New Paths

Slowly, Kakashi began to regain consciousness. With each passing moment, he became aware of the dull, stabbing pain radiating through his body. He felt the field cot beneath him and the comforting warmth of a blanket wrapped around him. Around him lay a deep, soothing silence, accompanied by a familiar scent in the air that felt like a gentle embrace, calming his senses.

Kakashi took a moment to orient himself and piece together fragments of his memory. His thoughts swirled in chaotic disarray, like a storm that allowed no clarity. Finally, he stopped and took a deep breath. The steady rhythm of his breathing helped quell the unease within him. He knew it was crucial to stay composed and think clearly now.

Slowly, Kakashi pieced his memories back together. He thought of the mission, the diversion he had executed with his ninken, and the moment during his retreat when he realized he was being pursued—the hurried footsteps behind him. Then came the fall, tumbling down the steep incline, the rough earth scraping his skin raw. At the bottom, he had found himself surrounded by his pursuers. The cold, piercing stares of his enemies, the looming danger—but before they could attack, his father had appeared. And then...

Kakashi's eyes flew open as he sat up abruptly, ignoring the sharp protests of his injured body. In a single, overwhelming instant, the memories came flooding back. Sakumo—severely injured, blood pooling red on the ground. And himself—he had activated the Sharingan. Orochimaru had been there. He had seen everything: the fight, the Sharingan.

Despite the dizziness and throbbing pain, Kakashi resolutely pushed the blanket aside and swung his legs over the edge of the cot. His right shin was encased in a splint, tightly wrapped in bandages, and his head bore a similar dressing. He inspected his body with a practiced eye: bruises, countless cuts, and a clearly fractured leg. His chakra reserves were alarmingly low. No surprise there—the Sharingan had drained every last ounce of his energy.

But none of that mattered right now. His thoughts fixated on two things: What had happened to his father? And what had Orochimaru seen—or already shared? Determined, Kakashi forced his legs out of bed and stood, his balance wavering as his body protested. He froze suddenly, his gaze sweeping the tent. Something felt off. The Sharingan was deactivated, but that wasn’t all. This wasn’t the medical station. Every injured shinobi was always brought there—without exception. Yet, he found himself in his father’s tent.

Had Orochimaru already reported everything he had witnessed? Was this a precaution to monitor him more closely? If that was the case, Kakashi knew he was in serious trouble. His heart raced as he tried to think of a way out. How could he explain this? How could he justify what had happened—especially the Sharingan?

Kakashi closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to stay calm. Panicking wouldn’t help now. His father was injured, Orochimaru likely knew more than he should, and Kakashi himself was in a situation that was nearly impossible to explain. But none of that changed the fact that he needed to act. Carefully, he steadied himself on the edge of the cot to keep from losing his balance and took a few tentative steps.

His gaze wandered around the tent. It was sparsely furnished—a simple table, a stool, and in the corner stood Sakumo’s sword. The familiar sight calmed him slightly, but the unease within him only grew stronger. Why was he here? Why hadn’t they taken him to the medical station as usual?

Kakashi pressed his lips into a thin line, trying to focus his thoughts. If Orochimaru had betrayed him, he didn’t have much time. He needed to find out what was going on—and, most importantly, where his father was. But just as he was about to take his first step toward the tent’s entrance, he paused.

Of course, he was desperate to find out what had happened to his father—and what Orochimaru might have revealed. But another mystery gnawed at him just as fiercely: his Sharingan. How could it simply be gone? Kakashi felt a cold shiver run down his spine. It was impossible. He knew he couldn’t deactivate the Sharingan—he had never been able to. He wasn’t an Uchiha, and without their bloodline, he had never gained full control of the eye. It had always been active, a constant reminder of his burden and his struggle. But now? It was gone. Simply gone.

He pressed his hands against his temples, trying to think clearly. He hadn’t imagined it. The searing gaze of the Sharingan had been real, just as real as the power it had granted him—and the pain it had cost him. But why did everything feel so... empty now?

Kakashi closed his eyes, trying to focus on it—the strange absence of the Sharingan. But he had no idea how to approach the problem or what was even expected of him. His thoughts swirled in desperation as he searched inwardly for an answer. Slowly, he opened his eyes again, but nothing had changed. The Sharingan remained gone, as if it had never existed.

And that was what made the situation even more dangerous. Without control over it, the consequences could be catastrophic. What if it activated on its own? How could he hide it from others? An active Sharingan in the eye of a non-Uchiha would immediately draw attention—and questions to which he had no answers.

He clenched his hands into fists and took a deep breath. He couldn’t afford to waste time. Whatever was happening with the Sharingan, he needed to understand it as quickly as possible. If he couldn’t control it, it could land him in even deeper trouble than he was already in.

Before he could organize his thoughts further, the sound of footsteps reached his ears. Soft, steady steps approached the tent, accompanied by voices. Kakashi held his breath and listened carefully. Then he recognized them—familiar voices that eased some of his tension. One, however, stood out, and when he realized who it was, a weight lifted from his chest. Relief washed over him, even though it only lightened part of the burden he carried.

