Three weeks had passed since Team Seven's formation.
Three weeks of D-rank missions—catching runaway cats, weeding gardens, painting fences, walking dogs, delivering groceries, babysitting civilians' children. Three weeks of menial labor that had nothing to do with being a ninja and everything to do with being cheap labor for the village.
Naruto had completed each mission with the same mechanical efficiency he applied to everything else. The tasks were simple, requiring minimal thought or effort. He performed them adequately, collected his portion of the payment, and returned to his apartment to continue his real training in isolation.
But during those three weeks, he had observed something that even his emotionless state couldn't entirely ignore.
Hatake Kakashi was a terrible sensei.
The morning sun filtered through the trees surrounding Training Ground Three as Team Seven assembled for what Kakashi had called a "training session." The three genin had arrived at the designated time of seven AM, as instructed.
Kakashi, predictably, had not.
Sakura sat on one of the wooden posts, her legs dangling as she reviewed a scroll on basic medical techniques. She had taken to studying in her free time, driven by a desire to be useful to the team—and, Naruto suspected, to be useful to him specifically.
Satsuki lay sprawled on the grass nearby, her curvaceous figure displayed in a way that would have drawn stares from anyone passing by. She wasn't studying; instead, she was staring at the clouds and occasionally glancing toward Naruto with that adoring expression she always wore.
Naruto stood apart from them, his body moving through a series of kata he had developed through his shadow clone training. His movements were precise, economical, each strike flowing into the next with fluid efficiency.
Two hours passed.
Kakashi finally appeared at nine AM, strolling into the training ground with his signature orange book in hand. His visible eye curved in what might have been an apologetic smile.
"Yo. Sorry I'm late—there was this black cat, and I had to take the long way around to avoid bad luck."
Sakura's eye twitched, but she had learned by now that protesting Kakashi's excuses was pointless. "You said we were going to train today, sensei. Actual training, not another mission."
"Did I say that?" Kakashi flipped a page in his book, seemingly absorbed in its contents. "Well, I suppose we can do some light sparring. Sakura, you're with Satsuki. Naruto, you can practice your kunai throwing on those targets over there."
Satsuki sat up, frowning. "That's not real training. Sakura and I have sparred dozens of times already. And Naruto-kun doesn't need to practice kunai throwing—he's already better than most chuunin!"
"Maa, maa." Kakashi waved a dismissive hand. "Don't underestimate the value of fundamentals. A strong foundation is essential for growth."
"But you're not teaching us anything!" Sakura protested, rising from her post. "It's been three weeks, and we haven't learned a single new technique! All we do is D-rank missions and basic exercises we already knew from the Academy!"
Kakashi's eye curved in that infuriating smile. "Learning isn't always about new techniques. Sometimes it's about refining what you already know."
"That's an excuse, not an explanation," Satsuki said flatly. "You're supposed to be our sensei. You're supposed to teach us. But all you do is show up late, give us busy work, and read that perverted book."
For a moment, something flickered in Kakashi's visible eye—surprise, perhaps, or irritation. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual lazy demeanor.
"I'm teaching you patience," he said. "And self-reliance. Valuable skills for any ninja."
"That's still an excuse."
Kakashi sighed, closing his book and tucking it into his kunai pouch. "Look, I understand you're eager to learn. But real growth takes time. You can't rush these things."
"We're not asking to rush anything," Sakura said. "We're asking you to actually do your job."
The training ground fell silent. Even Naruto paused in his kata, turning to observe the confrontation with those empty blue eyes.
Kakashi studied his two female students for a long moment, his expression unreadable behind his mask. Then he shrugged.
"Fine. You want to learn something new? I'll teach you tree walking. It's a chakra control exercise that—"
"We already know tree walking," Satsuki interrupted. "And water walking. Naruto-kun taught us last week."
Kakashi blinked. "He... did?"
"Yes. He also helped us with our taijutsu forms, showed us how to improve our shuriken accuracy, and taught Sakura a basic genjutsu detection technique." Satsuki crossed her arms beneath her impressive chest, her expression challenging. "In one week, Naruto-kun taught us more than you have in three."
Another silence stretched across the training ground, heavier this time.
Kakashi's eye moved to Naruto, who had resumed his kata without any visible reaction to the conversation. The silver-haired jonin studied him for a long moment, something complex working behind his gaze.
