Chapter 1: Death of White Fang
Heavy rain poured over Konoha.
Under the lead-gray sky, raindrops as dark as ink fell violently onto the earth, as if venting frustration—or mourning something lost.
A white-haired boy stood silently before an unmarked grave, motionless as the rain drenched him.
Hatake Kakashi, son of the late White Fang of Konoha, Hatake Sakumo. Three days had passed since his father's burial. Amidst the villagers' scorn and hatred, Kakashi stood like a puppet, staring blankly at the small, nameless mound of earth.
Because his father had taken his own life after being branded a traitor, he wasn't even given a proper grave—only an anonymous tombstone.
Even though he was Konoha's White Fang.
Even though he was once a hero.
One stain was enough to erase everything.
That was the village's verdict.
Kakashi said nothing.
He simply stood there, letting the rain wash over him as though it could extinguish the pain smoldering in his heart.
He didn't understand why his father had chosen to die in front of him—or why a man so revered had ended up like this.
Mission. Camaraderie. The Will of Fire.
Those words now sounded hollow.
Suddenly, Kakashi's ears twitched. He turned toward the faint sound of footsteps.
"Sorry. I tried to stay quiet. Did I disturb you?"
A soft voice broke through the downpour.
A man with gentle eyes approached, holding a black oil-paper umbrella and wearing a pure white haori. Beneath the umbrella, his glasses glimmered faintly, and in his other hand was a food basket.
In the bleakness of the storm, the sight of the white haori and the steaming basket radiated warmth.
But precisely because of that warmth, Kakashi didn't want to see this man.
He knew who he was.
The man bowed slightly to the nameless grave. Then, squatting down to meet Kakashi's height, he set the basket on the ground.
"...You still don't want to talk?"
Half-kneeling in the mud, the man's low, magnetic voice carried a tone of concern.
"But even if I have to be a bit forceful, I can't leave you like this, Kakashi-kun. You won't last if you keep this up. Whatever pain you feel... you still need a healthy body to bear it."
Steam rose from beneath the bamboo lid, carrying a sweet, familiar scent that made Kakashi's stomach stir despite himself.
The man noticed. His lips curved into a soft smile as he lifted the cover.
Two bowls of freshly made ramen sat inside, the aroma warm and comforting.
Kakashi's throat moved involuntarily.
"Kakashi-kun, it's been three days. It must be hard being alone like this, right?" the man said kindly. "I brought you some Ichiraku Ramen. If you don't mind... how about we eat together?"
Kakashi flinched.
Not from the cold—but from the words eat together.
The phrase made something twist painfully inside him.
His gaze lifted to the man, eyes hollow and unreadable. Then he looked back down at the grave.
"...Don't worry about me."
"You're a stubborn one," the man chuckled softly. "Are you sure? Ichiraku Ramen is delicious."
Kakashi didn't reply.
"Even if you don't want to eat," the man continued, "you should at least think of those who care about you."
He raised the umbrella to cover them both, shielding the boy from the rain, and gently placed a pair of chopsticks beside him. His voice was warm, calm, almost protective.
"You're still in the Academy, Kakashi-kun. This is when you need adults to help guide you. Hokage-sama, the villagers... everyone understands your father's pain. They know he—"
"I said, leave me alone!"
Crash!
The bowl of ramen flew from Kakashi's hand and shattered against the wet earth.
The noodles mixed with mud, turning into a foul, black puddle—like the bitterness festering inside the boy's heart.
His young face twisted with hatred and defiance as he glared up at the man behind him.
"You don't have to act so kind, Aizen Sosuke."
The man's smile faded slightly, though his expression remained gentle.
"Father could tell at a glance that you're not a good person," Kakashi continued, voice trembling with rage. "You don't need to pretend to care about me!"
Aizen sighed quietly. His gaze dropped to the shattered bowl at his feet, then to his wrist, reddened from the spilled soup. Adjusting his glasses, he spoke in a low, almost wistful tone.
"Your father... Sakumo-kun... those eyes of his were extraordinary. But they were also his downfall. He could see through everything—yet chose to believe only in himself. In the end, that belief cost him everything he loved. Truly... a tragic fate."
"What did you say?!" Kakashi shouted, trembling.
