Land of Fire border, Kannabi Bridge.
It was raining heavily.
Young Kakashi knelt in the mud, his left hand clutching his left eye tightly.
Blood seeped between his fingers, dripping down and mingling with rainwater.
In front of him stood a mysterious figure in a black cloak wearing a one-eyed mask.
“Take this eye as my gift to you.”
The masked man’s voice was raspy, laced with a twisted amusement.
“Now, take it…
and watch closely as this world rots away.”
Kakashi raised his head.
In his remaining right eye was deep, bone-carving hatred and bottomless agony.
He had lost not just his left eye, but…
his final shred of faith in the word “comrade.”
…
In an underground facility somewhere.
An older Kakashi drove his Raikiri through a young girl’s chest.
Rin.
His former teammate, the girl he had sworn to protect.
Blue arcs of electricity raged inside her body, destroying all life.
She looked at Kakashi, no resentment in her eyes—only release, and a touch of…
sorrow.
“Kakashi…
I’m sorry…”
She collapsed.
Kakashi stood frozen, the Raikiri in his hand still snarling.
His eyes were hollow, like empty sockets.
Beside him, the man in the spiral mask let out a maniacal laugh.
“Look, Kakashi!
These are the comrades you wanted to protect!
“This is the truth of this rotten world!”
Obito.
His former best friend, now a lunatic who wanted to destroy everything.
…
Before the Konoha Memorial Stone.
Kakashi was already a Jonin, wearing a face mask, his silver hair swaying gently in the wind.
He stood before the stone, motionless.
Many names were carved upon it.
Rin.
Obito.
Minato Namikaze.
And…
Sakumo Hatake.
He reached out, his fingertips tracing his father’s name.
The movement was delicate, as if afraid of waking something.
“Father…”
he whispered, his voice scattered by the wind.
“If you were still here…
what would you do?”
No one answered.
Only the Memorial Stone stood in silence like a giant monument, burying all the words that were never spoken in time.
…
Many years later.
The Hokage Office.
The Sixth Hokage, Kakashi Hatake, sat behind his desk, dealing with mountains of documents.
He had grown old.
Grey streaked his silver hair; deep wrinkles lined the corners of his eyes, and his back was slightly hunched.
The office was spacious, but so empty it felt unsettling.
A picture hung on the wall—Team 7: Naruto, Sakura, Sasuke.
Their young faces were full of vigor.
But that was a photograph from many years ago.
Now Naruto was away on missions, Sakura was buried in work at the hospital, and Sasuke…
traveled abroad year-round, rarely returning to the village.
Kakashi put down his pen and rubbed his temples.
He looked out the window.
The lights of Konoha flared alive one by one, smoke curled up from chimneys, and children’s laughter echoed from afar.
A peaceful scene.
Yet he felt a loneliness that cut straight to his bones.
No family, no companion, not even a friend to confide in.
His entire life had been defined by loss.
Losing his eye, losing his teammates, losing his master, losing his father.
And the origin of it all…
was that night when his father ended his own life with the White Fang short sword.
From that moment on, the name “Hatake” became synonymous with disgrace.
From that moment on, he learned to hide everything behind a mask, wrapping himself in coldness and rules.
Because his father had taught him one thing with his life: letting emotions rule you destroys everything.
Kakashi closed his eyes.
For a long time.
When he opened them again, only a weary calm remained in his eyes.
He picked up the next document and resumed his work.
Just like every day in the past.
Just like every day in the future.
…
The illusion shattered.
Like a broken mirror, those cruel images—Kakashi losing his left eye, Rin pierced by Raikiri, Obito manic behind his mask, the lonely silhouette before the Memorial Stone, the aged side profile in the Hokage Office—all exploded into shimmering fragments.
Then, reality reassembled itself.
It was still the same dojo, still the extinguished oil lamp.
The moonlight remained.
Sakumo Hatake knelt on the floor, both hands propping himself up, his entire body trembling violently.
Cold sweat soaked his clothes, and his bangs clung to his pale forehead.
He gasped heavily for air, like a drowning man finally surfacing, every breath weighing a thousand pounds.
Lingering phantoms of the illusion still remained before his eyes.
His son’s hollow gaze.
His best friend’s twisted smile.
The ice-cold names on the Memorial Stone.
And…
that elderly Kakashi Hatake sitting in the Hokage Office, growing old in solitude.
“No…
it’s not real…
it’s not…”
He muttered to himself, but his voice carried not a shred of conviction.
Because it had felt too real.
