Author's note: This chapter corresponds the chapter 50, where Sakumo throws the kunai at the Genjutsu Kichiro to kill him when he supposedly lost control.
Hatake Sakumo
As a shinobi, I'd seen horrible things. As a lifelong member of the black ops, I'd seen even worse. Watching Kichiro possessed by the Kyuubi was near the top of that list.
The moment my sensei determined that Kichiro was a liability to me, he tested me. Once the apprenticeship was solidified, I had been told that Kichiro might become a Jinchuuriki. My sensei had made sure it wouldn't be a problem, that I wouldn't reject the boy when he eventually carried the Kyuubi. I swore not to, and I had stood by that oath, however, immediately after, they made me swear a second oath, with even more rigorous tests. I had to be able to kill my student in cold blood.
They said it was because Kichiro was a liability—they never gave me a real reason, but I suspected it was because Kichiro had a habit of defying orders. He listened when it was critical, but whenever there wouldn't be severe repercussions, he rebelled. He showed up late sometimes and other times he refused to comply with training or walked off the training ground. He had his reasons—valid ones: questions and concerns I couldn't answer, which was why I never punished him too severely for his defiance.
The first time, I had no idea it was a Genjutsu—I didn't have a chance against a Genjutsu from a Sharingan, especially my sensei's Sharingan. They recalled me from a patrol just outside the village walls and brought me to the ANBU holding cells. Kichiro was chained on his knees in the middle of the cell. They told me that he was caught attempting to desert the village and had coerced his sister into joining him. The fact that it was my mess went unsaid. I had failed to instill any loyalty in him and it was my duty to clean up.
I drew a kunai and walked into the room, then crouched in front of him. He spat and snarled at me, but his eyes had that same disappointed and betrayed look as when he looked up at the Hokage tower—as if he expected better and hadn't even considered that his expectations wouldn't be met.
He struggled as I shifted my grip on my kunai, quickly realizing what I intended to do. I managed to keep my face blank as he started begging for his life, pleading with me, screaming the most hurtful things he could think of. I laid one hand on his forehead and faster than the boy could see or feel, I drove my blade into the base of his skull—the boy didn't see or feel a thing. He died instantly and the Genjutsu ended—I was still standing in the middle of my patrol and Sensei stood in front of me, his Sharingan spinning lazily.
The second time, I was told the boy had gone mad and not even the Yamanaka could help him. The kindest fate for him was death. They showed me where he was—pacing around one of the thick Hashirama trees, babbling nonsense in that strange language of his. They had brought him somewhere peaceful to die. His eyes were empty and glazed, unable to recognize me and his emotions—fear, sadness, ecstasy, apathy—shifting through him without discernable reason. I snapped his neck as he clung to my chest, sobbing and babbling like an infant. I took a step back and the Genjutsu ended with Sensei standing in front of me, his Sharingan deactivated.
The next time, I almost really killed the boy. I told him not to pull out the Kyuubi's chakra. Damn it! The boy sold out the secrecy of his Jinchuuriki status to try and win a stupid skill assessment. The idiot! His eyes changed, his fingernails turned to claws and his abominable posture turned animalistic. He claimed to be in control with a voice influenced by the Kyuubi. I believed him, until he stiffened and started to curse and panic, lunging towards his sister. I screamed at him to stop, but he kept stalking forward. Desperate for it to be just another test, I released a pulse of chakra that disrupted the Genjutsu for everyone—it was a normal Genjutsu, not my sensei's. Kichiro was still wreathed in the Kyuubi's chakra, but he was still in control. One of his sticks was coated in chakra—when had the boy learned to make a blade like that? Was it the Kyuubi's influence? He stalked towards the kunoichi holding his sister. I didn't know what he was planning until he thrust one of his sticks through his sister's chest.
I tasted bile and the next second, I stood over the siblings as Kushina clung to her brother, shielding him from me, screaming as I tried to separate them without jostling the blade through her torso. Kichiro lay underneath her, glassy-eyed and unresponsive as she screamed his name and shook him. The Shitagau glowed through his gloves and there was no trace of the Kyuubi's chakra. The next thing I knew, I was fighting for my life and they were gone.
I knew one thing: I would never allow Kichiro to draw on the Kyuubi's chakra again. It was too dangerous, too terrifying, too risky.
I learned another thing: I could and would kill my student if the need arose. It was one fact I did everything in my power to hide from Kichiro. The boy would never forgive me if he knew, he would never trust me.
By the time I had destroyed my enemies and tracked down Kichiro, the situation was nearly over. I nearly had a heart attack when I realized there were powerful ninja from five nations surrounding him.
