Hatake Kakashi.
Even if he wasn't the renowned "Copy Ninja" yet, I knew who he was. I'd seen him in another life, another world—on a screen, in missions yet to come. But here… he was. Quiet. Reserved. Just a boy molded into a weapon faster than anyone else.
During this period, he was already established as a prodigy. He graduated from the Academy at age six, Chunin at age seven, and Jonin by age eleven. He was a walking anomaly, a creation of genius through pressure, loss, and war.
I maintained a neutral face and leaned a little towards Itachi, who was observing him as well.
"Of course," I whispered, "that fellow, how do you know him?"
Itachi did not glance away. "Hatake Kakashi. He's a jonin now. The youngest ever to achieve it, they say. Became a chunin at seven, did frontline missions like an old veteran ninja."
"That's hardcore," I said, bobbing my head like I already knew.
"He was part of a three-man squad under Minato Namikaze," Itachi went on. "Same squad as an Uchiha—Obito. While on a mission, Obito was… killed."
He hesitated for a moment. I remained expressionless.
"Obito's last act," Itachi explained, "was to transfer Kakashi his Sharingan. His left eye had been injured in combat. Rin Nohara, their third member, did the transplant there on the spot."
I glanced up at the silver-haired boy in the tree again, still sitting, not moving. Gazing off into space.
"That was… problematic, wasn't it?" I said.
"Yes," Itachi said. "The elders debated it. Some wanted the eye returned. But in the end, Father said it should stay with Kakashi. That if a Uchiha trusted him with it in death, we should trust him in life."
I didn't respond.
Because that was precisely who Fugaku had been. Cold, rational—but where legacy and honor were concerned, he never faltered. And it also signified something else—Kakashi was no longer an outsider. Not entirely.
Nevertheless, as I gazed up at him, I couldn't help but wonder how much he contemplated that eye. Whether he felt like it was a curse. A burden. A reminder.
Or all three. He didn't budge. Didn't respond.
But I could feel it, even from down here—that quiet burden he wore like a second skin.
And for an instant, I wondered if someday I'd find myself sitting just like that.
A part of me wanted to talk. To ask something. Anything.
But I held back.
This wasn't anime land where ties were created through a loud public announcement and fist bump. This wasn't One Piece, where Luffy could scream "Join my crew!" and hearts would simply coincide through sheer disorder and charm.
No. This was real.
And real ninjas did not reveal themselves to other people because they smiled correctly or phrased the right question. Particularly not Hatake Kakashi.
Going up to him in person would've only made me seem odd—or worse, suspicious.
So I shrugged it off instead.
Not today.
I strolled over to the tree next to his, staying far enough away not to be intrusive, but close enough to let him know that I wasn't afraid. If he wanted to watch, he could. If he wanted to pretend I wasn't there, that was okay too.
I faced Itachi. He was already arching his arms, that subtle flame in his eyes beginning to stir alive.
"No warm-up?" I challenged, smiling.
"No need to beat you" he answered curtly.
We faced off under the trees. No more discussion.
This would not be a friendly exercise.
This would be full-bore.
I folded into my stance—low and reactive and grounded in shadow-style taijutsu. Itachi slid into his—crisp, balanced, stripped down. His gaze never wavered.
I stretched behind me and whispered inwardly.
"Nano—battle overlay. Predictive response systems on."
"Acknowledged."
"Start," said Itachi.
And then he vanished.
A flash of motion—fast taijutsu, from my left. I dodged to the side, avoiding the initial kick by the narrowest of margins, caught his wrist when he brought it forward and spun him around.
He flipped out, landing behind me, already preparing hand seals.
Fire Style: Phoenix Sage Fire.
I held up my hand, Tiger → Boar → Ram, and fired a Wind Release: Gale Palm back at him. The wind burst slammed into the fireballs in mid-air, sending embers flying into the clearing.
I dodged one shuriken—three others came after it. He had hurled them with Uchiha-style spin, a trajectory designed to shut off the gates of escape. I batted two away with a kunai and leaped out of range of the third.
I lunged and hit the ground and countered with Shadow Sewing Jutsu, sending three tendrils straight from my shadow against his legs.
He leaped, spun mid-air—and was gone.
I blinked—then turned just in time to absorb a palm hit to my ribcage. His Body Flicker Technique was sharper than ever.
I stumbled back, grinning amidst the sweat.
"Still not going all out?" I asked.
"No," he said calmly. "You're simply reading better."
We didn't let up.
We fought again, quick now—close combat, each motion a blur. Fists and elbows and kunai and foot. Jutsu inserted between body blows, not in place of them, but to add to the beat. This wasn't practice any longer.
This was a battle.
