The council chamber was suffocating.
The air inside was thick with tension, the heavy scent of ink and burning incense doing little to mask the hostility simmering beneath the surface. The walls, adorned with intricate carvings of Konoha's history, stood as silent witnesses to the storm brewing within.
At the centre of it all, Kakashi stood alone.
The elders and civilian representatives sat in their usual rows, their expressions a mixture of contempt, disappointment, and veiled anger. The
shinobi faction was quieter, their judgment heavier, colder.
At the head of the table, Hosei, the leader of the civilian faction, leaned forward. His thin lips curled into a sneer.
"Hatake Kakashi," he said, voice laced with barely concealed disdain. "You were entrusted with the safety of our village's jinchūriki, and yet—" his fingers tapped against the wooden surface, slow and deliberate "—you failed."
The words were a dagger, sharpened to pierce. Normal ninjas would look down. Look around in restlessness, hoping for someone, anyone to have mercy.
Kakashi didn't.
"You allowed him to be taken," Hosei continued, eyes narrowing. "Our greatest asset—stolen. Just like that. Despite being one of our best jounin and a student of the fourth, you can't even keep a mere child safe. No doubt he would be disappointed. Here you stand before us with nothing to show for it. What excuse do you bring to explain such incompetence?"
Kakashi let the words wash over him, cold and biting. He had already asked himself the same thing—over and over again.
Sarutobi cleared his throat, his presence alone enough to silence the murmurs creeping through the chamber. His fingers steepled together, his expression unreadable.
"Enough," the Hokage said. His voice, though quiet, carried an authority that cut through the air like a blade. "We do not have the full picture. Sasuke Uchiha remains within the village. Despite his injuries, he is otherwise safe and sound. It is not a complete loss on our side."
Hosei's lips pressed into a thin line, clearly displeased with the response. But he did not push further. Sarutobi's words carried a truth even he couldn't deny. It, however, did not ease the tense atmosphere.
Kakashi finally spoke. "I request full control over Team 7's training," he said, his voice even, unwavering. "From this point forward, they will be under my direct supervision, outside of standard missions."
A murmur rippled through the room. Shikaku, the jounin commander, raised a brow. "You want to remove them from the standard curriculum? That might cause more problems in the future"
"Yes," Kakashi said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "They will train under ANBU methodologies. They will not be weak. Not anymore."
The murmurs came back, a lot louder than before.
" Anbu methodoloies? "
"Wouldn't that be too much for a bunch of genin"
"I know Uchiha-sama is under Kakashi and he is a prodigy, but still... "
Sarutobi studied him for a long moment. Then, he sighed. "Very well. You have my permission. Considering who Sasuke's brother is, this might push him towards his true potential,"
Kakashi stood straight, knowing full well what his superior was getting at.
"... or it might break both genes beyond saving. I approve the request. I, however, expect results."
Hiding his surprise, Kakashi gave a sharp nod." Thank you for understanding, Hokage-sama. If I may, I would like to take my leave."
As he left the council chamber, he felt the weight of responsibility settles fully on his shoulders.
There was no room for failure. Not again.
Kakashi walked through the corridors of the Hokage building, his mind churning. Every step felt like an eternity, echoing the accusations that had been hurled at him. His thoughts were no kinder. Naruto's shocked face, and Sasuke's wounded glare—they haunted him, replayed over and over.
He pushed through the front doors and breathed in the outside air, letting it fill his lungs until the tension of the council chamber was a distant memory. The village stretched before him, vibrant and alive under the afternoon sun. The streets were busy, full of people who knew nothing of his private failure—yet.
There was only one thing to do now. Train them hard. Harder than they ever thought possible.
Kakashi crossed the village quickly, his path direct, and purposeful. He found them where he knew they would be: at the training grounds, battered but unbroken. Sasuke's chest had just recently been closed but would re-open with enough pressure, yet there he stood, determined to endure even in his critical condition. Skura was a different case. Both her wrist and ankle had been wrapped. Despite the treatment she had received, she still needed a day or two before she was allowed to partake in missions again. But still, it was better than what could have happened.
Back at the Hokage tower, Hiruzen had just placed his pipe in his mouth when the door to his office suddenly slammed open. He didn't need to look up to know the intruders. This wasn't the first time.
"Jiji!" yelled Konohamaru at the top of his lungs, " We gotta find..."
"No," Interrupted Sarutobi, rubbing his forehead as the migraine came back.
" But, but... "
"No buts. I have already told you that you three are severely outmatched. "interrupted the ageing Hokage again as he took a long drag from his pipe before continuing, " The rookie of the year and one of our best jounin were dealt with in mere moments. Mere students wouldn't fare any better. "
"But Jiji, remember when you told me stories about your adventures when you were our age? This is our chance to be brave like you were!"
"Yes, I do. But those days are long gone."
" We can't just sit around and do nothing."
This time, Hiruzen glanced sideways at Moegi, the only female friend his grandson had ever made at the academy.
