Chapter 103: The Anatomy of a Betrayal
The letters from Kushina were a detailed, grim chronicle of a hero's systematic dismantling. She reported that Hatake Sakumo had been formally stripped of all duties and now lived in a state of listless confinement within his own home, a ghost haunting the halls he once commanded.
More crucially, she had done as he asked and investigated the source of the venomous public opinion. Her findings were a masterclass in hypocrisy. The whispers had not originated from faceless villagers or political rivals, but from within Sakumo's own team. Three of the four men whose lives he had prioritized over the mission had become the architects of his ruin.
One of them, bitter over the shared punishment, had drowned his frustrations in sake and spilled the story in a crowded tavern. The mission failed, he'd slurred, but it wasn't his fault. He was just following orders. The dam broke. The other two, harboring the same silent resentment, saw their chance and added their voices to the chorus. They painted a picture of a reluctant team, forced to abandon glory and duty by their captain's single-minded, sentimental decision. They shifted the entire, crushing weight of the failure onto Sakumo's shoulders alone.
Kagenori's attention sharpened as he read about Tsuki, the man he had marked as the lynchpin. There was no movement from him. According to Kushina, Tsuki had lost an arm and both legs in the explosion, his career as a shinobi ended forever. After being discharged from the hospital, his family had taken him home to convalesce, and he had vanished from public view. However, Kushina's sharp eyes had noted a telling detail: the three disloyal teammates were now frequent visitors to Tsuki's home.
Kagenori finished the letter and closed his eyes, the pieces clicking into a perfectly despicable picture. He had anticipated many things, but this—this betrayal from the very men whose breaths Sakumo had bought with his honor—was a particularly chilling brand of cowardice. They weren't just saving their own skins; they were actively crucifying their savior to do it. And the Konoha higher-ups, by their silence, were handing them the nails. Their tacit approval was a death sentence.
If those three were pressuring Tsuki to join their chorus of condemnation, then the final act was imminent. The last pillar of Sakumo's faith was about to be shattered.
"It's time to return to Konoha," Kagenori murmured to the empty room. He incinerated the scroll with a spark of chakra, watching the ashes drift to the floor. Then, he became a blur, streaking through the wilderness toward the village that was methodically devouring one of its finest.
Six days of relentless travel later, a dust-covered Kagenori slipped back into his Konoha apartment. The air was still, and for a moment, he was alone. But soon, a flash of vibrant red announced Kushina's arrival. After a brief, quiet exchange of greetings, the weight of the situation settled between them.
"Kagenori," Kushina began, her voice hesitant, her usual fire banked by confusion. "The things they're saying about Lord Sakumo in the village… are they true?"
He met her gaze, his own devoid of comfort. "The facts are true. He did abandon the mission to save his men."
Kushina's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with disbelief. "How can that be wrong? He saved his comrades! Isn't that the heart of the Will of Fire?"
"It is both right and wrong," Kagenori stated, his voice a low, analytical hum. He could see the contradiction twisting her features, a conflict she'd never had to articulate before.
"I don't understand!"
"Konoha preaches the Will of Fire, the bond between comrades," he explained, dissecting the village's ideology like a surgeon with a scalpel. "By that creed, Sakumo was correct. But Konoha is also a military machine. Its rules, its very survival, demand that missions be completed. Pawns must be sacrificed for the king. By choosing the man over the mission, he violated that fundamental, unspoken law."
"But… to just watch your friend die? No one could do that!"
"All great villages are built on this hypocrisy, Kushina," he said, his tone grimly educational. "They need a beautiful spirit to inspire loyalty, and they need ruthless tools to execute their will. The two are often at odds. For a minor mission, saving a comrade is a footnote. For a mission of strategic, war-altering importance? It is an unforgivable sin."
Kushina looked sick. "Why create such contradictory rules?"
"It is not a contradiction to them," Kagenori countered. "It is a hierarchy. For the ultimate protection of the village—the 'fire' itself—any sacrifice is justified. Abandoning a comrade, sacrificing a hundred comrades, can itself be the ultimate expression of the Will of Fire. Sakumo's error was in misjudging the hierarchy. His crime was valuing a single spark over the perceived safety of the entire flame."
"And the village… they're letting this happen to him? When we need his strength the most?" Kushina's voice was barely a whisper, the injustice of it all choking her.
"My guess?" Kagenori's lips thinned. "The public outcry provided a convenient pressure valve. The village is tense, on the brink of war. People needed a target for their fear and frustration. The council likely saw this as a way to let that steam escape. Furthermore, they are sending a brutal message to every other shinobi: fail a critical mission, and not even the White Fang is safe from condemnation. They probably intended to let him languish for a time before quietly reinstating him once the storm passed."
He left the rest unspoken, but the truth hung between them: They never anticipated he would break.
The death of the White Fang would be a catastrophic, self-inflicted wound, a blunder of staggering proportions born from cold political calculation.
Kushina sighed, the sound heavy with a disillusionment that aged her. "It's all so… ugly. You should check on your student. This has hit him hard. He gets pointed at in the street."
Kagenori gave a curt nod. "I know. I will go to him now."
He found Kakashi in the training ground of the Hatake compound. The boy was a tempest of unfocused rage, hammering his fists against a wooden post with raw, bruising force. There was no technique, no form—only a desperate, painful need to feel something other than the crushing weight of shame and confusion.
"I don't recall teaching you that form," Kagenori's voice cut through the rhythmic thudding.
Kakashi flinched, whirling around. A flicker of relief at seeing his sensei was instantly smothered by the gloom that had become his constant companion. "Sensei Kagenori…"
"How is your father?" Kagenori asked, his gaze shifting toward the silent, shuttered main house.
Kakashi's shoulders slumped. "He… he stays in his room. He hasn't left for days. He barely acknowledges me when I bring his meals. He just… lies there." The words were laced with a son's helpless despair.
Kagenori's eyes returned to Kakashi, sharp and probing. "And you? How are you managing?"
A hollow, forced smile touched Kakashi's lips beneath his mask. "I'm fine."
Kagenori saw through the lie as if it were glass. He stepped closer, his voice dropping, demanding an answer to the question that was tearing the boy apart. "So, tell me, Kakashi. Your father chose to save his comrades' lives and abandon the mission. In your judgment… was he right, or was he wrong?"
Kakashi's breath hitched. He stared at the ground, his small frame rigid, the question hanging in the air like a guillotine's blade. He had no answer. The ideals he had been taught were at war, and the battlefield was his own heart.
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