“Don’t worry, Shikato. I’m fine,” Sakumo said, his voice calm but firm, leaving no room for argument.

Shikato sighed heavily, his concern evident in the gesture. The two stopped outside the tent before Shikato spoke in a low but serious tone. “You’re still in pain, Sakumo. Don’t underestimate your injuries—that was way too close.”

“You know as well as I do that there’s too much to do right now. I don’t have time to sit back and relax,” Sakumo replied, his tone steady but resolute. After a brief pause, he added quietly, “Once everything is settled, I’ll rest. But right now... I need to check on Kakashi.” A note of worry crept into his voice as he finally admitted, “I’m far more concerned about him.” Without hesitation, he started moving again.

Before Kakashi could even react, the two shinobi pushed aside the tent flap and entered. Instantly, a sinking feeling settled in Kakashi’s stomach. What awaited him now? There was a good chance he’d have to answer questions—something that filled him with dread more than he cared to admit.

His gaze instinctively fell on his father. Sakumo was his only hope. Kakashi knew his father wouldn’t abandon him and would make sure he wasn’t cornered. But to truly take control of the situation, Kakashi needed to act quickly. It would be best to convince Sakumo to speak with him alone first.

Kakashi knew he had to tell his father everything—the whole truth, leaving nothing out. He trusted that Sakumo would believe him. Together, they could figure out a solution. His father wasn’t just a skilled warrior; he was also the solid foundation Kakashi could lean on in moments like this.

When Sakumo laid eyes on Kakashi, he came to an abrupt stop. For a moment, he said nothing, simply studying his son with a look that carried both worry and relief. Then he moved again, his steps deliberate yet gentle.

“What are you doing? You should be resting,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. Without further hesitation, he bent down, effortlessly lifted Kakashi, and carefully placed him back onto the field cot.

Kakashi couldn’t help but notice the slight grimace that flickered across his father’s face—a silent indication of the pain Sakumo was clearly still enduring. Yet, as always, Sakumo ignored his own suffering, devoting all his attention to his son.

Sakumo gently pulled the blanket over Kakashi, his movements calm and full of care. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he reached out and softly ran a hand through Kakashi’s silver hair. That small, familiar gesture, so comforting, managed to ease Kakashi’s tension for just a moment.

In the background, Shikato entered the tent, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze settled on Kakashi—steady, quiet, but piercing. Kakashi frowned slightly, unsure of how to interpret the Nara’s stance. Before he could dwell on it further, Sakumo drew his attention back to him.

“I’m so relieved you’re finally awake,” Sakumo began, his voice low and warm. “How are you feeling?” His expression was filled with concern but also with unmistakable relief, as if just the act of Kakashi waking up was enough to make everything else fade away for the time being.

Kakashi kept Shikato in his peripheral vision, aware of the man’s unwavering gaze that made him feel slightly unsettled. Still, he forced himself to remain calm and replied to his father in an even voice, “I think… considering the circumstances, I’m okay.”

After a brief pause, Kakashi asked, now focusing entirely on Sakumo, “How long was I unconscious?” There was both concern and a trace of impatience in his tone—he needed to piece together what had happened and what had transpired since.

Sakumo let out a quiet sigh, his eyes drifting momentarily into the distance before returning to his son. “Almost three days,” he finally said, his voice steady but tinged with an underlying worry. “We were afraid it might take you longer to wake up. Your injuries were serious…” He hesitated briefly, as if carefully weighing his words before continuing.

“Your leg was broken. The medics were able to set it, but you’ll need to rest—don’t overdo it.” His tone softened, though the seriousness remained. “You also suffered a concussion and multiple bruises. And your chakra… it was almost completely drained.” Sakumo looked at him intently, the faint lines around his eyes deepening.

Kakashi swallowed hard. Three days? He had been out of commission for that long? That meant Orochimaru had already had more than enough time to act—or to pass along whatever he had witnessed. Unconsciously, Kakashi clenched his fists under the blanket, his thoughts racing.

Shikato, who had remained silent until now, took a step closer, his arms crossing even more tightly over his chest. “You gave us quite a scare, Kakashi,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “But now that you’re awake, there are some things we need to address.” His gaze was unreadable, but Kakashi felt the weight of his words settle heavily on his shoulders.

Sakumo raised a hand, as if to hold Shikato back. “Let him rest first. There’s time,” he said calmly but firmly. Kakashi felt his father’s support like a shield, yet he knew this reprieve was only temporary. Sooner or later, he would have to provide answers—and he wasn’t sure he had any yet.

But Kakashi couldn’t afford to wait any longer. Every second of uncertainty gnawed at him. He needed to know what Orochimaru had said and what had happened after his collapse. If the Sannin had revealed anything, Kakashi had to find out—immediately. And he had to speak with his father before things spiraled out of control.

A lump formed in his throat as he thought about how narrowly they had both escaped death. It was his fault they had ended up in that situation. His fault his father had been so gravely injured, so close to dying. Kakashi felt the weight of that responsibility pressing down on him like an unbearable burden. He had put Sakumo through all of this, and now he owed it to his father to uncover the truth and find a way to make it right—no matter the cost.

