The short blade danced with a cold glint in Kakashi's hand as his silhouette melded into the thick, ghostly mist surrounding the waterfall. The once-fluid rhythm of his movements slowly lost its sharpness, becoming erratic and unfocused, like a melody falling out of tune.

The blade faltered mid-swing.

Kakashi's thoughts drifted—untethered from the moment—as memories began to rise, like ghosts from the fog.

Faces.

Familiar and warm.

Figures that had once been the anchors of his life.

Sakumo Hatake—his father, the White Fang of the Leaf.

A man he once idolized as a child, now reduced in memory to a tragic lesson in shame and sacrifice. Pressured by the very village he protected, Sakumo had taken his own life after choosing to save comrades over completing a mission.

Konoha never forgave him.

And Kakashi never forgave himself for agreeing with them.

Then his teacher—Minato Namikaze.

The Fourth Hokage.

The Yellow Flash.

A hero whose brilliance once lit up the entire village.

Gone in an instant, giving his life alongside Kushina to stop the Nine-Tails. They had died as shinobi… and as new parents.

And what had Kakashi done since then?

And then... Rin.

Her name alone a blade sharper than the one he held.

She, who had trusted him most, had died by his own hand—an accident, a tragedy born of duty and deception. The sight of her blood on his blade haunted him in every silent night.

Everyone he loved... gone.

One by one, they left.

All he had left were scars—on his heart, on his past.

And yet… there was one person still alive.

Obito.

Twisted. Radical. Delusional.

But alive.

Even now, despite everything Obito had done—plotting to help annihilate the shinobi world, hiding behind the mask of "Madara," orchestrating chaos—Kakashi couldn't bring himself to fully hate him.

Because once, a long time ago, they had fought side by side.

Two boys facing the hell of the Third Great Ninja War, watching comrades die, surviving together.

Obito had once given him his Sharingan.

More than that… he had entrusted him with his heart.

He's still my friend.

He didn't agree with Obito's methods to 'fix; the Shinobi World, but he couldn't bring himself to stop him, and even had a vague thought of wanting to accompany him.

But as soon as he thought of this, Kakashi couldn't help but feel a strong sense of guilt...

If the Ninja World truly heads towards destruction because of Obito's madness, then am I not also an accomplice, or even one of the main culprits?

Kakashi's grip on the blade loosened. His movements grew more chaotic, as if his own confusion had seeped into the steel.

Even Obito, watching silently from the shadows, noticed the change.

What's wrong with Kakashi...?

The mist shimmered on the blade's surface, reflecting a man who no longer knew where he stood.

Landing silently on a moss-covered rock, Kakashi exhaled deeply.

His eye dimmed, the fatigue in his soul heavier than ever.

"Sensei…" he muttered, voice low and filled with sorrow. "Have I… disappointed you?"

He stared into the mist. Not expecting an answer.

"But I have to protect Obito…"

The words echoed softly—and far too vulnerably.

From the shadows, Obito flinched.

Tch… this bastard… Why is he being so mushy now…?

But as he listened, something stirred. An old, forgotten ache.

Kakashi, lost in the fog of regret, suddenly remembered something else.

Minato had a child.

Naruto.

Born the night of the Nine-Tails.

A boy forced to become a Jinchūriki the moment he entered the world.

A child destined for solitude, misunderstanding, and pain.

Kakashi had… ignored him.

For years.

Because he couldn't bear it. Because seeing Naruto meant facing everything he lost.

He had buried the thought deep, convincing himself it wasn't his responsibility.

But it was.

Minato-sensei's son…

A new feeling surged through him—hot and wild, burning through the cold fog.

How has he lived all these years? Alone? Shunned? Forgotten?

Did he inherit Minato's radiant smile, or Kushina's fierce heart?

Or… had he become bitter, broken by the burden of a world that only saw the beast inside him?

Kakashi's pulse quickened.

I need to know. I need to see for myself.

No more hiding behind grief.

He slowly sheathed the blade, the mist brushing against his cheeks like tears.

"…Naruto."

His voice was steadier now.

Clearer.

Kakashi turned away from the waterfall, stepping forward with new resolve—not as a tool of the village, not as a grieving son or a failed friend—but as someone determined to protect what remained.

"Kakashi, I didn't expect you to pick up the blade again."

The voice was low and coarse, drifting out from the shadows behind him like a chill in the wind, and it cut through the silence of Kakashi's thoughts like the very weapon in his hand.

Kakashi froze. His breath hitched."…Obito."

