CHAPTER 21: My Hero
Hot on the heels of a brief yet dazzlingly successful mission—a task involving the critical relay of goods from Konoha to the bustling capital—Might Guy, the ebullient shinobi of the leaf, sprinted back to his beloved village. His body was a spectacle of lively energy and perspiration, a tangible testament to his relentless and enthusiastic exercise regimen. His face was the embodiment of invigorated youth, glowing crimson from his exertion, and his spirit buzzed with the kind of fulfillment that only comes from a duty well done—a shinobi's mission accomplished with flying colors.
As he swiped away the rivers of sweat cascading down his forehead, a megawatt grin split his face, revealing a perfect row of pearly white teeth. His mind took a detour down memory lane, back to the promise he'd made to himself before jetting off on his mission—a pledge to return with the most succulent cake Konoha's bakery could offer, a delicacy meant for the revered Saint of Embers, Suzaku Haruki.
Might Guy held Haruki in the highest regard, profoundly admiring his unwavering dedication and his exceptional skills as the newly minted Chief of Konoha's Medical Corps. What touched him deeper still was the inexhaustible well of kindness that Haruki, the beloved Saint, had shown him. Overflowing with gratitude, Guy longed to respond in his own unique and unmistakable way.
Gripping the carefully chosen cake tenderly under his arm like a newborn kitten, he propelled himself forward, his mighty green jumpsuit a blur against the landscape. The memory of his first encounter with the Saint—vivid, momentous, brimming with youthful intensity—played in his mind like a cherished film reel, adding fuel to his fire as he continued his journey back home.
…..
The incident had occurred during one of Guy's unyielding training sessions, a physically taxing ordeal so severe in its intensity that it could easily be misconstrued as self-inflicted torment by those unfamiliar with his Spartan-like regimen. As Guy relentlessly executed his thousand-lap circuit around the village, each stride demonstrating a zeal that was both admirable and somewhat terrifying, his progression was abruptly halted by Haruki.
Haruki, the embodiment of calm, exuded a radiant aura of authority that stood in stark contrast to the frenzied energy of Guy's training. It was this serene figure who voiced concern about the potential harm such extreme levels of physical exertion could inflict on even Guy's resilient body.
"Might-san," Haruki had begun, his voice carrying a depth of wisdom that commanded attention, "your commitment to breaking through your limits is indeed commendable." He paused momentarily, his eyes reflecting a genuine concern. "However, pushing yourself to such extraordinary lengths could potentially lead to severe injuries." His words, while coated with an understanding of Guy's aspirations, were laced with the hard truth about the dangerous path of overexertion.
Guy was left wide-eyed and dumbfounded. That the revered Saint not only knew of his existence but even his name was an astonishing revelation. Undeterred, Might Guy held his ground, sweat cascading down his forehead and shimmering in the midday sun. "I am simply pushing beyond my limits, Saint-sama. Also, feel free to call me by my first name, it's Guy!" he retorted, his laughter booming across the landscape. Haruki's penetrating gaze remained on him, a hint of worry subtly coloring his normally serene eyes.
"Very well, but only if you do the same, Guy-san," Haruki retorted, skillfully steering the conversation back on track, his voice a mixture of command and concern. "You're overtaxing yourself. Even the most robust of bodies have a breaking point."
Ever brimming with unyielding spirit and energy, Guy replied with his trademark determination, "Limits are meant to be broken, Haruki-sama!" Semi-dismissing Haruki's request for informality, he added, "That's a lesson from my dad. Besides," a wide grin stretched across his face, "I have my special medicinal bath concoction to rejuvenate me."
Haruki, intrigued, echoed, "Medicinal bath?"
"My dad," Guy's voice dropped to a gentler tone, heavy with nostalgia, "created it. It's a unique blend of herbs and minerals. It works like magic, relieving pain and soothing my muscles after intense workouts. It's like being reborn!"
"May I take a closer look at it?" Haruki asked, his medical instincts piqued. Known throughout Konoha for his healing prowess and extensive knowledge of herbal remedies (and toxins, but better to keep that quiet so as not to alarm the villagers or tip off potential enemies), he was genuinely intrigued.
Guy nodded in agreement, pulling out a small pouch from his bag. Haruki's expert hands sifted through the contents, his gaze scrutinizing the combination of elements. A thoughtful look crossed his face as he suggested, "You could enhance this blend's effectiveness by adding yarrow, skullcap, and arnica. They're excellent for inflammation, muscle relaxation, and treating bruises respectively."
