"...You're sure you want to go through with this?"
Kaito asked again, his tone unusually soft. He wasn't second-guessing the kid, not really. But a part of him still hoped Aizen would shrug and change his mind.
"I'm sure, Sensei. I'll participate."
His answer came without pause, without hesitation. Calm. Just like always.
Kaito exhaled quietly. That calmness... it wasn't natural for someone his age. It made you wonder if it was maturity or numbness.
"You do realise, C-rank missions aren't a game," he said slowly. "Sometimes, you'll be expected to kill. It's not theoretical. It's not training."
"I know."
Aizen's reply didn't waver. Then, after a beat, he added:
"I've thought about this a lot. With the White Fang gone, things in the village are off-balance. And the border tensions are getting worse. It's only a matter of time before the next war hits. I don't want to freeze up when that time comes."
He's not wrong.
Kaito didn't speak right away. There wasn't much to say, honestly. He'd been in the same position once. The village didn't wait for you to be ready. You adapted or died. Simple as that.
War was coming. That wasn't a possibility. It was an approaching storm.
And when that storm broke, hesitation would be fatal.
Finally, he gave a nod. "Alright. Gear up. We leave at sundown."
With that, he vanished in a flicker of speed, leaving Aizen alone beneath the rustling trees.
For a moment, Aizen just stood there, gaze locked on the empty space where his sensei had stood.
Then he muttered, too quiet for anyone else to hear:
"If your clan head had stood up for him... maybe I wouldn't have to do this."
A breeze swept through the clearing, but it didn't take the bitterness from his voice.
His fists clenched at his sides.
The Will of Fire. That was what they all talked about. What they taught the kids in the Academy. But when it came down to it, when Sakumo needed them, the village turned away.
If Hiruzen had just said one thing in support of White Fang...
If he'd protected his people the way he protected his speeches...
Then maybe a great man wouldn't have died by his own hand.
Maybe Kakashi wouldn't be standing in the rain, face blank but spirit crumbling.
And maybe I wouldn't be standing here, preparing for my first kill at the age of five.
He turned his gaze toward the looming Hokage Rock. Not all the faces. Just one in particular.
Hiruzen Sarutobi. The Third Hokage.
His stare sharpened.
"You didn't pull the blade, but you let it happen."
His tone wasn't angry. Not on the surface. But beneath it, there was a quiet venom.
"And that makes you part of it."
Aizen didn't let himself get emotional. Not normally. But this... this wasn't just about missions or politics. This was personal.
He hadn't meant to care. Kakashi was supposed to be an asset. A tactical connection. Someone to help him pivot the timeline with minimal interference.
Somewhere along the line, that logic collapsed.
What started as calculation had shifted. Quietly, subtly, the walls cracked. And before he realised it, before he could stop it, friendship had taken root.
And now Sakumo was gone.
And Kakashi was falling apart.
And Aizen?
Aizen was furious.
At the village. At the people who looked away.
And at himself.
Too slow. Too careful. Too late.
"White Fang didn't fall," he whispered. "He was pushed."
His eyes wandered, now drawn to a different face on the mountain.
Tobirama Senju. The Second Hokage.
Genius. Strategist. Architect of the shinobi system.
Aizen's jaw tightened slightly.
"You wanted peace through structure. But all you left behind was a system that devours its own."
He let the silence linger, letting his thoughts sharpen.
"A Kage-level shinobi took his own life. That didn't happen in your era, did it?"
"You built this world. The hierarchy. The laws. The Uchiha police. You called it order."
"But what did it cost?"
He began counting, quietly.
"Your clan, nearly erased."
"The Uzumaki, gone."
"Your grandnephew, killed by explosive tags."
A dry laugh escaped him, humourless and bitter.
"Nice legacy, huh?"
He stared at the mountain a moment longer.
"Still," he admitted, "I think you were the best Hokage."
There was no sarcasm in that. Just a grim kind of respect.
"Better than Hashirama. Better than your student. You were cold, sure. And your Uchiha paranoia probably doomed the village in the long run."
"But you were effective."
He turned away, pulling his cloak tighter against the wind.
"Even so, those four guards of yours? Second-worst choice you ever made."
"The worst?"
He glanced back, eyes narrowed.
"Staying behind to protect them."
He let the wind carry his words away as he walked down the path alone.
Everyone carries ghosts, he thought.
Tobirama's just echo louder than most.
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