3RD POV

The morning sun shone weakly, veiled by gray clouds that seemed to mirror the somber atmosphere. Ryuichi stood among the gathered shinobi and villagers, dressed in black, the Uchiha crest faintly visible on his dark haori. He looked around at the faces, a sea of mourners, yet the space felt suffocatingly empty.

The funeral ceremony for Sakumo Hatake was simple but heavy with unspoken grief. The Third Hokage stood at the front, delivering words of respect for the fallen hero. He spoke of Sakumo's bravery, his accomplishments, and the undeniable mark he had left on Konoha's history.

But Ryuichi couldn't focus on the words. His eyes drifted to the small figure standing near the front: Kakashi. The boy stood perfectly still, his face unreadable behind his mask, his silver hair shining faintly in the dim light. Beside Kakashi was a photo of Sakumo, framed by white lilies, the man's warm smile immortalized in stark contrast to the tragedy of his end.

Ryuichi clenched his fists at his sides. The whispers in the crowd didn't stop, and their words gnawed at him.

"He brought this on himself..."
"He disobeyed orders. He failed the mission. A disgrace."
"His death is no surprise. A shinobi who abandons the mission abandons their honor."

Honor? What about humanity? Ryuichi wanted to shout at them all. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

As the service ended, people began to trickle out of the cemetery. Ryuichi lingered, standing near a sakura tree, his eyes watching the Hatake family's grieving son. He wanted to say something to Kakashi, anything, but the words stuck in his throat.

Then he saw him.

One of Sakumo's former teammates—a chunin in his late twenties, with a sharp face and cold eyes—stepped away from the funeral group. The man had been among those saved by Sakumo's decision to abandon the mission, yet his expression showed no hint of gratitude or grief.

Instead, the man wore an air of disdain, as though his presence was a mere obligation.

Ryuichi stormed after the man, his rage still simmering. The clang of the funeral bell echoed faintly in the background, but it was distant noise compared to the storm in his chest.

"Hey!" Ryuichi called, sharper this time. The man stopped and turned, his face hard and unreadable.

"What is it, Uchiha?" he asked, his tone neither hostile nor welcoming.

"You were one of Sakumo's teammates on that mission," Ryuichi said, his Sharingan swirling faintly, betraying his heightened emotions. "He gave up everything to save you. He chose your life over the mission, and this is how you repay him? By turning your back on him?"

The man's jaw tightened. He looked Ryuichi over, his eyes lingering on the faint bruises from Ryuichi's recent training. Finally, he sighed, folding his arms.

"You're young," the man said. "You think this world is just about heroes and villains, about saving lives and doing what feels right. But it's not."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ryuichi demanded, his voice rising.

The man stepped closer, his expression cold but not unkind. "You think Sakumo's choice was noble? You think it was simple? Let me tell you what that mission was about."

Ryuichi's fists unclenched slightly, curiosity piercing through his anger.

"We were sent to intercept and steal intel about Kumo's planned assault," the man explained. "That information was critical. It wasn't just about saving shinobi; it was about preventing an all-out invasion. Lives—hundreds, maybe thousands—depended on us getting that intel back to Konoha."

His voice faltered, and he looked away for a moment, his shoulders stiff.

"My father was stationed at an outpost near the Land of Hot Water," the man continued, his voice quieter now. "He was a chunin, like me. That outpost was one of the first places Kumo attacked. They wiped it out, slaughtered everyone there, including him."

Ryuichi's breath hitched, his anger fading into something heavier.

"That outpost could have been warned," the man said, his voice thick with suppressed emotion. "If we'd completed the mission, if Sakumo hadn't turned back to save us, my father might still be alive. And I..." His voice broke slightly before he recovered, his gaze locking onto Ryuichi. "I would gladly exchange my life for his."

Ryuichi's eyes widened. "But... Sakumo saved you. Isn't that worth something?"

The man gave a bitter laugh. "Worth something? Let me tell you what it's worth. Every time I think about him, I see my father's face. I see the flames consuming the outpost, the reports of how Kumo massacred them. I see my mother, crumpling to the ground when the messenger brought the news. And all I feel is grief.

"Shinobi don't fight for their own lives," the man continued, his voice growing steadier but no less harsh. "We fight for the lives of the people we love. Sakumo saved me, but by doing so, he doomed my father. He made a choice, and it wasn't an easy one, but don't expect me to thank him for it."