"He would do the same for any of us! He's practically our big brother ."
Hiruzen turned his head to look at the bespectacled Udon just as the boy was rubbing some snot that was leaking from his nose. He sighed. It was heartbreaking how much Konohmaru's classmates only tried to befriend him just because of their relationship.
" I have told you since Naruto got kidnapped, " Began Sarutobi, " No, I will not allow any of you to leave the village to search for Naruto. I already have a list of ANBU ready to go do just that. "
He prayed they'd buy his bluff, but he cloud tell from their expressions that they didn't. Konohamaru openned up his mouth to speak but his grandfather beat him to it.
" As I said before, you three are outclassed beyond your comprehension. "
" Then what do we do? Nothing!? "
" No. "Said Hiruzen, hand reaching for his pipe. " Get stronger. Strong enough to find him and stand beside him. Naruto's too stubborn to die before he becomes Hokage. That's why I refuse to believe that he is dead. "
Konohamaru looked at his grandfather with hopeful eyes. Hiruzen stared back with just as much fire. For a moment, he got lost in his thoughts. Konohamaru was so much like his father. It hurt, more than the old man would show.
" That is why, " said Hiruzen, as he stood up walked to his descendant and knelt to his level. He then placed both of his hands on Konohamaru's shoulders and gave the most comforting smile his wrinkled face could muster.
He continued, " I am asking you to be patient. We'll find Naruto soon and we'll bring him back safe and sound. "
Konoharu smiled back. He muttered something but it was too soft to hear before he made his way out of the office. Behind him followed Moegi and Udon. This time he remembered to close the door.
Gossip was one thing Konoha women could spread faster than wildfire in the middle of a dry forest.
And the news of Naruto Uzumaki's kidnapping? That wasn't just gossip—it was a damn hurricane.
By the end of the day, everyone in the village knew. From the civilian shopkeepers at the far end of the market to the hidden corridors of the Hokage Tower, whispers turned to rumors, and rumors turned to collective mourning. Even the major clans had caught wind of it—especially the Hyūga.
Among them, Hinata had taken it the hardest.
The shy heiress had carried a quiet, unwavering love for Naruto since childhood. She admired him from the shadows, drawn to the strength he never even realized he had. But she never told him. Never could. Especially not when he was chasing after Sakura Haruno—a girl who barely noticed him, let alone returned his feelings.
It hurt, watching him get punched, rejected, ignored... and still smile. Still try. Still believe.
He was relentless. Brave. Kind.
Everything she wasn't.
And that was what Hinata hated most—herself. Her hesitation. Her silence. Her fainting spells. Her fear. Her everything.
She wasn't Neji, the gifted prodigy. She wasn't Hanabi, the sharp, instinctive genius. She was the eldest daughter of the Hyūga clan—supposed to be the example. The warrior maiden. But instead, she felt like a ghost wearing the title, aimless and fading. Whenever she entered the training hall, the weight of every eye crushed her—their disappointment louder than any insult.
Worse still, Hanabi, five years younger, had already surpassed her.
It hadn't always been like this. Once, Hanabi had followed her everywhere. They laughed, trained together, shared stories and sweets. Hanabi had been her last connection to their mother. A light Hinata cherished.
But she couldn't bring herself to hurt that light.
So she threw matches.
And in doing so, created a monster.
Hanabi's arrogance grew unchecked. Every hit she landed turned into a performance. The elders praised her with smiles and nods, slipping her extra rewards and attention. And Hanabi drank it all in—until she looked down on her sister like a queen to a servant.
The warmth between them rotted. Their bond replaced by bitterness and smug superiority.
And now, with Naruto gone—kidnapped, lost, maybe worse—something inside Hinata snapped.
The one person who made her believe she could be more was gone.
And so she broke.
—
The Hyūga compound's sparring arena was deathly still.
Hiashi was away at the council meeting. Senior instructors stood at a distance, tense but silent. No one moved. Not yet.
Hinata knelt on the cold stone floor, breath shallow, hands trembling from the flurry of strikes she'd just endured.
Hanabi stood tall, utterly composed. Not a bruise on her. She dusted off her gloves with smug satisfaction.
"Again?" she scoffed, her voice sharp and amused. "You let me win—or was that really all you had?"
Hinata didn't answer.
Hanabi circled her slowly, savoring the moment. "You keep saying you want to be stronger. But this?" She gestured down at her sister, voice dripping with derision. "This is pitiful. You're like one of those fragile dolls—pretty, polished, and completely useless."
The crowd around them murmured. Hanabi didn't care. She wanted them to hear.
"You're a disgrace to the main family. Father knows it. The elders know it. Hell, you know it. Honestly?" She leaned down, her whisper razor-sharp. "You should've been born a branch member."
That was the final straw.
Hinata looked up.
Her eyes—usually filled with gentle sadness—burned with something fierce. Cold. Final.
Her hands clenched.
"You really believe that?" she whispered, voice trembling with rage.
Hanabi scoffed. "I know it."
