Curse These Old Bones - SI as Hiruzen Sarutobi in Naruto

Chapter 6​

Chapter 28 published on Patreon -- User : LaChenille

Kakashi wasn't used to having a zombie as a teammate. Sure, stranger things had happened in his life, but the cracked-faced individual standing beside him, summoned from a cadaver by the Hokage, definitely earned a place near the top of his personal "weird list." Still, weird or not, Kakashi had a mission, and the only thing more important than that was Konoha itself.

"Hmph. Another day in paradise," he muttered to no one in particular, adjusting his headband to cover his Sharingan more snugly.

His "partner" was perched dramatically nearby, shrouded in a voluminous hood like some wannabe stage performer waiting for their big reveal. Kakashi crouched beside them, giving the figure a lazy once-over. "Big entrance type, huh?" he murmured under his breath. "Drama queen."

With practiced ease, he pulled a kunai from his pouch and spun it once between his fingers. Then, without a word, he dropped from the roof, landing silently like a shadow. It wasn't fancy, but it didn't need to be. Fancy was for people who didn't finish their missions.

Sai stood in the open training ground, his kunai flying toward a distant target with mechanical precision. The soft thunk of metal hitting wood echoed in the quiet air as he lined up another throw. His face betrayed no emotion—there was no room for that here. Root had drilled discipline into him so thoroughly that even during downtime, his focus was absolute.

Then, from behind him, came a casual, "Yo."

Sai spun instinctively, kunai ready to throw, his heart leaping in his chest. He almost flinched. Almost. He hadn't heard anyone approach, and that wasn't supposed to happen. His mind raced as he lowered his weapon, snapping to attention.

"Captain Hound!" he greeted crisply, his voice steady despite the rush of adrenaline.

Hatake Kakashi, known to most as Captain Hound within ANBU, crouched lazily just a few feet away. His wolf-like mask hung at his side, and his visible eye was half-lidded, as if he were somewhere between sleep and boredom. Kakashi rested his chin on his hand, studying Sai in complete silence.

One minute passed. Then another.

Sai started to sweat. He didn't let it show outwardly, but his pulse quickened. Kakashi's reputation preceded him. Out of the thousand ANBU operatives in the village, only a fraction were jonins, and Kakashi was easily one of the most legendary among them—matched only by the commander himself. He was equally infamous for being lackadaisical about anything unrelated to missions, so for him to be here, watching Sai, intently, meant one of two things.

I'm part of a mission, Sai thought, swallowing hard. Or… I've drawn his suspicion.

Kakashi's visible eye curved into an almost-smile. "Huh," he said, his tone light and unreadable. "So Danzo likes them young, huh?"

Sai's blood turned to ice. A thousand fragmented thoughts raced through his mind, each one worse than the last. Did I make a mistake? Was I discovered? Am I compromised?

Before he could respond, another figure landed lightly beside him, their hooded cloak billowing slightly with the motion. The figure turned toward Kakashi, exasperation evident in their voice.

"For fuck's sake, Hound," the figure said, pulling back their hood to reveal their face. "Stop trolling your future allies."

Sai froze, his breath catching in his throat. The kunai fell from his fingers, clattering uselessly to the ground. Standing before him, impossibly alive, was Shin.

His dead brother, Shin.

Sai collapsed to his knees, the weight of disbelief and raw emotion slamming into him like a jutsu he couldn't dodge. The kunai slipped from his fingers, forgotten, clattering uselessly to the ground. He stared up, his usually composed expression shattered into something vulnerable and human.

"Shin…" The word barely made it past his lips, trembling with disbelief. He made his chakra pulse. Not a genjutsu.

Shin stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid to scare Sai off. Then, without hesitation, he knelt down and pulled Sai into a tight embrace. Sai froze at first, his training whispering that vulnerability was dangerous, but then he broke. His arms shot up, clutching Shin desperately, his face buried in his brother's shoulder.

"I thought…" Sai's voice cracked. "I thought you were gone. I thought—"

"I know," Shin murmured, his voice steady and warm, just as Sai remembered. "I'm here now, little brother."