Ryuichi opened his mouth to argue, but no words came. The man's gaze softened slightly as he looked at the younger boy.

"You think you understand sacrifice, Uchiha? You don't. Not yet. Maybe someday you'll be in a situation where every choice feels like the wrong one. And when that day comes, you'll understand what it means to be a shinobi."

The man turned and walked away, leaving Ryuichi standing frozen under the overcast sky.

-{0}-

3RD POV

The clash of wooden swords rang sharply in the brisk morning air. Haru's strikes came fast and heavy, his movements aggressive, fueled by raw determination. Kushina matched him step for step, her movements precise and controlled. Sweat glistened on her brow, but she didn't waver, parrying Haru's blows with practiced ease.

"Haru!" she barked, ducking under a wild swing. "Stop rushing. You're leaving yourself wide open!"

"I'm not rushing!" Haru shot back, his lavender Byakugan-activated eyes blazing with focus. He lunged again, trying to break through Kushina's defense. "I'm pushing forward!"

"Pushing forward?" Kushina scoffed, sidestepping and delivering a clean blow to his side with her wooden blade. Haru stumbled back, wincing. "You're flailing! That's not pushing forward—that's begging to get killed!"

Her words hit like a physical blow, but Haru gritted his teeth and charged again. His strikes grew more erratic, and it was clear his emotions were driving him rather than any clear strategy.

With a frustrated yell, Kushina ducked under his latest swing and swept his legs out from under him. He hit the ground hard, his wooden sword clattering away. Before he could scramble back up, Kushina's blade was pointed at his throat.

"Enough," she said firmly, breathing heavily.

Haru froze, his chest heaving with exertion. His hands balled into fists, trembling. "Why?" he muttered, his voice thick with frustration.

"Why what?" Kushina asked, lowering her sword but keeping her piercing gaze on him.

"Why wasn't I strong enough?" Haru's voice cracked. "When we faced Kushimaru, I... I couldn't do anything. If Ryuichi hadn't unlocked his Sharingan at that exact moment, we'd all be dead." He looked away, his lavender eyes filled with anguish. "I hate it. I hate being useless."

Kushina softened, her fiery demeanor cooling. She set her wooden sword aside and crouched beside him. "Haru," she said gently, "you're not useless. But you're letting fear and anger drive you. That's a dangerous combination." She gestured for him to sit. "Come on. Sit down. Take a breath."

Reluctantly, Haru sat cross-legged, his shoulders tense. He stared at the ground, his hands gripping his knees tightly.

"Why do you want to get stronger so badly?" Kushina asked, sitting across from him. "I mean really. What's driving you?"

Haru hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, it looked like he might shut down completely. But then he let out a long, shaky breath, and the tension in his body began to ease.

"I want to be Hokage," he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with an undercurrent of emotion.

Kushina raised an eyebrow. "Of course but Why Hokage?"

Haru looked up, his lavender eyes meeting her vivid green ones. "Because I have to prove that I'm more than what they see me as."

Kushina tilted her head. "And what do they see you as?"

"A half-breed," Haru said bitterly. He took another deep breath and began to speak, his words slow and deliberate, as though he were peeling back layers of himself he usually kept hidden.

"My dad wasn't a shinobi. He was just a carpenter—a kind, hardworking man who wanted nothing more than to take care of his family. But to the Hyuga, he was nothing. Worse than nothing. They hated him for marrying my mom, a main-branch Hyuga. They said he was a stain on the family name."

Kushina frowned, her fiery temper sparking at the thought of such treatment. But she stayed quiet, letting him continue.

"They tormented him," Haru said, his hands clenching into fists on his knees. "They spied on him, sabotaged his work, insulted him every chance they got. My mom tried to shield him from it, but... it was relentless. And then, one day..."

Haru's voice broke, and he swallowed hard before forcing himself to go on.

"One day, a group of Hyuga shinobi came to our house. They said my dad was a threat to the clan. That he'd been 'compromised' because of his close ties to someone who'd spoken out against the Hyuga elders." He paused, his jaw tightening. "It was a lie, of course. My dad wasn't involved in clan politics. But they didn't care. They killed him. Right in front of us."

Kushina's breath hitched, her heart aching for him.