"I see," he said finally. "Well, if Naruto is such an effective teacher, perhaps I should let him continue handling your training."
"That's not the point!" Sakura's voice rose with frustration. "The point is that YOU'RE supposed to be teaching us! You're the jonin! You're the one with years of experience and advanced techniques! Naruto-kun is amazing, but he shouldn't have to do your job for you!"
"Sakura—"
"No!" She stepped forward, her green eyes blazing. "I've had enough of excuses! You show up hours late every single day. You give us meaningless busywork instead of actual training. You spend more time reading that book than paying attention to us. And when we actually need guidance, you're nowhere to be found!"
Her hands were shaking now, clenched into fists at her sides.
"We're your students, Kakashi-sensei. We trusted you to help us grow. To prepare us for the dangers we'll face as ninja. And you've done nothing. NOTHING. For three weeks, you've treated us like an inconvenience rather than a responsibility."
Satsuki moved to stand beside Sakura, her own expression hard. "She's right. I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt at first—maybe you had your own methods, your own style. But there is no method. There's just laziness and neglect."
Kakashi stood motionless, his visible eye fixed on the two girls. For once, there was no lazy humor in his posture, no casual dismissiveness. He looked almost... caught.
"I—" he began.
"You what?" Satsuki demanded. "You have an excuse? Another justification for why you can't be bothered to do the bare minimum? Save it. We've heard enough excuses to last a lifetime."
From across the training ground, Naruto's voice cut through the tension. Flat, emotionless, but somehow more impactful for its lack of heat.
"They're correct."
Both girls turned to look at him, as did Kakashi. Naruto had stopped his kata and was facing them now, his empty blue eyes fixed on his supposed sensei.
"You are a poor instructor," he continued, his voice carrying no judgment or accusation—just simple statement of fact. "Your chronic lateness demonstrates a lack of respect for our time. Your failure to provide structured training demonstrates a lack of investment in our development. Your reliance on D-rank missions for our growth demonstrates a lack of understanding of how skills are actually acquired."
He tilted his head slightly.
"You were assigned to us because of your reputation and experience. The village believed you would be an asset to our development. Instead, you have been a liability. If Sakura and Satsuki have improved at all in the past three weeks, it is despite your involvement, not because of it."
The words hung in the air, brutal in their honesty. Naruto hadn't raised his voice, hadn't shown any emotion, hadn't done anything except state the truth as he observed it.
And somehow, that made it worse.
Kakashi stood frozen, his visible eye wide. He had faced down S-rank criminals, survived the Third Shinobi War, lost teammates and loved ones and pieces of his own soul. But something about being called out so directly, so emotionlessly, by a twelve-year-old boy he was supposed to be mentoring...
It cut deeper than any blade.
"I..." He stopped, swallowed, tried again. "You're right."
The admission seemed to surprise even him. Sakura and Satsuki exchanged glances, their anger momentarily derailed by the unexpected agreement.
"I've been a terrible sensei," Kakashi continued, his voice quieter now. "I knew it from the beginning. I just... didn't want to admit it."
He moved to sit on one of the wooden posts, his posture slumped in a way that made him look older than his years.
"I never wanted to be an instructor. When the Hokage assigned me to this team, I tried to fail you—that's what the bell test was really about. But Naruto..." He glanced at the blonde boy, something complicated in his gaze. "Naruto surprised me. He was supposed to fail, and instead he demonstrated power that exceeded my expectations."
"So you passed us," Sakura said slowly, "even though you didn't want to teach us?"
"Yes." Kakashi's eye closed. "And then I told myself that maybe it would be fine. Maybe you didn't need me to teach you—especially Naruto, who was already so far beyond normal genin level. I could just... supervise. Collect my pay. Go through the motions."
"That's..." Satsuki's voice was cold. "That's pathetic."
"Yes."
The simple agreement was more damning than any excuse could have been.
Silence stretched across the training ground, broken only by the distant sounds of birds and the rustle of leaves in the wind.
Finally, Naruto spoke again.
"Why?"
Kakashi looked up at him. "Why what?"
"Why did you not want to be an instructor?"
The question seemed to hit Kakashi like a physical blow. His visible eye widened, then dropped to the ground.
