Life in Konoha's ANBU by Shezza

Chapter 37: Bloody Monday

It was the dawn of a new day, and the sun rose up into the sky, casting a soft, golden light upon the sleepy village of Konoha. Most of the businesses had shut for the night, and while there was always an active shinobi presence, the Village seemed to be dead still, and there was very little movement. Slowly, people began to stir. The wafting scent of baking bread began to fill the streets, and genin darted around the Village carrying bottles of milk, newspapers and other assorted goods, ready for an early morning delivery.

Within the tallest building in the village, a young, thirteen year old boy's eyes snapped open at exactly 6:59:58. His hand flew out and he slapped the alarm clock on his bedside table a mere two seconds before it would have went off. Naruto blinked away the sleep from his eyes and took a deep breath, his froggy sleeping hat bobbing up and down with every breath. He got out of bed, flannel pyjamas wrinkled, and absently pressed a thumb on the spiralling red tattoo on his upper arm. A miniscule surge of chakra spread through the seal and Naruto was enveloped in a puff of smoke.

When it disappeared, Naruto's pyjamas were gone. He wore a light-grey armoured vest and long, dark pants. A pair of dull-metal armguards covered his forearm, and fingerless gloves protected his hands. His right upper arm was bare, his ANBU tattoo visible for the world to see, but he had wrapped a series of bandages around his upper left arm. Naruto rubbed his eyes and quickly made his bed, his movements automatic and well-rehearsed. Then, making sure his mask was clipped onto his utility belt, he left his small bedroom with the door closing quietly behind him.

It was usually Naruto's job to rouse the Third Hokage, but today, like many mornings, the old man was already up. Naruto shook his head wryly as he closed the door to the Hokage's bedroom. Ever since Naruto had been promoted to Jonin, Sarutobi had been giving him less and less of a hard time. That's not to say that the young ANBU could drop his guard, for that would just ensure that the cranky old man would hurl something heavy at his face, but it had made the mornings much easier. Naruto grimaced, however, as he made his way to his next destination.

If Sarutobi had lightened up, then Konohamaru had more than made up for it with his antics.

Naruto didn't know if the young Sarutobi was secretly bitter about his promotion, or that he was still recovering from his loss at the Chunin Exams. Maybe he was just trying- and succeeding- at being a pain the arse. Whatever the reason, every morning was quickly becoming less of a wake-up call and more of a re-enactment of the Third Great War. As such, when Naruto ascended the next floor to where Konohamaru's bedroom was, he was immediately wary and alert.

Konohamaru was becoming a sneakly little bastard, and it would be a massive dent in his pride as a Jonin if a Genin got the upperhand on him in an ambush. Naruto clenched his fists. That bastard Kakashi would never let him live it down!

The first trap was obvious. Ninja wire glinted across the hallway, leading up into the darkened corners of the hallway to bundles of packaged items. There could have been anything in there, from kunai or shuriken to poisons and gas. Knowing Konohamaru, it was probably something embarrassing and completely inappropriate for use in a real battle. It was simple and effective, yet not impossible to bypass without setting any of them off. Actually, there were several blind spots where an agile shinobi could dart through to reach the end of the corridor- and Naruto frowned at that.

Konohamaru was smarter than that.

Yet there was nothing obvious from where he was standing that could indicate danger. Naruto palmed his forehead, already thinking of the headache that was coming along. It was too early to be dealing with his kind of nonsense. Usually, the blond ANBU would play along with Konohamaru, secretly pleased at how the young Sarutobi was progressing with his trap-making. There were some days, however, when he just could be bothered.