Guy's grin dimmed, a flicker of unease passing through his eyes. Those herbs were rare commodities, hard to obtain and even more expensive to procure. His financial situation was precarious at best. His father's rank of genin and early death hadn't left him much of an inheritance, except for his house, if that counted. He stumbled over his words, "I… umm," his voice barely above a whisper. It was a rare moment of vulnerability for the usually exuberant Might Guy, a challenge to admit the difficulty of his circumstances.
Haruki, attuned as he was to the delicate intricacies of human emotion, noticed the hesitant flicker in Guy's eyes. Aware of the young man's modest upbringing and how he had painstakingly carved a place for himself through sheer determination, Haruki's respect for Guy deepened. His response was laced with the understanding that only someone who had traversed similar paths could offer. "In Konoha," he began, his voice carrying an assuring, resonant timbre, "we take care of our own, Guy-san."
As he extended a parchment scroll towards Guy, the firm and steady grip only added to the sincerity of his words. Yet, Guy still held an air of reluctance around him, his eyes revealing a wellspring of emotions battling beneath the surface.
Bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun, Might Guy stood facing Haruki. The golden hues wrapped around them, imbuing the scene with an almost ethereal quality. Haruki, whose face was usually a mask of serenity, bore a gentle smile, his eyes glinting with a wisdom that seemed to stem from an ancient wellspring of knowledge and experience.
"Guy-san," Haruki began, his voice as calm as a placid lake, yet potent enough to fracture the comfortable silence between them, "I've never truly found myself in agreement with the concept of heroes who swoop in to save the day."
His words hung in the air, a profound declaration carrying a weight that resonated far beyond the quiet stillness of their intimate gathering.
To Guy, this statement was difficult to comprehend. This was the Saint of Embers, a man hailed as a hero across the Land of Fire. His unique blend of charisma and compassion had rescued countless lives and brought hope to those in the throes of despair.
Haruki continued, "Everyone possesses the power to change their own life. Waiting for a hero to fix everything... It's a false hope. True change originates from within."
Guy pondered Haruki's words, his usually bright eyes reflecting the depth of this new thought. It was an intriguing perspective, one that challenged prevailing beliefs. Yet, coming from Haruki, it rang with a certain truth.
"But," Haruki continued, his voice steeped in a rare brew of respect and admiration that lent gravity to his words, "if I were ever compelled to choose a hero, it would undoubtedly be Might Dai-dono."
The name resonated in the quiet air between them, a testament to an unspoken admiration and the legacy of a man whose might lived on in those he had inspired. At the mention of his father's name, Guy's heart skipped a beat. Might Dai, the man derisively labeled as the 'Eternal Genin', a title often used as a mockery and met with disdain.
"Dai-dono was perpetually underappreciated and disregarded," Haruki began, his voice an echo from the past, narrating an unsung tale of heroism. "Forever branded as a Genin, he subsisted on meager earnings that his low rank provided. Yet, his spirit never wavered, not even for a moment. His worth, unfairly defined by his rank, never influenced his determination. No one saw him worthy of promotion, but he never allowed their scorn to diminish his spirit, nor did he sink into the abyss of despair. Even in the face of such unkindness and cruelty, he bore no grudge, held no ill will. His strength was his own, a force he kept close to his heart, never brandishing it for vanity. His power was an oath, a solemn promise to safeguard those he held dear."
At Haruki's words, a surge of emotion welled up in Guy. Memories of his father, like waves crashing against a shore, flooded his mind - the indomitable strength, the unwavering resilience, and an unconditional love that wrapped him in its warm embrace. A true hero, in every sense of the word.
"And then, he defied all expectations," Haruki's voice swelled with pride, each syllable underlining the triumph of Dai's spirit, "Might Dai-dono met his end not in submission, but in glory, as he single-handedly vanquished four of the seven Legendary Mist Swordsmen, sending the remainder scampering in terror. He achieved a feat that almost no other shinobi in the five nations can lay claim to. Yet, the power that he had been concealing was never a tool for petty gloating or to strike back at those who derided him. He simply lived, leading by example, setting a worthy precedent for his son."
The Saint paused, his gaze drifting into the horizon as if catching glimpses of the heroic past. "Day after day, he chose optimism over resentment," Haruki's voice echoed, resonating with a newfound strength. "He embraced kindness, even when he was served nothing but disdain." The echo of these words lingered, painting a vivid picture of a man who was a testament to unwavering spirit and unyielding love.
The air seemed to thicken with emotion as Haruki finished, "To me, Might Dai-dono embodies what it means to be a hero."
Guy felt an overwhelming surge of emotions. Pride for his father, a sense of deep validation, and a renewed determination. His father's legacy was not one of shame but of honor and strength. He nodded, his tears blending with his sweat. "He helped so many people, saved so many lives. So let me do this for you" the Saint's tone as warm and gentle as ever.
