The sky above Konoha was heavy with dark clouds, thick and unmoving, as if the heavens themselves had chosen to turn their face away from what was about to happen below. The sunlight that usually warmed the village had disappeared completely, swallowed by layers of grey that stretched endlessly across the horizon, leaving the world beneath it dim and colourless.
A slow rain had begun to fall.
Not a storm, not yet, but a quiet, persistent drizzle that drifted down through the cold air and tapped softly against rooftops, stone paths, and the leaves of silent trees. Each drop seemed almost deliberate, as though the sky itself had decided to mourn alongside the people gathered below.
Far above, thunder rolled across the clouds.
A low, distant growl at first.
Then a flash of lightning tore across the sky, bright and sharp, illuminating the village for a single heartbeat before vanishing again, leaving behind only darkness and the echo of its anger.
It almost felt as if the heavens themselves were conflicted.
Grieving.
And furious.
Beneath that sorrowful sky, in the quiet memorial grounds of the village, stood a single stone.
The memorial monument.
Cold.
Still.
Unmoving.
Rainwater slowly traced its way down the carved surface, slipping across the engraved names of shinobi who had once lived, fought, and died for the village they called home.
Today, another name would be remembered.
And although the village had gathered to honour a fallen hero
The storm above seemed to whisper a different truth.
That this was not merely a funeral.
It was the beginning of something far heavier.
Something that would echo through the shinobi world for years to come.
The rain continued to fall softly over the memorial grounds, the steady rhythm of droplets striking stone and earth blending with the low murmurs of the gathered crowd.
More than half of the village had come.
They stood in quiet groups scattered around the memorial field, shinobi in dark cloaks, villagers holding umbrellas, academy students who barely understood what was happening but knew something important had taken place today.
Some had come as comrades.
Some had come as friends.
Some had come simply because they respected the name.
And there were others as well, people who had only heard whispers through the streets that morning, rumours carried through the market that something big had happened in the village.
All of them had gathered here for one man.
The White Fang of the Leaf.
Sakumo Hatake.
To some, he had been a hero whose name once stood beside the legendary Sannin.
To others, he had become a symbol of failure, a shinobi who had broken the rules and disgraced himself.
A fallen hero.
Or a disgrace.
Even today, standing beneath the grey sky, many in the crowd were unsure which one he truly was.
But whatever their opinions might have been, they had still come.
Because no one could deny the weight of the name Hatake.
At the centre of the memorial grounds, a raised platform had been prepared.
Standing upon it was the leader of the village.
The Third Hokage.
Hiruzen Sarutobi.
The old man stood beneath the light rain without an umbrella, his hands folded calmly behind his back as he looked out over the gathered villagers and shinobi before him.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
The only sound was the rain.
Then, slowly, the Hokage began to speak.
"Today... the village of Konoha gathers to remember one of its finest shinobi."
His voice carried clearly across the memorial field, steady despite the weight behind the words.
"Hatake Sakumo was not only a warrior of extraordinary skill, but also a man who carried the will of fire within his heart."
A small rumble of thunder rolled across the distant sky.
Hiruzen continued.
"In his time as a shinobi, he completed countless missions for this village. He protected his comrades, defended the innocent, and fought enemies who threatened the peace we all cherish."
The Hokage paused briefly, his aged eyes moving across the crowd.
"But more than his strength... Sakumo Hatake was known for the loyalty he showed to those who stood beside him."
The rain grew slightly heavier, tapping against the stone memorial behind him.
"History may remember his final decision in many ways," Hiruzen said quietly. "Some may question it... Others may never fully understand it."
"But the truth is this."
"Sakumo Hatake was a man who believed that the lives of his comrades were worth protecting."
The Hokage lowered his head slightly.
"And for that belief... he paid a terrible price."
For a moment, the entire memorial ground fell silent.
Even the whispering among the villagers had stopped.
Hiruzen raised his head again.
"Today we do not gather to judge the past."
"We gather to remember a shinobi who gave his life to this village."
"A warrior who carried the name Hatake with honour."
"And a man who will forever remain part of the history of Konoha."
