Chapter 5
Sukea scrambled out the window, landing lightly on the ground. His hands still stung faintly under the fresh bandages Kakashi had applied. Flexing his fingers experimentally, he glanced down at them. They were wrapped with a surprising amount of care for someone as blunt and impatient as his younger self. He then shoved them carelessly into his pockets and began to meander down the street. It was too early to start making his way to the training grounds yet.
He found his feet taking him to the memorial stone. He wasn’t surprised as its solemn weight usually grounds him.
Sukea’s steps slowed as he approached, his eyes scanning the etched names instinctively. He stopped short when his gaze fell on a blank section of the stone. The names he knew by heart—the comrades, the friends, the weight of his failures—hadn’t been added yet. Well, there was one missing. But that was for entirely different reasons.
His father’s manner of passing had robbed him of that honour.
Eventually, he decided that this blank stone didn’t have the comfort he was looking for.
His feet carried him onward, almost against his will, to a place he had avoided in his first life: Sakumo Hatake’s grave.
Back then, he’d stayed away, his emotions a tangled mess of bitterness and grief. As a boy, he’d felt betrayed by his father’s actions, and later, as a man drowning in his own guilt, he couldn’t bring himself to face the man he felt he’d failed in turn. But now, the pull was undeniable.
The cemetery stretched out before him, its familiar quiet almost jarring. He passed empty plots that he hopes he will never have to visit again and makes his way towards ones that have long been filled. The morning light cast long shadows across the ground, and when he finally reached his father’s grave, he stopped short.
The sight of it hit him like a blow.
The gravestone bore the scars of malice—his father's name crudely scratched out by someone who hated Sakumo even in death. He wouldn’t have been sure he had the right one if not for the faint graffiti damning ‘the white fang’ marring its surface. The last 4 years had dulled the active malice villagers had shown since most of this damage looked old and to Sukea’s surprise, it appeared someone had been attempting to tend to it. The weeds had been pulled, and the stone was wiped of dirt.
Unconsciously, he fell into old habits, standing vigil like he would before the memorial stone. His eyes traced where Sakumo’s name should have been, lingering on the deep gouge left by resentment. Then, almost without thinking, he reached for a kunai. He certainly couldn’t make it look any worse.
Kneeling, he began carving into the stone, restoring the name. The act felt futile—almost childish—but it gave his hands something to do. Each stroke sent a fresh twinge through his fingers, but he ignored the sting, focusing on the rhythmic scrape of metal against rock.
He had just begun to form the letters "SAK—" when a furious shout broke the silence.
“First you hit a girl, and now you’re defacing the grave of the great hero ‘The white Fang’? What is wrong with you?!”
The furious shout startled Sukea, his kunai slipping in his grip. He turned sharply, only to see Obito marching towards him, fists clenched and trembling with righteous indignation.
For all his attempts to not get on Obito’s bad side this time around, he’s really not succeeding.
Regardless, Sukea froze, holding his hands up in surrender as Obito stormed closer, his fiery glare boring into him.
“What are you doing?!” Obito demanded, jabbing a finger at the half-carved name. “Were you writing your own name on there?!”
Sukea blinked in confusion. Writing my own name? Sure his handwriting probably isn’t the best since he isn’t much of a carver but why would he-? Then it dawns on him.
To Obito, the half-carved "SAK" could easily look like the start of "Sukea," especially if Obito didn’t know the White Fang’s real name.
He let out a measured breath, forcing his pulse to slow. Obito was bristling, ready to explode, and Sukea needed to defuse the situation fast.
“Look, Obito, it’s not what it looks like,” he began, keeping his voice even.
Obito’s glare only sharpened, his arms crossing as he stepped closer. “That’s what people say when they’re caught doing something wrong!”
Sukea quickly added, “This is my father’s grave. His name used to be here—Sakumo. I was just trying to fix it.” He gestured to the scratched-out section of the stone. “I’m not defacing anything. I’m restoring what should’ve been here all along.”
