Chapter 39 – Two Paths, One Choice
The silence in the Hatake home stretched long after the blade clattered to the floor.
Sakumo sat with his head bowed, his breath uneven, his thoughts spiraling. Yet… for the first time, he wasn't alone. Akira sat across from him, his glowing eyes dimmed but still faintly shimmering gold.
The boy looked at him with an intensity far too deep for his age.
"Sakumo-san," Akira began softly, "I can give you a choice."
Sakumo blinked, his weary gaze lifting. "A… choice?"
Akira nodded. His Byakugan flickered open again, not glowing in rage or despair, but steady, protective. The dojutsu rippled faintly, tugging at the fabric of space.
"My eyes… they created a place. A world where no one can reach you. Where shame, whispers, and accusations don't exist." His voice wavered, then strengthened. "If you want… you can go there. You can fake your death here in Konoha and live quietly in that world, free."
Sakumo's eyes widened in shock. He stared at the boy, at the sincerity burning in his gaze.
Akira lowered his voice. "But… if you leave, you'll abandon Kakashi. You'll abandon this village, even if they turned their backs on you. That's the cost of choosing peace."
The boy's words lingered like fire.
"Or… you can stay here. You can live, fight through the shame, endure the hate. You can walk beside Kakashi and let him grow seeing his father stand tall, no matter what the world says. That's the cost of choosing the harder road."
Sakumo's hand trembled in his lap. His throat tightened.
Two paths. One offering silence, one demanding suffering. Both paths carried a weight.
Akira leaned closer, his blue eyes shimmering like the ocean. "In the end… no one else can decide this story for you. Only you can. But remember what I told you…"
His words echoed like a whisper of destiny:
"There is a cost for every story in your life.
A cost for making your story better.
A cost for not making your story better.
And it's you who will have to pay it.
So decide carefully which story you want to tell."
---
Sakumo closed his eyes. Memories flooded him—Kakashi smiling as a child, the weight of his sword, the comrades who had cursed him, the missions he had once led.
His fists clenched.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze to Akira, who waited patiently, his aura warm and steady.
"…I understand," Sakumo whispered.
---