Chapter 6: Come Be My Son
Kakashi Hatake was not an ignorant child.
In truth, he understood far more than most people his age.
In this chaotic era, he had already taken lives—bandits on missions, men who underestimated a boy with silver hair and cold eyes. He had seen blood, and he knew what death smelled like.
When he returned home yesterday, he spent the entire night thinking.
He understood, at last, what Aizen meant when he said he wanted to "protect" him.
But adoption in Konoha wasn't a simple matter.
There had been similar cases before, though they were rarely genuine parent-child relationships. More often, they were between master and apprentice—connections forged under the guise of kinship.
Konoha's educational system provided only the foundation. The true secrets of a clan—its hidden jutsu and fighting styles—were passed down privately, usually from master to disciple. Each mentor was like a living textbook, carrying knowledge that could never be written or copied.
Thus, orphans were often "adopted" not out of charity, but as a means of inheritance—passing on skills through surrogate family bonds. It was how Konoha preserved its secret arts.
But Aizen Sosuke was neither a powerful shinobi nor a bearer of any secret technique.
He wasn't even that old.
Why would he want to become someone's adoptive father?
Being an older brother, perhaps. An uncle, maybe.
But a father? That seemed excessive.
"Are you doubting my strength, Kakashi-kun?"
Aizen's tone was warm, almost amused. His smile softened as he looked at the boy's uncertain expression.
"There's quite a gap between a Chunin and a Genin, you know," he said lightly. "You may attack me without hesitation. After all, I'm aware you still carry doubts about me—doubts born from your father's warnings. So, shouldn't a conversation between father and son be... more honest?"
"…I see."
Kakashi's gaze darkened.
Then, without warning, he drew a kunai from his sleeve and thrust it toward Aizen's shoulder.
Even an experienced jonin would have struggled to react in time.
He had originally aimed for the neck—but at the last second, he hesitated and shifted the blade slightly lower.
The shoulder is enough. It's only a test, he thought.
But the blade never sank in.
Instead, a sharp metallic sound rang out—clang!
Kakashi's eyes widened.
Aizen was holding the edge of the kunai effortlessly between his fingertips.
"That's the truth, Kakashi-kun."
Aizen smiled gently, as though pleased with the boy's reaction.
A faint, light-blue energy flickered across his fingers. It wasn't raw chakra—it was refined, condensed, shaped into something sharper and more precise. With each steady heartbeat, the luminous current pulsed in rhythm, solidifying his hand into something harder than steel.
"Then, as my adopted son," Aizen said softly, "this will be your first gift."
He curled one finger, locking the kunai in place. With his other hand, he adjusted his glasses.
His voice remained calm, almost soothing.
"A defensive secret technique. That's what I want to give you. I never wanted children like you to step onto the battlefield... and the First Hokage felt the same. But in this world, without power, even good intentions mean nothing."
He paused, his gaze distant for a moment.
"I've seen battle before. Briefly, but long enough to know how tragic it truly is—humans cutting down other humans. I lack medical skill or precise chakra control... yet, humanity's greatest gift is ingenuity."
He lifted his glowing hand slightly, letting the azure light shimmer across his skin.
"By applying a sequence of chakra-reactive fluids to the body, one can induce a thin but potent defensive layer to form over the skin. Then, by engraving micro-talismanic seals into the surface and synchronizing them with chakra flow, the defense activates instinctively."
He smiled faintly.
"The result is this."
Kakashi's kunai trembled in his grip. The boy applied more force, but the blade could not pierce the outermost layer of Aizen's skin. It scraped and sparked against the barrier, producing only the screech of metal meeting stone.
"Based on its mechanism," Aizen continued, "I call it the Still Blood Suit."
The name lingered in the air, as sharp and cold as the sound of the blade failing to cut.
Even as Kakashi poured every ounce of strength into his attack—strength that nearly matched a Chunin's—Aizen did not budge. Seated calmly in the center of the room, he held the kunai effortlessly between two glowing fingers, smiling as the child's resolve met immovable resistance.
No matter how Kakashi strained, he could not break through. The blue light held firm—serene, unyielding, absolute.
"Because it manipulates both blood and chakra, the current version can withstand ordinary slashes and even most Genin- or Chunin-level ninjutsu," Aizen explained, tone patient, almost like a teacher addressing a curious student.
He glanced at Kakashi, whose mask could not hide the widening of his eyes.
"You can't even damage a strand of my hair, Kakashi-kun," Aizen said with a faint chuckle. "This is your first lesson—never fight by your opponent's rules. You'll only regret it."
Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "The Still Blood Suit requires precise preparation—certain fluids, proper chakra calibration, and extensive practice. I use this haori to conceal it. That's why, with the Sandaime Hokage's special permission, I'm allowed to wear it freely in Konoha... without a forehead protector.".
"When someone possesses privileges that others don't, don't resent them. Instead, reflect on whether they have other unique qualities. Simple jealousy will only blind your perception and create flaws in your judgment."
