Shattered, then pieced back together.
Time flowed relentlessly. It had been many years since Kakashi had truly slept well.
Events unfolded like the precise gears of a watch, rotating in a perfect circle. For nearly thirteen years, Hatake Kakashi felt as though he were watching himself from a third-person perspective: his birth, starting the academy, graduation, participating in the Chūnin Exams, fighting in the war, right up until his promotion to Jōnin.
Every swing of his blade was perfectly executed, every leap precalculated, the next landing point already known.
On that night when he was three, his mother – the matriarch of the Hatake clan, covered in blood – collapsed at their doorstep. His father, eyes rimmed red, ruthlessly slaughtered the attacking ninja without leaving a single one alive. From that moment, Kakashi felt he could no longer control his own body. Each day became a mechanical routine of swinging his blade, training, relentlessly pursuing strength.
To become stronger than in the story he knew, stronger than before, stronger even than himself – this became his singular focus.
Graduating at age five, promoted to the youngest Chūnin in history at age six, Hatake Kakashi plunged his blade into an enemy's chest for the first time. Hot blood sprayed onto his face. The young child had become a killer.
He wiped the blood from his face numbly, his gaze unnervingly calm as he assessed the remaining enemies. Then, catching them off guard, he vanished.
His blade had tasted blood.
Returning home, Hatake Kakashi stared at his own hands for a long, long time. What should I do? What can I do?
Only then did his thoughts turn to his father.
There were many paths he could take, but most didn't feel right for him. Kakashi felt his role should be that of a guide – perhaps like the teacher of Team 7, leaving the task of saving the world to them.
They were the true chosen ones.
Or should he reveal everything that was going to happen to the Third Hokage?
He decided against it, choosing to keep the knowledge of this world's entire story locked within his heart, revealing it to no one. Why? Perhaps it was the last shred of dignity held by a transmigrator.
Soon, Hatake Kakashi came to regret that decision.
His father, Hatake Sakumo, broken by the villagers' accusations, his spirit weary and hollow, questioned Kakashi.
He questioned himself.
Sakumo committed suicide.
His death felt like a cruel joke.
Kakashi stood before his grave, pulled down his mask, and laughed for an entire night. When the night patrol thought he'd gone mad, they finally saw his swollen eyes and the short sword – his father's tanto – clutched tightly in his hand.
He had impulsively told his father everything, believing he could save Sakumo's life. Yet, the next morning, he still found his father's corpse.
Are the people in this world all fools?
When he later pointed that same tanto defiantly at Danzō and the Third Hokage, demanding answers, the Anbu guards effortlessly shattered his father's final keepsake.
Utterly disillusioned.
Even the comfort offered by that blond-haired man felt meaningless. The fame of Konoha's "Yellow Flash" was known everywhere, yet didn't he still die at the hands of the Nine-Tails in the end?
A dark, ugly thought began to sprout and grow within him. Kakashi decided he would simply watch. Watch these decaying figures meet their predetermined fates. Watch this world march step by step towards its own destruction.
Could a savior truly be a savior without their guide?
Kakashi began mimicking his father's way of speaking, talking to himself.
"If the war could be ended, people would surely be happy."
Then, in his own voice, he countered.
"If the war ended, could the dead come back to life?"
He continued the internal debate.
"Is death the end?"
"No, death is just the beginning. All tragedy stems from death's irreversibility."
"What is the cycle of rebirth?"
"Rebirth is endless existence."
"You roughly understand what I'm saying, don't you?" (Father's voice)
"No." (His voice)
"Then you're still young. You'll understand later." (Father's voice)
At this point, it was no longer just the silver-haired boy muttering to himself. A phantom seemed to appear, sitting on a stone by a crackling fire, chatting idly with Kakashi.
"If you hadn't died, what would you have done? Become Hokage?" Kakashi asked the phantom.
"Maybe," the phantom replied. "But I might also have just remained an ordinary Jōnin for my whole life."
"You? Ordinary?"
The phantom reached up, tore the white armband from its left shoulder, and let it dissipate into nothingness.
"Without this, what difference is there?"
"Am I dead now?" Kakashi asked, his voice low.
"Of course you're not dead," the phantom insisted. "Live well."
Kakashi couldn't see the phantom's eyes clearly, but he knew, somehow, that Hatake Sakumo was watching him.
The flames abruptly flared, the crackling firewood and thick smoke obscuring the already faint figure, swallowing it whole before rushing towards the silver-haired boy.
The boy didn't flinch, didn't close his eyes. What lay within the flames?
"Kakashi! Kakashi!"
His body was being shaken. His stomach churned, a nauseating feeling like car sickness making him want to throw up. But he hadn't eaten in a day, so all that came out were a couple of dry heaves as he slumped over the bedside.
The orange-haired girl was wiping his cheek. There was warm liquid on it.
The boy touched his face, thinking it was tears at first. Looking closer, he realized – it was blood!
Did the wound on my left eye break open?
Strength was returning to his limbs. Kakashi immediately sat up, stopping the girl from applying more medicine. He went to a mirror to examine the wound closely.
Something inside the scar tissue was emitting a faint, white glow. Fresh blood trickled down, but there was no pain, only a strange itching sensation.
"Don't move! I went out specifically to buy this medicine," Mei protested.
"This kind of medicine doesn't really work on me," Kakashi replied absently.
A possibility occurred to the silver-haired boy. Without hesitation, he mentally summoned his 'System'. Sure enough, in the bottom right corner of his vision, an unfamiliar icon appeared.
Repair Progress: [52%]
Clicking for details, a 3D schematic of an eye rotated on the display. A small missing portion was being filled in by minuscule, intricate nanobots.
A note read: [System undergoing passive upgrade and maintenance (1 month). Estimated remaining repair time: 38 hours, 12 minutes.]
He noticed his chakra seemed to be slowly decreasing. He finally understood – he'd previously dismissed the slight drain as fatigue from lack of sleep, but now it was clear this was the cause.
"Can this be canceled?!" Kakashi demanded of the non-intelligent system.
[Cancellation unavailable.]
Bloody rogue software... the silver-haired boy thought irritably. He desperately needed to replenish his energy. Glancing around, he saw there was no food in the room.
The orange-haired girl had seemingly become immune to his peculiar habit of talking to himself. She concluded the boy must be suffering from hallucinations, his mind impacted by the trauma of war. But that was okay, she thought. She felt she could help him recover gradually.
Kakashi, oblivious to her thoughts, felt even hungrier after the dry heaves.
"Let's go out and get something to eat."
"We... we don't have any money left..." Mei admitted, looking troubled. She had spent all their money buying the medicine that morning. Who knew it would be so expensive? But she felt she couldn't not buy it.
Kakashi unslung the two tantos he'd taken from the corpses of the Kiri ninja, which he'd tied to his waist, and tossed them to the girl.
"We absolutely cannot resort to robbery!" Mei exclaimed, refusing the tantos and pushing them back towards Kakashi, shaking her head vigorously. She had her principles; harming ordinary people was something she would never do.
"Who said anything about robbery?" Kakashi retorted, slightly exasperated. "These two blades should fetch a decent price. Is there a pawn shop around here?"
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