That bone-deep loneliness, that despair of being abandoned by the whole world.
That shackle carried for a lifetime, never to be laid down—it was so real it made his heart quiver.
He could even “smell” the damp scent of moss before the Memorial Stone, could “feel” the stiff ache in the knuckles of the elderly Kakashi rubbing his temples.
This was no ordinary Genjutsu.
This was…
a glimpse into the corner of fate.
“That is the ‘honor’ you bought with your life.”
Ryuha Uchiha’s voice echoed in the dojo, calm as if stating a simple fact.
Sakumo snapped his head up.
Under the moonlight, the Uchiha youth still stood in the same place.
He pushed up his glasses, the lenses reflecting a cold glint.
“You die, and for you, it’s all over,” Ryuha said, staring at him word for word.
“Yet you leave the heaviest shackles to the son you love most, forcing him to bear them for his entire life.”
“A father who cannot even protect his own son…”
Ryuha paused, his voice soft, yet falling like a heavy sledgehammer onto Sakumo’s heart:
“…what honor is there to speak of?”
BOOM—
The final pillar supporting him shattered.
Sakumo’s body swayed, nearly collapsing entirely.
He lowered his head and looked at his hands.
These hands had held a blade, killed men, saved comrades, and been stained with blood beyond count.
He used to believe this was the destiny of a ninja—to struggle between slaughter and protection, and ultimately die in some forgotten corner.
Or, like now, end his own life with a sword to preserve a final shred of dignity.
But now, someone told him:
Your death is not dignity.
It is escape.
It is cowardice.
It is dumping the weight you ought to shoulder entirely onto the shoulders of a six-year-old child.
“I…”
Sakumo opened his mouth, but couldn’t produce a full sentence.
He looked at the White Fang short sword.
The sword still lay on the ground, its polished blade reflecting the moonlight, seemingly mocking him.
Just moments ago, he had been holding it, preparing to plunge it into his chest.
Now looking at it again, the blade felt like the fangs of a viper, exuding a sickening chill.
“Ah—!!!”
A low growl, suppressed to the absolute limit, erupted from Sakumo’s throat.
He suddenly reached out—not to grab the sword, but to violently sweep it away!
Clang!
The White Fang short sword was sent flying, crashing against the dojo wall.
With a crisp clatter, the short sword hit the ground.
It bounced twice on the wooden floor before finally coming to a rest.
Sakumo Hatake stared at the blade for a long time.
Then, he slowly raised his head and looked at Ryuha.
His eyes were bloodshot, but beneath the red veins burned something rekindled.
It was neither hope nor battle spirit, but a…
heavy, unwavering resolve.
“I…” he spoke, his voice hoarse, but each word spoken with deliberate weight, “…will not die.”
Ryuha Uchiha said nothing, only watching him silently.
“At least…” Sakumo Hatake pressed against the floor, struggling to stand, “…I won’t die like this.”
His legs were still weak, his body still trembling, but his back was straight as a rod.
Like a blade finally pulled out of the mud—rusted and worn, yet still retaining its edge.
“What is your name?”
“Ryuha Uchiha.”
“Thank you.”
Sakumo Hatake bowed low to Ryuha Uchiha, making a deep gesture of respect.
“Ryuha Uchiha…
I will remember this name.”
He raised his head, his eyes bloodshot, yet clear.
“What you saved was not just my life.”
“It was Kakashi’s future.”
“This debt of gratitude…” Sakumo straightened up, looking into Ryuha’s eyes, and said word for word, “…I, Sakumo Hatake, will remember it.”
The instant his words fell—
[S-rank World Line Alteration Quest: Echoes of the White Fang — Completed!]
[Quest Evaluation: SSS (Perfect Reversal)]
[Calculating Quest Rewards…]
[Base Reward: Causality Points +5,000]
[Bonus Reward (Altered Fate of Key Figure): Causality Points +3,000]
[Bonus Reward (Prevented Demise of Kage-level Powerhouse): Causality Points +2,000]
[Special Achievement “Light of Redemption” Unlocked: Obtained SSR Card Designated Gacha Ticket × 1!]
[Spiritual Pressure Upper Limit Increased by 50%]
[Current Level: Fifth Class Spiritual Pressure (Lieutenant-level) Chakra Equivalent: Elite Jonin]
[Current Total Causality Points: 11,000 (Gained 700 Causality Points from intense surveillance by the Third Hokage and defeating Foundation members sent by Danzo)]
[Designated Gacha Ticket stored in inventory, ready for use at any time]