Eternal Yujin
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TCoH—Chapter 3.1 (24)
🕑 Added 2024-05-24 10:58:30 +0000 UTC- - -
Chapter 3.1 [24]
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Yasuhiro leaned back in his chair, his lower back tensed as he eased himself into the crumbling piece of furniture. The rest of the village hall was very much the same and in dire need of repair. The roof leaked under the slightest bit of rain but as the chief of Tenka Village, he knew better than to use the community’s hard-earned money to make his own life easier.
Tenka Village sat on the border between the Land of Fire and the Land of Iron. In a few decades, he’d watched it grow from a few small huts to a bustling village that was two hundred people strong. Sadly, it was one born of necessity as after the Great War, many found themselves fleeing various wars and evil leaders.
For him, it was the countless skirmishes in his home country, the Land of Rain.
Initially, he intended to migrate to the Land of Iron after plundering a set of well-forged swords from a wandering ronin. Corpses of mercenaries and shinobi alike were common back then, but finding one untouched was sheer luck on his part. Unfortunately, there was no secret manual of the man’s martial arts.
Still, the swords had sentimental value and were the single most prized possession he had—the only prized possession he had and one he would pass on to his grandson in due time.
“If only the little brat learns to calm down,” he huffed, exhaling thin smoke clouds as he set his aged pipe on the table.
The village hall’s dilapidated door smashed open with enough force he heard it from his office a floor above.
“Chief!”
Yasuhiro bit his tongue, cursing as he flew down the stairs. “What is it?” He rounded to face Naomichi the Blacksmith. “Is it… Is it them?”
Naomichi nodded, which was all the confirmation he needed to fly through the door with the younger man on his tail. Yasuhiro kept his head on a swivel, taking a headcount of any villagers they passed and instructing them to lock themselves in their homes.
“Fuckin’ rogues,” Naomichi grunted. “Who do they think they are, huh? Settin’ up shop outside our village and then treatin’ us like fuckin’ peasants!” He stamped to his foot and spat on the well-trod earth below them.
Yasuhiro didn’t voice his thoughts, but the same frustration broiled within him. His swords pressed themselves against his left hip and he gripped the katana’s worn handle to calm himself down.
Two years—that was how long the band of rogues had terrorised Tenka Village.
They arrived during the dead of night, kicking down doors to announce their intention to settle in an abandoned tower nearby and anyone of use was dragged away kicking and screaming to renovate it. Every service the village could offer was abused: the inns were occupied without pay, the village folk were used as serfs, and they consistently and regularly undermined Yasuhiro’s authority.
Yet, what could he do? The rogues were once shinobi and could use chakra as easy as breathing. He was an old man in possession of well-maintained but aged samurai swords and the rest of the villagers were even worse off than he was.
He and Naomichi stopped in front of The Empty Plate—named quite aptly for when it was built. Looking back at Naomichi, he raised a hand. “Wait out here. I will handle Goro Tanimoto.”
“...Fine,” replied the blacksmith, spitting again at the mention of the band’s leader.
Sighing, Yasuhiro opened the door with shaking hands, scanning the first two floors. As expected, they were filled to the brim with rogues—be they masterless samurai or villageless shinobi. Goro sat front and centre, directly in front of the door, the inn’s only serving girl sat quivering on his lap.
She whimpered, looking ready to bolt towards him, but Goro’s rumbling laugh stopped her before she could twitch in his direction. He tilted his chin up and flashed him a vicious leer. “It sure is nice to see you alive and well, old man.”
“...Mr Goro,” Yasuhiro bowed slightly, “would you mind releasing the poor girl?”
He rolled his eyes, sending her off with a harsh slap to the rear. “Off you go.”
The rest of the rogues jeered and whistled, some even trying to grab onto her as she crossed the floor. She threw herself into Yasuhiro’s embrace, sobbing into his old kimono.
“There there.” He rubbed circles into her back, not letting the rage bleed into his voice. “Go home, Yumi. I’m sorry this happened to you… but it’s a burden I cannot lift off our shoulders. Go home to your husband and your son—be with them for the rest of the day. I’ll help close up with Chie when we finish here.”
Gratitude overflowed Yumi’s red-rimmed eyes. “Th-Thank you, Chief.”
Goro barked out a laugh that his subordinates tagged onto. The tavern door swung shut, leaving Yasuhiro alone in the dining area with twenty-odd rogues when there should’ve been at least half a dozen more.
“Good to see you’ve still got your wits about you, old man,” said Goro, almost as if he’d read his mind. “I’ve lost a few of my men since you last saw us.” Yasuhiro clammed up, but the rogue shinobi continued, “See, my boys and I had an unpleasant encounter with some Hidden Sound ninja.”
