Chapter 104: The Breaking Point
Kagenori's question hung in the air, a weight pressing down on the small, silver-haired boy. Kakashi's head remained bowed, his shoulders slumped under an invisible burden. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by the distant sounds of the village.
Finally, a whisper, so faint it was almost carried away on the breeze. "I don't know."
As a prodigy raised on the strict tenets of the shinobi code, Kakashi knew the rules by heart: the mission comes first. It was the unshakeable foundation of their existence. Yet, the part of him that was simply a son screamed that his father's choice to save a comrade couldn't be wrong. He'd seen other ninja bend or break the rules for their teammates without facing this kind of vitriol. Why was his father, the White Fang, held to a different, crueler standard?
Kagenori lowered himself, squatting to meet Kakashi's downcast gaze. "The confusion you feel is a testament to your humanity, Kakashi. Your father is simply walking the path he believes in, his own Nindo."
Kakashi looked up, his single visible eye clouded with a profound, aching confusion. "Then… was my father wrong to enact the Will of Fire?"
"I don't have that answer," Kagenori replied, his voice neutral, his words carefully chosen. "But if Lord Sakumo's interpretation of the Will of Fire is incorrect, then the very spirit upon which Konoha was built is flawed. Kakashi, do you truly understand the Will of Fire?"
Kakashi gave a hesitant nod, then immediately shook his head, the conflict tearing him apart. "I thought I did. But now… I don't know what it means anymore."
Kagenori reached out, a rare, calculated gesture of comfort, and placed a hand on Kakashi's head. "If you cannot unravel it now, then let it rest. The answer will come in time. For now, focus on being there for your father. I will return to check on you."
With that, Kagenori departed, leaving Kakashi alone in the compound. The boy's gaze drifted back to the shuttered window of his father's room. If the Will of Fire was just, and his father was just, then where did the fault lie? The question spiraled in his mind, a vortex of doubt with no escape. More than the philosophy, he feared the tangible silence from that room, the terrifying possibility that the father he knew was already gone.
In the days that followed, Kagenori became a regular presence at the Hatake compound, a silent sentinel observing the decay. He visited Kakashi daily, a steady, if cold, anchor in the boy's crumbling world. On one occasion, he even entered Sakumo's room. The man lay on his bed, a shell of his former self, his eyes open but seeing nothing. Neither Kagenori's presence nor Kakashi's pleading calls could elicit a response.
Simultaneously, Kagenori's surveillance network was active. A small snake from Ryuchi Cave remained hidden on the grounds, its senses tuned to any shift in the oppressive atmosphere. He also monitored the village's pulse. The public condemnation showed no signs of abating; if anything, it had grown into a sustained, ugly chorus. Kakashi, bearing the secondary shame of his father's fall, grew more haggard with each passing day, the pointed fingers and whispered slurs etching new lines of stress onto his young face. Sakumo, however, remained unchanged, entombed in his self-imposed exile.
One evening at Kagenori's home, Uzumaki Kushina untied her apron, her movements slower than usual, weighed down by the pervasive gloom. She handed him two packed lunch boxes. "I made extra. Take this to Kakashi later."
Kagenori accepted them with a nod. "Understood."
Kushina sighed, her vibrant spirit dimmed. "They're going too far. Even if Lord Sakumo made a mistake, it's not their place to craft this narrative. He's given so much to Konoha."
"It is the way of the world," Kagenori replied, his tone devoid of surprise. "A villain's single good deed is celebrated. A hero's single failure is deemed an unpardonable sin. Most are merely spectators, entertained by the fall of a great man, never considering the cost."
Just as they were about to eat, the monitoring snake slithered into the room. "Master Kagenori," it hissed. "Four individuals have arrived."
Kagenori's eyes narrowed. "Is one of them missing a limb? Confined to a wheelchair?"
The snake dipped its head in confirmation.
In an instant, Kagenori was on his feet, a controlled surge of motion. "Kushina, the Hatake compound!"
He vanished in a blur of speed, leaving Kushina staring at the forgotten lunch boxes.
Kagenori arrived at the Hatake property soundlessly, a ghost merging with the deepening shadows. His Observation Haki confirmed Kakashi was not present—likely venting his frustrations in the training woods, as was his habit now. All his focus shifted to the main house, to the room where a man's soul was being systematically dismantled.
He crept to the door, his presence utterly masked, and listened.
"Lord Sakumo, this punishment... it has nothing to do with us. If not for your order, we would never have abandoned the objective."
"Now we share the stain of failure because of your decision. It's unjust."
"We must ask you to speak to the Hokage. Explain that we were merely following commands. The responsibility for the mission's failure rests with you alone."
Hatake Sakumo offered no rebuttal. He simply lay there, his hollow gaze fixed on these men who had once fought beside him, now seeing only strangers where comrades had stood.
Then, his eyes found Tsuki, the man in the wheelchair, the living embodiment of his choice. Tsuki met his gaze, his own eyes a maelstrom of complicated emotions.
"When you saved me, I was grateful," Tsuki began, his voice quiet but laced with a corrosive bitterness. "But now... I have thought, more times than I can count, that it would have been better if I had died there. I would not be this useless cripple. I would not have to endure the pity and scorn in everyone's eyes. If I had died a shinobi's death, and you had secured the scroll, my name would be carved on the stone memorial. I would be remembered as a hero who fell for Konoha. Now? I am just a broken man, waiting to die, and I will be forgotten."
Sakumo's breathing grew ragged, his eyes bloodshot. He finally spoke, the words a raw scrape in his throat. "You think I was wrong? You begged me to save you."
"That was the instinct of a man who wanted to live!" Tsuki shot back, his voice hardening. "It was a weakness. The iron law of the shinobi forbids abandoning a mission. You, an elite Jonin, knew this better than anyone. You should never have saved me. You were wrong, Lord Sakumo. And I... I hate you for it. If I could go back, I would never, ever want you to choose me over the mission!"
A sharp, pained inhale was Sakumo's only response. "I see," he rasped out. "You may leave."
"Please, Lord Sakumo," another voice added, devoid of sympathy. "Think of our futures. We do not wish to see them ruined because of your error."
The four men filed out, their footsteps echoing with finality. Hidden in the shadows, Kagenori listened to their retreat, a cold, grim understanding settling in his chest. The sheer, breathtaking ingratitude was a poison, and it had just been poured directly into the heart of a dying man.
This is Konoha, he thought, the cynicism a familiar comfort. A village that preaches unity, yet breeds heartless men who would sacrifice their savior to save their own skins. The stage was set. The final act was beginning.
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