gray hair beneath the Dragon mask. Hatake Kakashi. So he had replaced Hiroto as ANBU commander. Hiashi’s lips pressed into a faint line, his expression betraying neither approval nor disdain. Kakashi’s personality left much to be desired—too flippant, too undisciplined—but even Hiashi couldn’t deny the man’s competence and efficiency. For now, it would suffice. A Hyūga would have been better, but compromise was often the way of leadership.

Hiruzen stepped forward, his gaze sweeping the room. Forty shinobi stood at attention, their faces a mix of experience and apprehension. He saluted briefly, a simple gesture that radiated respect rather than power. When he spoke, his voice was steady, each word precise, carrying easily to every corner of the chamber.

“The Konoha Military Police Force,” Hiruzen began, letting the name hang in the air for a moment. “A legacy that carries as much history as it does responsibility. Many of you believe this institution was born from the Uchiha clan. That is not the truth.”

Hiashi’s gaze flicked around the room. Even the veterans straightened, their attention sharpening.

“The Military Police Force was founded by my predecessor, the Second Hokage, Tobirama Senju,” Hiruzen continued. “It was not a punishment, as some have whispered, but a gesture of trust. Tobirama believed in order and accountability, and he entrusted the Uchiha with this responsibility as a sign of faith—faith that the village could move forward together, stronger as one.”

He paused, letting his words settle. “Their purpose was simple: to uphold the law within Konoha. To ensure that even shinobi, who wield great power, remained accountable. They were the village’s watchmen, protectors of trust.”

Hiruzen’s expression darkened slightly, though his voice remained calm. “But as time went on, mistrust crept into the institution. Divisions within the village, fear and resentment, undermined its foundation. The Police Force faltered, and with it, so did our trust in one another. That is the burden of history. A burden we carry together.”

Hiashi’s arms folded behind his back, his expression neutral, but he felt the room tighten under the weight of the Hokage’s words.

“Now, we rebuild,” Hiruzen said, his voice steady but growing stronger. “The future is uncertain—fraught with danger, but alive with possibility. We face threats from the shadows and within our own walls. Mizuki’s betrayal at the Academy. Danzo’s corruption at the highest levels of power. These are not just failures of individuals. They are failures of vigilance.”

Hiruzen’s voice deepened, carrying with it the weight of conviction. “In the years ahead, Konoha will rise higher than ever before. I promise it to you. But for the tallest tree to touch the skies, it must have roots that anchor deep into the earth and a trunk strong enough to bear its growth. The Konoha Military Police Force is not merely a revival—it is the foundation of our future. The first step, yes, but a crucial one.”

Hiashi’s Byakugan scanned the room, noting the ripple of transformation as Hiruzen’s words sank in. Shoulders lifted, heads tilted slightly higher, and breaths steadied with purpose. Pride swelled in the gathered shinobi, their chests puffing in quiet defiance of past doubts. It wasn’t mere acknowledgment—it was ownership. These forty weren’t just listening to the Hokage; they were absorbing his vision, wearing it as armor. The faint flicker of chakra signatures now burned steady and sure. Hiruzen had planted a fire in each of them, and Hiashi could see the embers glowing, ready to ignite.

“We have learned from the mistakes of the past,” Hiruzen continued, his tone thoughtful but firm. “This is not an institution that belongs to any single clan. It belongs to Konoha. Shinobi from every background will serve side by side. And its purpose will be not just to punish but to prevent. True strength does not come from enforcing rules; it comes from building trust.”

Hiashi nodded subtly to himself. This was the Hokage at his best—practical, inspiring, and precise.

“A great police force,” Hiruzen said, his gaze sweeping the room, “does not rule through fear. It does not wield its authority like a weapon. Instead, it creates a foundation of stability—a shield that protects the village, not only from enemies but from the cracks that form in our own walls. Each of you stands here today because you are trusted to carry that shield.”

Hiruzen straightened, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “Konoha has faced countless trials, and each one has made us stronger. The Konoha Military Police Force will be the cornerstone of that strength. This is not just a revival—it is the first step toward a greater future. Together, we will build something unbreakable, something worthy of the Will of Fire.”