The Third Hokage closed his eyes briefly.
Then he spoke the final words of his speech.
"May the spirit of the White Fang find peace."
"And may we never forget the sacrifices made by those who protect the Will of Fire."
For a moment after the Third Hokage finished speaking, the memorial grounds remained wrapped in a heavy silence. The rain continued to fall in thin silver lines, tapping softly against the stone paths and the black umbrellas held above the gathered villagers. No one moved. No one spoke.
Standing on the platform, Hiruzen Sarutobi slowly lifted his gaze and looked out across the crowd.
And then he saw him.
A small figure standing among the gathered people.
Silver hair.
Still as stone.
Kakashi Hatake.
The boy stood there quietly, the rain falling over him without care, soaking the shoulders of his dark clothing. His head remained lowered, his eyes fixed somewhere on the wet ground beneath his feet. Around him stood people who knew him, shinobi who had served beside his father, villagers who had once greeted the Hatake name with admiration, but despite their presence, the boy seemed completely alone.
Not crying.
Not speaking.
Not even looking up.
Just standing there.
Watching the rain fall.
The Hokage studied him for a moment, the lines of age on his face deepening slightly.
Then his voice carried across the memorial once more.
"Kakashi... would you like to say something?"
The words moved through the quiet crowd like a ripple through still water.
Slowly, heads began to turn.
Eyes shifted.
And soon every person gathered at the memorial found themselves looking toward the same small figure.
The son of the White Fang.
Waiting.
But no answer came.
The boy did not move.
He did not raise his head.
He did not speak.
Only the rain answered.
After a few seconds that felt far longer than they truly were, a figure stepped forward from the crowd.
Minato Namikaze.
The young jonin walked quietly toward the boy and gently took one of Kakashi's small hands into his own. His grip was careful, almost protective, as if afraid that the child beside him might break if the world pressed any harder.
Minato lifted his gaze toward the platform.
Then he shook his head slightly.
A silent answer.
The Hokage understood.
Hiruzen nodded once, then stepped down from the platform and slowly approached the memorial stone himself. When he reached it, the old man bowed his head and placed a hand lightly against the cold surface.
Paying his respects to Sakumo.
After that, others began to follow.
One by one.
Shinobi.
Villagers.
Friends.
Comrades.
Each stepped forward to bow their heads before the name carved into the stone.
And as the ceremony continued, the quiet murmurs slowly returned.
Whispers carried by the rain.
Some are soft with grief.
Others uncertain.
Some are still unsure of what the name Hatake meant now.
Then, from somewhere in the crowd, a small voice broke through the murmuring.
A child.
"Dad..."
The whisper carried farther than anyone expected.
The boy's voice was small, confused.
"If he were a hero... why does everyone look so sad?"
The question hung in the air.
Simple.
Honest.
And painfully innocent.
The father beside the child did not answer.
No one did.
Not the villagers.
Not the shinobi.
Not the Hokage.
Not the legendary Sannin who stood silently among the crowd.
And not even the small silver-haired boy who stood beneath the rain, holding tightly to Minato's hand.
Because sometimes...
Even the greatest heroes leave behind questions that the world is too afraid to answer.
The rain had not stopped.
It continued to fall in quiet, endless lines across the memorial grounds, washing over the stone paths and dark clothing of the villagers who remained gathered around the monument. One by one, people stepped forward to bow their heads, whisper prayers, or simply stand in silence before the name carved into the cold stone.
Eventually, two more figures approached.
Jiraiya and Tsunade.
The two legendary shinobi walked slowly toward the memorial, neither speaking as they reached the stone. For a moment, they simply stood there, the rain sliding down their shoulders and hair, their eyes fixed on the engraved name of the man they had once called a friend.
Sakumo Hatake.
Jiraiya exhaled quietly.
The old memories returned too easily.
He remembered the first time he had met Sakumo years ago, when the White Fang's name was already spreading across the shinobi world like wildfire. Despite the growing reputation and the respect that followed him everywhere, Sakumo had always carried himself with the same calm humility that made people comfortable around him.