"My mom was never the same after that," Haru said, his voice hollow. "She tried to hold it together, but... she couldn't. A few months later, she took her own life."

Kushina's hand clenched in her lap, her fiery nature struggling to contain her outrage.

"The Hyuga elders took me in after that," Haru continued, his tone bitter. "They sent me to one of their orphanages. But they didn't treat me like family. To them, I was a disgrace—a reminder of what they considered a betrayal. They mocked me, called me weak, useless. A half-breed who didn't belong."

Kushina's eyes blazed with fury, but her voice was soft when she spoke. "That's awful, Haru. No one deserves that."

Haru nodded, his expression distant. "For a long time, I was angry—angry at the Hyuga, angry at the world. But then I remembered something my dad used to say." He looked at Kushina, a faint smile breaking through the sadness in his eyes. "He used to talk about Minato."

Kushina blinked in surprise. "Minato?"

"Yeah," Haru said, his voice warming slightly. "He said Minato was proof that it didn't matter where you came from. That you didn't need a noble bloodline to be great. My dad believed in him, and he made me believe, too."

Kushina's heart swelled with pride and sorrow.

"That's why I want to be Hokage," Haru said, his voice growing firmer. "Not just to prove myself to the Hyuga or to anyone else. But to show people like my dad that they matter. That they deserve respect and protection, no matter who they are." He paused, his gaze steady. "And to make sure no one else has to go through what my family went through."

Kushina was quiet for a long moment, her green eyes shimmering with emotion. Finally, she reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Haru," she said softly, "your dad was right about Minato. And he was right about you, too."

Haru blinked, caught off guard. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you're stronger than you think," Kushina said, her grip tightening. "You've been through more pain than anyone should ever have to endure, and yet here you are. You're still fighting. You still believe in something better. That takes real strength."

Haru's lips trembled, and he looked away, his eyes glistening.

"And as for being Hokage," Kushina continued, her voice firm, "I think you've got what it takes. But you've got to remember—being Hokage isn't about proving anything to anyone. It's about protecting the people you care about and leading with a heart big enough to carry the village."

Haru nodded slowly, her words sinking in.

Kushina smiled, her fiery spirit shining through. "And hey, if you ever need a reminder of how awesome you are, you've got me. And Minato. We've got your back."

Haru chuckled softly, his first genuine smile breaking through. "Thanks, Kushina-sensei."

"Anytime, kid," she said, standing and holding out a hand. "Now, come on. Let's get back to training. You're not going to be Hokage if you can't beat me in a fight!"

Haru laughed, taking her hand. "I'll hold you to that."

As they returned to their sparring, Haru felt lighter. His dream of becoming Hokage burned brighter than ever—not just for himself, but for the people he loved and the future he wanted to create. With Kushina's support and his father's memory in his heart, he knew he could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

-{0}-

Obito's pov

Two days had passed since Sakumo Hatake's death, and the air around Kakashi had changed in ways I couldn't fully grasp. He was still Kakashi—sharp, efficient, and quick to silence any nonsense—but something essential had gone missing. It was as though someone had taken a brush and erased all the warmth from him, leaving only the bare outlines of who he once was.

I first noticed it during training. Kakashi used to correct me, albeit with his usual biting sarcasm, whenever I messed up a move. He'd toss in a smirk or a condescending comment, but there was always this undercurrent of camaraderie beneath it all. Now, his words were clinical, devoid of any personal touch, as though he were addressing a stranger.

"Your form's sloppy," he said flatly during our sparring session that morning.

I frowned, brushing dust off my sleeve. "Gee, thanks for the encouragement."

He didn't respond, already walking away to reset his stance. I watched him for a moment, noting the stiffness in his shoulders and the way his movements seemed more mechanical than before.

Something was wrong.

By lunchtime, it was obvious to everyone. Rin sat beside me, her hands resting on her knees as she glanced toward Kakashi, who was eating alone at the far end of the training field. Normally, he'd sit with us, if only to throw in a snide comment or two about my eating habits.

"He's not okay," Rin said quietly, her brow furrowed with worry.

"No kidding," I muttered, tearing into a rice ball.

Rin shot me a look, her disapproval evident. "Obito, you should talk to him."

I scoffed. "Why me? He doesn't even like me."

"That's not true," she said firmly. "He respects you, even if he doesn't show it."