"Because everyone I've ever been responsible for has died."
The words fell into the silence like stones into still water.
"My teammates. My sensei. My father." Kakashi's voice had gone hollow. "Everyone I've cared about, everyone I've tried to protect... they're all gone. And I thought—if I don't get close to you, if I don't invest in you, if I keep my distance..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
"You thought we wouldn't hurt you when we died," Sakura said quietly, her earlier anger softening into something more complex. "Or that our deaths wouldn't be your fault."
"Something like that."
Satsuki's expression had shifted as well, her fury giving way to reluctant understanding. She knew about loss. She knew about the fear of caring, of allowing yourself to be vulnerable to pain.
But Naruto's expression didn't change. His empty blue eyes remained fixed on Kakashi, observing without judgment or sympathy.
"Your trauma does not excuse your negligence," he said flatly. "Whatever pain you carry, whatever losses you've suffered, you accepted responsibility for us when you passed the bell test. Your failure to honor that responsibility is a choice, not a consequence of circumstance."
Kakashi flinched as if struck.
"However," Naruto continued, "past failures can be corrected. The question is whether you are willing to make the necessary corrections."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"Are you?"
Kakashi was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he stood.
"Yes," he said, and there was something different in his voice now. Something that hadn't been there before. "I am."
He reached up and pulled his hitai-ate away from his left eye, revealing the spinning Sharingan beneath.
"Starting now, I'm going to train you properly. All three of you. I'll teach you everything I can—techniques, tactics, strategy, survival skills. I'll show up on time, I'll pay attention, and I'll do my damned job."
His gaze moved across each of them in turn—Sakura's cautious hope, Satsuki's skeptical acceptance, Naruto's unchanging emptiness.
"I can't promise I'll be a good sensei," Kakashi said quietly. "But I can promise I'll try to be better than I have been. Is that... acceptable?"
Sakura and Satsuki exchanged glances, then turned to look at Naruto. Despite their earlier defense, they had somehow come to defer to his judgment in moments like this.
Naruto considered Kakashi's words with his usual detached analysis. The jonin's explanation was logical—past trauma affecting present behavior was a well-documented phenomenon. His willingness to change, while yet to be demonstrated, was at least a positive indicator.
"Acceptable," he said finally. "On a provisional basis. Continued failure will not be tolerated."
Kakashi's eye curved in something that was almost a genuine smile. "Fair enough."
True to his word, Kakashi began training them that very day.
He started with elemental affinity—using special paper to determine which nature transformation each of them was predisposed to. Sakura's paper grew damp, indicating water. Satsuki's crumbled to ash, indicating fire—expected for an Uchiha. And Naruto's...
Naruto's paper did something strange.
First it split in half, indicating wind. Then one half crumbled to ash and the other grew damp. Then a corner turned to dirt while another section wrinkled.
Kakashi stared at the destroyed paper with visible shock. "That's... I've never seen anything like that before. You have affinity for all five basic elements?"
"It appears so," Naruto said, examining the fragments without any particular interest.
"That shouldn't be possible. Most people have one affinity, maybe two if they're exceptionally talented. Five is..."
"Abnormal."
"I was going to say unprecedented."
Satsuki immediately moved to Naruto's side, examining the paper fragments with wide eyes. "Naruto-kun is amazing! He can learn any technique he wants!"
"In theory," Kakashi said slowly, still processing. "But mastering even one element takes years of dedicated practice. Five would take..."
"I have shadow clones," Naruto reminded him. "Training time is not a significant constraint."
Kakashi fell silent, recalculating his understanding of the boy before him. Shadow clones that could learn and train independently. Affinity for all five elements. Techniques from the Scroll of Seals. Skill that already approached jonin level.
What exactly was he supposed to teach someone like this?
"Alright," he said finally. "Let's start with wind. It's the rarest affinity and will give you an edge most opponents won't expect. The basic exercise is leaf cutting—you channel wind chakra through a leaf and try to slice it in half."
He handed Naruto a leaf, then turned to Sakura and Satsuki.
"Water and fire are more common, so there are more standard exercises. Sakura, you'll work on forming water from atmospheric moisture. Satsuki, you'll practice increasing the intensity of your fire techniques."
