Chapter 69: A Small Clan's Burden 

A dog's frantic barking broke the silence atop the earthen column. 

Tonbo rose into view astride a great woven hawk, one of the Haimaru Brothers tucked securely beneath one arm. A smile pulled at the bandages covering his face. 

"Give him back!" Hana hurried to the edge, then stopped when the height made her stomach turn. "Please, big brother." 

The sweetness in her voice was so forced that even her two companions noticed it. Their courage collapsed altogether. 

"Don't kill us!" Shikun cried. "Iruka-sensei told us to hit you!" 

Saiji nodded through tears, eagerly sacrificing their absent accomplice. 

"Why would I kill three future pillars of Konoha?" Tonbo asked. "Still, you did strike me. Surely you expected some kind of punishment." 

He tossed the ninken toward Hana. She caught him against her chest and checked him from ears to tail. The dog licked her chin, apparently unharmed, though he kept glancing suspiciously at Tonbo's harmonica pouch. 

"What are you going to do to us?" Hana asked. 

"Train you." 

The answer startled all three children. 

Tonbo landed his hawk on the broad summit and dismissed it into loose strands of chakra. "You claimed that you wanted my guidance. I have decided to grant your request. You are an Inuzuka, while these two belong to the Fūma and Izuno clans, correct?" 

Shikun and Saiji exchanged uneasy looks. 

"The Fūma clan has declined for years," Tonbo continued, "and the Izuno clan does not presently have a single jōnin. Neither family possesses the resources of Konoha's largest clans. That makes every promising child more important—and places more weight on your shoulders. A little additional training may improve your chances." 

The boys forgot their fear for a moment. Tonbo had stated the truth they heard in quieter forms at home. 

Konoha contained many small shinobi families. Some preserved distinctive weapons or secret techniques, yet lacked the numbers, instructors, and accumulated resources available to clans like the Hyūga. Producing even one chūnin could demand years of collective effort. When a promising child appeared, the hopes of several generations settled upon them. 

Tonbo knew that talent alone did not decide which shinobi advanced. A large clan could provide training grounds, medical support, experienced sparring partners, and records assembled across generations. A small family might possess only one incomplete manual and a retired relative capable of teaching it. A single injury, failed mission, or poor assignment could erase years of progress. 

That imbalance interested him more than the children's prank. Hana would receive the Inuzuka clan's established instruction, but her companions had fewer protections. If he gave them stronger foundations now, their own techniques might survive long enough to mature. In return, observing unfamiliar methods could broaden his understanding of how different shinobi shaped chakra. 

Shikun clenched his fists. "We can become chūnin." 

"Definitely," Saiji added. 

Tonbo tilted his head. "I offered to improve your chances of becoming jōnin, and you immediately lowered the goal? Where did all that confidence go? A moment ago, you were certain you could defeat me." 

Both boys stared at their sandals. They knew they ranked well among the children in their families, but they also knew what their elders' careful expressions meant. Chūnin was not a modest ambition to them. It was the summit reached by very few. 

Hana frowned and planted her hands on her hips. "Don't let him look down on you! We just hit him, didn't we? We can all become jōnin. We could even become Hokage!" 

The claim only made the boys shrink further. 

"She has a point," Tonbo said. "You punched and kicked me. That accomplishment already places you ahead of several celebrated geniuses." 

Three doubtful faces turned toward him. 

Tonbo raised one finger. "Kakashi was my classmate, and he has never touched me during a fight. Itachi sparred with me recently and failed to land a single blow. Anko has not managed it either. Yet you studied my habits, exploited what you believed to be a weakness, and struck successfully." 

Shikun's eyes widened. "We did better than Kakashi?" 

"In that one very specific measure, yes." 

"And Itachi?" 

"The same measure." 

The careful qualification passed straight through both boys. Their backs straightened as confidence returned. Hana understood perfectly well that Tonbo's comparison was misleading, but she kept her objection to herself. Her friends needed the encouragement more than they needed precision. 

"Do not mistake one success for mastery," Tonbo said. "But do not dismiss it either. You observed, planned, cooperated, and acted without hesitation. Those are genuine shinobi qualities. Develop them." 

The boys nodded solemnly. 

"Good. Now for your punishment." Tonbo pointed over the edge. "Climb down." 

All three children—and the captured ninken—looked toward the distant ground. 

"We'll die," Hana said flatly. 

The dog barked his agreement. 

Tonbo formed a short sequence of hand seals. The earth trembled, and a narrow pillar rose from the center of the plateau. It stopped well above their heads, its surface almost perfectly vertical. 

"We will begin with something simpler. You will learn the chakra-control exercise used for climbing trees. Once you can walk up and down this pillar, you can descend the outer wall safely." 

He stepped onto the pillar and walked upward without using his hands, pausing midway to explain how chakra should gather at the soles. Too little caused a foot to slip; too much repelled the user and damaged the surface. He demonstrated both failures deliberately, then showed them how to recognize and correct each one. 

His explanation differed from the one he had once given Iruka. These children had less experience and smaller reserves, so he divided the process into short, measurable steps: maintain contact for a breath, take one step, then two, and mark the highest point reached before falling. 

"Every five minutes," Tonbo added, drawing his harmonica, "I will check your progress. Anyone I judge to be slacking will assist with my genjutsu practice. That is why you came searching for me, isn't it?" 

The three children stared at the instrument. Iruka's technique had been dreadful enough. His teacher's version could only be worse. 

"We won't slack," Saiji promised. 

"Not for one second," Shikun agreed. 

Hana set the ninken down. "You heard him. We get off this thing together." 

They approached the pillar and began. Hana achieved three steps before losing adhesion and dropping onto her back. Shikun used too much chakra and launched himself away from the stone. Saiji barely placed one foot before sliding down. 

None complained. Each fall sent them scrambling upright before Tonbo could lift the harmonica. 

The confidence he had planted in the boys survived their repeated failures. They compared marks, corrected one another's posture, and celebrated every additional handspan. The ninken ran around the pillar barking encouragement at Hana. 

Hana soon discovered that her ninken could sense the instant her concentration wavered. His warning bark came just before each slip, allowing her to adjust. Shikun began carving tiny notches where his sandals lost contact, while Saiji counted breaths to keep his chakra output steady. Their approaches differed, but the children were already turning failure into information. 

Tonbo settled cross-legged near the edge and played a quiet sequence of notes while he watched them. The melody was harmless. For now, the threat mattered more than its execution. 

Between phrases, he considered how Bringer-of-Darkness might fit into his developing combat system. A persistent field could separate enemies, conceal barriers, and turn sound into the only reliable guide through a battlefield. With the right preparation, darkness and music could reinforce each other. 

Behind him, Shikun reached his fourth step and shouted in triumph. 

Tonbo smiled beneath his bandages. Their ambush had earned punishment, but it might also give three children from small families a better chance of carrying the hopes placed upon them.