Aizen Sōsuke.
Perhaps the most renowned chūnin in all of Konoha—without rival.
There wasn't a single person in the village who hadn't heard his name: the man with the warm smile, refined demeanor, and love for calligraphy.
He was kind to everyone, always eager to help, and often spoke of the Will of Fire in ways that healed hearts and rekindled hope. Even those mired in despair found new life through his words.
Aizen used nearly all his mission pay to fund orphanages and adoption shelters under his own name. Any gifts or offerings from admirers—whether from women who adored him or friends who respected him—were discreetly redirected to the needy. To prevent mishaps, Aizen often delivered them himself.
Thus, even on this dark, rain-soaked day in Konoha, a faint, gentle light seemed to follow him wherever he went.
---
Ninjas and civilians greeted him as he walked through the streets, their faces brightening at the sight of him.
"Good afternoon, Aizen-senpai!"
"Hello, Aizen-sama!"
"Heading to see Lord Third, Aizen-chūnin?"
"Yes, Sato-jōnin. I'm reporting to the Third Hokage's office now."
"Aizen-nii! Here—an umbrella!"
"Thank you. But don't forget your own chores, alright?"
Smiling, Aizen patted the blushing girl's head and continued toward the Hokage Tower.
Along the way, numerous shinobi in tactical vests nodded respectfully or waved warmly at the man in the white haori, his robes dirtied from travel yet his posture perfectly composed.
There was hardly a soul in the village who disliked him.
That pristine white haori—symbol of purity and trust—was a privilege none but Aizen Sōsuke was permitted to wear.
---
After cleaning himself in the tower's bathing chamber, Aizen dressed in fresh, spotless attire. His expression remained as tranquil as ever when he gently opened the Hokage's office door.
"Lord Third, I've returned."
Behind the desk sat Sarutobi Hiruzen, the Third Hokage.
The pipe-smoking man known as the "Professor of Ninjutsu" and the "most promising Hokage" sat silently, his gaze fixed on the black rain outside.
After a long silence, he finally spoke.
"…Sōsuke, is it? Help me organize these. I've neglected my desk for a while. I'll be troubling you again."
"Yes, Hokage-sama. Allow me."
Aizen bowed deeply. The trust placed in him was absolute. He stepped forward quietly and began sorting the piles of documents scattered across the Hokage's desk.
Even confidential scrolls were left openly before him—Hiruzen made no attempt to hide them.
Yet Aizen never once glanced too long.
To the Hokage, it was clear: Aizen had no curiosity for power. He was only focused on order—placing numbered scrolls in sequence, separating unmarked ones for later filing, aligning reports perfectly within reach.
It was a methodical elegance that bordered on artistry.
Hiruzen watched him for a time before turning back toward the storm outside.
"…How is Hatake Kakashi?" he asked quietly.
"Still the same?"
"Yes, Lord Third."
Aizen adjusted his glasses, his tone soft but tinged with regret.
"He refuses to open up to anyone—not to me, not to others. He buries himself in silence and anger."
"I see…" Hiruzen muttered, the lines on his face deepening.
"This isn't good," Aizen said. "If it continues, those emotions will crush him—like this rain pressing down on the village. He's still just a child. Even a shinobi shouldn't be left alone to bear hatred toward his own father."
The word father made Hiruzen pause mid-drag. His face darkened. But seeing Aizen continue his work, calm and steady, the old man sighed.
"…Even in front of me, you never abandon your principles," Hiruzen said quietly.
"That's what makes you admirable. You're right, Sōsuke. Tell me—was it I who was wrong?"
"How could that be, Hokage-sama?" Aizen replied softly, brushing dust from a report before neatly placing it aside.
"You've never made a wrong decision. Of that, I'm certain."
Turning toward the Hokage, Aizen smiled—gentle, understanding, immaculate.
"Everything you do is for the Will of Fire. Sometimes sacrifice is necessary. Sometimes gossip can even serve a purpose. Sakumo simply failed to understand your intentions. It's tragic, but all I can do now is ensure the tragedy ends with him."
"Yes… a tragedy indeed," Hiruzen murmured, staring at the rain. "I never thought it would come to his death."
He drew on his pipe again, eyes distant.
"A shinobi must prioritize their mission—but that often conflicts with the Will of Fire. No matter the choice, there will always be dissent. I could have silenced it, but I didn't. I let it fester. I never meant to drive him to death, Sōsuke. I truly didn't."
"I mourn Sakumo as well," Aizen said gently.
"But it was his decision. We cannot judge the dead."
Hiruzen didn't answer. He seemed to be looking through the storm—to something far beyond it.
Having finished arranging the desk, Aizen stood respectfully and bowed.
"However," he continued, "I have one request. Kakashi-kun is still young. I wish to adopt him—make him my foster son."
"Kakashi?" Hiruzen turned sharply, surprised. "You… wish to be his guardian?"
"Yes. I know I'm still young," Aizen said, his tone steady, "but as the First Hokage once said, 'The lives of children are more precious than anything else.' I only wish to do what little I can."