And all the while, I could sense it—that silent figure still sitting on the tree above, not moving.
Watching? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But I didn't care.
Because at that moment, I wasn't here to impress Kakashi.
I was here to test myself—to Itachi, to myself, to the path I was on.
And I wasn't going to get off it for anybody.
We continued.
No restraint. No courteous strolling.
Fist against fist. Steel rang against steel. Jutsu crashed in the air like colliding ideologies.
It was gorgeous chaos.
I dodged a sweeping kick, slid low, and struck upward with an elbow. He deflected it, turned around behind me, and sent a volley of shuriken. I dodged between them, flipping backward, and struck back with a Gale Palm, kicking dust and dirt into the air between us.
Itachi didn't blink.
He moved as if he'd anticipated the wind, slicing through the whirlwind with raw instinct.
Fire Style: Phoenix Sage Fire Jutsu.
The sky was illuminated with splattered fireballs, curving towards me. I threw a mud wolf into the way, allowing it to absorb the impact, and sprinted to the side. Another wave of shuriken shot—bouncing off, not to strike, but to deflect.
He's attempting to trap me.
Clever.
I grinned.
"Nano—activate full combat IQ and tactical overlay. Release all constraints."
"Confirmed. Battle Intelligence System Online. Adaptive Response System Online."
My eyes cleared. My body synchronized with intention. All slowed—not in reality, but in perception.
And this time, I acted.
My taijutsu was like water, flowing from one strike to the next. But it was like steel, too—fierce, sharp, insidious. Each step was interwoven with misdirection: a punch that turned into a sweep, a kick that lured retaliation. My entire pace was unpredictable, unfathomable.
Itachi's eyes widened. He compensated. Adjusted.
But he hadn't had his Sharingan yet.
And for the first time, I saw it—
Hesitation.
He retreated and employed Fireball Jutsu to drive distance, burning a broad circle at his feet.
Then—shuriken, thrown in a fan-like pattern to send me off-balance.
Perfect.
I set my one-hand seal for Mud Wolf Jutsu, and with a wrist flick, I sent a kunai flying in a broad arc—aimless.
The mud wolves exploded from the earth and intercepted his shuriken in mid-air.
Distraction layer one.
I created the seal for Hiding Like a Mole, sinking into the ground.
Itachi's eyes flashed down. He leaped instantly, anticipating the grab—and he was correct. I reached up, fingers brushing his ankle, but he spun mid-air.
Only one issue.
He was still looking at the wrong Akira.
Above him, the kunai I hurled—poofed.
A cloud of smoke.
Revealing me.
He spun in mid-air, grinning. "Predictable."
He swung—
His punch went straight through me.
His eyes widened.
His movement—stopped.
He gazed down.
Shadow Possession Jutsu—successful.
My shadow was already attached to his, pinning him in mid-air as he hit the ground. The distraction, the clone, the strike upwards—all a ruse.
From the ground, I climbed up slowly behind him, applying the icy kiss of a kunai blade against his spine.
"Checkmate."
He blinked. Smiled again, nearly proudly.
"Well played."
We remained thus for a breath. Both gasping. Both smiling.
The clearing lay quiet once more.
Sweat beaded on my body. Heavy was my breathing. The front of my shirt had a minor scorching to it. Itachi was just sitting across from me, still, sipping on a water flask, already having recovered to his calm facade as if this never transpired.
We went all out.
And hadn't gone undetected.
Situated at the treetops, Kakashi Hatake was just seated there, as still as could be—but I could feel his attention altering.
He was not simply refusing us anymore. He was staring. Watching.
Two young boys—much too young to be fighting like war-hardened veterans—had caught the attention of a man forged by combat. And for all his taciturnity, I knew: we'd impressed him.
Itachi, with his calculated, controlled movements and unshakeable serenity.
Me, with my compound feints, madcap unpredictability, and refusal to follow the manual.
We were different.
But we fought like we meant it.
Like it counted.
While we sat panting, I looked up at the sky, still empty and blue. My voice carried over the silence.
"What do you think about war?" I asked.
Itachi blinked, surprised by the inquiry. He gazed down at the ground, lost in thought. Kakashi, still hovering above us, leaned his head to one side—listening.
Itachi replied after a time.
"I don't like it," he said quietly. "It's the worst outcome for a village… for a family… for a person. After the war, the only thing that's left is loss."
He looked forward, his eyes steady. "You lose your comrades. Your friends. Your pride. Or your heart."
I nodded slowly.
"But it's also needed," I told him. "Other villages lack what we have. Look at Sunagakure—surrounded by desert. Fewer missions, fewer food rations, fewer anything. How are they going to make it without a fight?"
Itachi's expression turned a little troubled. "So what do you think?"
