The midday sun beat down on Konoha, its warmth making the smell of cut grass and dirt rise from the fields. Three figures moved sluggishly under the weight of mundane labor—pulling weeds, repairing fences, and hauling baskets of produce.
"This is so unfair!" Naruto groaned, tossing a handful of weeds into the basket with exaggerated force. "We're ninja! Not gardeners, dattebayo!"
Sakura sighed, brushing sweat from her forehead. "These are D-rank missions, Naruto. We just graduated. This is part of the process."
"Yeah," Sasuke muttered, his tone clipped as he repaired a section of fencing with precise movements. "Complain less. Work more."
Naruto bristled, about to retort, but Kakashi's voice drifted lazily from where he lounged against a tree, reading his book. "Teamwork, Naruto. Even the simplest task is a chance to build it."
Arato watched silently from the treeline, masked and hidden in the folds of shade. He had followed them for weeks now, a silent ghost trailing the newly formed team. He had seen them bicker, stumble, and slowly—painfully—start to sync their steps.
He knew the pattern. All genin started here, humbled by dull chores before ever seeing the reality of shinobi life. But watching Naruto rail against the monotony, Sakura wrestle with her uncertainty, and Sasuke shoulder the work with quiet resentment stirred something deep in him. They're already walking paths that will one day decide the fate of nations.
Yet he stayed in the shadows. That was his place now.
⸻
Unseen Eyes
Konoha bustled with summer life. Farmers called to each other from fields, merchants rolled carts through the streets, and children laughed in the academy courtyard. The village's heartbeat was steady, familiar. To most, it was safe.
But not to Arato. He knew too much.
Crouched in a high branch, he let his eyes linger on Naruto as the boy carried a bucket of water with exaggerated grunts. He had never told anyone the truth—about knowing the future, about seeing how threads would unravel—but he couldn't look at the boy without remembering what lay ahead.
His fingers flexed. I swore I wouldn't interfere unless absolutely necessary. But still…
A sudden ripple in the air caught his senses. Not sound, not sight, but presence. Familiar. Controlled.
Arato tensed, shifting his stance.
From the path below, Kakashi stood, still holding his little orange book—but this Kakashi was wrong. His movements didn't carry the real man's casual rhythm. His eye flickered with artificial stillness.
A clone, Arato realized instantly. His gaze swept the training field. The real Kakashi was nowhere in sight.
"Always watching from the shadows, huh?" a calm voice drawled behind him.
Arato pivoted silently, hand brushing the kunai strapped to his thigh. But he stopped before drawing it.
There, standing on the branch opposite him, was the real Kakashi Hatake—book gone, posture sharp, his single visible eye fixed on Arato with piercing clarity.
⸻
Old Instincts
For a moment, the two men simply studied one another. The forest around them held its breath.
"You're good," Kakashi said finally, voice even. "Most wouldn't have noticed the clone. But then again… I wouldn't expect less. Not from ANBU."
Arato's mask caught the glint of sunlight as his head tilted slightly. "You speak as though you know what I am."
Kakashi's eye narrowed. "I do." His tone carried quiet weight. "You move like one of us. Silent steps, precise breath, no wasted motion. ANBU don't stop being ANBU, even when the mask comes off."
Arato said nothing. His grip relaxed, but his body remained coiled, ready.
Kakashi's gaze sharpened. "So tell me. Why are you following them?"
Arato's silence stretched. The truth pressed at the edge of his throat—about Itachi, about the massacre, about the future he carried like a curse—but he buried it deep. Instead, he answered with the calm detachment expected of a mask-bearer.
"They interest me."
Kakashi's brow arched ever so slightly. "Interest? Or protection?"
Arato didn't answer. His mask betrayed nothing, but inside his chest his heart gave the faintest lurch. Kakashi was closer to the truth than he realized.
⸻
A Warning Between Shadows
The two stood across from each other, branches creaking under the summer breeze. Below, Naruto's loud protests carried faintly upward as Sakura scolded him and Sasuke worked in silence.
Kakashi finally sighed, lowering his guard—but not his watchfulness. "I don't care what your reasons are. But know this: if you interfere with my team, if your shadows cross their light, I won't hesitate." His voice hardened, shedding its usual lazy tone. "I've buried too many comrades to risk more."
For the first time, Arato spoke clearly. His voice was steady, low, almost unreadable.
"They'll need your strength, Hatake. More than you know."
Kakashi's eye flickered, just for an instant. Something in Arato's words touched a thread buried deep in him, something tied to loss and promises made long ago. But before he could respond, Arato was gone—a blur of movement, a whisper on the wind.
Kakashi stood alone on the branch, eye narrowing as he stared into the fading shimmer where the masked figure had vanished.
"…I see."
Below, his clone dispelled, releasing a puff of smoke that startled Naruto into dropping his bucket and splashing both himself and Sakura.
Kakashi's lips curved faintly under his mask as he dropped from the branch. "Alright, Team 7. Mission accomplished. Time to report back."
But even as he rejoined his students, his thoughts lingered. Whoever that masked shinobi was, he wasn't just another shadow in Konoha. He carried a purpose—and Kakashi intended to uncover it.
⸻
Arato, already far from the field, landed silently on another rooftop, the village stretching before him. His chest was tight, though his expression never shifted.
Kakashi had seen him. Recognized him. Not as Arato, the boy who once sat in Konoha's academy, but as the mask—the ANBU he had become.
And for the first time in years, Arato wondered if the shadows he lived in were beginning to thin.