Obito stood motionless in the open, bathed in pale moonlight. His mask, cracked at the edges from years of conflict, still obscured most of his face. But the lone eye that stared back at Kakashi—red and burning with the Sharingan—held layers of unspoken memory.

Grief. Anger. Regret. Nostalgia.

He had been watching for some time, hidden in silence, while Kakashi trained alone. The silver-haired Jonin's blade danced with crisp efficiency—every strike tight, precise, instinctive. Watching it pulled Obito backward in time, to days when Kakashi was a cold prodigy, silent and deadly, with chakra so finely honed he could cut lightning itself.

For a moment, Obito saw not the weary veteran, but the arrogant genius of their youth. And the vision ached.

"Still sharp," Obito murmured, almost to himself.

Kakashi didn't respond. His hand clenched faintly around the handle of the short blade.

"I saw how you moved just now," Obito continued. "You haven't lost it. That blade… it remembers you."

A long silence stretched between them, filled only by the rustle of leaves and the whisper of old ghosts.

Then Obito broke it.

"There's something I should have told you long ago."

Kakashi's gaze didn't waver. "…What is it?"

Obito took a breath that shuddered. "The Nine-Tails attack. That night—when the village was thrown into chaos... When Minato-sensei and Kushina died… it was me."

The world went still.

Kakashi's eyes widened. The blade in his hand trembled faintly."…You?" His voice cracked, and the word came out half-formed, strangled by disbelief.

Some part of him had always suspected. The timing. The mystery. The mask. But to hear it confirmed, spoken aloud by Obito himself...

Obito lowered his head. "I was the one who summoned the Nine-Tails. I unleashed it. I fought our teacher to the death while his wife died trying to keep the beast sealed. I tore a hole in the village he gave everything to protect."

He paused, swallowing the weight of his words.

"Naruto should've grown up with a family. With love. But because of me, he grew up alone. Shunned. Used. I destroyed everything before he could ever hold it."

He turned his face slightly, eye fixed on Kakashi, voice barely more than a breath."…Do you hate me for it?"

Kakashi closed his eye, a slow exhale leaving his lungs. The bitterness in his chest was deep and lingering—resentment that had no clear target, pain that had festered for years without a name.

But then… he opened his eye and stepped forward.

"You didn't blame me for Rin's death," Kakashi said softly, "even though I couldn't protect her. Even though I was the one who…" He trailed off.

A long silence passed between them.

"So how could I blame you for what happened to our teacher?"

Obito's eye widened.

Kakashi's gaze was firm now, not gentle—but resolute. "You're right about one thing: this world is twisted. It creates orphans and turns them into weapons. It poisons love, perverts loyalty. And yet—somewhere in that madness—we kept walking."

He looked down at the blade in his hand.

"This sword… it's been quiet for a long time. Ever since I thought I had no one left to protect. But today, for you, Obito—" he sheathed it slowly at his waist, "—I'll let it dance again."

A subtle pull rippled between them.

Sharingan.

The chakra in their eyes responded. The air shimmered faintly with tension as both pupils resonated, their connection formed in youth surging again under the pressure of guilt, pain, and forgiveness.

Obito's voice was rough. "Kakashi…"

He had prepared himself to be hated, condemned, even attacked. But this…

Warmth. Understanding.

The very things he had abandoned in his pursuit of false peace.

Kakashi stepped closer, his voice quieter now. "We can't change the past, Obito. But we can choose what to do with what remains."

He reached into his cloak and retrieved a small photo—Naruto, smiling awkwardly at Ichiraku, cheeks stuffed with ramen.

"I plan to meet Minato-sensei's son. I want to see what kind of man he's become—the one our teacher entrusted his dream to. Will you come with me?"

Obito's mouth parted slightly. The image of Naruto—so much like both his parents—flashed through his mind. Then, after a long, heavy pause, he shook his head.

"No. You go."

Kakashi's eye narrowed. "Why?"

Obito turned away, his cloak catching the wind as he looked towards to the Empty Uchiha Compound.

"I came to Konoha to retrieve someone else first."

"…Sasuke?"

Obito's silence was answer enough.

Kakashi didn't stop him. He only watched as Obito began to vanish into the mist, chakra flickering around him.

Before he was gone, Obito said softly, "Take care of the boy. He still believes in people like you."

"And what about you?" Kakashi called out.

Obito paused. Then, with a bitter smile beneath the mask, he answered:

"I stopped believing in people a long time ago. But maybe… I still believe in you."

Then he disappeared.

And Kakashi was alone again—wind tugging at his cloak, the cold edge of the blade at his hip humming faintly with memory and regret.