“...I’m not familiar with that village.”
“It’s a new one. I dunno who’s in charge of it and I don’t really care. There’s a reason I don’t wear a headband anymore. Living under the thumb of some decrepit old bastard never tickled my fancy—no offence to you, of course.” Goro grinned and leaned forward, cupping his chin in a hand. “Bad news is, I lost a few of my men, damaged or lost a good number of weapons, and worst of all—I’m starving!”
Yasuhiro narrowed his eyes, searching the man’s face for any lies as his comrades laughed at the moronic joke. At the very least, his trademark nodachi was nowhere to be seen so he seemed to be telling the truth.
“Well, we can do something for your hunger first,” he said, throwing up a pleasant smile and bowing deeply. “As for the weapons, I invite you to my office in the village hall after your meal so we can discuss the details of your repairs.”
The rogue ninja pointed his finger in his direction. “See this? This is why we get along so well. You always know when to bow—and with me, that’s all the goddamn time, isn’t that right, old man?”
He deepened his bow to the point that he couldn’t see anything beyond his own feet. His grey hair hung over his face. Yasuhiro gritted his teeth, praying it hid the hatred contorting his face.
“...Of course, Mr Goro.” He took a breath. “I’ll check the kitchen and see how the food is coming along—with your permission, of course.”
Goro waved him away. “And tell them to bring more alcohol!”
Three terrified cooks scrambled around the kitchen, finishing meals they were already cooking in bulk and pulling out leftovers from the fridge. The inns were the village’s biggest source of income, and Yasuhiro made sure to invest in their future. Technology was a rare sight outside of towns, but he’d procured two home fridges a decade ago to give to the two inns.
He pulled aside one of the workers—a sweaty, pimpled teenage boy. “Where’s Chie?”
“I’m over here, Ohashi.”
Yasuhiro turned to her, eager to skip the byplay between them. “Can you do it?”
Chie stood taller than him—not that he was tall at all—and her dismissive stare had only intensified with age. “What do you take me for? Worry less about my kitchen and more about controlling the herd of deer you call a village, you wrinkly bastard.”
She was one of the village’s founders alongside himself and a few others who had died shortly after the rogues arrived. Her casual disrespect, as much as it seemed otherwise, was a sign of their friendship and a source of amusement in the otherwise dreary village life.
“Alright,” he said with a smile. “It’s good to see that the despicable excuse of a man hasn’t dimmed your fire.”
The cooks flinched.
Chie rolled her eyes. “If you think he can hear us over the noise in here, you guys are better imbeciles than I’ve given you credit for.”
The pimpled boy spun around. “He’s a shinobi, ma’am, with magic powers.”
“And if he heard us, he’ll walk in here and paint the room with our insides. I couldn’t tell you which is worse, kid. Two years under his yoke or instant death. I’m growing tired of this song and dance.” She shrugged her shoulders and turned to Yasuhiro. “Get out of here, Ohashi. I’ve got this sorry lot covered.”
Yasuhiro smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Chie. Goro will head to the village hall after you feed him and his. In the meantime, I’ll get the stragglers off the streets and make sure there aren’t any children out.”
“You go do that.”
He left through the back exit, circling to the main street. The village should have been bustling with life right about now; it was just past lunchtime and people would be readying themselves to return to work. Instead, they were forced to deal with a horde of ungrateful, uncaring, inhuman bastards under the command of Goro Tanimoto.
True to his word, Yasuhiro made sure to usher anyone left outside back into their houses, combing the streets as he made his way back to the village hall. The building served both as his family home and his place of work.
“Grandfather!”
Despite the circumstances, he smiled as his grandson sprinted towards him from the front door. “Tsutomu, my boy. Who sent you here?”
“Myself,” the six-year-old replied with a toothy grin, though it quickly fell from his face. “Grandfather… is it true?”
Leading him back into the house Yasuhiro walked him across the corridor and away from the village hall proper—his living quarters were attached to the side of the building. “Is what true?”
Tsutomu bowed his head. “The Jagged Blades… are they back?”
“The Jagged Blades,” he scoffed. “A fancy name won’t hide what they are, son. Goro and his subordinates are little more than pathetic lowlives who oppress those that they can and cower from those they can’t.”
“But they’re scary, grandfather,” his grandson whimpered. “What am I supposed to do?”
Yasuhiro kneeled and ruffled his hair. “You don’t have to do anything. Leave it to us adults to handle them.” Tsutomu nodded reluctantly. “Go, now. Stay in your room until I come to find you.”
