A dead end… right?
Watching the tightening ring of enemies, Kakashi's mind drifted—for reasons he couldn't quite name—to the two men who had shaped him most, then thrown their lives away like trash.
His father, Sakumo Hatake. His teacher, Minato Namikaze.
He still didn't understand them.
Survival is the deepest instinct a shinobi has. You can die for your beliefs, sure—but to die like that? So… pointlessly? In Kakashi's eyes, both of them had simply run from the world.
No matter how loudly the ninja world once sang their names, no matter how many enemies pissed themselves at the mere mention of "Konoha's White Fang" or "The Yellow Flash," to Kakashi, deep down, they had both been cowards.
His father's suicide was the one he refused to even justify aloud. If the village spat on you, cursed you, dragged your name through the mud—then you drag the ringleaders into a dark alley and press a kunai to their throats until they begged to take it all back. Sakumo had known exactly who orchestrated the smear campaign. He'd simply chosen the blade over fighting for his reputation.
And Minato—lovesick fool—had the power to live, but sealed the Nine-Tails with the Reaper Death Seal anyway. Left his newborn son. Left a half-destroyed village. All for a dead woman.
The moonlight glinted off Kiba's naked edge. Kakashi's grip tightened as more Cloud shinobi poured in from every direction. His visible eye held no fear—only the cold, absolute refusal to die here.
He had accepted this mission from Jiraiya fully intending to walk out alive. Even if only one of the eight hundred survived, Kakashi would drag that man home. A living hero—not another ghost on the memorial stone.
"Son of Konoha's White Fang," the Fourth Raikage boomed, voice carrying over the wind, "tell me your village's objective right now and I'll spare your life. You and all your men will be welcomed into Kumogakure. Konoha abandoned you. We never abandon our own."
Kakashi spat into the snow.
An old kunoichi near the front laughed, a cracked, defiant laugh. "Came here planning to die anyway, brat! Like I'd trust Cloud's word farther than I can throw your lying ass!"
"Quit yapping, black devil!" another shinobi roared. "My head's right here—come take it if you've got the balls!"
The remaining three hundred erupted in jeers and curses.
The Raikage ignored them. His eyes never left Kakashi.
"Surrender?" Kakashi's voice was soft, almost amused. "That was so clumsy I'm embarrassed for you."
He stepped forward. Chakra flared white-hot through his coils.
The Raikage's face turned to stone. "Then die."
He couldn't kill Minato Namikaze all those years ago. Tonight he would kill Minato's last student.
"Bee."
"Yo."
No further words were needed. Killer Bee adjusted his shades, cracked his neck, and the two brothers moved as one.
The encirclement lunged.
"Come on!" Kakashi snarled, sliding Kiba back into its sheath for a fraction of a second—then exploding forward.
An instant. Less than an instant.
"Lariat!"
Raikage and Killer Bee crossed arms, lightning cloaking their limbs as they charged like twin battering rams.
Kakashi's hand blurred.
Steel sang free of the scabbard.
In that frozen heartbeat, an old memory surfaced—hazy at first, then sharp as broken glass: a tall man with silver hair, swinging the very same blade beneath the moon. No wasted motion. No hesitation. Just the promise carved into every strike: the moment this sword leaves its sheath, someone dies.
Wind chakra ignited along the edge, twisting into roaring golden flame.
White light tore across the snow. Gold fire met blue lightning.
One man. One sword. Against the most feared tag-team in the Five Nations.
Far in the rear, Darui's breath caught.
He had fought in two great wars. He had seen the real White Fang make entire battalions break and flee. He had watched the Yellow Flash appear behind his comrades and vanish again before the bodies hit the ground.
And now, through the storm of snow and lightning, he saw both ghosts standing in the same body.
Two legends who should have stayed dead were staring back at him through Kakashi Hatake's single visible eye.
His fist clenched without permission.
Kakashi Hatake had to die here. Or the nightmare would begin all over again.
Metal screamed. Lightning shattered. The golden-white arc carved straight through the Lariat.
A heavy thud.
Something clattered into the snow—the Raikage's severed forearm guard, still sparking.
The Raikage stared at the broken metal, then at the lone shinobi who had just stopped the unstoppable.
Killer Bee's sunglasses hid his eyes, but the message was clear.
Tailed-beast transformation. Full release. No holding back.
"Do it," the Raikage growled.
Victory or defeat no longer mattered. He would not allow another Sakumo. Another Minato.
Killer Bee nodded once and began gathering the hateful red chakra.
Kakashi spun to face them, Kiba already rising for the preemptive strike—then the corner of his mouth curved in a tired, knowing smirk.
"You're really slow, you know that?"
The Raikage opened his mouth to demand what the hell that meant.
The ground shuddered beneath their feet.
Once. Twice.
Snow jumped in tiny avalanches.
And from the darkness beyond the ridge came the low, rolling thunder of eight hundred furious Leaf shinobi who had never been dead in the first place—charging straight into the Cloud's exposed rear.
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