He met the Hokage's eyes, gaze unwavering.
"Even if the leaves burn to ash, the faintest flame can still light the way for others. That's what I believe."
"…How admirable," Hiruzen murmured.
Inwardly, he was struck again by how radiant Aizen seemed—not the blinding warmth of the sun, but the soft, luminous glow of the moon.
This was a man who embodied the Will of Fire so purely that it seemed to flow from him.
Not just its inheritor—but its manifestation.
...
For twenty years, Hiruzen had watched this young man grow: pure, kind, responsible. Never seeking fame or glory. Content to live among Konoha's everyday struggles, yet maintaining the same tranquil heart.
He was not a sun that shone upon all life. He was the moon—gentle, serene—entering people's hearts during their loneliest hours.
Sometimes Hiruzen even wondered—if the village had to choose between them, would they see Aizen Sōsuke as the true embodiment of the Will of Fire, and not him?
Despite such reverence, Aizen harbored no ambition.
He was graceful, patient, and cultured. His handwriting was beautiful, his calligraphy refined. Even the Daimyō spoke highly of him, lamenting that a man of such elegance had been born a shinobi.
And when courted by nobles or political allies, Aizen only smiled—and went back to helping others.
He changed the world around him in small, quiet ways.
That was Aizen Sōsuke—the "white moonlight" of Konoha.
A twenty-year-old chūnin, without great feats or titles, yet by sheer virtue and compassion, he had become the village's moral beacon.
---
Hiruzen stared at the smiling youth before him and slowly closed his eyes.
Compared to his chosen "sun," he had already made up his mind.
"You've worked hard, Sōsuke… I truly am sorry for what happened to Hatake Sakumo."
"Please don't apologize, Hokage-sama. If the Hokage lowers his head, the rest of us will lose our direction."
"…Heh. You still manage to comfort even me," Hiruzen said, almost smiling.
"It's my duty, Lord Third," Aizen replied, bowing once more. "If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave."
"Go, then. I'll consider your request regarding Kakashi."
Aizen bowed politely. Unlike most shinobi, he didn't leap through the window or storm out—he simply walked backward, closed the door softly, and vanished in silence.
—
But the moment Aizen left, the shadows in the corner of the room began to shift.
A cold-eyed man stepped forth—Shimura Danzō, clad in armor reminiscent of the Warring States era, arms crossed as he smirked toward the door.
"Hmph. Aizen Sōsuke… Hiruzen, let me train him. In this shinobi world, that kind of idealism will get him killed."
"Don't taint him with your darkness, Danzō," Hiruzen said tiredly, exhaling a long breath as rain drummed against the window.
"Aizen is… a good man. Too good, perhaps. I can't bear to drag him into the world's filth. It would destroy the purity people see in him."
"No one grows strong without pain," Danzō countered. "If he can't face the dark, how could he ever lead the light? How could he be Hokage?"
"I don't intend for him to become Hokage," Hiruzen replied quietly.
"…What?" Danzō's eyes narrowed.
"Aizen Sōsuke is better suited to be an advisor—a moral pillar."
Understanding dawned on Danzō's face.
"You want him to be a symbol."
"Yes," Hiruzen said, voice low but resolute. "A symbol of the Will of Fire. A moral standard. A paragon."
He exhaled smoke slowly.
"That will be more valuable than any Hokage. He'll inspire others—not by ruling them, but by guiding their hearts."
"Heh. So you'd rather close that path entirely," Danzō murmured approvingly. "Typical of you, Hiruzen. If you ever hesitate—if you lose your clarity—then you should step down and give the title to someone stronger."
"Understood," Hiruzen said simply.
Danzō nodded, satisfied. "Good. Don't show weakness. We can't let our enemies sense division. You handle the Kumogakure—they mustn't suspect internal strife. I'll manage the village. We'll spread word that Hatake Sakumo faked his death—to deceive the other nations."
"So be it. I'll leave that to you, Danzō. I'll focus on easing tensions here. This must be remembered as nothing more than a tragic accident."
"Indeed. You are the tree above. I am the roots in darkness. Don't forget our oath, Hiruzen."
"I never have."
The two men exchanged a long, knowing glance. Danzō turned away, disappearing once more into the shadows.
---
Later, deep in one of Konoha's unseen corners—a place untouched by light—came a voice.
"…So, this is our first time meeting in this form, isn't it? Sakumo-kun. You taking your own life… that's truly convenient."
'…What?'
"Otherwise, how could I access the soul of a top-class shinobi with no risk? This is far safer than testing it on Dan-kun."
'Aizen—!!!'
"Truly, truly, truly—how wonderful."
Smiling warmly, Aizen adjusted his glasses as his reflection shimmered across a glass containment chamber—
and within it, the fragmented blue soul of Hatake Sakumo screamed silently, eyes wide in rage.
The light glinted off Aizen's lenses,
cold and serene—
like moonlight.