When Feiyu returned to the Hatake residence, the place felt colder than ever.
Where once people had passed by naturally, now both civilians and shinobi alike took the long way around.
It wasn't fear.
It wasn't disgust.
It was guilt.
In one way or another, everyone who had gossiped, whispered, and judged had been part of the current that pushed Hatake Sakumo to his death.
With that kind of weight on their hearts, neither civilians nor shinobi wanted to walk past this house anymore. It would only remind them of what they'd done.
Feiyu knocked—three sharp raps on the door.
No answer.
He frowned, then simply vaulted over the wall into the yard.
The Soul Marshal didn't only give him control over spirits; it also granted a sort of spiritual detection. At short range, it wasn't much different from a sensor-type ninja's ability. The range was limited—only a few dozen meters—but it was enough.
In his perception, Kakashi's soul signature sat unmoving in the center of the house.
He was home.
He just wasn't responding.
"Kakashi! You planning to rot in here forever?!"
Feiyu shouted as he jumped in through a window.
Kakashi was lying on the bed, eyes dull, expression empty. Feiyu grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him upright.
"Do you need something?" Kakashi muttered. "If not, don't bother me. This is my house."
He shot Feiyu a flat glance.
Feiyu's brows knit together. He didn't bother arguing. He simply reached back, took the scroll off his back, and tossed it at Kakashi.
"You think I want to come? That's a scroll Hatake Sakumo-senpai left behind. I'm just returning it to you."
Kakashi caught the scroll, momentarily stunned.
A scroll… from his father?
Given to Uchiha Feiyu?
The question flickered across his mind, but only for an instant.
He was in a bad place, yes. But anything related to his father was an exception.
Without much hesitation, Kakashi broke the seal and unrolled it.
The handwriting was his father's.
Not just the script—it was the same cadence, the same turns of phrase, even the same little private codes Sakumo sometimes used. He had taught Kakashi some basic intel tricks; certain marks on the scroll were known only to the two of them.
As he read on, Kakashi's eyes widened.
The scroll wasn't just a message.
It was White Fang Blade Style—his father's own swordsmanship legacy, written out in full.
Inheritance like this was no small thing.
For most clans, secret techniques were second only to bloodline in importance. If a secret art leaked, the clan would do whatever it took to retrieve it—and silence anyone who'd seen it.
It wasn't just about keeping their techniques unique.
It was also because once your enemy understood your deepest moves, they could dissect them, find weaknesses, and engineer counters. For shinobi, who lived and died by information, that kind of intel gap could decide battles even between roughly equal opponents.
If the details of a clan's secret arts were exposed, it wasn't just a loss. It was disaster.
Feiyu didn't say any of this aloud, but Kakashi understood it instinctively.
That was what made this scroll so unbelievable.
That his father had entrusted this to Uchiha Feiyu of all people… was something Kakashi would never have imagined.
But there were ways to explain it.
For one, Sakumo's techniques weren't technically clan-secret in the formal sense. Even if they leaked, they weren't easy to "hard-counter" like some kekkei genkai-based arts.
And the Hatake weren't a large ninja clan. Sakumo had risen from the civilian class; there were no other Hatake shinobi to worry about.
After the failed mission, very few people visited him.
Feiyu was one of the only ones.
If Sakumo feared his home might be searched after his suicide, giving the scroll to Feiyu to pass on later made a certain kind of sense.
In the end, Kakashi trusted the scroll more than any speculation.
He didn't question Feiyu at all.
Even knowing there had to be more to the story, he simply filled in the gaps in his own mind—and chose not to ask.
After reading through the scroll, Kakashi lifted his head.
"Did my father say anything when he gave you this?"
"Nothing." Feiyu shook his head. "He just sealed the scroll and handed it to me. I only managed to undo it recently."
They'd rehearsed this answer beforehand.
The scroll really was sealed, the story airtight. There was nothing for Kakashi to latch onto.
Sakumo's death was sensitive enough, and the truth was impossible to explain. So Feiyu chose not to explain anything at all—and left the rest to Kakashi's imagination.
Getting nothing more out of him, Kakashi let out a long breath. The light in his eyes dimmed again.
Even so, compared to the dead, numb state he'd been in before, there was a faint spark of life now.
Feiyu saw it and clapped his hands once.
"Alright, Kakashi. Come train with me. You've been holed up in here long enough."
"Whatever happened with Sakumo-senpai hit you hard, I get it. But lying in bed all day isn't going to give you any answers."
"Answers…" Kakashi looked up at him. "You know what I'm trying to figure out?"
Feiyu snorted.
"Isn't it obvious? It's the same question Sakumo-senpai died over—what matters more: the mission, or your comrades?"
"You're wondering the same thing, aren't you?"
Kakashi's lips pressed together. After a moment, he gritted his teeth.
"Then what do you think? Should a shinobi put the mission first… or the comrades?"
Feiyu went quiet.
His expression grew serious—as if he were weighing the question carefully. He glanced left and right, then leaned in and lowered his voice.
"If you're asking me…"
"I think I am the most important."
Kakashi blinked.
Feiyu continued calmly:
"First, I look at how dangerous the mission is, and how close I am to the people involved. If the risk is low, sure—I'll pull a normal teammate out of trouble."
"If the risk is high, they're on their own. I'm not dying for someone I barely know."
"Priority one: my own life. Priority two: comrades I actually care about. Mission comes third. Familiar faces with no real bond… they're at the bottom of the list."
Kakashi stared at him, stunned.
"Are you… really a shinobi? That's way too… too…"
He couldn't even find the word.
Feiyu's answer was too blunt. Too real. Too far from the Academy textbook.
A cold, bitter kind of honesty.
Off to the side, Sakumo's spirit hovered quietly, listening.
And for the first time, the White Fang of the Leaf truly thought about it.
He didn't fully agree—but he couldn't deny that Feiyu's way of thinking had a certain undeniable logic.
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