"I said it's truly sad, Kakashi-kun. From an adult's perspective... it's heartbreaking."
Aizen pushed up his glasses again, hiding his eyes behind their gleaming reflection. The rain fell harder, masking the faint sigh that left his lips.
"Even though we're from the same village, we're wary of each other. It's really sad. I'm truly, deeply saddened that it has come to this."
Aizen's voice was soft, his tone filled with regret.
"But I understand that your father has a big misunderstanding about me. After all, I've always acted for Hokage-sama and the Will of Fire. There are times when I don't wish to do certain things, but I do them for the sake of the village. For the Will of Fire."
He paused, looking at Kakashi with genuine warmth.
"Your father was a respectable man, and his love for you was real. But things are different now. You're still a child. I thought this was a matter between adults, but I didn't expect it to reach you... I may have said too much. Kakashi-kun, I'm sorry."
The white-haired boy's face twisted in pain beneath the rain. Seeing this, Aizen sighed quietly and took a step back.
"I'll come again tomorrow, Kakashi-kun. Until you can accept me."
"...Go away. Don't come again."
"It's not nice to swear," Aizen said calmly, shaking his head in quiet disapproval.
He placed the black oil-paper umbrella and the last untouched bowl of ramen on the ground, covering the boy's small figure from the storm. Even when faced with Kakashi's resentful glare, Aizen made no harsh response. Instead, he simply nodded, turned slightly, and began cleaning the shattered bowl and scattered noodles.
The rain had turned the ground into thick mud, and he frowned slightly at the mess. Tearing a piece from his haori, he wrapped the spoiled food and broken pieces carefully. Then, bowing slightly toward the boy who refused to look at him, he turned and walked away, letting the downpour soak through his once spotless white robes.
When Aizen's figure finally disappeared into the storm, the cemetery returned to its stillness.
The black rain continued to fall, but none of it touched Kakashi.
He stood there, staring blankly at the umbrella on the ground—the one Aizen had left behind—and at the steaming bowl of Ichiraku Ramen beneath it. His young face was torn between anger and hesitation.
Inside him, a storm raged fiercer than the one above. His small hands clenched until blood trickled from his fingertips into the mud.
A kind man... respected by all... and yet his father's warning echoed in his mind.
He didn't understand.
Why had his father, a hero, taken his own life? Why did the villagers now point and whisper behind his back? Why was the only one showing him kindness... the man his father had called dangerous?
Aizen Sosuke.
He was supposed to be one of the village's best. Kakashi had once admired him, believed in him.
He had only begun to despise him because his father said so. Because he obeyed.
But now, his father was gone—labeled a traitor who had violated the rules and chosen death over punishment.
And Aizen... Aizen had helped him.
He had even personally overseen the funeral rites.
Kakashi's mind churned with doubt and confusion. He was a genius—he knew more than most children his age—but that only made the pain worse.
"What should I do... Father... were you really the one who was wrong..."
The grave said nothing. It simply stood there as the black rain poured endlessly, drowning out the boy's trembling voice.
From the shadows, several cold, watching eyes quietly withdrew after Aizen's departure, disappearing one by one into the storm.
Minutes later, at the entrance of the cemetery—
Several figures appeared, bowing respectfully to the man carrying a bundle of broken bowls and soaked fabric.
"Lord Aizen, thank you for your hard work. Shall we treat your burns?"
Aizen smiled faintly. "Ah, it's fine. Take care of the trash. I'll report to Hokage-sama later."
He handed over the torn haori and shattered bowl, then turned his gaze back toward the cemetery. His expression softened as he spoke.
"Even though the incident caused great harm to the village, the child is innocent. I believe Kakashi-kun carries the Will of Fire. He'll overcome this pain—it will just take time."
"Lord Aizen..." one of the Anbu murmured, visibly moved.
"Thank you for your hard work, everyone," Aizen said kindly, smiling as he turned to leave. "All of this... is for the Will of Fire."
As his calm figure disappeared toward the towering Hokage Building, the Anbu behind him watched in silent admiration.
<><><><><><>
Read Advanced Chapters on:
~ [email protected]/FanficLord03
~ Every 100 Power Stones = Bonus Chapter!
~ Push the story in the rankings using your
[Power Stones]
~ https://discord.gg/MntqcdpRZ9