For a moment, the world around them disappeared. No Root, no missions, no ANBU. Just the two of them, holding on as though letting go would shatter the fragile reality they'd been given.

Then Kakashi's voice shattered the tender moment with the grace of a sledgehammer.

"Well," he drawled lazily, "this is sweet and all, but if you two start making out, I'm leaving."

"For fuck's sake, Hound, you…."

Why, how why had the Hokage chosen Kakashi for this mission? Yes, he knew, his proficiency in seals, but…

Shikamaru yawned, long and slow. Which meant he was awake. Which was bad. Being awake came with responsibilities—listening, reacting, maybe even thinking. What a drag.

The only thing keeping him from drifting back off was Instructor Iruka, who was standing at the front of the class with a suspiciously bright smile plastered across his face. Shikamaru frowned. He didn't like it when teachers were happy. A happy teacher usually meant more work for him, and that was the last thing he wanted.

"Good morning, class!" Iruka chirped, his enthusiasm practically radiating off him. "Today, you're incredibly lucky! A Special Jonin is visiting us to talk about his work!"

There was a moment of silence, and then a confused voice piped up from the back. "Uh, there is?" Mizuki, Iruka's co-teacher, blinked in surprise. Judging by his tone, this was news to him too. Apparently, Iruka hadn't shared the memo in the teacher's lounge.

The class, however, had no such reservations. Excited whispers erupted instantly, growing louder by the second as kids leaned over desks and craned their necks.

"A real ninja?!"

"And a Jonin!"

"Do you think he's fought the Seven Swordsman of the Mist?"

"What's the Seven Swordsman of the Mist?"

"I don't know, but it sounds awesome!"

Naruto was the loudest of them all, as usual. He'd jumped onto his desk, arms flailing as he declared, "I bet he's super cool, like a hero or something! But I bet I'm stronger than him!"

Shikamaru sighed, letting his head slump onto his folded arms. What's the big deal? Half the kids in his class had ninja parents—real ones. His own father was the head of the Nara clan and a trusted member of the village's elite. Big deal. His dad spent more time napping than fighting.

His mother, though... Now she's terrifying, Shikamaru thought with a shudder. She scared his dad, and that was saying something.

He groaned, shifting in his seat, ready to tune everything out. But then, his eyes caught something odd— the strange students, the boy who always seemed to hover around Mizuki like a shadow. He was watching the teacher closely, too closely, with a smile that didn't match the excitement of the other kids. It was sharp, almost smug.

Shikamaru felt a chill crawl up his spine. He sat up straighter, deciding maybe it wasn't the best time to doze off after all.

The door creaked open.

Shikamaru immediately regretted his decision to stay awake. If he'd been sleeping, he wouldn't have had to see him.

Ibiki Morino entered the classroom, and the air seemed to freeze. His face, a roadmap of scars and grim tales better left untold, drew every eye like a magnet of fear. Shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally from his towering figure, pooling around him as if the darkness itself recognized him as its own. His trench coat didn't just hang—it loomed, heavy with the weight of countless interrogations, countless screams. His eyes swept across the room, cold and unrelenting, peeling away the bravado of every student like layers of bark from a tree. Each step he took landed with a deliberate finality, the sound reverberating in the silence like the toll of a death knell.

Whispers died on tongues, giggles turned to choked gasps, and even the bravest kids dared not move. It was as if the room itself held its breath, waiting to see what this living nightmare might do next.

Except, of course, for Naruto.

"Whoa! Who is this guy?!" Naruto yelled, oblivious to the oppressive aura that had silenced everyone else. "Why's his head look like someone scribbled on it? Did he fight a bear or something?!"

Shikamaru buried his face in his arms. Why didn't I just stay asleep?

Ibiki's eyes swept the room like a hunter surveying prey before settling on Naruto, who sat grinning on his desk, completely oblivious to the quiet storm closing in.

"You," Ibiki said, his voice deep and rasping, like the scrape of steel against stone. Naruto's grin faltered as Ibiki's shadow loomed closer.