A good listener.
A good comrade.
A good friend.
Jiraiya's gaze lingered on the stone as the rain continued to fall.
"Funny thing, Sakumo..." he muttered quietly under his breath.
"You always believed people had stories worth telling."
The wind moved softly through the memorial field.
"I still remember how you used to encourage me to keep writing," Jiraiya continued, a faint, bitter smile touching his face. "Said that one day my books might help someone understand the world a little better."
He shook his head slightly.
"You understood people better than most of us ever did."
Then his voice grew quieter.
"But tell me something, Sakumo..."
His eyes moved briefly toward the small silver-haired boy still standing beside Minato in the distance.
"Why'd you leave the poor kid behind?"
The question faded into the rain.
"You were the whole world that boy had left."
Jiraiya lowered his head slightly, his voice almost lost beneath the storm.
"What was he supposed to do without you?"
Beside him, Tsunade remained silent.
But her thoughts had already drifted somewhere else.
Back to the hospital.
Back to that terrible night.
She remembered the sound of the door bursting open.
Minato rushes inside.
His arms were covered in blood.
And in those arms—
A small, unconscious boy.
Kakashi.
Blood soaked his clothes, his hair, his hands. It had dried across his skin in dark patches that refused to come off easily.
Tsunade moved without hesitation.
She carried the boy straight into the bathing room of the hospital.
The water ran hot, almost scalding.
The tub filled quickly with steaming water and soap as she gently lowered the child into it.
And then she began to scrub.
The dried blood clung stubbornly to his skin, to his hair, to the small fingers that still trembled faintly even in unconsciousness. Tsunade worked in silence, her hands moving quickly as she cleaned every inch of him, as if she could somehow erase what he had seen.
The water slowly turned red.
Even after she rinsed him once... it remained there.
So she did it again.
And again.
Three times she washed him, scrubbing until her own hands began to ache.
Even then, strands of Kakashi's silver hair still carried a faint stain of red.
By the time she wrapped him in a towel, his skin had turned red from the heat of the water.
But Tsunade didn't stop.
She pulled the small, trembling body into her arms and held him tightly.
The boy was still unconscious, but faint sounds escaped him, something between a sob and a whimper, as if even his dreams refused to let him rest.
Tsunade held him closer.
"I'm sorry..." she whispered into his damp hair.
"I'm so sorry..."
Apologies spilt from her lips one after another, along with promises she wasn't even sure she could keep.
Promises that things would get better.
Promises that he wouldn't be alone.
Promises that the world would somehow make sense again.
But right now, none of that mattered.
All she needed was for the boy to know
Someday, somehow
It would be okay.
The memory slowly faded as Tsunade returned to the present.
Rain dripped from the edge of her sleeve as she stared at Sakumo's name carved into the memorial stone.
Then she exhaled sharply.
"You know..." she muttered quietly toward the stone.
"You were always a stubborn idiot."
Her voice carried a mixture of anger and grief.
"How much of a selfish bastard do you have to be..."
"...to leave your son behind like that?"
The rain answered her question.
Just like it had answered everyone else's.
The rain had softened now.
It still fell steadily from the grey sky above, but the earlier thunder had faded into distant murmurs somewhere beyond the mountains. Around the memorial grounds, people continued to step forward in quiet lines, paying their respects before slowly leaving the stone behind.
Yet the crowd had not thinned completely.
More figures continued to arrive.
Among them were three who walked together, their steps slow and deliberate as they approached the memorial stone.
Kushina Uzumaki.
Mikoto Uchiha.
And Fugaku Uchiha.
Once upon a time, they had been known as something unusual within the village.
The three students of the White Fang.
A team that people used to whisper about in the training grounds and mission halls.
Two Uchiha.
And a jinchūriki.
Some had called them reckless.
Others had called them the most dangerous team the village had ever produced.
But for the three of them standing here today, those memories felt very far away.
They stopped before the stone.
Rainwater continued to slide slowly down the engraved name of their former teacher.
For a long moment, none of them spoke.
Each of them remembers something different.
Kushina was the first to lower her head.