Obito faltered, his defiance wavering as his brow furrowed. “Your… father?” he echoed, his voice quieter now. He stared at the grave for a long moment, his anger visibly giving way to uncertainty. “I… I heard the White Fang had a son, but…” He looked back at Sukea, his expression conflicted. “I’m still not going to forgive you for punching Rin!”
Sukea’s heart sank at the reminder, guilt flaring anew. He leaned forward slightly, concern edging into his voice. “Is she okay?” he asked quickly. No one had told him much after the incident—just brushed it off as a non-fatal injury—but the thought of her being seriously hurt made his chest tighten painfully.
Obito blinked at the question, caught off guard by the genuine worry in Sukea’s tone. “Her nose was broken,” he admitted, a trace of bitterness creeping into his voice. “The medics said it wasn’t serious enough to waste resources on, so they’re letting it heal naturally. She said it hurts a lot, though.”
Sukea winced, the knot in his stomach tightening. “I didn’t mean to hit her,” he said softly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
That vulnerability felt too exposed, too raw, and the shinobi in him recoiled instinctively. He needed to regain control, to reframe the situation. His eyes darted to the half-finished carving of his father’s name, and he seized on it, turning his turmoil into a tool for a mission.
“I-I didn’t think to check on her,” he continued, voice halting, as if forcing himself to speak through the rising discomfort. “The sight of the blood, it—it reminded me too much of—” His words caught, his gaze fixed firmly on the desecrated stone beneath his fingers. He felt a pang of guilt for using his father as part of the cover, his sensei already seems to believe it, he may as well lean into it. ‘Sorry, Dad. I didn’t mourn you properly the first time and now I’m play-acting it to cover up my other secrets.’ he apologised mentally.
Obito’s eyes followed Sukea’s gaze to the grave. His indignation softened further, uncertainty flickering across his face. “Her nose looked bad,” Obito admitted after a moment, his tone quieter. “But Rin’s tough. She said she’s going to practice healing it herself since she’s been learning medical jutsu.” His voice brightened with admiration. “She’s amazing, isn’t she?”
Sukea nodded absently, relieved to hear Rin would be okay but unable to fully shake the weight pressing on his chest.
Obito’s tone shifted again, turning more stern. “But don’t think that gets you off the hook! You still owe her an apology. You hear me?”
Sukea managed a faint smile, dipping his head in acknowledgement. “Fair enough,” he murmured, his tone subdued.
He wasn’t sure he could actually face Rin yet—not while the shame still felt so raw—but he would cross that bridge when he got to it.
Then, suddenly, Obito stiffened, his eyes widening in panic. “Oh no! I’m late for training!” Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and bolted, his hurried footsteps fading quickly into the distance.
Sukea watched him go, sighing as he glanced at the sun’s position in the sky. Unless the boy had the speed of Minato himself, there was no way he’d make it in time for training. Then again, Sukea wasn’t doing much better. Late was late, whether you strolled in leisurely or sprinted in breathless.
Shrugging, Sukea settled back into his crouch and retrieved his kunai to resume his work, the rhythmic scrape of metal against stone grounding him as it stung his hands. Slowly and deliberately, he continued carving, letting the task absorb his attention.
When he was finished, he sat back, brushing away the stone dust, tidying up the mess he’d made and picking a few weeds while he was at. It was then that he sensed someone else approaching. He ignored it at first, probably another mourner, instead focusing on his cleanup, until the presence lingered directly behind him.
“OH! Another boy helping keep the resting place of humble heroes respectable! Are you friends with the Uchiha boy who usually helps clean the graves?”
The loud, booming voice startled Sukea so badly he flinched, spinning to face the source. There stood Duy Might, his radiant energy almost as overwhelming as his son’s, though tempered with a certain warmth.
Sukea blinked, momentarily at a loss. “Uh… you mean Obito?”