"You want to know about my face?" Ibiki tilted his head slightly, the scars catching the classroom's light.

He took a slow step forward, and the room seemed to shrink around him. "This scar," he began, dragging a calloused finger along a jagged line across his cheek, "was from a kunai. They tied me to a chair—steel chains so tight they cut my wrists to the bone. Then they held my head still and carved into my face. They wanted to see how long I could scream before I broke."

Naruto's grin disappeared entirely.

"This one," Ibiki continued, pointing to the deep gash near his temple, "was from a branding iron. They heated it until it glowed white. It didn't just burn—it hissed. They told me the pain would stop if I told them Konoha's defenses. I didn't." His voice darkened, his tone almost accusatory, as if daring Naruto to imagine himself in his place.

Naruto shifted in his seat, his grin now a strained line, his face draining of color.

"These," Ibiki said, gesturing toward faint scorch marks that spiraled around his neck, "are from a lightning jutsu. They used it on me over and over, each time aiming for the veins, so it felt like my blood was boiling. My heartbeat echoed in my skull, and every muscle in my body locked up. Their medic was standing by to heal me, just enough to keep me alive for the next round."

Naruto slid lower in his chair, his eyes wide, his breath quickening. The rest of the class was silent, paralyzed by the weight of Ibiki's words.

"And this one," Ibiki said, tapping the jagged scar that ran from his forehead to his jaw, "is from when they stopped asking questions and started cutting pieces off me instead. Slowly. Methodically. They wanted me to die begging. I didn't beg -- and they were the one that died."

By now, Naruto was practically under his desk, his skin so pale it looked translucent. Even the other students, some hardened by having ninja parents, sat frozen in collective horror. The classroom felt suffocating, the air thick with the ghosts of Ibiki's past.

Ibiki straightened, towering over the students, his scars visible reminders of the hell he had survived. He let the silence linger, the weight of his presence pressing on every heart in the room.

"I am Ibiki Morino," he said finally, his voice low and steady, but carrying a menace that felt almost tangible. "Head of the Konoha Torture and Interrogation Force. My job is to make people talk when they would rather die. And sometimes, I ensure they die after they talked."

The classroom remained silent, save for Naruto's shaky breathing. Ibiki's eyes swept over the students like a predator circling prey, pausing just long enough on each face to ensure they felt the weight of his gaze. His presence filled the room like a gathering storm, the kind that didn't just bring rain—it brought destruction.

"My other job," Ibiki began, his voice grating like a blade scraping across stone, "is to ensure there are no traitors among us. To sniff them out. To drag them into the light. And believe me…" His lips twisted into a faint, chilling smile. "I always find them."

He let the words hang in the air, his boots thudding against the floor as he began to pace. The oppressive atmosphere seemed to grow heavier with each step. The students, frozen in their seats, watched him as though he were a coiled serpent ready to strike.

"Traitors," Ibiki continued, his tone steady and deliberate, "are like cockroaches. They thrive in the dark, crawling in the sewers, festering in filth where they think no one will look. Others hide in plain sight, walking among us, pretending to be allies, pretending to be… trustworthy." His voice dropped, a razor-thin edge of menace creeping into his words.

And then his eyes landed on Mizuki.

The smile that Mizuki had plastered on his face since the start of the lecture began to falter. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he stiffened under Ibiki's scrutiny.

Iruka, who had been nervously fidgeting, went rigid. His face paled, his strained smile vanishing as understanding dawned. His eyes darted between Ibiki and Mizuki, his breathing shallow.

Ibiki's faint smile widened, his teeth flashing like a wolf catching the scent of prey. "Traitors," he continued, his tone conversational, but laced with an undercurrent of menace, "always think they're clever. They believe their masks will hold, that their lies will stand unchallenged. But there's one thing they can't change."

He took a step forward, the sound reverberating through the room like a drumbeat. Mizuki flinched but held his ground, though his hands began trembling at his sides.