Her fingers curled slightly as old memories surfaced in her mind.
She remembered the early days in the village... when people looked at her with fear.
Whispers followed her through the streets.
Some called her dangerous.
Others avoided her completely.
Children stared.
Adults warned their own sons and daughters to stay away.
Because she was not just a girl.
She was a jinchūriki.
The container of the Nine Tails.
To many in the village, that made her something less than human.
A monster.
But Sakumo Hatake had never seen her that way.
Not once.
To him, she had simply been
A loud, stubborn little girl with too much energy.
Kushina remembered the first time he had patted her head after training, laughing quietly as she complained about another difficult exercise.
She remembered how he praised her strength instead of fearing it.
How he encouraged her.
How he made sure she never left training without eating at least three bowls of ramen.
Sometimes more.
The memory caused the corner of her mouth to tremble slightly.
Kushina reached forward and gently touched the cold stone where his name was carved.
"I'll be here for him, sensei," she murmured softly.
Her voice was quiet, but steady.
"I promise."
Behind her, Mikoto and Fugaku stood silently.
Their thoughts had drifted to their own memories of the man who had once trained them.
They knew very well how this village looked at the Uchiha clan.
Suspicion.
Distance.
Whispers that followed them through the streets just like they had followed Kushina.
But Sakumo had never treated them like that either.
Whenever they spoke with him, his smile had always been genuine.
Never forced.
Never cautious.
Just honest.
He used to tell them something during training that Mikoto remembered clearly even now.
"Don't spend your entire life fighting for a name."
"Sometimes you should fight for yourselves too."
At the time, they had not fully understood what he meant.
The world of shinobi had always been about duty.
Clan.
Village.
Honor.
Yet Sakumo had always insisted that life was more than endless training and missions.
That there was something beyond that.
Something human.
Fugaku exhaled slowly, the sound almost lost beneath the falling rain.
For a brief moment, the usually stoic Uchiha allowed his gaze to soften as he looked at the engraved name on the memorial stone.
Their teacher.
The White Fang.
Gone.
And standing only a short distance away now
His son.
Alone beneath the rain.
The memorial grounds had grown quieter with every passing minute.
The villagers who had gathered earlier were now gone, their footsteps fading into the distant streets of Konoha, leaving behind only a handful of figures who still lingered beneath the grey sky. The rain had softened into a faint drizzle, thin drops falling steadily from the clouds as if the heavens themselves were reluctant to let the moment end.
Near the memorial stone, Minato Namikaze remained standing.
He had not moved since the ceremony ended.
His hand still held the smaller hand beside him.
The hand of a boy who had not spoken a single word.
Kakashi Hatake stood quietly beside him, silver hair damp with rain, his gaze still lowered toward the ground as though he could not bring himself to look anywhere else.
Minato understood why.
Today, the boy needed someone beside him.
Not someone waiting somewhere else.
The wind moved softly across the memorial field.
Then footsteps approached from behind them.
Minato lifted his head.
Hiruzen Sarutobi stepped forward, the Third Hokage's robes darkened slightly by the rain as he approached the two of them.
The old man stopped a short distance away, his eyes settling on the small figure beside Minato.
For a moment, he studied the boy in silence.
Then he spoke gently.
"Kakashi."
The child did not move.
Still, Hiruzen continued.
"If you ever need help... remember that you are not alone."
The Hokage lifted his gaze briefly toward the figures who remained nearby.
"You have people who care for you."
His eyes moved across the memorial grounds.
His students.
Sakumo's students.
And the student of his own student.
He looked back toward the boy again.
"There are many who would stand beside you."
For a moment, the rain was the only answer.
Then another voice emerged from behind the Hokage.
Calm.
Measured.
"And you are correct, Hiruzen."
Both Minato and Hiruzen turned.
From the edge of the memorial grounds, another figure stepped forward.
Danzo Shimura.
His cane tapped lightly against the wet stone as he approached.
"This boy should not be left alone."
Danzo's visible eye rested on Kakashi.
"He may come with me."
The rain fell between them.
"I will raise him."