“You are acquainted then? Wonderful!” Duy’s voice brimmed with emotion, his enthusiasm as boundless as his grin. Tears welled in his eyes as he clasped his hands together. “It’s so inspiring to see the youth of today choosing to spend the springtime of their youth in such noble ways! It’s always so neat and tidy when I visit. I worried when that boy was no longer required to clean after moving up in the academy, but he still comes! He says he doesn’t want heroes to be forgotten. It’s so YOUTHFUL!”
A wry smirk tugging at his lips despite himself. He knew the boy was often off helping grannies cross roads and seemed to have terrible time management but learning this he couldn’t help but think that maybe if Obito wasn’t squeezing every good deed in Konoha into his schedule, he’d make it to training on time.
“How often is he here?” Sukea asked, more curious than he’d intended.
“Oh! Are you attempting to align your schedules?” Duy beamed. “I would say he comes on the days between when the academy students handle the maintenance… though they sometimes skip this area, depending on the teacher in charge.”
Sukea’s gaze swept over the graves surrounding Sakumo’s. These weren’t the resting places of celebrated heroes. Those graves lay closer to the entrance, well-kept and adorned with flowers. Here, the names on the stones belonged to those whose ends had been deemed dishonourable or whose lives had lacked the familial ties to secure their memories. Sakumo’s grave sat among them, a fallen hero surrounded by the forgotten and the cast aside.
The realization settled in his chest like a fresh ache, his fingers tightening into fists at his sides.
Duy’s voice softened, breaking through the heavy silence. “It’s a shame, isn’t it?” he said, his usual exuberance replaced by quiet solemnity. His gaze swept across the neglected stones. “They gave so much, and all the village saw were their mistakes.”
Sukea swallowed hard, his throat tight as he nodded. “It is,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
The two stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the unspoken hanging between them. Then, with a gentle clap on Sukea’s shoulder, Duy smiled, his warmth returning like the sun breaking through clouds. “Well, young man, I’ll leave you to your noble work. But remember this—your efforts here, matter. You honour them.”
As Duy walked away, his steps light despite his earlier solemnity, Sukea turned back to the grave. He crouched down again, his eyes resting on his father's newly restored name. He wanted to stay and mourn longer but he would be pushing his luck to stay longer. He was late to training.
—
Sukea strolled into the training grounds late, greeted by his team’s concerned expressions. He wasn’t surprised—they weren’t yet used to his tardiness. Their worry amused him more than it should, and he mentally filed away that he probably had some leeway before they realized this was going to be a pattern. Flashing them a sunny smile, he waved off their concerns.
“Sorry, lost track of time,” he said breezily, adjusting his gear like nothing was amiss.
Choza’s gaze remained serious as he stepped forward. “Sukea, may I talk to you before we start?”
“Oooh, Sukea’s in trouble~,” Genma teased, chewing on a senbon as he grinned.
Choza shot him a look of mild annoyance. “Both of you, continue the drills you were doing before we were interrupted.” Then, gesturing for Sukea to follow, he stepped aside, his voice softening. “I was worried when you didn’t show up on time. Is everything okay? Inoichi mentioned I might’ve been too blunt in how I handled things… after. And I could have been gentler in approaching you.”
Sukea met his eyes evenly. “I’m fine, Sensei. Rin startled me, but I’ve been working on it,” he reassured, his tone even.
The man didn’t seem reassured but nodded slowly his brow creasing. “Will you be okay with sparring during training today? If you’re not ready, I can adjust the session—give you individual training or postpone your matches until you catch up, if you’d like.”
Sukea frowned, irritation flickering across his face. “Sensei, do you think I’m less capable than my teammates?” Sukea is starting to notice a pattern of people underestimating him. He thought it was funny at first but now he’s getting a little irritated at how willing people are to put him in that box.