On his way out, he locked the door separating the village hall and his residence from the outside. It wouldn’t stop Goro or any of his men from busting it down, but knowing his grandson couldn’t wander into danger set his mind at ease. He took a teapot and two old teacups to his office as he waited for the Goro to arrive.
The rogue entered the office with a lazy smirk, swiping the teapot and pouring himself a glass and—to Yasuhiro’s worry—pouring him a glass as well. He took the glass but held off on drinking first for fear of offending the man.
As expected, his demands were obnoxious, and more importantly, beyond the village’s capabilities. Naomichi was the only blacksmith experienced with weapons and he couldn’t fill an order that size—even with the help of his students. Next came the routine question of topping up the outposts’ provisions.
Tenka Village made enough to have a small surplus, but in recent years, the Jagged Blades had been siphoning off the surplus they usually traded to nearby villages, turning their home into a self-sustaining one.
While the rogues weren’t around all the time, the irregularity of their hunts for bounties made it impossible to plan for their return, leaving Yasuhiro to improvise around Goro’s personality.
“Chief!”
The front door slammed open, drawing a curious sound from the rogue ninja. “Who’s got the stones to disturb our meeting, hmm?” He raised an eyebrow and stood up. “Come, old man. Let’s go see.”
Sliding his swords off the rack, Yasuhiro slipped them through his waistband and followed the ex-shinobi down the stairs. “Naomichi? What are you doing here?”
The blacksmith was red-faced, still bent over and heaving for breath while shaking fearfully at the sight of the rogue ninja. “The Em-Empty Plate! Yumi’s hu-hu-husband… he—”
“—you heard the man,” said Goro, shoving Naomichi aside. “To The Empty Plate, we go.”
Yasuhiro trailed behind him, fearing the worst. Yumi’s husband was a good man, but he had a temper and was fiercely protective of his wife—especially since the Jagged Blades had come to town. Usually, his wife was there to calm him down, but today’s events had crossed a line, shaking her to the core.
Judging by the cheerful tune he was whistling, Goro knew that too. He threw open the tavern’s door and let out a long hum before stepping aside. Meanwhile, Yasuhiro didn't need longer than a few seconds to realise what had happened. He turned, emptying his stomach into the corner of the room as the gathered shinobi jeered.
“Coward!” “He’ll only make the smell worse!” “Get him out of here!”
He stumbled towards the body, tracing a hand across his young lifeless face. “...K-Kashiigi, you stupid, stupid boy.” He bunched the dead man’s kimono inside a fist, his eyes burning with tears.
“Damn. Someone ran him right through,” said Goro, standing over him and casting his looming shadow over both him and the body. He raised his voice, “Oi! Which one of you stabbed the poor bastard?”
A gaunt-looking man stepped forward—he sported a quickly darkening bruise on the side of his face. “It was me, boss.”
“He slugged you so you stabbed him?” Goro folded his arms. “Why’d he even do it?”
Yasuhiro rose to his feet, swaying slightly as he wiped the tears from his face. “Th-The serving girl is… was his wife.” He looked up, trying to keep his eyes off the corpse.
“He came in here screaming bloody murder.” The gaunt man snorted. “So I told him his wife completed her services as expected and that he should be proud of her.”
“I get why he hit you now.” Goro laughed and nudged the corpse with his foot. “Sorry bastard got what he deserved. See, we rule this town, right boys?”
The rest of the Jagged Blades roared, raising tankards and stamping their feet. Yasuhiro bowed his head and bit the inside of his cheek. He desperately wanted to draw his sword and kill every single scumbag in the inn, but they were shinobi.
“Hey, old man?” Goro swung his head back. “I’ll be generous and let your people off the hook. This idiot’s dead anyway and the situation’s a pretty positive one.”
He gulped. “It… it is?”
“Sure. That cute serving girl’s a widow now, ain’t she?” He smirked, undisguised lust smouldering in his dark eyes. “Maybe I’ll take her on as a concubine.” Again, his subordinates broke out into jeering laughter, whistling and bellowing at the top of their lungs. “But I’m not a savage. I’ll give her space to mourn, go out on more raids, shower her in gifts—she got any kids?”
“O-One.”
“Boy or girl?”
“A boy.”
Goro scratched at his stubble. “...The little shit might want revenge.”
Yasuhiro widened his eyes. “N-No, he’s barely one, Mr. Goro!”
The Mercenary’s face brightened. “That’s perfect! I’ll take in the schmuck’s kid. Teach him my ways.” He nodded to himself and walked to the kitchen, banging on the door. “Old hag, bring more alcohol! There’s a celebration to be had!” He walked back, looking down at the corpse in surprise. “Go deal with the body, old man.”
