A heavy rain blanketed Konoha Village.
From a lead-gray sky, raindrops fell like ink, pelting the ground as if to vent some invisible sorrow, as if the heavens themselves were mourning.
A white-haired boy stood silently before an unmarked grave, letting the storm soak him through. Perhaps, only by doing so could he wash away the pain that threatened to burst from his chest.
He was Hatake Kakashi, son of Hatake Sakumo.
It had been three days since his father—the legendary White Fang of Konoha—was buried.
Surrounded by the villagers' scorn and resentment, Kakashi stood motionless, like a puppet, before the small mound without a name.
Because Sakumo had committed suicide in disgrace after being labeled a traitor for abandoning a mission, even his grave bore no name.
Hero or not, savior or not—it didn't matter.
In Konoha, one stain was enough to erase a lifetime of glory. That was the village's verdict.
---
Kakashi stared wordlessly at the tiny mound, the rain washing over him as his heart turned to ash.
He didn't understand why his father had chosen to die before his eyes—why the man he had revered as a god had ended like this.
Mission. Friendship. The Will of Fire...
The words echoed hollowly in his mind.
Then—his ears twitched. Someone was approaching.
"Apologies. I tried my best to stay quiet… but it seems I've disturbed you after all?"
A calm, warm voice cut through the rain.
A man holding a black oil-paper umbrella, dressed in a spotless white haori, approached with a wicker basket in one hand. His face, framed by gentle spectacles, carried a mild and reassuring smile.
In the dark downpour, the man's white robes and the faint steam rising from the basket seemed almost to glow—a small pocket of warmth amid the cold storm.
And perhaps for that very reason, Kakashi hated seeing him.
Because he knew exactly who this man was.
The man who seemed to embody gentleness itself stepped forward and bowed slightly toward the nameless grave. Then, lowering himself to the boy's level, he placed the basket on the muddy ground with an expression of compassion.
"…Still don't want to speak?"
Half kneeling in the dirt, allowing mud to stain his pristine haori, the man's deep, magnetic voice remained soft and patient.
"But even if I must intrude, Kakashi-kun, I must insist. If you keep standing here like this, you'll collapse. No matter what pain you carry, your body must endure it first."
Steam curled faintly from beneath the bamboo lid of the basket, releasing an enticing aroma that stirred Kakashi's senses. His eyes flicked toward it despite himself.
Seeing that the five- or six-year-old finally reacted, the man's gentle smile deepened as he lifted the lid.
Inside were two carefully arranged bowls of freshly made ramen, the rich fragrance blending with the scent of rain.
Kakashi swallowed unconsciously. The smell was familiar.
"Three days already, Kakashi-kun. You must be exhausted from being alone. I brought something warm—Ichiraku Ramen.
If you don't mind, shall we eat together?"
At those words—"eat together"—Kakashi shuddered.
Not from the cold rain, but from the nausea that came with what the words implied.
His hollow gaze met the man's smiling face before he turned back toward the grave.
"…I don't need your help."
"What a stubborn child," the man said, tone still calm. "Are you sure you won't eat? Ichiraku's ramen is quite delicious."
"…"
"Even if you don't want it, think of those who care for you."
With one hand, he tilted the umbrella to cover them both; with the other, he carefully lifted a bowl and offered it toward the boy.
In the downpour, his gentle smile seemed like sunlight piercing the equatorial clouds, his voice filled with warmth and care.
"You're still in the Academy, Kakashi-kun. This is when adults should help you. The Hokage, the villagers—they all regret what happened. Your father had his reasons, but no one wanted things to end this way. You shouldn't torment yourself for it, don't you think?"
"I said—I DONT NEED IT!"
Crash!
The ramen bowl flew from his hand, hitting the ground and shattering into pieces.
Broth and noodles splattered across the dirt, the rising steam quickly swallowed by the rain as the food mixed with mud into a foul black slush.
Like the bitterness in Kakashi's heart, it was ugly, raw, and uncontainable.
His young face twisted with anger and hatred toward the man before him.