"I will do my best to live up to his name, Saint-sama. I'll become a hero in my own way," he vowed, his voice echoing in the fading light of the day. He was Might Guy, and he would make sure his father's legacy lived on.
Haruki had reached once more into his robes, pulling out more scroll filled with medicinal recipes and a pouch of coins. He handed them to the still emotional youth, "This is for the herbs, Guy. Keep pushing your limits, but remember, it's okay to accept help when it's offered."
Since that day, Guy had two heroes in his life.
The memory of that day filled Guy with warmth, as potent as his father's medicinal bath. Haruki-sama had extended a hand to him without hesitation, and Guy was determined to pay it forward someday. As his intense green eyes soaked in the sight of his beloved village, he made a promise to himself - he would live up to the faith the Saint had shown in him. He would continue to push his limits, but with the wisdom that Haruki had instilled in him.
With a renewed resolve, he set off for another round of laps, his burning spirit illuminating the pre-dawn village. His plan was to surprise Haruki, a humble gesture of appreciation for the inspiration he had provided.
With the cake securely tucked away in a box, he eventually made his way back to the village, his mind filled with anticipation. But his return was interrupted by the sight of his old friend, Kakashi.
Kakashi stood alone, his usual straight-backed posture slumped, an air of melancholy shrouding his typically cool demeanor. His eyes, always burdened with the weight of past losses, seemed heavier now. It was a sight that always tugged at Guy's heart. The pain of losing two teammates and his beloved teacher had etched a permanent mark on Kakashi's soul.
Seeing his friend in such a state, Guy was struck by a sudden realization. If Haruki's words could inspire him, they could undoubtedly help Kakashi as well. He had heard tales of Haruki's wisdom uplifting many from despair, so why not Kakashi?
A new plan began to form in his mind. He approached Kakashi, his usually vibrant grin now subdued. "Kakashi," he started, his voice an unusual blend of sincerity and cheer, "I need a favor."
Kakashi looked up, his one visible eye showing a puzzled expression. "What is it, Guy?" He asked, a hint of curiosity breaking through his usual detached demeanor.
Guy extended the cake box towards Kakashi, explaining, "I bought this cake for Haruki-sama, but I have to keep up with my exercise regimen. Could you please deliver it for me?"
Kakashi stared at the box, clearly taken aback. He started to protest, but before he could utter a word, Guy had dashed off, leaving him with no choice.
Guy's heart pounded in his chest as he sprinted away. He wasn't sure if his plan would work, but he had to try. If Haruki's wisdom could help him, then perhaps it could offer some comfort to his troubled friend as well. With a final glance back at Kakashi heading towards the hospital, Guy prayed that the Saint's wisdom could indeed save another lost soul.
Kakashi stood as still as a sentinel, bathed in the tender luminescence of the breaking dawn. The palette of the sky—soft hues of blush pink and delicate orange—gently coaxed the world awake. His singular eye, typically as incisive as a hawk's, now bore a dull, listless gaze. The relentless battering of life had etched deep lines into the fabric of his soul. He felt akin to a ghost, mechanically performing the dance of existence without truly partaking in its rhythm. His depression was a relentless companion, an insidious murmur that nudged him toward a resolution that seemed increasingly tempting with each passing moment.
His contemplative solitude was disrupted by the frenetic activity within the hospital. Staff members, their movements almost feverish, were practically shoving Haruki, the acclaimed Saint of Embers, towards the exit. The man had earned notoriety for his relentless dedication, treating patients until his energy teetered on the precipice of exhaustion. Today, it seemed, was no different.
Haruki's gaze found Kakashi, his ordinarily vibrant eyes dilating with an unexpected jolt of surprise. With a practitioner's trained eye, he rapidly appraised Kakashi's physical condition, instinctively scouting for the telltale signs of trauma or harm. Given Kakashi's notorious leanings towards the perilous, often mired in the dangerous underbelly of Anbu missions, it wasn't uncommon for him to surface with injuries, turning hospital visits into almost routine occurrences.
"Kakashi-san?" Haruki's voice broke through the bustling noise of the hospital, an undercurrent of concern subtly weaving through his words. "What unexpected wind brings you here?"
In answer, Kakashi inclined his head slightly towards the cake box he held securely in his grasp. "This was meant to be a gift from Guy, but he found himself unavoidably detained," Kakashi explained, his voice smooth as he relayed the simple task entrusted to him. "He requested me to ensure it reached you."
