The four 'companions' left.
Hatake Sakumo was alone in the room. He sat on the floor, motionless.
The sorrow in his eyes was so dense, so frozen, it felt like a solid, impenetrable ice.
Memories of his father surfaced.
He was young, standing with his father on the Hokage Monument, looking out over the village. The wind was crisp.
His father pointed, his voice full of pride. "Sakumo. Konoha is our home. We must use everything we have to protect it. To uphold the Will of Fire."
Young Sakumo tilted his head. "Father, what is the Will of Fire?"
His father knelt, meeting his gaze. "It means the young are the future. The old trust them, protect them. Our sacrifices aren't meaningless. They give the young strength. They inspire them to become the new pillars that carry the future."
He placed a hand on Sakumo's shoulder. "Like you and me. I will protect you as you grow. You will become a new leaf. Where the leaves dance, the fire burns bright. That light will always protect the village, and make new leaves sprout."
Sakumo carried those words into his ninja life. They became his nindō.
He was a man of harsh, rule-bound duty. Yet his bond with his comrades ran deeper than any law. Rule or comrade? He would choose his comrade. Every single time.
But now…
Everyone said he was wrong.
The villagers. The other shinobi. Even the Hokage himself, the leader of the village.
They all said he was wrong.
Sakumo didn't understand. Was the Will of Fire he upheld… a mistake? Was the legacy his father gave him… something he shouldn't have carried?
To deny the Will of Fire was to deny his entire life's work. Every battle, every sacrifice, every choice.
He stood, moved to his bedside. He picked up the White Fang shortsword from the floor. He stared at the blade, his reflection dull in the polished metal.
He couldn't find a reason to protect Konoha anymore.
The village had given him a purpose. Now, it had shattered the very core of that purpose.
His will… was broken.
His eyes, once sharp, were now fractured pools of shadow. He slowly, deliberately, drew the White Fang from its sheath.
His voice was sandpaper. "Take care of Kakashi for me. And… tell him I'm sorry."
From outside the door, Qianyu's voice held a quiet, deep regret. "I will. I'll raise him to be a man who can stand on his own. I'm sorry… I couldn't help you."
"Don't be. The fault isn't yours. I just… have no reason left to live. Knowing you're there… I can be at peace."
A final breath.
Sakumo reversed the blade. He drove it into his abdomen.
The sound from inside the room was wet, final.
Qianyu stood silently for a moment in the dim hallway. He spoke softly to the closed door. "Goodbye, Hatake Sakumo. You are no longer Konoha's White Fang. You are finally free of the chains called 'Konoha'."
[Witnessed the death of important figure Hatake Sakumo. Reward: 5,000 Witness Points.]
A flicker of movement. Qianyu was gone.
In the training woods, Kakashi stumbled. He fell hard onto the dirt, gasping. A phantom hand seemed to squeeze his throat. A vast, hollow emptiness opened in his chest.
Something vital… was gone.
Cold sweat drenched him. He scrambled to his feet, heart hammering against his ribs. He ran. He ran like a mad thing, branches whipping at his face, back towards home.
The closer he got, the heavier the dread became, a physical weight dragging at his limbs.
He reached the house. His hand hovered over his father's door.
He froze.
A primal fear seized him. A voice in his mind screamed that if he opened this door, nothing would ever be the same again.
He shook his head violently. Took several deep, shuddering breaths.
The coppery, salty scent of blood reached his nostrils.
He trembled. His hands shook as he pushed the door open.
The scene imprinted itself instantly, brutally, onto his mind. His father. The pool of crimson. The White Fang shortsword clutched in a lifeless hand.
Kakashi's world went silent, then filled with a high-pitched, internal roar.
He moved like a puppet, steps unsteady. He stood over the body. Stared.
"…Father?"
The word was a whisper of stolen air. His knees gave out. He collapsed to the floor.
Tears streamed down his face, soundless at first. He tried to scream, to wail, but no sound came. One hand clawed at his own chest, as if to tear out the agony. The other reached out, grasping his father's hand. It was cold. So terribly cold.
The grief was a tidal wave. It hit him, pulled him under. Darkness swallowed his vision, and he slumped forward, unconscious.
The next day.
Kakashi's eyes snapped open. Sterile white ceiling. The smell of antiseptic. The hospital.
He jerked upright. "Father!"
No one answered. Only Qianyu and Kushina Uzumaki stood by his bed, their expressions grave.
Their faces told him everything.
It wasn't a dream.
It was real.
His father was gone. By his own hand.
Kakashi covered his face with his hands. A sob tore from his throat. "Sensei… my father… he's… he's…!" The words dissolved into ragged, wrenching cries.
He was a chūnin. He had seen battle, taken lives. But he was also seven years old. His only family was gone. The pain was absolute, a raw, gaping wound.
Kushina watched, her own eyes welling up, a hand pressed to her mouth.
Qianyu said nothing. He simply placed a firm hand on Kakashi's trembling shoulder. A silent anchor in the storm.
Days later.
The funeral was a quiet, bleak affair. Organized by Kakashi, Qianyu, and Kushina. A handful of Sakumo's former comrades came, paid brief, awkward respects, and left.
The graveyard felt vast and empty.
Kakashi stood before the simple headstone, his gaze hollow.
"Why, Sensei?" His voice was flat. "Why did he do it?"
Qianyu's tone was low, heavy. "Because he was betrayed. By the very ideal he spent his whole life fighting for."
Kakashi's lips moved, the words almost inaudible. "The… Will of Fire…"
They stayed a while longer in the cold silence. Then, Qianyu gently guided the numb boy away, taking him to his own home.
Not long after they left, another figure approached the grave.
Hiruzen Sarutobi stood before the stone, a pipe in his hand. He looked exhausted, aged.
The news of Sakumo's suicide had hit him like a physical blow. Shock first. Then, the dawning, horrific understanding of the catastrophe.
He'd only meant to suspend Sakumo, to let the political pressure die down. A temporary measure. The position would have been returned.
He never imagined… this.
The suicide of Konoha's White Fang. A devastating blow to the village's strength and morale. A gift to every other Hidden Village.
Hiruzen closed his eyes, the weight of his office, his choices, pressing down on him.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
Read up to (100+ ) advanced chapters on Patre\on
Visit us here: patreon.com/GoldenLong
Happy reading, everyone!