บท 1: I am Aizen:ch 1
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Under a leaden sky, raindrops poured relentlessly, striking the ground as though venting grief or fury. A white-haired boy stood before an unnamed tombstone, his gaze unwavering as the torrential downpour drenched him. It was as if the rain could extinguish the overwhelming pain in his heart.
This boy was Hatake Kakashi, the son of Hatake Sakumo. Three days had passed since Konoha's White Fang, his father, was laid to rest. Buried in disgrace, amid the hatred and contempt of the villagers, Hatake Kakashi stood like a lifeless puppet, staring blankly at the unmarked grave.
No name adorned the stone.
Sakumo, the hero once known as Konoha's White Fang, had not even been granted a proper burial with a name. His suicide, committed after abandoning a mission for the sake of his comrades, left his reputation tarnished. In Konoha, all his past achievements meant nothing in the face of a single failure.
Kakashi stood silently, drenched by the rain that mirrored the turmoil in his heart. He could not understand why his father—his god-like father—had chosen to die in front of him. Nor could he comprehend how things had come to this.
Mission. Friendship. The Will of Fire.
These words seemed hollow now.
Here is the passage with corrections and an improved format:
Suddenly, Kakashi's ears twitched, and he glanced to the side.
"Sorry, I tried my best to be quiet . Did I still disturb you?"
A gentle man approached, holding a black oil-paper umbrella. He wore a pure white haori and simple glasses, carrying a food basket in his hand. In the black rainstorm, his white attire and the steaming basket exuded a strange warmth. But because of this, Hatake Kakashi didn't want to see the man's smiling face.
He knew exactly who this man was.
The man, seemingly the embodiment of gentleness, gave a slight bow toward the nameless tombstone in the rain before squatting down, lowering himself to Kakashi's height. He looked at the young man standing silently before the grave with a gaze filled with pity, setting the basket down on the ground.
"...Still don't want to talk?"
The man, now kneeling in the mud with the oil-paper umbrella in hand, allowed his white haori to become soiled. His low but magnetic voice was soft as he comforted Kakashi.
"But even if it's hard for you right now, I have to interrupt, Kakashi-kun. If you keep this up, you won't be able to hold on. No matter what emotions you're carrying, you need a healthy body to bear them."
On the woven bamboo lid of the basket, steam rose faintly, carrying a tempting sweet aroma that instinctively made Kakashi glance sideways.
Seeing the five or six-year-old boy finally break his stubborn silence, the man smiled gently and reached out to lift the cover. Inside were two bowls of freshly made ramen, carefully arranged in the basket, their aroma wafting through the air.
Kakashi swallowed subconsciously at the familiar sight and smell of ramen.
"Kakashi-kun, it's been three days. It must be painful to be alone like this. I brought you some warm food—Ichiraku ramen. If you don't mind, how about we eat together?"
"…"
Hearing the words 'eat together,' the white-haired boy shivered. It wasn't the coldness of the rainstorm that made him react but the meaning behind those words, which stirred something unpleasant inside him.
Kakashi glanced at the gentle man with empty, numbed eyes, then turned his gaze back to the small, nameless tomb.
"…Don't worry about me."
"What a stubborn child. You really don't want any? Ichiraku is delicious."
"…"
"Even if Kakashi-kun doesn't want to eat, you should still think about those who care about you."
With one hand, the man held the oiled paper umbrella over them both, and with the other, he gently took out a pair of chopsticks, carefully placing them beside Kakashi.
In the rainstorm, the man's smile—warm as the sunshine at the equator—contrasted with the gloomy skies. His magnetic voice expressed genuine concern and care.
"You're still in school, Kakashi-kun. This is the time when you need support from adults. Whether it's Hokage-sama or the people in the village, even though what happened with your father had its reasons, everyone is aware of their own mistakes. You can't keep torturing yourself like this, can you?"
"—I said, leave me alone!"
Snap!
The bowl of ramen, filled with hot soup and noodles, was knocked into the air, crashing to the ground and shattering. In the downpour, the steaming noodles quickly mixed with the dirt, turning into a repulsive black sludge—just like the malice Hatake Kakashi felt toward the man behind him.
Though only five or six years old, Kakashi's young face was filled with the purest hatred and hostility toward the gentle man.
"…You don't need to pretend, Aizen Sōsuke."
Kakashi glared up at the man, defiant and brimming with resentment.
"My father saw right through you. You're not a good person, so don't pretend to care about me!"
"Your father… Mr. Sakumo…"
Aizen looked at the shattered bowl on the ground, then at his slightly scalded wrist from the spilled soup. He adjusted his glasses, a hint of sadness and nostalgia flickering in his eyes.