Haruki watched Kakashi with a discerning eye, absorbing his worn-out demeanor. His attention eventually strayed to the bags in Kakashi's possession, heavily laden with frozen food and other grocery items. The array of poor nutritional choices was cause for alarm, yet Kakashi, the silver-haired shinobi, seemed oblivious to the distress signals his own body was sending.
After a moment of pensive silence, Haruki exhaled, his features etching into an expression that was a cocktail of fatigue and worry. "Do you have a mission after this?" Haruki inquired. He paused for a moment, seemingly lost in his own train of thought, before he finally shook his head.
"Kakashi, join me for breakfast at my place," he offered, his voice warm yet firm. "I know it's still quite early, but I'm sure you could use something more nourishing than...this," he added, gesturing slightly towards the suspect contents of Kakashi's bags.
Before Kakashi could frame a protest, Haruki had already turned on his heel, leaving a trail of dust in his wake. This left Kakashi with no choice but to follow. Despite the shroud of desolation that hung heavily around his heart, a tiny spark of curiosity was kindled. His bones were heavy with exhaustion, and for once, he lacked the energy to engage in a verbal spar. With a sigh of resignation that echoed his internal defeat, he plodded after Haruki, his shoulders sagging under the invisible weight of his troubles.
Kakashi found himself standing before an expansive edifice, a stark contrast to his own modest dwelling. Haruki's home was nothing short of a palatial residence, nestling adjacent to the prestigious Hyuga Clan's compound. Yet, in spite of its grandeur, it emanated warmth, an enveloping feeling of homeliness as he ventured inside. It was an odd contrast, considering his own abode's cold and dark ambiance.
Haruki swiftly ushered Kakashi into a comfortable sitting area, then cast aside his belongings and donned an apron. With a swift hand seal, he summoned two clones who promptly began their tasks. The scene was fascinating, to say the least.
What truly captivated Kakashi was Haruki's adeptness in the kitchen. His actions were smooth and precise, his handling of ingredients skillful. The sight of him deftly chopping, stirring, and tossing with such graceful agility was almost hypnotic. Kakashi found himself entranced by the rhythmic dance of it, momentarily forgetting his depression and suicidal tendencies.
Before long, the enticing aroma of freshly prepared food filled the room. Haruki presented a dish Kakashi had never encountered before – a quiche, beautifully served with a side of salad, miso soup, and sausages. The meal resembled more of an artistic masterpiece than mere sustenance.
The quiche was a gastronomic revelation. Its blend of savory and rich flavors harmonized perfectly with Kakashi's taste palette. Surprisingly, even the sausages, which he usually found heavy and unappetizing, transformed into something more palatable, even enjoyable within this homely context. It was as though the encompassing warmth of Haruki's residence and the affable company had delicately permeated the food itself, enhancing its flavors while simultaneously soothing his turbulent emotions.
Each bite was a voyage of culinary discovery, unearthing new depths of taste. His singular eye, often a reflection of enduring trials, now flickered with a rare glint of surprise, and perhaps a trace of contentment. Seated within the Saint's grand yet welcoming dwelling, relishing each morsel carefully crafted with evident attention, Kakashi began to encounter an unfamiliar sensation.
This feeling was elusive, lingering at the periphery of his consciousness, yet undeniable – it was a gentle warmth, like a small ember, gradually thawing the icy stronghold of despair that had become his relentless companion. It wasn't a roaring inferno, at least not yet, but a subtle hint of warmth, a soft light breaking through the thick veil of his inner gloom, a faint whisper of hope piercing through his long and lonesome night.
Kakashi turned this peculiar sensation over in his mind, probing it like a rare artifact unearthed from the depths of his frozen emotional landscape. Could it be possible that within this tranquil sanctuary, cocooned by the intoxicating scent of meticulously crafted food, buoyed by the harmonious symphony of easy conversation, he had discovered a transient refuge from his relentless torment?
The paradox of it puzzled him, the simple domestic scene standing in stark contrast to his usually chaotic, battle-worn existence. Was he, Hatake Kakashi, finding solace in the comforting rhythm of everyday life? The question was as intriguing as it was bewildering.
Time, the silent observer, would gradually unravel this mystery. But for now, the unexpected warmth was an agreeable shift in his routine. The sensation, soft as the first light of dawn, began to weave itself into his consciousness, growing with each passing second. It was as if a tiny, long-dormant seed within him had been nudged awake, daring to unfurl tender shoots in the harsh landscape of his heart.
For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to luxuriate in this ephemeral respite, to soak in the soothing tranquility it offered. Amid the whirlwind of duty and self-sacrifice, this transient peace was an unexpected gift. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Kakashi permitted himself a breath of relief, a taste of serenity amidst his usually turbulent existence.