“...Yes, Mr Goro.”
As he was too small to carry the body on his own, Yasuhiro had to get one of the cooks to help him. Over the next few days, news of Kashiigi’s death spread like wildfire and many hid their hateful glares until the rogues returned to their outpost. The only thing he could do to contain their rage was to propose a solution.
It was one he had been weighing up in his mind for the last nine months.
He called for a village meeting inside the hall, forced to face the hundreds of people he had failed to protect. Yumi—Kashiigi’s wife—sat off to the side with her infant son, surrounded by concerned neighbours. She shot him a nervous smile and returned it, taking a breath before addressing the crowd before him.
“Thank you for gathering here today, everyone.” He ran his eyes over the crowd of assembled adults. “I’m sorry it feels like we are brushing past Kashiigi’s death. In some respect, we are. The Jagged Blades and their tyranny has stripped our village of all life.
Their sadness hung in the air and he saw his helpless gaze reflected in the many of the villagers’ eyes.
“Mr Ohashi!” Naomichi jumped to his feet. “We can’t take this anymore. Every time those bastards come here, they trample over us. They were bound to kill someone eventually and they will kill more!”
Yasuhiro looked down at the stage’s hardwood floor.
Naomichi had only given voice to the thoughts every one of them was thinking. He was forced to bend to Goro’s whims. If he wanted food, he got it; if he wanted amusement, he got it; and as the village’s leader, he was the one to break the terrible news to his people.
He was the one they looked to for support—support that he couldn’t offer. Because of his inability to offer it, Kashiigi had taken things upon himself and died.
“You’re right, Naomcihi. Something must be done. We won’t be able to take much more of their barbarity.”
“What do we do then?” The question had come from Chie, who was one of the people crowded around Yumi. The old woman's voice was blunt and her words were to the point. “Because last I checked, none of us are shinobi.”
Yasuhiro smiled. “You’re right. However, if we pool our resources together, we can hire shinobi of our own.”
Intrigued whispers rose among the crowd.
“Don’t worry,” he added. “I’ll be contributing a sizeable amount of my savings to take some of the demand off the rest of you. It’s only right that I do so.”
“If we’re pooling resources, it better be someone good,” said Chie.
Yasuhiro tried for a confident smile, but seeing the doubt on everyone’s faces at his words, it turned into a grimace. Of course, he couldn’t blame them, but it still hurt to see.
“I-I’ll do it!”
The whispers stopped.
“Yumi…” His mouth hung open slightly in surprise. “A-Are you sure?”
The widow nodded, a dark hatred rising to the surface of her tired face. “They took my Kashiigi away from me—away from his son. I believe in you, Mr Ohashi. You’re always standing between us and that horrible Goro. If my money will help, I’ll gladly give it to you.”
“Fuck it.” Naomichi shot out of his chair. “I’ll give you my money too. I’m bloody tired of running around like a workhorse for that lot.”
One by one, the villagers stood up, pledging their support. Yasuhiro bowed deeply to them and they returned his bow, bringing tears to his eyes. “Thank you, everyone… truly. I’ll use your money to hire the strongest shinobi around.”
Yumi gasped. “W-Wait, does that mean…?”
“Right.” He nodded with a confident grin. “Goro’s days under the sun are numbered from here on out, so stay strong, everyone. I’m going to be hiring the Hidden Leaf.”
———————————
There was more to Kakashi’s lateness than honouring the memory of his dead friend—just as there was more to his harshness as a teacher than arbitrary criteria. He wanted to teach his would-be students one thing; one lesson that every one of them failed spectacularly.
They needed to learn to not rely on him and for them to achieve that goal, it meant relying on each other—out of the dozens of children he’d assessed, barely a handful seemed willing to do so. He saw shadows of the arrogant little shit he used to be in every new face. The one who believed wholeheartedly that comrades were of no value.
Where did that land them? Relying on his mercy to pull his punches, unable to give their back to an ally.
People like that weren’t fit to be shinobi—out in the field, they only had their allies and sometimes even they wouldn’t be enough. And yet, after failing close to forty children, Lord Third hadn’t stopped throwing would-be genin at him, so here he was, at another genin draft meeting in the faint hopes he’d find some competent ones.
He threw open the doors with a mighty sigh, disturbing the ongoing discussion and attracting half the room’s ire, but Kakashi raised a hand at the only person who mattered. “Yo!”
“Kakashi,” said Lord Third with a tired sigh. Elders Utatane and Homura scoffed to his right and Danzo, as always, merely frowned. “You’re five minutes earlier than last year, so I suppose I won’t punish you.”
“Much obliged, sir.”
