Chapter 61: I'm Sorry, It Was My Fault 

While Iruka searched his memory for the moment of substitution, Tonbo retreated across the training ground. A harmonica appeared in his hand. 

"I have seen your progress," he said. "Now you can see mine." 

"What?" 

Iruka's satisfaction vanished. Whenever Tonbo produced an unfamiliar object, a new method usually followed. He drew several shuriken and attacked before the harmonica reached his teacher's mouth. 

Tonbo tilted between the spinning blades. Breath resonated through his chest, carrying chakra into the instrument, and a clear melody crossed the field. 

"I knew it." 

Iruka understood too late that he had become a test subject. Tonbo could have ended their spar by placing a blade against his neck; choosing music instead meant the assessment had entered a far more unpleasant phase. 

Darkness swallowed the training ground. 

Iruka reappeared bound to a wooden cross. A severe old woman with a bandaged head stood before him, stirring a pot filled with an unrecognizable meal. She raised a ladle. His mouth opened against his will. 

The first spoonful tasted of rancid medicinal tonic, bitter vegetables, spoiled broth, and fruit gone soft in the heat. Every flavor Tonbo had learned Iruka despised arrived together and refused to fade. 

"Sensei, no!" 

The cry escaped both the illusion and Iruka's body in the real field. 

Tonbo lowered the harmonica. His senses followed the breath trapped in Iruka's chest and the violent attempt to suppress a gag. A pleased smile touched his mouth. 

"He must appreciate the recipe." 

Tonbo animated enough woven material to form a rocking chair and sat down. The auditory technique did not continually rebuild itself like Hell Viewing Technique—Modified, nor did it block conventional release. Iruka only needed to endure the sensation long enough to disrupt his chakra. 

Tonbo listened for the instability that would signal the release attempt. The harmonica no longer needed to sound once the illusion took hold, which confirmed that the melody functioned as an entry path rather than a continuous restraint. That reduced the technique's cost and left Tonbo free to move after casting it. 

That condition was less forgiving than it sounded. Tonbo had tested each flavor separately during the old team's training. This was the first time he layered all of them into one coherent experience, using the melody to synchronize taste, smell, and the victim's involuntary swallowing response. 

Iruka's face tightened until every feature seemed drawn toward its center. Tears escaped his narrowed eyes. His nostrils flared, his jaw locked, and his entire body strained against nausea. 

"I will never spar with Sensei again." 

Recognition finally overcame disgust. Iruka gathered the chakra he had instinctively suppressed and released it in a sudden pulse. 

The cross dissolved. The old woman and her pot disappeared. Training Ground 98 returned around him, with Tonbo apparently dozing in the woven chair. 

Something cold rested on Iruka's chin. He wiped it with his hand, felt the sticky trail, and discovered what his nose had contributed to the ordeal. 

A camera clicked. 

"Iruka, that is terrible," Tonbo said from behind it. "Fortunately, I preserved the moment." 

"Delete it." 

"Your performance was excellent. You have become a qualified teacher. The student may soon surpass the master." 

Tonbo kept the photograph. Years from now, when Iruka lectured a classroom containing Naruto and the other children of his generation, documentary evidence of their instructor's dignity would be invaluable. 

Iruka glared at him. "This was never an evaluation. You wanted someone on whom to test auditory genjutsu." 

Tonbo nodded before correcting himself with a vigorous shake of the head. "Absurd. I would never reduce my disciple to a test subject. I wanted you to experience an advanced illusion so that I could contribute a secret technique to your work at the Academy." 

He struck his chest with complete conviction. 

Iruka's resentment deepened. "You said my genjutsu talent barely extends beyond releasing other people's techniques." 

"Did I? Then the situation has improved. I studied the resonance between chakra and the organs responsible for taste. With the seals I designed, you can reproduce specific flavors consistently without understanding the entire theory. The current version works on humans, though not reliably on summoned creatures." 

Interest replaced Iruka's anger. "You can teach me that?" 

"The prepared pattern does most of the difficult work," Tonbo said. "You will still need control, timing, and enough musical consistency to deliver it. If the target notices chakra in the first note, the technique becomes much easier to resist." 

The technique's deterrent value was obvious. A disruptive Academy student might ignore ordinary discipline, but few would repeat an offense after experiencing the punishment that had driven Iruka, Mibu, and Tessen through their most difficult training. 

Iruka pictured a classroom refusing to settle, one harmless melody crossing the desks, and every troublemaker suddenly reconsidering his choices. He also remembered the cross and the ladle. The technique would need a gentler prepared flavor before it belonged anywhere near Academy children. 

No one understood its effect better than he did. 

"Do you doubt your teacher?" Tonbo asked. 

He imagined Iruka using the technique on Naruto, Shikamaru, Kiba, Chōji, and the other children who would eventually fill his classroom. It was not cruelty, Tonbo assured himself. He was strengthening Konoha's future through memorable instruction. 

Across the village, Naruto sneezed over a cup of instant noodles. He caught it before it tipped, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and wondered whether he was becoming ill. 

At the Nara compound, young Shikamaru paused with a shōgi piece between his fingers and sneezed. 

"Do not pretend a cold is responsible for losing," Shikaku said, placing a piece that trapped his son's position. 

"I am not losing. I have a bad feeling." 

"A man should admit when he has been outplayed." 

Shikamaru studied the board and remained unconvinced that the feeling came from the game. 

At the Inuzuka compound, Kiba sneezed beside the puppy his mother had recently entrusted to him. Akamaru barked in concern. 

"I am fine," Kiba said, rubbing his nose. "Again." 

They resumed their synchronization exercise. 

At a barbecue restaurant, Chōji sneezed without losing the piece of meat held between his chopsticks. At barely four years old, his control over food already rivaled the dexterity of much older children. 

"Eat more slowly," his mother said, offering him a cloth. "You may be catching a cold." 

None of them knew that Tonbo had just helped prepare the teacher who would one day unite their classroom through shared fear of a single tune. 

Back in Training Ground 98, Iruka accepted the first sequence of seals with the solemn attention of a shinobi receiving a genuine inheritance. Tonbo concealed his amusement and began explaining how sound, chakra, and remembered taste had to align.