She didn't see the first strike coming.
Hinata moved like a storm unleashed, her cry ripping through the silence. The Gentle Fist was still there—but twisted. Controlled rage guided her blows, and every hit was punishment. For the shame. For the silence. For the girl she was forced to be.
The first strike cracked across Hanabi's jaw.
The second drove into her ribs with a thud that silenced the crowd.
The third—Hanabi barely blocked it, but the force sent her skidding across the arena floor.
This was no sparring match.
This was retribution.
The crowd fell into a sudden, suffocating stillness, as if every person suspended their breath in a shared moment of disbelief. Not a single murmur or footstep disturbed the charged silence. Amid this heavy quiet, Hanabi slowly pushed herself to her feet; blood trickled steadily from the corner of her mouth, pooling onto the polished training mat. Her lavender eyes, enormous and shimmering with incredulity, fixed on Hinata as though she were seeing her rival—and perhaps herself—for the very first time.
"What the hell—" Hanabi began, her voice a rough, pained whisper.
Before she could finish, Hinata moved with lethal precision. With a fluid, almost graceful violence, she struck again. The sound of her palm colliding with Hanabi's defense rang out like a clap of thunder, echoing through the arena. Each impact sent ripples through the air, making it snap and sizzle as if charged with electrical fury.
Hanabi staggered, attempting to recover her fighting stance, her arms flailing in a desperate bid to push back. But Hinata was a blur of speed and strength—her footwork impeccable, her expression icy and detached. Every strike was delivered without pause, a brutal punctuation to the long-harbored frustration that now burst forth in unrelenting torrents.
A harrowing scream tore from Hanabi's lips as another merciless blow crashed into her chest, toppling her to her knees with a sickening crunch that betrayed her weary ribs. "You—" she managed to croak out, her voice raw and broken by pain, "you're not—"
"Not what?" Hinata snarled, stepping closer with a predator's intent. Her tone was low and venomous as she continued, "Not a failure? Not the disappointment you wallow in? Not the pathetic older sister who threw every match away just to shield your fragile ego?"
Hanabi's protest was cut short by a violent cough, each harsh exhalation scattering droplets of blood across the immaculate floor. Despite her pride, her voice trembled as she mustered a weak challenge: "You think... this changes anything?"
With deliberate calm, Hinata raised her hand. The air around her fingertips shimmered with pulsating chakra, a silent promise of further devastation. "It changes everything," she declared, cold determination bleeding from every word.
And then—a single, desperate command shattered the charged atmosphere.
"STOP!"
Hiashi's voice boomed across the arena, a sound so forceful and authoritative it seemed to task the very air with obedience. In an instant, he had barreled into the fray, his hand outstretched and resolute as it intercepted Hinata's wrist just inches from Hanabi's vulnerable heart. His face was an emotionless mask of stone, yet his eyes betrayed a raw, unfiltered horror—a glimpse of regret and fear that hadn't surfaced in years.
Hinata's chest heaved with labored breaths, her hand still crackling with residual chakra. "Why now?" she spat out, her voice cracking under the pressure. "Why show up now? Where were you when she told me I was worthless?"
Hiashi offered no reply, and his silence was as heavy as lead. The arena swelled with a tension so palpable it nearly choked the remaining onlookers.
Abruptly, Hinata yanked her arm back. With a furious pivot, she stormed past the frozen masses. Her bloodstained sleeves brushed past wide-eyed spectators, leaving a trail of crimson against the stark training floor. No one stepped forward; no one dared even glance at her as she expelled herself from the scene.
That day, the proud heiress was transformed—a once-hallowed legacy now contorted into something raw, fierce, and untouchable.
Elsewhere, Hanabi was quickly whisked away by the medics. Her body lay limp, her breaths shallow and ragged in a desperate rhythm of pain. Elder members of the clan hovered nearby, their expressions unreadable and heavy with secrets, none daring to break the silence that had fallen in the wake of the violence.
Back on the battleground, Hiashi stood alone amid the aftermath, his eyes fixed on the blood spattering the ground. It wasn't just the scarlet stain of Hanabi's suffering—it was a mirror of his own failures as a father, a clan head, and a man confronted by the consequences of his decisions.
Later, in the solitude of her locked room, Hinata crumpled to her knees. Her fists trembled uncontrollably as her heart pounded in her ears. She got up and walked to the bathroom sink to wash of the skarlet. She gripped both sides of the sink and faced her reflection in the mirror, barely recognising the girl staring back—a girl worn down by fear and burdened by the weight of others' scorn.
"I let my fear make me weak," she whispered hoarsely, her voice heavy with regret. "I let their opinions define every part of me. I let her get away with everything."
Tears shimmered in her eyes, poised to fall but held back by steely resolve. "I won't ever be that girl again," she vowed, her gaze hardening into determination. "If I have to kill that version of myself to get truly strong... I will."
In that moment, a new Hinata was born—unyielding, fierce, and resolute never to allow softness to dictate her fate again.