“Take a seat and I’ll read out this year’s roster from the top for your benefit.” Lord Third simply smiled away half the room’s grumbling. “Honoka Abe, Choji Akimichi, Tomio Araya…”
He leaned his head back, not bothering to write down any names because doing so was a waste of time. After the various jonin had picked up to six students they wanted to teach, the cohort’s homeroom teacher would pull up their recommended genin teams.
More often than not, Lord Third tended to go with those recommended teams unless someone made a good case to the contrary—but Kakashi wasn’t that person. He cracked his eyes open as the graduating year’s teacher walked towards the centre of the room, wheeling a standing board behind him.
He flipped back a page, revealing the team compositions complete with photographs of each student. “These are the proposed teams from my end, Lord Hokage.”
“Thank you, Iruka—you may be seated.” Lord Third cleared his throat. “Alright, let us begin. Tell me which students you want, and which ones you do not. Take into account the draft on the board, but you may also make an argument for a different team altogether if you wish provided your reasoning is sound and no one else makes a stronger argument.”
Kakashi closed his eyes again, running down the minutes until it was his turn to go. The old man had given up trying to correct his behaviour so long as he didn’t cross the line into disrespect—which he wouldn’t. His general lack of care for hierarchy aside, Lord Third was still the strongest shinobi in the village.
As expected, most were angling for the top ten and a few ambitious ones probably wanted the Rookie of the Year—not that their wants mattered. In the end, the most capable students would go to the most capable teachers.
Kakashi glanced at Lord Third, who was listening to the first jonin’s speech with feigned interest. Knowing the old man, he’d most likely end up with the most troublesome of the lot. His yearly requests to return to the ANBU had been denied upon the condition that one of his students make jonin and it just so happened that the two most troublesome students out of the lot were almost guaranteed to… if they survived.
“Jonin Kurenai Yuhi.”
Kakashi didn’t recognise her from any of the previous draft meetings so she was most likely a new promotion. Her last name seemed familiar to him, but he only realised why when she stood up to face him—her father was Shinku Yuhi, the shinobi who’d detained Kakashi and all the other young shinobi, preventing them from fighting against the Nine-Tails.
“Lord Hokage, I don’t want Naruto Uzumaki because I wouldn’t have much to teach him. I also don’t want Sasuke Uchiha because I believe there are others better equipped to teach him than myself.” Kurenai Yuhi looked over at him for a split second. “With that in mind, I would like to request Shikamaru Nara, Ino Yamanaka, and Kiba Inuzuka as my genin.”
The disapproving whispers started almost immediately, but she didn’t look perturbed in the slightest.
“...Are you aware that the Ino-Shika-Cho formation is a tried and tested team with the full backing of the three clans?”
“I am.”
“And you still wish to go ahead with your proposed team?”
The red-eyed woman stood up straight. “I do.”
“Why?” Lord Third asked, his brown eyes alight with curiosity.
“Sir, while the Ino-Shika-Cho formation is indeed formidable, I believe that Choji Akimichi is an outlier better suited for an assault team.”
“And the other two? Why do you believe they should be on your team rather than continuing the successful model of the Ino-Shika-Cho formation.”
She took a breath, her eyes looking about the room as if daring someone to challenge her. “The team I’m proposing would be a hunter-killer team focused on assassinating or capturing targets of interest to extract vital information. Each of their abilities is perfect for a team like this and will draw out their maximum potential.”
Lord Third rubbed his chin pensively. “...You make a good point, Jonin Yuhi. So long as no one makes a better point by the end of the meeting, those three students will be yours.” He looked to the elders on his right. “Anything to add, my friends?”
Danzo gave a small shake of his head and it seemed he spoke for the other two elders because Lord Third asked the next shinobi to plead their case.
“L-Lord Hokage!” Kakashi looked up to see an Akimichi jonin leaning over the table. “T-This is too far!”
“Is it?” asked the old man with a small smile. He looked to the rest of the room. “Are the rest of you in agreement with Jonin Akimichi?”
Around two-thirds of the room hummed in agreement—they were the old guard, people who’d fought in the wars and had seen the formation first-hand. The last third was all new hires who were either too afraid to go against the old guard. Kurenai Yuhi growled under her breath, looking ready to make another speech but the bearded man beside her placed a calming hand on her shoulder.
After a second look, Kakashi realised it was the Third’s wayward son—the very same one who'd practically abandoned the village for years. He remembered hearing that Asuma Sarutobi had returned to the village, but he didn’t pay the news any mind at the time, assuming he’d be demoted or something. Seeing him at a genin draft meeting was certainly a surprise.