For the first time in three weeks, Team Seven engaged in actual training.
The days that followed marked a significant change in Team Seven's routine.
Kakashi began arriving closer to on time—not perfectly punctual, but no longer hours late. He still made excuses, but they seemed more performative now, a habit rather than a genuine attempt to avoid responsibility.
He taught them techniques. Actual techniques, not just busywork exercises. Sakura learned the basics of water manipulation and began studying medical ninjutsu, which Kakashi admitted he had limited expertise in but could at least provide foundational guidance for. Satsuki refined her Uchiha fire techniques and began working on speed enhancement, taking advantage of her already impressive physical abilities.
And Naruto...
Naruto absorbed everything.
His shadow clones trained continuously, splitting their focus across multiple disciplines simultaneously. Elemental manipulation, taijutsu refinement, weapon techniques, chakra control exercises—he pursued all of it with the same mechanical dedication he applied to everything.
He didn't enjoy the training. He didn't feel satisfaction at his progress. He simply... did it. Because doing was better than not doing. Because growing stronger was preferable to remaining weak. Because existing effectively was marginally more logical than existing ineffectively.
But as the weeks passed, something else became apparent.
Kakashi's improvement, while genuine, was limited.
He taught them what he knew, but his teaching style remained passive—demonstrate a technique, offer minimal guidance, then leave them to figure it out through trial and error. He answered questions when asked, but rarely volunteered information. He corrected obvious errors, but didn't push them to excel.
It was better than before. But it wasn't good.
Naruto observed this pattern without surprise. Kakashi's fundamental nature hadn't changed; only his behavior had modified slightly in response to confrontation. The jonin was still uncomfortable with his role, still reluctant to fully engage, still holding himself at a distance.
But Naruto had learned to work around inadequate support. The village had never provided him with proper resources or guidance, and he had still managed to develop. Kakashi's shortcomings were simply another obstacle to navigate, not a barrier to overcome.
So he continued to train. Continued to grow. Continued to exist in that empty, mechanical way that had become his default state.
And if Sakura and Satsuki worried about him—if their concerned glances and gentle touches and whispered conversations reflected their fear that he was slipping further away—well.
He noticed.
He just didn't feel anything about it.
One evening, after a particularly long training session, Naruto found himself walking home through the village streets. The sun had set, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, and the shops were beginning to close for the night.
Satsuki and Sakura had wanted to accompany him—they always did—but he had declined, stating a preference for solitude. They had accepted his decision reluctantly, exchanging those worried glances that had become so common.
He didn't understand their concern, exactly. He was functioning. Performing adequately. Meeting expectations. What more was there to worry about?
His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar presence falling into step beside him.
"Naruto."
He didn't turn. "Hokage-sama."
Hiruzen Sarutobi walked beside him, dressed in casual robes rather than his official regalia. The old man's pipe was absent for once, his hands clasped behind his back.
"You've been making quite an impression on your team," the Hokage said conversationally. "Kakashi's reports have been... interesting."
"I wasn't aware he submitted reports."
"He does. Occasionally." A hint of humor colored the old man's voice. "His most recent one included a rather lengthy section about your elemental affinity test. Five elements is quite remarkable."
"So I've been told."
They walked in silence for a moment, the sounds of the village settling around them.
"I've also been receiving reports from other sources," the Hokage continued. "About your nightly training sessions. The techniques you've been developing. The... intensity of your practice."
Naruto said nothing.
"The ANBU who monitor the training grounds have expressed concern. They say you train until your body fails, rest briefly, then continue. They say your shadow clones push themselves to the point of self-destruction, over and over, for hours at a time."
"Is that a problem?"
"It's unusual. For most people, that kind of training regimen would be unsustainable. Harmful, even. But you..." The Hokage glanced at him sidelong. "You seem unaffected. Physically, at least."
Naruto considered his next words carefully. "The training is effective. My progress has been significant."
"I don't doubt it. But I wonder about the cost."
"There is no cost. I feel nothing about the training. It is simply something I do."
The Hokage was silent for a long moment.
"That," he said finally, "is precisely what concerns me."
They had reached the street where Naruto's apartment was located. The blonde boy stopped, turning to face the Hokage directly.
"I don't understand your concern," he said flatly. "I am performing my duties. Completing missions. Growing stronger. What more is expected of me?"