"They have a scent," Ibiki said, his voice dropping lower. He took another step forward, his gaze fixed on Mizuki like a predator locking onto its quarry. Mizuki unconsciously stepped back, his chair scraping the floor loudly in the silence.

"A way of speaking," Ibiki continued, closing the distance. His footsteps were measured, deliberate, and the tension in the room grew unbearable with every movement. "A way of acting. A way of hiding. But no matter how hard they try…" He stopped just short of Mizuki, his towering figure casting a long, dark shadow over him. "They can never truly escape what they are."

Iruka unsheathed a Kunai, and positioned himself between the students and Mizuki. There were many clan heirs in this classroom that could be taken as valuable hostages.

Mizuki's breathing quickened, his pale face shining with sweat. His usual cocky demeanor crumbled as the reality of Ibiki's attention bore down on him.

"You know what all traitors have in common?" Ibiki leaned in slightly, his voice just above a whisper, sharp enough to cut. "They think they're untouchable."

Mizuki swallowed hard, his back hitting the edge of the desk as he unconsciously retreated again. The students, frozen in their seats, could barely breathe, their wide eyes darting between Mizuki and the terrifying presence of Ibiki Morino.

"And you know what I've learned?" Ibiki's voice dropped even further, almost a growl. His scarred face loomed closer to Mizuki, his grin twisting into something wolfish and predatory.

"They're wrong."

Mizuki's face twisted in desperation, and with a guttural scream, he lunged, grabbing the nearest student—a quiet, unassuming boy who'd sat just close enough to Mizuki to make himself an easy target. His kunai pressed hard against the boy's neck as Mizuki backed toward the wall.

"Stay back!" Mizuki bellowed, his voice raw, cracking with terror. "Don't make me do it! I'll kill him, I swear!"

The classroom erupted into chaos. Students scrambled back, chairs scraping and desks rattling. Some gasped, others froze, their faces pale with shock. But not Shikamaru. He sat still, watching, piecing it together.

Him.

Shikamaru's sharp gaze stayed fixed on the boy. He'd been watching him all week—the way he moved, the calculated steps, the subtle positioning. Too perfect. Too deliberate. And today, the boy had shifted closer to Mizuki, quiet and unnoticed, just as Ibiki's terrifying monologue began.

Not a student, Shikamaru thought, his stomach twisting. A plant.

He remembered his father's reaction when he'd casually mentioned the boy days ago. Now, as the boy stood calm under Mizuki's grip, Shikamaru understood why.

The hostage's lips curled into a smirk.

"Oh, Mizuki," the boy said, his voice low, mocking, and entirely unfazed by the blade pressed to his neck. "You really shouldn't have done that."

Mizuki's eyes flickered with confusion for a split second, and then the nightmare began.

The boy's sleeves rippled and bulged unnaturally, before exploding outward. Snakes—enormous, writhing, fanged monstrosities—burst from his arms, their hissing deafening. They struck like lightning, fangs sinking into Mizuki's arms, shoulders, and neck.

Mizuki's scream tore through the room as he convulsed, the kunai clattering from his hand. The venom hit instantly, locking his body in place even as his eyes darted in wild terror. The snakes coiled around him, tightening like living chains, their forked tongues flickering near his face.

The illusion around the boy shimmered, then shattered.

What remained was far worse.

The woman who stood there now was chaos incarnate. Her short, spiky hair framed a face that radiated unhinged malice. Her trench coat and fishnet armor added to her feral presence, but it was her eyes—wild, gleaming with sadistic delight—that made Shikamaru's breath catch. The snakes coiled around her arms like extensions of her will, their scales shimmering as they tightened their grip on Mizuki.

She crouched beside him, her grin so wide it was more like a snarl. "Oh, Mizuki," she purred, her voice a sickening blend of mockery and glee. "Did you really think you could crawl out of Orochimaru's shadow without getting bitten?"

Mizuki whimpered, his lips trembling as he tried to form words, but she didn't give him a chance.