“Well, isn’t this a shame?” Lord Third chuckled at the room’s mood. “It seems I’ll be disappointing so many of my jonin. Would any of you care to challenge my opinion?”
Just a sliver of his killing intent was enough to exert noticeable pressure on a room of jonin, bringing an end to any debate over Kurenai Yuhi’s choices. Kakashi felt himself sweat underneath his mask, adjusting it slightly to let the air cool off the uncomfortable heat.
Lord Third was willing to let a lot of things go but disrespect towards himself or his subordinates was not one of those things—especially if the disrespect was coming from one of their own.
The next slew of arguments were all variations of the same pitch so he tuned them out until he heard his name being mentioned. Kakashi looked up, realising it was Asuma Sarutobi who was currently speaking. He stood tall despite the disdainful looks from the majority of the room.
“All these jonin refusing to take on Naruto Uzumaki is great for me because I’d like to have Choji Akimichi, Hinata Hyuuga, and Naruto Uzumaki as my genin,” said Asuma Sarutobi.
Lord Third hummed. “And if I were to say that young Naruto will go to Kakashi—what then?”
Kakashi sat up, leaning forward intently in anticipation. He hadn’t seen this coming; granted, he didn’t know Asuma Sarutobi, but that only made his announcement even more of a surprise.
“You wouldn't be wrong from a certain point of view. The Sharingan is a surefire way to control a rampaging Jinchuriki because of its powerful ocular genjutsu. However, regular genjutsu, barrier ninjutsu, and even a plain old beating can do the same job. Where the Sharingan really shines is its ability to control Tailed Beasts.”
“But?”
Asuma Sarutobi grinned. “But I believe that so long as you’re a decent amount stronger than the Jinchuriki before they lose their mind, you can clobber them before things get hairy. Regardless, you’re looking at this the wrong way, old man.”
Lord Third raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“It’s not only you—all of you are looking at this incorrectly. I get that Naruto Uzumaki’s a generation talent and as Jinchuriki, he’s supposed to be a literal deterrent against other nations.” He folded his arms and jutted out his chin. “But despite how important he is to this village, nobody seems to be worried at how sceptical he is of this place—and worse, he’s completely right to be!”
The disdainful glares aimed at the man turned into scornful mutterings. A swift reprimand by Lord brought an end to it and he faced his son once again. “Please, continue.”
“I know you’re already aware that I’ve been teaching the kid in my spare time for two years now—otherwise you would’ve stopped it before the very first training session. Now, in those two years, I think I’ve gotten a better handle on who he is than anyone in this room.” Asuma Sarutobi spoke his next words with damning confidence. “Beyond the few friends he has and maybe myself, Naruto Uzumaki could not give a rat’s ass about this village, the Will of Fire, and its people.”
Lord Third dragged a hand over his face. “...I’m aware, nor can I condemn him for it.”
“And yet,” said Danzo, speaking up for the first time in this meeting, “what can be done about it? What can you do about it that Jonin Hatake cannot?”
Kakashi looked up at the mention of his name, slightly narrowing his eye in Danzo’s direction. The man hadn’t said a word this entire meeting but when he finally spoke up, it was in support of Asuma Sarutobi, a jonin who wasn’t thought well of these days.
Asuma Sarutobi nodded gratefully at the man and Lord Third gave his friend a searching look before deflating with a heavy sigh—almost as if he was feeling the weight of every single year of his life.
“Honestly?” the jonin said with a shrug. “I dunno, but I know enough to try to help—having once been quite sceptical about it all myself. I might not be a Jinchuriki or possess the Sharingan, but I’m decently strong—and better than any of that, I think I can help Naruto Uzumaki believe in the Will of Fire again.”
Kakashi watched on, an odd panging in his chest. He tried to tell himself that he didn’t want to teach Naruto—he didn’t want to risk losing him, but watching the man plead so earnestly in the way that he should have… it was a bittersweet thing.
“...As you wish, Naruto Uzumaki is yours.” Lord Third took a moment to collect himself, and when he opened his eyes, none of the previous tiredness showed on his face. “Kakashi, your team will now be Sasuke Uchiha, Sakura Haruno, and Shino Aburame—that would satisfy your request for a saboteur team?”
“...It would,” said Kakashi, once again avoiding eye contact.
Lord Third hummed and fixed his attention on his son. “I believe I know your answer, but I will ask you the same question that I asked Jonin Yuhi—why break up the Ino-Shika-Cho trio?”
“Seeing that she and I discussed this together, I’m glad you asked, old man.” Asuma grinned and looked at the rest of the room. “First, as far as I’m concerned, the rest of you can go and shove it up your—”
“Asuma.”
The jonin coughed, looking away from Kurenai Yuhi’s withering frown. “...Sorry.”