"Naruto..." The old man's voice was heavy with something Naruto couldn't identify. "I expect you to be a child. To have friends, to laugh, to play, to dream. Not to train yourself into the ground every night like a machine."
"I am not a child. I haven't been for a long time." Naruto's voice carried no self-pity, no accusation—just simple statement of fact. "The village made sure of that."
The Hokage flinched.
"I know," he said quietly. "And I failed to prevent it. That responsibility lies heavily on me, Naruto. More heavily than you know."
"Your guilt is irrelevant to my current state. What happened cannot be undone. I am what the village made me—nothing more, nothing less."
"But you could be more." The Hokage stepped closer, his aged eyes searching Naruto's empty ones. "You could heal. You could feel again. The girls on your team—Sakura, Satsuki, even Ino and Hinata—they care about you. Deeply. They want to help you."
"I know. They tell me often."
"And does that mean anything to you?"
Naruto considered the question seriously, searching within himself for any flicker of response to the affection he received so freely from the four girls.
"No," he said finally. "It doesn't. I recognize their feelings intellectually. I understand that their devotion is unusual and that it should evoke some response in me. But there is nothing. Just observation. Just acknowledgment."
The Hokage's face crumpled slightly, pain evident in his weathered features.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "For everything you've suffered. For everything we failed to protect you from. I'm so, so sorry, Naruto."
"Your apology is noted."
But not felt. Not received in the way it was intended.
Because there was nothing left inside Naruto to receive it.
The Hokage seemed to understand this. He nodded slowly, accepting the inadequacy of his words.
"If you ever need anything," he said, "my door is always open. You know that, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Good." The old man stepped back, his expression resolving into something more composed. "Get some rest, Naruto. That's an order from your Hokage."
"I don't really sleep."
"Try anyway."
And with that, Hiruzen Sarutobi turned and walked away, his figure slowly disappearing into the evening shadows.
Naruto watched him go, then continued to his apartment without any particular thought about the conversation.
The Hokage was concerned about him. That was observable. The old man felt guilt about his treatment by the village. That was also observable.
But neither of these observations evoked any response in Naruto. They were simply data points, filed away with all the other information he collected about the world around him.
He entered his apartment, sealed the door behind him, and began his nightly training.
Shadow clones appeared by the dozens, each one assigned a specific task. Elemental manipulation. Taijutsu refinement. Technique development. Chakra control.
They worked through the night, dispelling and being replaced in an endless cycle of learning.
And Naruto, the original, stood at the center of it all—a hollow vessel filled with nothing but the echoes of power he could feel no satisfaction in possessing.
Across the village, in four different locations, four girls lay awake thinking about him.
Satsuki stared at the ceiling of her room in the Uchiha compound, her dark eyes troubled. She had felt so certain that her love could reach him, that her devotion could break through the walls around his heart. But three weeks of trying, and nothing had changed. He was still empty. Still hollow. Still so far away even when she was holding him in her arms.
Sakura sat at her desk, surrounded by medical texts she had borrowed from the library. She was studying healing techniques, driven by a desperate hope that maybe—just maybe—there was some way to heal what was broken inside him. But the books spoke of physical injuries, not wounds of the soul. She wasn't sure such a thing could be healed at all.
Ino lay in her bed, hugging a pillow to her chest and wishing it was Naruto. Being on a different team meant she saw him less often, and the separation was agonizing. She had taken to finding excuses to visit Training Ground Three during Team Seven's sessions, just to be near him for a few precious minutes. But even when they were together, he was unreachable.
And Hinata knelt in meditation posture, her Byakugan active, watching Naruto's apartment from across the village. She could see his shadow clones training, could see the relentless, mechanical way he pushed himself. It hurt to watch. It hurt to know that he felt none of the passion that should accompany such dedication. He was not training because he wanted to be strong. He was training because doing something was marginally better than doing nothing.
Four girls, united by their inexplicable devotion to one broken boy.
Four hearts, aching for someone who couldn't feel them reaching out.
Four prayers, sent into the darkness of the night.
Please. Let us save him.
Let us bring him back.
Let us make him feel again.
But the night offered no answers.
And in his apartment, surrounded by clones that shared his emptiness, Naruto continued to train.