Hatake Sakumo had been generous to a fault.
Every mission payout, every bounty, every reward—most of it went to the families of fallen comrades. Widows. Orphans. The people left behind when shinobi didn't come home. Sakumo made sure they were taken care of, even when it meant living lean himself.
What he'd left Kakashi was simple: a house. Four walls and a roof. Nothing more.
At least Koharu had kept her word after the Three-Tails mission. The promotion to jōnin came with a bonus fat enough that Kakashi didn't have to survive on river fish anymore. Small mercies.
But money didn't fix what Kirigakure had broken.
Kakashi trained now. Constantly. Obsessively. Eating, sleeping, and every waking moment in between spent pushing his body harder. Faster. Stronger.
Because maybe—maybe—if he'd been better, Obito would still be alive.
The thought haunted him. Drove him. Wouldn't let him rest.
Sunlight filtered through the training yard as Kakashi moved.
Black Fang sang through the air—his father's blade, passed down, now his. The movements were fluid, almost hypnotic. Each strike flowed into the next like water, beautiful and deadly in equal measure.
Hatake Ancient Swordsmanship.
The style predated modern shinobi combat. Back when blades were used in ritual dances as much as battle. The Hatake clan had refined it over generations, adapting ceremonial grace into lethal precision. Sakumo had taken it further—hiding the killing intent behind elegance, making every angle unpredictable.
Kakashi felt it now. The rhythm. The flow. His father's legacy singing through his muscles.
The blade left his hand.
Black Fang buried itself to the hilt in a training dummy thirty meters away.
Kakashi didn't stop. His left hand clamped around his right wrist. Lightning chakra erupted—brilliant blue, crackling, screaming like a thousand birds.
He launched forward. The world blurred. His hand-blade carved through the dummy's neck in a spray of splinters.
The wooden head hit the ground with a hollow thud.
"Excellent swordsmanship."
Hiruzen Sarutobi stood at the edge of the training yard, Koharu beside him. Both had been watching. Neither had made a sound.
How long have they been there?
"Third Hokage. Elder Utatane." Kakashi bowed quickly, mind racing. He hadn't sensed them at all. Not even a flicker of chakra.
Hiruzen stepped forward, eyes bright. Was he... crying?
"For a moment—just a moment—I thought I was watching Sakumo again." The old man's voice cracked. "The way you moved. The precision. Gods, Kakashi, your father would be so proud."
Something twisted in Kakashi's chest. He looked away. "You're too kind, Lord Third."
"I'm honest." Hiruzen's smile was warm. "Now. That last technique—Chidori, you called it? Show me your hand."
Kakashi hesitated, then extended his right arm.
The damage was obvious. Burns. Blisters. Patches of blackened skin where the lightning had scorched too deep.
Hiruzen clicked his tongue. "This is your hand, not a piece of meat. Keep this up and you'll be fit for the grill." He tapped Kakashi's wrist. "The technique compresses Lightning Release chakra for penetration, yes? Clever. But it's eating you alive."
"I know the risks—"
"Do you know the tactical risks?" Hiruzen's tone sharpened. "Chidori makes noise. Lots of it. Any competent shinobi will hear you coming and run. You can't chase them down—the chakra drain's too high. One shot, maybe two if you're lucky. Miss, and you're defenseless."
Kakashi's jaw tightened. He'd known the technique had flaws, but hearing them laid out so bluntly stung.
"However—" Hiruzen's expression softened. "—there's potential. Have you considered combining it with Water Release? Create something like Kumogakure's Storm Release. Extend the range. Add homing capability. The speed stays the same, but you'd have options beyond point-blank strikes."
"Storm Release?" Kakashi blinked. "I don't know how that works."
"Neither do I, exactly. But I can research it." Hiruzen smiled. "Give me a few weeks. I'll figure something out."
"Get to the point," Koharu interrupted, nudging Hiruzen's shoulder.
"Ah. Right." Hiruzen cleared his throat, expression turning serious. "Kakashi. I have a mission for you."
Kakashi straightened. "I'm listening."
"The Allied Forces staff has finalized the western campaign—we're moving on Yuexi Peninsula. It's a solid plan. Our best shot at breaking the stalemate." Hiruzen paused. "But there's a complication. Rin's been assigned to the operation."
Kakashi's blood went cold. "Rin?"
"As our only jinchūriki, the staff wants her deployed. Tactical asset. Psychological warfare. You know how it is." Hiruzen's voice was carefully neutral. "The problem is, she can't fully control the Three-Tails yet. Combat deployment is... risky."
"Then don't send her!" The words burst out before Kakashi could stop them. "She's not ready—"
"I know." Hiruzen held up a hand. "Believe me, I know. But I'm a retired Hokage. I don't have the authority to override the staff's decision." His eyes softened. "What I can do is make sure she has the right protection. Someone she trusts. Someone who'll keep her safe when things go wrong."
Understanding dawned.
"You and Rin have history," Hiruzen continued. "You trained together. Fought together. She trusts you. And frankly, Kakashi, you're one of the few people skilled enough to handle this."
Kakashi didn't hesitate. "I'll do it."
"You're sure? This won't be easy—"
"I'm sure." Kakashi's voice was steel. "I couldn't protect Obito. I won't fail Rin too."
Hiruzen studied him for a long moment. Then nodded.
"Good. Report to the mission briefing tomorrow at dawn. And Kakashi?" The old man's expression was kind. "Your father would be proud. Not just of your skill—but of your heart."
Kakashi swallowed hard. "Thank you, Lord Third."
As the two elders left, Kakashi turned back to the training yard. Black Fang still jutted from the dummy's chest. He pulled it free, testing the weight.
I won't fail again.
He raised the blade and resumed his forms. The sun climbed higher. Kakashi didn't stop.
He couldn't afford to.
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