The vortex vanished, and the night wind rushed back into the valley, tossing Kakashi's silver-white hair. He remained kneeling, motionless. All the sounds of the world seemed to have faded away. Only the final words of that man echoed repeatedly in his ears.
"He gave up on you, Kakashi."
"Just like you gave up on Rin at Kannabi Bridge."
Gave up... on Rin.
Those words pierced his heart like a blade. He wanted to raise his hands to cover his ears, but his arms felt leaden, refusing to move. He wanted to argue, to scream, to tell that empty shadow that it wasn't true. But when he opened his mouth, no sound came out. Only the cold wind, thick with the scent of earth and blood, poured into his lungs, making his chest ache.
The coppery stench of blood in the air was suffocating. It was the blood of his comrades. Their bodies, impaled by wooden spikes, hung high under the moonlight, casting twisted, jagged shadows.
He looked at them. He remembered every single face.
There was the subordinate who had sparred with him on the training grounds not long ago, complaining about how boring the missions were. There was the comrade who had gathered for drinks when they returned to the village last week, boasting about his new girlfriend. Now, they were all dead.
They had died to protect a "target" that didn't even exist. They had died in a "trap" meticulously arranged by their own teacher.
Kakashi's vision blurred. He couldn't tell if it was rain or tears on his face. Perhaps it was neither. It was simply a fathomless despair welling up from his empty eye sockets.
Sensei... why?
Rustle—
The sound of something brushing against the grass broke the deathly silence. Kakashi didn't react. He sat there like a stone statue, his senses completely severed from the outside world.
A tall figure appeared a short distance away. The newcomer had wild, long white hair and wore a forehead protector with the character for "Oil" inscribed on it, draped in a red cloak. It was one of the Sannin who had just returned from training at Mount Myoboku—Jiraiya.
His brow furrowed instantly as he took in the tragic scene. The smell of blood was pungent. Several bodies in Anbu uniforms were gruesomely impaled by bizarre wooden stakes. In the center of the carnage sat a familiar figure.
Hatake Kakashi. Minato's genius student.
Right now, he was kneeling lifelessly amidst the gore, letting the icy rain wash over his thin frame, unresponsive to everything. A flicker of pity and grief flashed in Jiraiya's eyes. He had seen too much death and too many tragedies, but this sight still made his heart sink.
This kid is Minato's disciple. Why is he here? What happened?
"Hey, old man."
A lazy voice drifted down from above Jiraiya's head. A small, purple toad was perched on his white hair, yawning with boredom.
"Stop staring. The others are dead. Your precious student's Flying Thunder God formula hasn't reacted yet, which means he's still holding his own for now."
Jiraiya reached down and lightly brushed a special kunai at his waist. A unique symbol was etched upon it. The Sword of Shinobi Love.
This was the insurance Minato had left him before leaving the village. If Minato crushed the corresponding seal, this kunai would heat up, guiding Jiraiya to arrive immediately via Reverse Summoning Jutsu. Since there was no reaction, that was the best news possible.
"Gamakon, is there still enough time?" Jiraiya asked in a heavy voice.
The purple toad on his head—Gamakon—shrugged indifferently.
"Who knows. Maybe your student will break in the next second, or maybe he'll handle it easily now that he has the intel." It scratched its chin with a back leg, its tone flippant. "But hey, since you're in such a browsing mood, it wouldn't hurt to use some of that overflowing compassion of yours to comfort that kid before he completely falls apart."
Jiraiya sighed. Ignoring Gamakon's sarcasm, he stepped toward Kakashi.
"Kakashi."
His voice was hoarse and low. Kakashi's body gave an almost imperceptible shiver, but he didn't turn around. It was as if he hadn't heard a thing.
Jiraiya crouched down, his line of sight level with the impaled Anbu corpses. He reached out two fingers to touch one of the wooden spikes. The texture was hard and cold, yet it carried a faint, lingering trace of vitality.
His expression shifted rapidly. His gaze turned from pity to utter shock and gravity.
"This is..." He whispered to himself, his pupils shrinking. "Wood Style?!"
Impossible! This technique has been lost since the time of the First Hokage!
Gamakon leaned forward. Seeing the scene, he realized he had forgotten something—Obito still had access to Wood Style. Whatever, he thought. With Minato's speed and the information he has, there's no way he'll fail. With that thought, Gamakon lay back down.
The severity of this situation exceeded Jiraiya's imagination. An enemy possessing Wood Style was a threat that might even surpass the Nine-Tails.
Kakashi finally showed a spark of reaction. He turned his head slowly, his neck moving with mechanical stiffness. His young face was devoid of color, looking like grey ash. His left eye was hidden by his protector, but his visible right eye was a hollow void, stripped of all light.