"Do you know how long I've waited for this? All week, watching you sabotage the kids…" she continued, leaning closer, her snakes hissing in chorus. "You, his pathetic little servant, scurrying around like a rat, thinking no one would notice. But we noticed, Mizuki. And now…" Her grin stretched wider, her tone dropping to something almost sensual, dripping with dark pleasure. "Now I get to play with you."

Mizuki's breath hitched, his body twitching uselessly under the weight of the venom.

"I'm going to enjoy this," she said, her voice soft, intimate, as though sharing a secret. "I'll take my time. Start with the arms—nice and slow. Then the legs. Oh, the screams you'll make. I'll savor every. Single. One."

Her hand brushed lightly against one of the snakes coiled around Mizuki's neck. "And when you think it's over," she whispered, her grin splitting into full-blown madness, "when you beg me to end it, I'll remind you… this is only the beginning."

With a fluid motion, she grabbed Mizuki's paralyzed form and leapt through the nearest window, the glass shattering as she disappeared into the night with her prey.

For a moment, the room was frozen in stunned silence, broken only by the muffled sobs of a few students. Civilians' children, mostly—those who hadn't yet reconciled the brutal reality of the shinobi world. Even Iruka looked rattled, his hand gripping the edge of the desk tightly.

"And that," Ibiki said, turning back to the room, his voice breaking the silence with its grim weight, "is my job. It's what being a ninja is."

He smiled then—a thin, cold expression that sent chills through everyone, even Iruka, who visibly shivered.

"What a drag," a voice muttered from the back. Shikamaru turned his head, his sharp eyes landing on another student who casually dispersed into smoke, leaving behind a figure he immediately recognized.

Akaji Nara, a distant cousin thrice removed, leaned lazily against a desk, his expression bored but faintly amused. A chunin, Akaji was known for his ability to slip into roles so seamlessly that even other Naras couldn't detect him. Shikamaru's brow furrowed. Had he been undercover in the classroom? How could Shikamaru have not detected him?

Had he been doing homework to stay in character?

Impressive.

Ibiki glanced at Akaji, nodded faintly, then turned to Iruka. "The Hokage is waiting for you at the tower," he said, his voice as even and calm as ever.

"Me?" Iruka asked, startled.

"Akaji will brief you on the way," Ibiki replied, gesturing for the chunin to follow. Akaji gave an exaggerated shrug, stretched, and strolled toward the door like this was all part of an ordinary day. Iruka, still pale, hurried after him, glancing nervously over his shoulder at Ibiki.

Once the door clicked shut, Ibiki turned his attention back to the students. His eyes swept over them, the weight of his presence immediately silencing even the faintest whispers.

"A traitor has been sabotaging your progress," he said bluntly, his tone brooking no argument. "The level of disruption has been exceptional, which is why we will be conducting a full audit of this class. Your graduation exams, scheduled to take place in two weeks, are postponed until further notice."

Shikamaru's gaze drifted toward Sasuke, expecting an outburst. Surely, the Uchiha would be furious—another delay in his path to revenge. But to his surprise, Sasuke was quiet, his expression unreadable. Shikamaru's sharp instincts caught the faintest flicker of something unusual: restraint. Perhaps seeing a true jonin handle a situation—one that involved taking down a chunin instructor like Mizuki, who had repeatedly beaten Sasuke in sparring—had forced the Uchiha to reconsider his own limitations.

Ibiki's lips curled into another smile, this one far more sinister than before. "And now," he continued, his voice taking on a sadistic edge, "please welcome your provisional instructor."

There was a loud crash as another window shattered, glass raining across the room.

"DYNAMIC ENTRY!"

A blur of green, blindingly white teeth, and exuberant hair burst into the classroom. The figure landed with an impossibly perfect stance, striking a heroic pose that radiated enthusiasm.

"I am the Shadow Clone of Maito Gai," he declared, his booming voice echoing through the stunned silence, "and I will be your instructor for the next few days!"

Shikamaru felt his stomach sink as every instinct in his body screamed danger. Or worst - work. Exhaustive, physical work.

His Nara instincts were rarely wrong, and they were now telling him that his life was about to become very, very complicated.