I breathed in.
"We become stronger. Not only strong. Stronger than everyone. The strongest. So powerful that no one even thinks to initiate a war. Then we consolidate them—all the secret villages—under a single banner."
He blinked, taken aback by the brashness of it.
"It's cruel," I admitted. "It's bloody. But it works. When there's just one master… all shinobi fight for one reason: to not fight."
I paused.
Then continued, "But… there is another way."
Itachi cocked an eyebrow.
"A more difficult way. Painful. Risky."
I stared at him, then back at the sky.
"To forgive. And to understand each other. By mutual communication."
Itachi gave me a strange look like I'd just shared a joke. His lips barely moved.
I chuckled softly. "Yeah. I know. It sounds a joke. But it's not."
I looked into his eyes again. "It can be done. But the one who attempts it… they'll hurt more than they'll benefit. Because in this world, kindness towards your enemy is cruelty towards yourself."
He fell silent.
His forehead creased.
Then—he asked.
"Could you forgive your mother's murderer?"
The words fell like rocks.
I braced myself.
My face went expressionless.
I didn't respond immediately.
When I did, my voice was chillier than I intended.
"…No. I cannot."
I looked ahead.
"He stole her away from me. I will kill him."
Silence.
I breathed in deeply, relaxed my lungs, and went on.
"But I won't let that define me. Itachi… there are things that you cannot forgive. And you shouldn't. But you must not be held back by them."
I glanced at him. My voice was firm now.
"You have to keep going. Carry the pain. Because the ones who died for you wouldn't want you to throw yourself away. They'd want you to live."
I leaned back, exhaling.
"Even though I'm thirsty for revenge," I told him, "I won't lose my way. My way is to guard the ones I have left—and to ensure history doesn't repeat itself. That's why I'll get strong. Not to take life… but to guard it."
Above us, I sensed it.
Kakashi's presence hadn't dissipated.
If anything, it had intensified.
I didn't glance up.
But I knew he was considering my words, just like Itachi.
I said it aloud for them both.
And perhaps, for me as well.
We were still gasping for air—me half-sprawled on the grass, Itachi sitting next to me, arms folded on his knees—when movement caught my attention.
A silhouette came walking, soft and steady.
She had short brown hair, gentle brown eyes, and blue tattoos on her cheeks. Her presence was calm, and kind, but keen. Her chakra was clean, controlled, and medical.
I recognized her immediately.
Rin Nohara.
Partner of Kakashi Hatake. One of the handful of individuals who could still reach him.
I wasted no time.
"Get up," I whispered to Itachi.
He glared at me as if I was plotting something—which I was—and got up with me.
We jogged over nonchalantly, and when we reached close enough, I put on my most angelic smile, cocked my head, and said in the most saccharine voice I could muster:
"Big beautiful sis, a weird dead fish-eyed guy is sitting in that tree over there looking at us. I think he's going to kidnap us."
I gestured dramatically toward Kakashi's branch.
Rin blinked—then went after my finger. Her eyes settled on Kakashi in an instant.
There was a slight, knowing chuckle that broke from her lips. She suppressed it slightly by covering her mouth. Then turned to us, reaching out with one hand and ruffling my hair, with the other giving Itachi a pinch on his cheek.
"He's not a weird man," she said softly. "He's my team member. He's just. depressed."
Her voice trailed off, the smile wearing thin. A flash of melancholy moved in her eyes like a ghostly shadow on a pond.
Both Itachi and I caught sight of it.
"Why is he depressed?" Itachi said blandly. "Did he get rejected because of dead fish eyes?"
Rin laughed hysterically, hands again covering her face, shaking her shoulders.
"You two are trouble," she declared. "Let's go talk to him, come on."
She took our hands—hers warm and steady—and led us across the field toward Kakashi's tree.
When she called out to him, there was no hesitation. Kakashi jumped down cleanly, landing just a few feet in front of us. Smooth, silent. Almost too perfect.
He looked at us—expression unreadable under his mask, one eye blank.
He was expecting us to be impressed.
We were not.
We just stood there.
Like it was no big deal.
Then, channeling every bit of brat energy I had, I tilted my head, stepped closer, and asked in the same innocent voice:
"Big stranger, why are you depressed?"
He blinked. No reaction.
I squinted slightly. "And even if you are depressed… it's not good to just stare at people all creepy like. It's weird."
Itachi gave the tiniest nod, arms folded, deadpan as ever. "Very weird."
Rin laughed again, harder this time, and even Kakashi flinched—slowly—like he was trying to determine if we were kidding or merely crazily unfiltered kids.
Perhaps both.
For a moment, I saw it—something changed in his eyes.
Not a smile. But a crack in the shell.
And that was enough.