"And train him."
"Just as I have done with others."
The words had barely left his mouth when Minato felt something tighten in his hand.
Kakashi's grip.
The boy's fingers clenched slightly around his.
Minato's jaw tightened.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze toward Danzo.
Minato knew exactly what kind of "training" Danzo meant.
He knew how the man viewed children.
Not as people.
But as tools.
Weapons to be shaped and sharpened until nothing human remained.
Minato stepped forward slightly, placing himself between Kakashi and the elder.
"That won't be necessary, Danzo-sama."
His voice was calm.
But firm.
"Kakashi already has someone to look after him."
"You may leave."
For a moment, the rain seemed to grow louder.
Danzo's eye narrowed slightly as he looked at the young jonin standing before him.
But he said nothing.
Instead, he turned his gaze briefly toward the Hokage.
Then, without another word, Danzo turned and began walking away.
The tapping of his cane slowly faded as he disappeared into the mist beyond the memorial grounds.
A moment later, Hiruzen followed quietly behind him.
Leaving Minato and Kakashi alone beside the stone.
For a few moments after Hiruzen Sarutobi and Danzo Shimura disappeared into the mist beyond the memorial grounds, no one spoke.
The rain continued to fall.
Soft.
Steady.
Around the memorial stone, the few people who had remained slowly began to gather closer. They had watched the exchange from a distance, and now, one by one, they stepped nearer to the boy and the young jonin who still stood beside the stone.
Jiraiya was the first to approach.
The tall sannin crouched slightly beside the silver-haired boy, the rain dripping from the ends of his long white hair as he reached out and gently placed a hand on top of Kakashi's damp head.
His hand stayed there for a moment.
Not heavy.
Just present.
But before he could say anything
A small voice broke the silence.
"...Was it my fault?"
The words were quiet.
So quiet that at first no one was certain they had truly heard them.
But every head slowly turned toward the same place.
Toward the boy.
Minato blinked in confusion.
"What?"
Kakashi did not look up.
The rain slid slowly down strands of his silver hair as his voice came again.
"...Was it my fault he left me?"
The words felt heavier than the storm above them.
Minato's breath caught for a moment before he quickly knelt down in front of the boy, his hands gently holding Kakashi's shoulders.
"Kakashi... what are you saying? It's not your fault."
But the boy suddenly lifted his head.
And the moment Minato saw his eyes—
His breath stopped.
Those were not the eyes of a child.
They were the eyes of someone who had watched his entire world collapse.
Eyes filled with confusion.
Pain.
And something even more frightening.
The quiet, fragile look of someone who no longer understood why they should keep living.
Kakashi stared directly at him.
"Then why did he leave me?"
The words trembled.
"Why?"
His voice cracked.
"Was I not enough?"
His hands curled tightly into fists.
"...Or..."
His voice faltered, breaking apart between breaths.
"...Or I wasn't a good son to him."
Minato felt something twist painfully inside his chest.
Kakashi's voice grew smaller.
"He wasn't proud of me... right?"
"...He didn't care about me."
Minato said nothing.
Instead, he pulled the boy into a tight embrace.
Kakashi stiffened immediately, his body tense against the sudden contact, as if he did not know what to do with the warmth of another person's arms.
For a moment, he struggled slightly.
Then—
Something inside him broke.
"If... if I talked to him more..."
His words dissolved into uneven breaths.
"...If I asked him to stay with me..."
"...He wouldn't have left me, right?"
Minato gently rubbed the boy's back, his voice soft but firm.
"No, Kakashi... no. You—"
But Kakashi interrupted him.
"Then why did he leave me?!"
This time, his voice rose sharply, cutting through the quiet memorial field.
"Why?!"
The question echoed beneath the grey sky.
No one answered.
Not Minato.
Not Jiraiya.
Not any of the ones standing nearby.
Because the truth was far too complicated for a child to understand.
Time passed slowly.
And eventually, Kakashi's voice returned.
But this time it was quieter.
Colder.
As if the answer had already formed somewhere deep inside his mind.
"...Because my father broke the rules."