"Tsk."
He's clearly just a Chunin—the weakest in the class, Kakashi thought bitterly, remembering his father's words.
Looking at Aizen standing calmly before him, Kakashi couldn't hide his disdain. His short figure blurred and vanished into the air, replaced by the painted scroll behind Aizen—the one bearing the words No Retreat.
In an instant, smoke filled the writing room.
From the haze, Kakashi appeared behind Aizen, silent as a shadow. His hand flicked forward, launching several kunai aimed precisely at the unguarded man.
"…A Substitution Jutsu?"
Aizen's voice was calm, low, and magnetic.
"Excellent judgment. When you can't break through from the front, you strike from behind. Very good, Kakashi-kun. But… it's useless."
Click.
The kunai struck Aizen's back—and stopped.
They tore only a thin piece of his haori before clattering harmlessly to the floor.
Kakashi froze. His eyes widened in disbelief.
What… what is this?
He had never seen a technique like it—not armor, not chakra reinforcement. It defied everything he knew.
Aizen turned his head slightly, his voice gentle yet commanding.
"Do you understand now, Kakashi-kun? This is the first gift I intended to give you—a special defensive technique without rank or limitation. The Still Blood Suit."
From his eyes to his hair, down to the tips of his fingers and the soles of his feet, every inch of Aizen's body shimmered faintly with a light blue glow. It pulsed softly, like the tranquil surface of water under moonlight.
The kunai that had failed to pierce him slid from his back and fell to the wooden floor with a dull thud.
Sitting upright, Aizen turned toward the boy standing on the beam above and smiled, pushing his glasses up with a composed hand.
"This technique is one I wish to teach every Genin in Konoha," he said. "Unfortunately, when using the Still Blood Suit, chakra flow becomes heavily restricted. It greatly interferes with ninjutsu, so I recommend close combat and swordsmanship when using it."
His tone carried neither arrogance nor pride—only calm sincerity.
"As I've said before, Kakashi-kun… I care about your life. You are the son of Konoha's White Fang, Sakumo-kun. I will not judge his choices—but I hope you'll accept this gift."
He folded his hands together lightly.
"To realize the Will of Fire, I'm willing to offer this technique freely. Beyond that, I simply cannot stand by and let a comrade's child face the world alone."
"Please consider it carefully. Even if you refuse to become my adopted son, I still want you to have this."
"…"
His words lingered in the air, gentle yet firm.
Aizen's movements were elegant as he withdrew a small scroll from his sleeve and placed it neatly on the table before him. The faint scent of ink and parchment mixed with the summer wind drifting through the calligraphy room.
Under the soft light, Aizen's expression was warm—almost disarming. Like the moon, cold yet impossibly serene.
Kakashi stared at the scroll and at the man before him, conflicted.
If a person's actions and words both seemed genuine—if he truly offered his own knowledge to help others—should one still treat him as an enemy because of someone else's warning?
Aizen Sosuke's kind smile and the untouched scroll before him tugged at Kakashi's heart. His resolve wavered.
He was only six years old.
The only people who had ever shown him true respect, who had spoken to him as an equal, were his father—and now, Aizen Sosuke.
Just as silence threatened to crush the air between them, a black-clad figure appeared at the door of the writing room.
"Aizen Chunin, the Sandaime-sama summons you for a meeting."
"Ah, I'll be right there. Thank you for relaying the message."
Aizen turned gracefully, offering the kneeling Anbu a polite nod before setting the No Retreat scroll aside. Then he looked back at Kakashi, who still sat motionless on the beam.
"Please think about it carefully, Kakashi-kun. I have high hopes for you—don't let me down."
His glasses glinted faintly as he continued, "My talents are limited, and I haven't developed the Still Blood Suit much further. But I'm working on something new—a Dynamic Blood Suit that can shift from defense to offense. Perhaps one day, you'll perfect it yourself."
He smiled again, faint but sincere.
"Well then, I'll take my leave. Feel free to stay as long as you like."
"…"
As Aizen left, the room fell into silence once more.
Kakashi stared at the scroll left on the table, his thoughts spiraling. The emotions in his chest were tangled—admiration, confusion, and doubt.
Is Aizen Sosuke… really just a Chunin?
His gaze fell on the large character "天" painted boldly on the desk. He recalled how Aizen had caught his kunai effortlessly—and how the Anbu had come personally to summon him at the Hokage's request.
The Third Hokage himself wouldn't be mistaken… The Anbu wouldn't allow someone untrustworthy to move freely.
And everyone in the village—every civilian, every shinobi, even members of the Uchiha clan—spoke of Aizen with respect.
Everyone loved him.
Only his father had said otherwise.
But… his father had committed suicide.
Kakashi felt his breath catch.
An absurd, almost painful thought crept into his mind.
"Perhaps… it really was Father's fault?"
The boy stood silently upon the beam, lost in the deepest confusion of his young life.
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