Just as Kakashi accepted Hakken’s sake gourd, Shisui, sitting beside him, suddenly froze.
Once, Hakken had said those exact same words to him.
“Take a sip.”
It was Hakken Yoru’s unique way of greeting someone.
According to Itachi, only those who had earned Hakken’s acknowledgment—and sparked his genuine interest—would ever receive such an invitation.
When Itachi explained that to him, Shisui couldn’t help feeling a flicker of pride.
The pride of being recognized.
Yeah.
He glanced around the room.
Kurenai Yūhi. Mitarashi Anko.
Himself and Itachi of the Uchiha clan. Hatake Kakashi and Might Guy.
No matter how one looked at it, this lineup of people gathered in a single room was… strange.
If not for a mission or some unusual circumstance, these individuals would never appear together.
And the thread linking them all—was Hakken Yoru.
Kakashi stared blankly at the gourd in his hand, sinking into silence.
Sake, huh?
Technically, he still wasn’t old enough to drink. Born in Konoha Year 33, he hadn’t even turned fifteen yet.
But he was so tired.
Tired enough to want to drink until he blacked out and finally get some real rest—or better yet, not wake up at all. That would be bliss.
When he’d first received Anko’s invitation, Kakashi hadn’t planned on coming.
After all, he wasn’t the type who wanted to build connections anymore. He didn’t want to deliberately form new bonds.
Because everyone he’d ever bonded with—besides Minato-sensei—was gone.
Rin. Obito.
Names that would forever ache in his heart.
Still, he came to the Mitarashi household.
Not entirely because of what the Fourth had told him earlier.
Mostly… he just wanted to see what kind of person had broken his record.
He, too, had once been called a genius.
Letting out a slow breath, Kakashi lifted the gourd and took a long, hard swig.
The sharp burn spread through his throat, setting his whole body alight.
The numbing haze of alcohol—it felt good.
Really good.
“Not bad,” Hakken said with a grin, nodding in satisfaction.
Kakashi Hatake.
Worthy of sharing a drink.
The gathering was in full swing now.
By the time Itachi began neatly bringing out the dishes he’d carefully prepared in the kitchen, the room’s atmosphere had grown warm and lively.
For Hakken, today was a day to enjoy Anko’s thoughtfulness—and also, his last chance to indulge.
Becoming a ninja meant that from now on, life would only grow busier.
After all, this was the world of shinobi.
And its main theme, as always, was killing.
...
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Kakashi walked alone through the quiet streets of Konoha after leaving the Mitarashi residence.
He suddenly stopped.
Raising a hand, he pressed it against the forehead protector slanted across his brow. The eye hidden beneath it throbbed faintly with a dull ache.
Glancing toward the nearby Memorial Stone, Kakashi let out a heavy sigh and stepped inside.
“Obito… Rin…”
He gently placed a bouquet of white flowers at the base of the stone, his voice low and weighted.
In an instant, his mind was pulled back to that moment—
Obito, crushed beneath the boulder, gifting him his eye as a jōnin promotion present.
The heaviest gift he had ever received.
That Sharingan.
Adjusting his forehead protector, he revealed the crimson, three-tomoe pattern beneath it—only for tears to spill, tracing a silent stream down his face.
Tears he could no longer control.
“I don’t know why,” he murmured, “but every time I see them… I think of you both.”
“I even catch myself wanting to get closer.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “Heh. For someone like me to have thoughts like that—it’s almost funny.”
Lowering the protector once more, Kakashi’s voice softened into a whisper.
“If it had been Hakken Yoru and Itachi… maybe their ending would’ve been different from ours.”
“But the new life our teacher gained—it doesn’t seem to have done much to wash away the darkness in my heart.”
“Sensei’s child… it won’t be long now. I really envy him—being born in times like these.”
“Obito, maybe if we’d just been born a little later…”
His words trailed off into silence.
Another sigh escaped him. The tears finally stopped. Turning away, Kakashi’s expression disappeared behind the feline-patterned mask of the ANBU.
He was a shadow now.
His current mission: to guard the pregnant Nine-Tails Jinchūriki—the wife of the Fourth Hokage.
Swish.
His figure vanished, leaving behind only the flowers swaying gently in the wind.
But a few seconds later, another presence stirred.
A masked figure emerged slowly from the grass behind the memorial.
With a flick of his hand, the white flowers Kakashi had laid down were shredded to dust by a sudden burst of wind.
The mask hid his face, his expression unreadable—yet no matter who he was, standing before his own grave could never feel pleasant.
“Hakken Yoru? Itachi?”
“The sensei’s child…”
He turned sharply. Within the single hole of his mask, a bloodshot crimson eye glared, the three-tomoe spinning faintly.
“We’re living in hell.”
Space itself rippled. The masked figure disappeared into the distorted air, leaving behind only the scattered white petals and faint traces of tears—silent heralds of the coming calamity.
...
Three days later.
The excitement surrounding Konoha’s two prodigies graduating early had finally begun to settle.
Inside the Hokage’s office, two small figures now stood side by side.
Hakken Yoru.
Itachi Uchiha.
Minato looked at the two of them, a faint warmth in his expression.
There was no doubt—Konoha was a village tempered by hardship.
Yet it was also a place where one generation after another rose to protect the legacy left behind by those who came before.
Tightening his grip on the weighty forehead protectors in his hand, Minato handed them forward.
Hakken’s eyes flicked from Minato to the Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, seated nearby.
“The time to taste blood,” he murmured quietly, “has finally come.”