The Hokage turned, his gaze moving over the gathered shinobi and clan heads. “The Police Force will officially begin operations in one month. Until then, you will undergo intensive training under the guidance of your supervising officers. This training will ensure that each of you stands as a model of discipline and unity, fit to bear the responsibility of safeguarding Konoha.”

He gestured, and Hoheto Hyūga stepped forward. The jonin moved with purpose, dropping to one knee before the Hokage, then bowing to the assembled clan heads, and finally, to the gathered shinobi. Hiashi allowed himself a small nod of approval. Hoheto’s gestures spoke of respect—not just for authority, but for those who would serve under him. The Hyūga had been well-chosen.

“Hoheto Hyūga,” Hiruzen declared, “will serve as your Vice-Commander.”

There was a subtle shift in the room—a tightening of focus, a quiet murmur of acknowledgment. Hiashi felt the weight of the moment. With Hoheto in such a key role, the Hyūga stood poised to guide this new Police Force.

“And now,” Hiruzen continued, his voice carrying a smile, “your Commander.”

Suddenly, drops of water condensed in the middle of the room. The swirl of water receded, leaving a man clad in deep blue armor that looked as though it had weathered a thousand storms. The plates overlapped like a fortress wall, each one marked with scratches and gouges that spoke of battles hard-fought and survived. A white fur collar framed his broad shoulders, its stark contrast to the dark armor lending an air of restrained authority. His movements were sharp, his stance unyielding. Across his chest and arms, the armor extended in layered guards, designed for both protection and practicality. A black undersuit stretched beneath, completing the image of a soldier built for war.

A mask obscured his face, its surface engraved with the new four-pointed leaf symbol of the Konoha Military Police Force. But what lay beneath was unmistakable: two eyes eye, their sclera black and their iris a cold, faintly glowing white, watched the room with chilling precision. 

The Nara clan head sucked in a breath, the sound cutting through the otherwise frozen room. Hiashi, with his Byakugan honed on the man, felt an unease he rarely experienced. The resemblance to the Second Hokage was too strong, too deliberate to ignore. The man bowed deeply to Hiruzen, the motion crisp and unhesitating.

"Lord Hokage, I am ready to serve you and the village with the utmost obedience" he said, as he bowed again. It wasn’t a gesture of courtesy—it was a declaration of loyalty, absolute and without question. 

Rising, his voice echoed through the chamber, cold and clear. There was no friendliness in his bearing, no gesture to reassure those present. He radiated a quiet ruthlessness, the kind honed on battlefields where hesitation meant death. This was someone who had waded through war and emerged untouched, more blade than man.

“For the glory of Konoha,” he said, as if the words themselves were a command. The weight of his presence pressed down on the room, leaving no doubt of who now held authority over them all.

Hiashi's gaze remained locked on him, his Byakugan taking in every detail, but it wasn’t his sight that made his blood turn to ice.

It was the voice. 

When the man spoke, cold and sharp, it cut through the air like a kunai. Hiashi’s eyes narrowed as the sound struck a chord buried deep in memory. A flash from the battlefield of the was. The voice was unmistakable—

Tobirama Senju.

It was impossible. The Second Hokage had been dead for decades. And yet, here was that voice, untouched by time, commanding the room as if no years had passed. Hiashi’s composure faltered, just for a moment. How could this be? The resemblance, the chakra, the voice—it wasn’t just uncanny. It was as though the past had stepped into the present, and the Hyūga clan head found himself staring at a ghost that refused to fade.

“This,” Hiruzen said, his tone hard as steel, “is Codename 'T'. He will serve as your Commander.”

Impossible. 

Hiashi’s initial pride wavered. How? And more important…If this man was their Commander, then the Hyūga’s control over the Police Force was far less secure than he had anticipated. But…

He smiled.

"For the glory of Konoha", he repeated, with far more conviction that he had ever said.

Yes, indeed. Konoha was going to greater heights. His ancestors had chosen well their village.