"Those eyes of his were indeed powerful, but they were also the cause of his downfall. It's truly a tragedy to be able to see through others but still stubbornly believe in oneself, even to the point of abandoning the one they loved most."
"What did you say?!"
"I said, it's very sad, Kakashi-kun. From an adult's perspective, it's truly heartbreaking."
Aizen pushed his glasses again, sighing slightly as his eyes became obscured by the reflection in his lenses, as though he was hiding his own sadness.
"Even though people from the same village are watching each other with suspicion, it's truly sad. I'm really, really saddened that something like this has happened."
Aizen's voice remained gentle, though it carried a tinge of regret.
"But I understand that he misunderstood me. After all, I've been doing things for Hokage-sama and the Will of Fire. There are many things I don't wish to do, but for the sake of the village, I have to. Following the Will of Fire means making difficult decisions."
He paused, his eyes softening as they fell on Kakashi.
"Your father was a respectable man, and his love for you was real. But things are different now. You're still a child. I thought this matter should be handled among adults, but I didn't expect it would end up involving you... Perhaps I've said too much, Kakashi-kun. I'm sorry."
Aizen sighed as he looked at Kakashi's face, almost twisted with pain under the heavy rain. Taking a small step back, he gave the boy some space.
"I'll come again tomorrow, Kakashi-kun. Until you can accept me."
"...Go away, don't come again."
"Swearing isn't good."
The man named Aizen shook his head, smiling helplessly at Kakashi's stubbornness. He set the black oil-paper umbrella and the remaining bowl of ramen down on the ground, sheltering the boy's small figure from the rain. Despite Kakashi's resentful gaze and hostile behavior, Aizen did nothing to provoke him further. Instead, he nodded quietly.
Then, with measured steps, Aizen knelt to clean up the broken bowl and chopsticks from the ground. He picked up the scattered noodles, now mixed with the dirt, his face showing mild discomfort at the messy environment. Tearing a piece of his haori, he wrapped the remains carefully. With a slight bow to the child who refused to look at him, he let the downpour soak him as he slowly left the public cemetery.
After Aizen departed, the cemetery returned to its original stillness.
The rain continued to pour, yet no raindrops fell on Kakashi's small frame. He stared at the black oil-paper umbrella on the ground and the last bowl of Ichiraku ramen still steaming beneath it, his young face twisted with struggle and hesitation. The child trembled in the violent wind, his hands clenched into tight fists, causing drops of blood to drip from his fingertips onto the ground.
On one hand was the kind man who helped him—the ninja with the best reputation in the village. On the other hand, there was his father's warning. Kakashi didn't understand what was happening in the world. His father, once a hero in his eyes, had committed suicide in front of him, and now, everyone in the village was pointing fingers. Yet, only Aizen had shown him kindness.
But his father had once said that Aizen was a terrible person. In this situation, could he still trust his father?
Was the village wrong, or was his father wrong?
Aizen Sōsuke—he was regarded as the finest man in the village, someone Kakashi had once admired. His hostility towards Aizen came only from his father's words, from following his father's orders. But now, his father was a 'villain,' someone who had broken the village's rules and committed suicide out of shame. And he, Kakashi, was merely the son of that 'disgraced man.'
Aizen had helped him many times, without holding any grudges. He had even assisted in presiding over funerals. Kakashi was no ordinary child—he was a genius, with a sharp understanding far beyond his age. But because of that, the pain and confusion he felt were all the more intense.
"What am I supposed to do... Father... Were you really wrong..."
'…'
The lonely tomb remained silent, letting the black rain pour down, drowning the child's world. In the shadows, a few pairs of eyes, indifferent and watchful, stared at the scene before quietly retreating into the darkness after Aizen's departure, leaving the area completely deserted.
A few minutes later, at the entrance of the cemetery, several different shadows gathered together, bowing their heads respectfully to the gentle man carrying the broken bowl and other refuse.
"Master Aizen, thank you for your hard work. Do you need treatment for your burn?"
"Ah, it's all right. Dispose of the garbage, and I'll report to Hokage-sama later."
Handing the broken feathers and bowl to one of the figures, Aizen glanced back at the cemetery, smiled softly, and spoke to the Anbu surrounding him.
"Even if great harm was done to the village, the child is innocent. I believe Kakashi-kun has the will of fire. He'll overcome this—it may just take a little time."
"Master Aizen..."
"Thank you, gentlemen. All of this is for the will of fire."
Nodding to the touched ninjas, Aizen smiled once more before turning and walking toward the tallest building in the village.
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