Choza balked. “No! Of course not!” But his eyes flicked to Sukea’s bandaged hands, concern etching itself deeper into his features. “Wait—are you injured? I just saw you yesterday.”
“It’s nothing,” Sukea replied, flexing his fingers with feigned nonchalance. “Barely a civilian injury.”
Choza hesitated, then sighed. “Alright. Warm-up drills,” he instructed, and Sukea joined his teammates without further protest.
Sukea relished the structured routine, each motion grounding him in the present. After the warm-ups, Choza clapped his hands together.
“Genma! Guy! You’re up! I want empty-handed sparing. Knock your opponent over. You get five minutes. Go.”
Sukea watched as Genma tucked away his senbon and stepped forward with Guy. They exchanged the Seal of Confrontation and began. The match was a little clumsy, with both boys relying heavily on academy basics. Guy’s enthusiasm, training with his father and raw energy gave him an edge, though his movements lacked refinement.
When Guy won their match, Choza called for the next pairing. “Genma and Sukea, you’re up!”
Sukea had intended to try and match the skill of his opponent when he fought but as they took their stances, Sukea noted the hesitation in the other boy’s posture. From the first tentative hit which was easily blocked, it was obvious Genma was holding back since he had just seen him fight Guy. His strikes were too measured, his steps too cautious.
He wasn’t sure if the other boy legitimately thought Sukea was unable to fight or was still affected by yesterday's events but it seemed Genma had taken that uncertainty to mean he had to go easy on Sukea.
A flicker of irritation sparked in Sukea’s chest. He didn’t want to be played with.
He tightened his fists and ignored the sting as he pressed harder, his strikes sharper and faster. Genma’s eyes widened at the sudden aggression, his own movements becoming more reflexive, less restrained. The sparring felt real now—no longer the coddling as Genma could no longer afford to do that with Sukea pushing him to his limit. Now he was the one playing with Genma.
“You’re not bad,” Genma muttered, his tone almost begrudging.
Sukea let a sharp smirk curl across his lips, “And you’re not as good as you think you are.”
Before Genma could respond, Sukea feinted toward his face—not too dissimilar to what happened to Rin as a distraction. His real target was Genma’s legs, aiming to sweep him off balance. He misjudged slightly since he’s used to having longer limbs, instead landing a solid kick to Genma’s ankle instead, but it was enough to unsteady the boy and end the match regardless.
“Winner: Sukea,” Choza declared.
Sukea offered a hand to Genma, though his grip was rougher than intended as he hauled the boy to his feet. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you trying to go easy on me. Don’t.” he said, his voice firm. “Underestimating your opponent will get you killed.”
Genma winced, discomfort flashing in his eyes, for a moment, Sukea felt a brief pang of guilt but quickly pushed it aside. He knew his words were harsh but they were true. War was looming, and softening the lesson now wouldn’t help anyone. Genma had just been unlucky enough to catch one of his hidden sharp edges.
When it was time for Sukea to spar with Guy, the entire mood shifted. From the first clash of their fists, Guy came at him with a ferocity that Sukea could feel was the boy giving his all
Every move was an explosion of energy, each strike relentless and fast. Sukea had to stay focused, adjusting his pace to Guy’s speed. He found himself stumbling a bit, expecting his strikes to be more powerful than they were, but he couldn’t help but grin. There was something exhilarating about the challenge.
For every ounce of aggression Guy threw at him, Sukea met it head-on. Their movements became a feedback loop. It wasn’t the cleanest fight, but it was fun.
They kept going until the timer ran out. Admittedly, Sukea was doing exactly what he’d just criticized Genma for—holding back. He couldn’t let himself appear too strong, so he used Guy as a benchmark for his age group. And in the process, he was having a blast. The spar ended in a draw, both boys panting heavily, sweat dripping down their faces.
Genma, watching from the sidelines, gawked in disbelief. “Did you know he was this good at fighting?” he muttered loudly enough for Choza to hear.
Choza raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed.