Asuma once told Kakashi that the most important thing they could protect today
was tomorrow. Kakashi did not understand it then. Shougi was not his forte.
But Asuma insisted that they needed to protect "the King."
Mismatched eyes stared through the slightly cracked open door, watching the three small figures bickering inside. He blinked. So these brats were his assignment, eh? They looked incredibly… stupid.
His eyes flitted upwards for a second and a small, amused smile bloomed invisibly behind the black elastic mask which always hid his face. How naïve. Did they really think he'd fall for such a trick? But perhaps, just to see their reactions, he would.
Sliding open the door, the tall jounin stepped inside, letting the eraser fall, letting the chalk powder shower upon his silvery hair.
The kids seemed pleased, though they tried to hide it. They really thought he fell for it. How cute. And how stupid.
He could see now that he was wasting his time.
Nothing would become of these obtuse children.
The soft sound of bells rang in the summer air. The bells they sought to capture. The bells he knew they would not be able to touch.
He could hear the girl's high-pitched whine somewhere in the distance. She was already tired, no doubt. He could easily see the bright orange splotch against the foliage where the obnoxious blonde boy probably assumed he was hiding. He could quite effortlessly sense the dark-eyed one nearby, lurking, brooding, always arrogant and self-assured. They were all apart, all concerned only with themselves.
Foolish. How childish. They fought him alone, each fighting only for him- or herself. They didn't get it. They didn't understand.
It took them a while, far too long, in the jounin's opinion, but finally, they seemed to grasp the concept. The hunger probably made them realize.
Out of sympathy, and out of boredom, he decided to let them pass. Perhaps they would provide an amusing change to his life. But he knew, he was always sure.
They would amount to nothing.
Their first real mission. Another failure.
He learned, for the first time, that perhaps they had some hope. They suffered, and they learned from the pain. They cried, but with every tear shed, they grew stronger. They fought, and within the racing adrenaline, within a true, life-risking battle, they were slowly learning.
But they were all still soft. Still inexperienced. Unlike him.
His hands were stained with blood. Even now, he showed them the death he could bring, even to an innocent boy from the Mist. They could not become like him.
They would not. He didn't want such a future for them.
They were failures, all three of them.
They were far luckier than he.
As expected, they all failed the Chuunin Exam as well.
He was growing quite fond of them by this time, though he tried not to express it.
They were a little tougher now. The girl was stronger, did not whine as much. One boy was just a little quieter, just a little more composed. The other was just a little friendlier, just a little more human.
They'd been through deadly experiences, they'd faced great evil. They'd learned new jutsu, powerful and almost frightening. They'd earned the respect of their fellow students and gained new friendships. They were a little closer to being shinobi.
Yet, in the jounin's eyes, still they were nobodies. They still shed tears. They still screamed. They were still children. They were still clean.
Not like him. They could never be like him.
He would not wish such a fate upon them. He would protect them from above, keeping their hearts clean, keeping their hands unsoiled.
With each passing day, he watched them, so certain he had them figured out, so sure he had their abilities gauged. One was a failure from birth. Another was a brooding introvert. The third was simply average.
None of them seemed likely to accomplish much.
Yet slowly the jounin had to work harder and harder to convince himself.
He loved to watch them bicker playfully amongst themselves. He loved the loud, boyish voice which would rise above the others. He smiled at the girl's sharp retorts and the other male's snide comments. He found himself watching, waiting for them to smile. He found himself trying to make them laugh.
Slowly, they would learn. He would teach them. About life. About the shinobi way. But they were not like him. They would not become like him.
He told himself now was not the time. He told himself they were still children.
But it became more and more difficult to keep from admitting, even to himself, that they amazed him. And worried him. He could sense it, the connection. The repeating cycle of events. He knew.
In the end, there was nothing he could do.
The avenger was gone. Gone to soil his hands and bloody his soul. Gone, abandoning village and companions. Gone, abandoning his friends. His team.
There was nothing for the silver-haired man to do. He could not teach his crimson-eyed student vengeance. So, unable to prevent the inevitable, the jounin was forced to let him go.
The girl did not cry as much as he had thought she would. He was not particularly surprised when she asked to learn medical ninjutsu. He had, of course, known she was a lousy fighter. She had always been quite useless in physical battles.
Her desire to learn was strong, but her teacher was incapable. So the jounin let her go. He could not teach her what she wanted.
The usually lively boy spent a small time brooding, much unlike himself. But the spell did not last long, and soon his energy returned. It seemed he had been promised a chance to become stronger. He was to leave the village and train for several years, build his strength in order to one day be able to retrieve his companion from the grasp of darkness. Soon, the promised day came, and the large, red-clad Sannin came. The boy's new teacher.
The Sannin would take better care of him, show him what he needed to know. There was nothing left for the younger sensei to teach. So the jounin let him go, standing by the gates, with a smile and a wave. He let them go.
One by one, he watched them leave. He could no longer provide the instruction they needed. He was of no more use to them.
He had failed.
Two and a half years later, mismatched eyes stared in surprise at the bells held securely in his now-older students' hands. Amazing. It had taken them less than a day. He had been thoroughly defeated.
Her green eyes sparkled with pride. His blue ones shone with mischief. They were the same. The same childish eyes, but somehow less innocent, with a dormant strength hidden within.
They had grown. The jounin smiled, almost sadly. They had grown so quickly.
The girl could create a sizeable crater in the stone ground with just one punch. She could heal almost any injury. She could dispel practically any genjutsu. She could see through nearly any tactic.
She smiled at him, the moonlight dancing in her soft pink tresses.
The jounin felt himself falling behind.
The boy could fell a dozen enemies in less than a minute. He could harness the power of the beast within him and use it to his advantage. He could master complicated jutsu in impossibly short times.
The jounin felt himself slipping backwards.
He watched them laugh, go about their daily lives, but the conviction never left their eyes. They were determined. They would bring their teammate back.
He watched them learn. Their capabilities were outstanding, surpassing the potential of even the most famous, the strongest and most respected shinobi in history. Surpassing the Fourth. Surpassing the Sannin. Certainly surpassing the inadequate son of Konoha's legendary White Fang.
He watched them fight. Incredible jutsu. Amazing chakra control. Remarkable speed. Astounding teamwork. Their enemies didn't stand a chance in the face of their determination and abilities. He didn't stand a chance. The children he had known were gone.
He watched, with a small nostalgic smile hidden by his mask. He watched, thinking back on the years when he had tried so hard to convince himself they would not come to this. He watched, telling himself he could not have protected them from growing up.
He watched, and waited, and looked on from a distance, lending his aid where he could, leaving them alone when he was not needed. He observed as their backs faded farther and farther into the distance. He looked on as they passed by him and kept going, far ahead, farther than he could ever hope to get.
The jounin smiled, a little sadly, but proudly.
In the end, it was he who amounted to nothing.
He reached out once with a gauntleted hand, but they were much too far ahead.
Kakashi gently lay the bundle of white flowers at the memorial. Asuma would have
been proud. Kakashi had stepped aside, made way for "the King."
It was time for the new generation to take on the world. It was their turn to reign.
In fond memory of Sarutobi Asuma.
In the hopes, beliefs, and promises
presented by the future generations.
They will carry on the "will of fire."
Take good care of that child, Kurenai.