Lord Third snorted softly. “You were saying?”
“Right—Choji Akimichi. Like Kurenai mentioned, we believe he’d do better on a heavy assault team.”
“Why?”
“Throughout the Academy, he’s slowly built up his once nonexistent confidence and abilities. I believe that not only would it prevent him from growing as a shinobi, it would also damage the confidence he’s worked hard to build over the last few years because of the degree of reliance the formation requires.”
“...A fair point,” said Lord Third. “I believe you have an alternative?”
“My fortress-busting squad will centre around Choji Akimichi as the main damage dealer. Hinata Hyuuga will take advantage of her dojutsu to scout ahead and neutralise the enemy before I send off Choji Akimichi to—and excuse my language—essentially fuck shit up.”
“And how does Naruto Uzumaki factor into this plan?” asked Lord Third.
“He’ll be the mid to long-range support, taking advantage of his large chakra reserves to bombard the enemy with ninjutsu. Once he learns to control the Nine-Tails’ chakra, he can take some of the demand off both Choji Akimichi and Hinata Hyuuga.”
He eased into his chair as the sales pitches started. As predicted, almost every teacher waived the right to teach the Jinchuriki, mumbling about Kakashi’s Sharingan and bringing a small frown to his face.
They made their speeches, vying for dominance over a small percentage of students who had the highest scores; a few went for students with high potential but lower marks, but the majority were fixated on the top ten.
Before Kakashi knew it, it was his turn to speak.
“Kakashi,” said Lord Third. “Knowing your proclivities, I took the liberty of deciding on your team myself. Feel free to object to any particular children you don’t want to teach. Team 7 under Kakashi Hatake will be Sasuke Uchiha, Shino Aburame, and Naruto Uzumaki.”
“Right… I don’t particularly care about who I teach, but I have something to say. Many gathered here believe, for one reason or the other, that I will be the Jinchuriki’s teacher. Because of this assumption, they avoid his potential entirely… well, it's either that or undeserved prejudice.” He swept his eyes across the room, a good few heads looking down in embarrassment—or fear, he wasn't sure which. “Whether I'll get Sasuke Uchiha is a foregone conclusion. That said, I would like to waive my right to teach Naruto Uzumaki.”
Kakashi looked away from Lord Third’s disappointed eyes. “...And why do you not wish to teach him?”
Truth be told, he wanted nothing more than to teach his sensei's son—to make up for the years he'd spent shirking the responsibility of raising him. Yet when the opportunity presented itself, Kakashi couldn't do it. Worse, he was afraid to do it—worried that he would once again lead his loved ones to death.
As he stared at the familiar blond hair and blue plastered on the board beside him, Minato-sensei's strangely enduring trust forced itself to the front of his mind—misplaced trust that led to his and Kushina’s death.
Misplaced trust that led to Obito’s death. So, who was he to believe his sensei wanting him to train his son wasn't just another tragedy waiting to happen?
Repeated experience had proven to him that when it came down to it and Kakashi was the only thing standing between his loved ones and certain death, he failed them every single time. Minato-sensei put him in charge of Obito and Rin and Obito died, asking him to protect Rin with his dying breath.
Not long after that, he failed so badly that she felt the need to impale herself on his jutsu rather than trust in his abilities to protect her himself. So, if denying his sensei’s wishes meant his son got to live, then Kakashi would gladly forgo teaching the boy—even if he so desperately wanted to.
“Jonin Sarutobi made a pretty convincing case, and it’s clear he cares enough about the genin he proposed to be a good teacher.” He looked up and shrugged. “And if I'm going to be saddled with a team, it might as well be to my capabilities. I'm keeping my eye out for genin who would fit on a team primarily based on sabotage. For obvious reasons, Jinchuriki aren’t exactly on the top of that list.”
“I see…” Lord Third's disappointed gaze lingered a few moments longer.
With the top ten students spread amongst himself, Asuma Sarutobi, and Kurenai Yuhi, the meeting came to a swift conclusion. Everyone else was forced to settle with students with lower marks, or overall lower potential, grumbling about their rotten luck. Kakashi scoffed at their excuses—in the end, the most promising students went to the most capable teachers.
He exited the stairs at the bottom of the Hokage Building, keeping his head low. If he was quick enough, he’d be able to vanish before he found him.
“KA-KA-SHI!”
A booming voice cut the reception’s orderly silence. Everyone carried on as normal, all too familiar with the owner’s antics to care.
Kakashi sighed. “...Hello, Gai.”
His energetic friend cleared the metres-long distance between them in a single step, flashing him a double thumbs-up. “How did it go? D’you get a team? Will I finally be able to match my lot against yours to settle our score once and for all?”