He spoke, his voice dry and cracking. "Master... Jiraiya."
Jiraiya suppressed his shock, trying to keep his tone steady. "Kakashi, look at me. Where is the enemy?"
"The enemy?" Kakashi repeated the word. A ripple finally appeared in his hollow eyes. He seemed to remember something; his lips twitched into a grimace that looked more painful than tears. "The enemy... left."
"Where did he go?"
"I don't know."
"What did he look like? What were his abilities?"
"He wore a tiger-patterned mask... with only one eye hole," Kakashi's voice was halting. "His body... things could pass through it... any attack would just..."
"Pass through?" Jiraiya immediately focused on the detail. "Is it a Space-Time Ninjutsu?"
"He also said..."
Kakashi didn't answer Jiraiya's question. He continued talking to himself, his gaze losing focus again. "He also said... Sensei lied to us. That this was a trap... We were just bait... He abandoned us..."
Jiraiya's heart sank. Looking at Kakashi's state, he felt a sharp pang of sympathy. This child hadn't just been physically wounded; his spirit had been shattered. And the cause was Minato's plan. A plan built on lies—lies specifically designed to target the most vulnerable part of his heart.
"That's not true, Kakashi," Jiraiya said firmly. "Minato isn't that kind of person."
"Not true?"
Kakashi snapped his head up, a flicker of fire finally igniting in his dead eyes. "Then what about them?"
He pointed a trembling hand at the surrounding corpses. "You tell me! Why did they have to die here?! For a Jinchuriki that doesn't exist?! For a goddamn bait mission?!"
His voice rose sharply, turning into a piercing, desperate shriek. "You don't know anything! You're just like Sensei! You're all the same! You talk about protection and the Will of Fire, but what exactly have you protected?! Tell me!"
He screamed his questions, as if trying to howl out all the agony and despair trapped in his chest.
Jiraiya fell silent. He couldn't answer. He knew that no matter how he explained it, words would ring hollow in the presence of these cold corpses. Looking at the collapsing boy, he remembered himself many years ago. He thought of Nagato, Yahiko, and Konan. He thought of his own disciples whose fates had been twisted by war and lies.
"...You're right."
After a long silence, Jiraiya finally spoke, his voice heavy with fatigue. "I don't know everything."
He stopped trying to explain or comfort. Instead, he simply reached out and placed a hand on Kakashi's shoulder. The palm was broad and warm.
"But, Kakashi, there is one thing I know for certain." Jiraiya's gaze became sharper than ever before. "An enemy who possesses Wood Style and that bizarre Space-Time Ninjutsu is powerful beyond imagination. Why would someone like that stop to say those things to you after killing everyone else?"
Kakashi froze.
"Why would he waste his time trying to destroy the spirit of someone he considers 'bait'?" Jiraiya continued, laying out his thoughts. "There is only one answer. Because his true target was never these Anbu. It was you, Hatake Kakashi."
"He lied to you. He exploited your pain. He wants you to drown in despair because he is afraid."
"Afraid?"
"Yes, afraid." Jiraiya stared into Kakashi's eyes. "He's afraid of your Sharingan. He's afraid of the name Hatake Kakashi. And he's terrified that you will stand up and block his path. That's why he had to destroy your will first. Every word he spoke was meant to make you give up and destroy yourself."
Kakashi stared blankly at Jiraiya, his lips trembling, unable to find words.
Just then—
Vrum—
The special kunai at Jiraiya's waist let out a faint hum, its temperature skyrocketing. Jiraiya's expression shifted instantly.
It's starting! Minato has reached the critical stage!
"Old man, we don't have time to play with the kid!" Gamakon urged from atop his head. "If we don't go now, you might as well start preparing your student's funeral!"
Jiraiya released Kakashi's shoulder and stood up abruptly. He looked toward the village, then back at the silver-haired boy still kneeling on the ground with a dazed expression. He couldn't leave him here alone. In this state, Kakashi was no different from a dead man.
"Get up, Kakashi," Jiraiya commanded. "I don't care what you heard or what you believe. Right now, your teacher, Minato Namikaze, is putting his life on the line for the village. Are you going to kneel here like a failure, believing the enemy's lies, and watch him die?"
Without waiting for a response, Jiraiya's hands moved into a blur of seals.
"Summoning Jutsu!"
Poof!
A massive cloud of white smoke erupted as a giant toad appeared in the valley.
"Master Jiraiya!"
Jiraiya leaped onto the toad's head. He took one last look at the silver-haired figure. The boy remained in place, unmoving. Jiraiya's gaze was complex, but it ultimately settled into a sigh.
"Let's go!"