When he smirked, I wanted to smack him for his idiocy. Not even I was likely to survive the fight that was about to break out over the boy. "You seem to be laboring under the delusion that I'm going to, what was the phrase, come quietly? I can tell you this, I have no intention of going to Azkaban—"
I had never wanted to slap someone as much as I wanted to slap Kichiro right then. It didn't matter if the aggressive parties were restrained. I taught him better than to taunt prisoners—I thought he knew better; I thought he held himself to a higher standard. The moment Kichiro stopped drawing on the Kyuubi's chakra, I shunshined towards him to appear behind him, but he ruined my attempt at intimidation in exchanged for lunging forward to assault the Raikage. I never realized the boy had a grudge against the man. There was too much I didn't know about Kichiro—far too much.
"I think peace negotiations would be more helpful at this point than revenge, Kichiro." I admonished.
"Fine, Sensei," Kichiro responded. The entire assembly went still at his statement. Kichiro had no idea what he had just done by publicly acknowledging me as his teacher. First and foremost, it was a show of strength. The fact that a high-profile Jōnin had the time to take on a student downplayed the effects of the war on Konoha. It also made those present reevaluate Kichiro's skill and acknowledge him as more than just a lucky medic. Second, it told everyone present that I was extremely close to the Hokage, either his student or the student of one of his inner circle. Only someone who had the Hokage's full trust would be allowed such influence over the village's Jinchuuriki. Considering Kagami had begun to reclaim his name and reputation, it was only a matter of time before my position as his former student was common knowledge. Luckily, that would give both of us another layer of protection. Kagami was arguably the strongest Uchiha since Uchiha Madara himself and was known to be extremely protective of those he cared about before his death was faked. Finally, it was the first time Kichiro ever acknowledged me as his teacher. Aside from putting the Hokage's mind at rest over Kichiro's loyalties, it gave me the confirmation I didn't know I needed. Most of the time, teaching Kichiro felt like trying to lecture a wall. He learned quickly, but his expression was always guarded, he resisted everything I said. There was no reward in teaching Kichiro.
I was a good enough shinobi to stay disciplined on the outside, but inside, I was elated. It was the first time Kichiro ever genuinely addressed me as 'Sensei'—it was practiced, unintentional, as if he had thought of me as his sensei for a long time. It always irritated me when he called me 'Sakumo' as if he had no respect for me, but it was a battle that wasn't worth fighting. I knew I had his respect, albeit grudging, but the confirmation was worth it.
As soon as I could, I dragged him away from the scene and slapped the back of his head in admonishment. He swayed, off balance and pale in front of me. I had never felt an acute need to be overly affectionate before, but at that moment, I wanted to hold him tightly and shield him from the problems mounting on the horizon.
Instead, I pulled him onto my back, holding him firmly in place and noting how he settled his weight against me, trusting me to take care of him. I wanted to hit him and call him a fool for trusting so easily, but I already knew his answer. He would shrug and say: "If I don't trust others, they'll never trust me. I can't say my success is because of one thing, but shinobi who trust their doctors recover faster than those who don't."
The next time I stood in front of a partially-transformed Kichiro, it was worse. I had to pay attention to avoid injury during the spar and at first, I feared I had pushed him too far. I feared that the injuries were too painful for him.
Kichiro was still a child. It wasn't often, in fact, it was quite rare for him to be so tactless, but sometimes, he slipped up and revealed just how young and inexperienced he actually was. A Genjutsu of him losing control took it too far, especially in front of an audience. Kichiro had a very small repertoire of genjutsu, but what he could use was devastating and nearly impossible to counter. Something in Iwa had damaged him—he never would have manipulated me like that before. My eyes burned and my throat closed as I threw the kunai with the intent to kill, completely unaware of the Genjutsu until it was too late. His head snapped back like a thousand other opponents, the ring of the kunai protruding from Kichiro's forehead, his mouth open in fear and betrayal. I watched the light leave his eyes in slow motion, blood trickle from his forehead, down his face, collecting in the corners of his eyes before dribbling down his cheeks as if he was crying. The Kyuubi's chakra vanished without a trace.
Slowly, his body tipped backwards, his knees buckling. Kichiro landed on his back, his legs bent at an awkward angle. A moment later, the body vanished, time moved at a normal speed, and I heard Kichiro screaming off to one side. My first thought was a vengeful spirit, but when I managed to tear my eyes away from where Kichiro's body had vanished, I saw Kichiro—alive—fling himself in front of a kunai—my kunai—seconds before it went through another boy's head. The kunai hit Kichiro's shoulder and slammed him into the wall. His head striking the stone sounded like bone breaking. Kichiro collapsed. I couldn't move as others rushed towards the boys. It wasn't until I saw Kichiro stir—until they pointed a blade at him—that I could move again.
I sent him home—I couldn't be around him, not when he knew—I didn't trust myself not to hurt him.
It would be years before I trusted myself enough to interact with Kichiro again—he was stronger than me when I next said more than a polite greeting to him.
