Chapter 102: The First Crack
The air in the Land of Grass outpost, once charged with the tense anticipation of war, had gone stale and heavy. Hatake Sakumo's return should have been a triumph. Instead, it was a somber procession of the wounded. All five members of the elite team bore injuries, a stark contrast to the flawless record of the man they called Konoha's White Fang.
The most grievously hurt was immediately rushed away, the frantic green glow of a med-nin's chakra the only light in the dim triage area. Sakumo himself sat slumped against a rough-hewn stone wall, his signature white chakra-blade propped beside him like a forgotten relic. A med-nin worked diligently on a gash along his arm, but Sakumo seemed oblivious. His face, usually a mask of calm authority, was etched with a deep weariness, his brows drawn together in a storm of silent turmoil.
Kakashi, who had been drilling forms with a single-minded focus, appeared at his father's side in a flicker of movement. "Father?" he asked, his voice, still young but trying so hard to be steady, laced with a worry he couldn't fully conceal. "What happened?"
Sakumo didn't answer. His gaze was fixed on some distant, painful point on the floor, lost in the echoes of his failure.
"Father?" Kakashi tried again, his small hand hesitantly touching his father's shoulder plate.
The contact seemed to jolt Sakumo back to the present. He blinked, the fog in his eyes clearing to reveal a profound exhaustion. "It's… nothing," he murmured, the words hollow. He waved off the med-nin with a quiet thanks, stood, and without another glance at his son, moved towards the command meeting room, his posture that of a man carrying the weight of a mountain.
Kagenori observed it all from the shadows of the corridor, a silent spectator. He was not on the summons list, but he had no intention of missing this. He already knew the script; his presence was merely to witness the first act of the tragedy. He slipped into the room after the others, a ghost at the feast.
Nara Shinsuke, the strategic mind of the outpost, was the first to break the tense silence. "Lord Sakumo," he began, his voice uncharacteristically anxious. "What happened? Were you ambushed?"
Sakumo stood at the head of the table, his hands braced on its surface. He shook his head, a slow, heavy motion. "No," he replied, his voice a dry rasp. "I gave up the mission."
The silence that followed was absolute, so profound one could hear the dust settling. Give up the mission? The words were blasphemy when attached to the White Fang. Missions were completed. Missions were flawless. That was the unshakable law of Hatake Sakumo.
Seeing the stunned disbelief on their faces, Sakumo forced himself to continue, the explanation dragged from a place of deep shame. "The infiltration was a success. We had the Iwagakure scroll in our grasp. But Tsuki was captured." He said the name of his perception-nin, and a fresh wave of pain crossed his features. "The Iwa bastards used him as bait for a trap. To ensure his safety… I had to abandon the objective and prioritize the rescue. But it was a double-layered ambush. The detonator tag… it went off before I could fully extract him. Tsuki took the worst of it."
The room remained quiet, but the tension shifted. The initial shock gave way to a grim understanding. A commander choosing his comrade's life over a scroll, even a vital one? It was a hard choice, but not an incomprehensible one. In this moment, surrounded by his fellow shinobi, no one judged him. They saw only a leader who bore the scars of a brutal decision.
Kagenori's eyes, cold and analytical, scanned the faces in the room. This is the calm, he thought, the peace before the storm of hypocrisy breaks. Enjoy your camaraderie while it lasts.
The meeting dissolved soon after, the men filing out with quiet, respectful nods to their commander, allowing him space to rest. But rest, Kagenori knew, would be the one thing Sakumo would not find.
In the days that followed, a fragile normalcy returned to the outpost. The incident was a whispered curiosity, not yet a scandal. But Kakashi felt the change in the air, a subtle vibration of wrongness that centered on his father. His training became distracted, his movements during their breathing exercises clumsy and uncharacteristically slow. During a drill, he fumbled a basic katas, his mind clearly elsewhere.
"Enough," Kagenori's voice cut through the boy's frustration, flat and final. "Your focus is nonexistent. This is a waste of my time and your energy."
Kakashi looked up, his visible eye clouded with conflict. "Sensei, I—"
"You are worried about your father," Kagenori stated, not as a question, but as a simple, irrefutable fact. "Then go."
"Go? But my duties here—"
"There are no 'buts'," Kagenori interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "He is your father. You are his son. In this world, that bond is the first and most fundamental loyalty. To deny it is the height of foolishness. Do you understand?"
The words, delivered with Kagenori's typical cold pragmatism, struck a chord deep within Kakashi. They were not warm, but they were true. He was Sakumo's only family. What was a mission, what was a post, compared to that? He took a sharp, resolving breath. "I understand. Thank you, Sensei. I will return as soon as I can."
Kakashi did not waste another moment. He was packed and on the road to Konoha within the hour.
Watching the small, determined figure disappear down the forest path, Kagenori returned to his quarters. The pawn was in motion. Now, to gather intelligence. He unrolled a scroll and began to write. The only person he trusted with this was Uzumaki Kushina.
His letter was precise. He instructed her to become his ears in the village. To monitor the shifting winds of rumor concerning the White Fang, to pay particular attention to the ninja named Tsuki—the man whose life had been purchased at the cost of the mission. The slightest condemnation from that quarter would be the killing blow. He needed to know the moment the tide of public opinion turned from quiet confusion to vocal condemnation.
Sealing the scroll, he bit his thumb and performed a series of hand seals. A small, dark snake slithered from a puff of smoke onto his desk. "To Kushina," he commanded softly, tying the scroll to its body. It dipped its head in acknowledgment and vanished.
Alone once more, Kagenori resumed his true purpose. For the next three months, he became a phantom in the Land of Grass. He moved with a frantic, desperate speed, faster without Kakashi in tow. He combed through forgotten villages, checked every lead, and filled in the blank spaces on his mental map with a grim determination. He searched ruined temples, questioned nomadic merchants, and scoured refugee camps, his Observation Haki stretched to its limit, seeking that unique, vibrant chakra signature of a red-haired Uzumaki.
He found nothing.
Frustration, a rare and dangerous emotion for him, began to simmer. He stood atop a windswept cliff, looking out over the vast, uncooperative country. He brought a hand to his right eye, the Uchiha eye that held the key to so much power. "Is this the only path left?" he murmured to the uncaring wind. "To rely on the Mangekyō, and then simply tear her from her cage?" The plan was fraught with peril. A rogue Uzumaki and a stolen Sharingan would make them the most valuable targets in the five great nations.
It was then that a familiar snake coiled up his leg. A new message from Kushina. He took the scroll, his expression neutral until he read its contents. His eyes narrowed, the grey irises turning to ice.
The letters had come frequently over the past three months, a frantic chronicle of a hero's fall. The whispers in Konoha had begun almost innocently—questions about the mission's details. Then they curdled. Why would the White Fang abandon such a critical objective? How many Konoha lives would be lost because of his sentimentality? The narrative had been seized and twisted, and now, the final, official blow had landed: the Konoha council had publicly stripped Hatake Sakumo of all command. Nara Shinsuke was now the acting commander in the Land of Grass.
The first act was over. The second was beginning. And Kagenori was perfectly positioned to witness it all.
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