"…Stop pretending, Aizen Sōsuke."
Kakashi glared upward, his small frame trembling but defiant.
"My father saw through you from the start! You're no good person—stop acting like you are!"
"Your father… you mean Sakumo-kun?"
Aizen looked down at the fragments of the broken bowl. A bit of broth had splashed his wrist, reddening the skin slightly. Adjusting his glasses, his eyes softened with melancholy.
"His insight was sharp indeed. But that very clarity… was also what led to his downfall.
He could see through others—but he refused to doubt himself. In the end, he abandoned the one he loved most.
A tragic thing, really."
"What did you say?!"
"I said it's sad, Kakashi-kun. From an adult's perspective—it's deeply sad."
Aizen sighed, his lenses glinting faintly as he hid his eyes behind them.
"To live in the same village yet distrust one another… it's heartbreaking. I truly am saddened by it."
He paused, voice still calm, still gentle.
"Your father misunderstood me. I've always worked for the Hokage—for the Will of Fire. There are things I don't wish to do, but they must be done for the village's sake.
To uphold the Will of Fire… sacrifices are necessary."
His gaze softened.
"Your father was admirable. His love for you was real. But this matter—"
He shook his head lightly. "I thought it should stay among adults. I didn't expect it to touch a child. Perhaps I've said too much. My apologies, Kakashi-kun."
Aizen looked upon the boy's trembling face, sighed softly, and stepped back.
"Tomorrow," he said, "I'll come again, Kakashi-kun. Until you can accept me."
"…Get out. Don't come back."
"Such words don't suit you."
Aizen smiled faintly, shaking his head as if scolding a child.
He set the black umbrella and the remaining bowl of ramen on the ground, shielding the small figure from the storm.
Without another word, he bowed slightly, gathered the shattered porcelain, and wrapped it in a torn piece of his haori.
Then, letting the rain fall freely over him, he turned and left the cemetery.
...
When Aizen was gone, the graveyard fell silent once more.
The dark rain still poured, but this time—not a single drop touched Kakashi's head.
He looked down at the black umbrella and the steaming bowl of ramen left beside him.
His small face was a mixture of confusion and pain.
A storm raged within his heart. His fists clenched so tightly that blood dripped between his fingers.
On one side stood the man his father had warned him to fear.
On the other stood the only person showing him kindness.
He didn't understand this world anymore.
His heroic father had taken his own life before his eyes. The villagers whispered and sneered. Only Aizen had reached out to him with warmth.
But his father had said—Aizen was dangerous.
Yet now… was his father wrong?
Was it the village that is right?
Or was it his father?
Aizen Sōsuke…
He was known as Konoha's kindest, most admired man.
Kakashi himself had once looked up to him—until his father's warning turned that admiration into fear.
But now, Sakumo was dead—a man branded a disgrace. And Aizen, the man his father had distrusted, had organized the funeral, helped the family, and spoken to him with compassion.
Kakashi, young though he was, was perceptive beyond his years.
And that only made the pain worse.
"What should I do… Father… were you the one who was wrong?"
The lonely grave gave no answer.
Only the black rain replied, swallowing the boy's world in silence.
And in the shadows beyond, several cold eyes watched. When Aizen left, they too melted into the darkness and vanished.
---
Minutes later, at the cemetery gates.
Several masked figures gathered and bowed deeply to the man carrying a bundle of broken bowls and cloth.
"Aizen-sama, thank you for your efforts. Should we treat your burn?"
"It's fine," Aizen replied mildly. "Dispose of the waste. I'll report to the Hokage shortly."
He handed over the broken porcelain and torn fabric, then glanced back toward the graveyard with a faint smile.
"Even if great harm has come to the village," he said, "children are innocent. I believe Kakashi-kun carries the Will of Fire within him. He'll recover—he just needs time."
"Aizen-sama…"
"You've all done well. Everything we do… is for the Will of Fire."
With a soft smile, Aizen nodded to the visibly moved ANBU and walked toward the tallest building in Konoha—his silhouette calm and unshaken beneath the storm.