"Sure doesn't feel like it."

"Please, Obito," she pressed, her voice softer now. "He needs someone. And you're good at getting people to open up, whether you realize it or not."

I sighed, glancing at Kakashi. He was staring at his bento box as if it might attack him.

"Fine," I grumbled, standing up. "But if he tries to kill me, it's your fault."

I approached him slowly, trying to think of the least annoying way to start a conversation.

"Kakashi," I said, sitting down beside him without waiting for an invitation.

He glanced at me briefly before returning his focus to his food. "What do you want, Obito?"

"To talk," I said, keeping my tone light.

"Not interested."

"Too bad," I shot back. "You're stuck with me."

He sighed, setting his chopsticks down. "Fine. Talk. What's so important?"

I hesitated, suddenly unsure of how to proceed. "I... just wanted to see how you're holding up."

"I'm fine," he said immediately, his tone clipped.

"Yeah, no, you're not," I countered, leaning back on my hands. "You've been acting like a zombie since... you know."

He stiffened but didn't respond.

"Kakashi," I said more softly. "It's okay to not be okay."

He turned to me then, his gray eyes sharp and cold. "You don't know what you're talking about, Obito."

"Then explain it to me," I challenged. "Because right now, you're just pushing everyone away. Even Rin. And she cares about you more than anyone."

At the mention of Rin, his expression flickered for a moment—something like guilt or regret—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

"I don't need anyone's pity," he said firmly, his voice low and dangerous.

"This isn't pity," I snapped. "It's called being your friend, idiot."

For a long moment, we sat in tense silence. I thought he might actually get up and leave, but then he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

"They called him a coward," he said, his hands clenching into fists.

"What?"

"The people he saved," Kakashi continued, his tone bitter. "They said he was weak for abandoning the mission. That he betrayed the village."

I stared at him, stunned. "But he—"

"They were right," he cut me off, his voice sharp and cold.

"No, they weren't!" I argued, my chest tightening with anger. "Your dad was a hero, Kakashi! He saved lives!"

"At what cost?" he shot back, his eyes narrowing. "The mission he abandoned—it was critical. His decision led to more deaths, more suffering. He failed, Obito. He failed as a shinobi, and now he's gone."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

Kakashi looked away, his jaw tightening. "It doesn't matter what I believe. The village made its judgment. And now I have to live with it."

Over the next few days, I watched as Kakashi threw himself into training with a ferocity that bordered on self-destruction. He pushed himself harder than ever, taking on sparring matches with jonin-level shinobi and barely taking time to rest or eat.

It was like he was trying to outrun something—or bury it.

I tried talking to him again, but it was like speaking to a wall. He would deflect every question, shut down every attempt at conversation. Even Rin couldn't get through to him.

The worst part was the way he started looking at us—me, Rin, our sensei—as though we were strangers. There was no warmth in his gaze anymore, no trace of the Kakashi I had known.

It scared me.

One evening, after a grueling training session, I cornered him in the locker room.

"Kakashi," I said, blocking the doorway. "We need to talk."

He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. "Not now, Obito."

"Yes, now," I insisted. "Because I can't keep watching you do this to yourself."

"Do what?" he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"This!" I gestured toward him. "Acting like you're some emotionless robot! Pushing everyone away! Pretending like you don't care about anything or anyone!"

"I don't care," he said flatly, brushing past me.

I grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. "That's a lie, and you know it."

He yanked his arm free, glaring at me. "What do you want from me, Obito? An apology? A promise to be 'my old self' again? Newsflash—I'm not that person anymore!"

"Why not?" I demanded.

"Because I can't be!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "If I let myself feel anything, it'll destroy me. Is that what you want?"

His words hit me like a punch to the gut.

"No," I said quietly. "I just want my friend back."

Kakashi stared at me, his expression unreadable. For a moment, I thought I'd gotten through to him. But then he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there in the silence.

I didn't see Kakashi again for several days. When he finally showed up for training, he was colder than ever. He barely spoke to anyone, and his movements were sharp and efficient, like a machine.

It was clear that whatever part of him had once cared—about me, Rin, anything—was gone.

I wanted to believe he would come back to us someday, that he would find his way out of the darkness. But as I watched him walk away after practice, I couldn't shake the feeling that we had lost him for good.

And that scared me more than anything.

=Chapter End=