“Unfortunately, I have a team.”
“YES!” Gai raised his hands skyward, vibrating with excitement. “THE TIME IS UPON US AT LAST!”
Kakashi slinked lower and lower as he pictured the next few months of his life.
Genin teams went through two weeks of E-ranks consisting of menial jobs they performed in the last year of the Academy while their sensei evaluated their abilities. It not only cutified the image of shinobi to the villagers, but also helped ease their transfer into the shinobi world with familiar tasks.
After that, Gai would constantly bombard him with joint training requests, possible joint missions—anything that allowed him to drag Kakashi’s team into competition with his own.
“Gai?”
The two of them looked back up the staircase as Kurenai Yuhi and Asuma Sarutobi came into view.
“Kurenai!” said Gai with a smile. “I hope you acquired the genin of your choice?”
She nodded. “I did.”
“Who’s this with you?”
She smiled. “Come on, Gai. You know him.”
Gai squinted at him. “...His face does indeed seem familiar.”
“Really, dude? I know we weren’t that close, but goddamn,” said Asuma.
“ASUMA SARUTOBI!” Gai reared back. “HOW COULD I HAVE FORGOTTEN YOU?”
The man scratched his chin with a sad smile. “...I was gone for four years, so I don’t blame you.”
“Nonsense. The fault is mine for forgetting about you no matter how many years you were gone,” said Gai with a broad grin. “To make up for my failure to recognise you, I will treat the three of you to a meal in celebration of successful genin draft days… you did receive the genin you wanted, right?”
“I did,” Asuma replied.
Gai turned back to Kakashi. “Isn’t this wonderful news, my eternal rival?”
“...It’s wonderful news, Gai,” Kakashi replied, knowing full well his response wouldn’t change anything that man said next.
“Off we go, then. For today, you’ll not worry about food and drink!”
Asuma gave Gai a good-natured slap to the shoulder. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
“Thank you, Gai,” said Kurenai, walking on Asuma’s right. “It seems someone’s forgotten basic courtesy when offered a gift.
“Nonsense,” Gai laughed. “I can feel the strength of Asuma’s gratitude in my shoulder—he’s indeed quite strong. We should go a few rounds sometime, no?”
Asuma hummed. “You know, I’d like to see how I’d match up against you. I might not be S-ranked yet, but fighting the strongest shinobi in our village is a good way to feel the gap between us.”
“The debate of who is the stronger shinobi between myself and my eternal rival is a tale as old as time—however, I will do my best!”
“...Please don’t. I’d like to keep all my limbs by the end of this.”
Gai and Kurenai laughed. Meanwhile, Kakashi trailed behind them, torn between going home and following them. Gai would hunt him down and drag him to the restaurant anyway, so there was no point in pretending he had a choice in the matter.
His gaze wandered to the back of Asuma’s head.
If nothing else, he’d be able to figure out just what kind of man—what kind of shinobi—he’d entrusted Minato-sensei’s son to.
- - -
Comments
Eternal Yujin
Like I said to Green0Photon: In my mind, canon Kakashi goes one of two ways. Either he feels like Naruto is his last chance to redeem himself, or he's too scared to be responsible for his death. Personally, I think what he does at this point in the series comes down to a difference in opinion between readers. That said, I tried to keep his character as close to canon as I could. Though to elaborate, Kakashi's guilt is slightly different to his canon self. He wasn't part of Naruto's ANBU detail when he lived alone because he retired when he was 2, at least in this fic. Naruto only started living alone when he started the Academy. Kakashi not teaching Naruto doesn't mean he doesn't want to be part of his life, though. Heck, he'll definitely have an important role in the story.
Thanatos
On one hand, Kakashi was a traumatized 13-14 year old soldier when Naruto was orphaned, so I can kinda understand keeping his distance. On the other hand, come on, man. Much as I like him, his excuses are pretty weak, and are just trying to rationalize keeping his own self away from more hurt, a very selfish position. Dropping in from time to time and helping Naruto out with just general living things (like he actually does later in canon, you can find the clips of him filling Naruto's fridge with food) would have better than nothing, nobody was asking him to adopt Naruto. The less said about Jiraiya the better. Tsunade too, now that I think about it, you mentioned that Kushina was straight up adopted by Mito, would would technically make Naruto and Tsunade cousins.
Eternal Yujin
I'm glad. Original plots are iffy in terms of reader interest, which is why I started off the arc with the set up.
Green0Photon
I really enjoyed the setup with the village. You introduce it just early enough so we can care later, and you do so well and thoroughly enough that I care now. Very nice.