“What happened?” Kakashi asked, his voice remarkably calm. He forced himself to suppress any uncertainty, determined to betray no emotion.

Shikato let out a soft sigh and stepped closer to the bed. “Orochimaru found you both at the last moment and prevented things from getting worse,” he explained, his tone measured but serious. “That’s all I know. He wasn’t exactly forthcoming when he brought you back to camp. After that, he immediately returned to the front lines to support the troops.”

Kakashi frowned, his eyebrows lifting slightly as he blurted out without thinking, “That’s all he said?” His tone was a mix of surprise and disbelief. It was hard to imagine Orochimaru acting without saying more.

Shikato raised an eyebrow, studying Kakashi with an expression that combined contemplation and faint skepticism. “No, that’s all he said,” he replied slowly, as if trying to analyze Kakashi’s reaction. His gaze then shifted to Sakumo. “At least, that’s all he told me or anyone else. Why do you ask?”

Kakashi forced himself to organize his thoughts, even as the questions in his mind swirled like a storm. It didn’t make sense for Orochimaru to remain silent. The Sannin wasn’t exactly known for his restraint—especially not when he held information that could grant him an advantage.

The first thought that came to Kakashi’s mind was even more unsettling than the idea of Orochimaru already revealing everything. Perhaps the Sannin was deliberately staying quiet, biding his time—waiting for the perfect moment. Or worse, he had already devised a plan. Kakashi’s stomach twisted. Orochimaru’s silence wasn’t reassuring. It was the calm before a storm Kakashi didn’t want to face.

Orochimaru had ties to Danzo—that connection wasn’t a secret. Maybe he intended to keep the information about the Sharingan under wraps until he returned to the village, where he could hand it directly to Danzo. It was a cunning, manipulative plan—one that suited Orochimaru perfectly. This way, he could keep a low profile while inching closer to Kakashi, avoiding any undue attention from the rest of the village.

One thing was certain: if it became known that a non-Uchiha possessed the Sharingan, it would cause an uproar. Not only would the Hokage and the village elders demand an explanation for how it was possible—the Uchiha clan itself would also demand answers. And they wouldn’t do so politely; they would insist, forcefully. Kakashi could vividly imagine the consequences. The clan would see it as an insult, perhaps even an attack on their legacy. It could even escalate into a political conflict—a thought that was anything but reassuring.

Kakashi knew this was far from a harmless situation. Having Orochimaru and Danzo as adversaries in this game was bad enough. But the prospect of antagonizing the Uchiha as well sent a chill down his spine.

When Kakashi returned to the village after the mission at the Kannabi Bridge, he had felt the palpable resentment of the Uchiha clan. The fact that a non-Uchiha wielded the Sharingan was seen by many as an affront. Only Fugaku’s level-headedness and firm leadership had prevented the situation from escalating into open hostility.

It was only much later that Kakashi understood why Minato had been so adamant about keeping a close eye on him. At the time, he had thought it was solely due to Obito’s death. But that was only part of the truth. His sensei had also been deeply concerned that someone from the Uchiha clan might attempt to take back the Sharingan by force. Minato had wanted to protect Kakashi.

In the end, it was Fugaku’s foresight that kept the situation from spiraling out of control. Even Fugaku, who embodied the pride of the Uchiha, was wise enough to avoid internal conflict so soon after the war’s end. Kakashi knew that Fugaku’s prudence had saved his life more than once. Yet despite this, the tension between him and the Uchiha remained a constant shadow, one that would follow him in the years to come.

The biggest difference now, however, was that there was no explanation for why Kakashi had the Sharingan. Back then, the Uchiha had refrained from asking too many questions because there was a story that provided an acceptable explanation. Now, everything was different. Without a clear answer, they would quickly suspect that Kakashi had somehow “stolen” the Sharingan. It was unthinkable that they would simply accept its existence without question.

Of course, Sakumo would never stand idly by. He would do anything to protect his son, even if it meant standing against the clan and the village. But the consequences would be catastrophic. An open conflict within Konoha would not only threaten the fragile balance but also leave the village more vulnerable in the midst of this war.

Kakashi shook his head slightly, keeping his expression composed even as the tension was written across his face. “I barely remember the details,” he said in a calm voice, though the words tore at him inside. “I thought Orochimaru might have said something to shed light on the situation.” With this explanation, he sank deeper into the pillow, deliberately adopting a relaxed posture to avoid raising suspicion.

Before any further questions could arise, Kakashi deftly changed the subject. “Was the diversion successful?” His voice was measured, as if he were simply redirecting attention to the mission. It was a question that demonstrated both interest and professionalism, while also serving as a quiet attempt to steer the conversation away.

Sakumo gave a faint smile, a mixture of pride and weariness, and nodded. “Yes, it was. Thanks to your efforts, we were able to dismantle the enemy’s camp without significant losses. It’s given us an important advantage. At last, we’re making progress again.” His voice was steady, though it carried the weight of a man who had seen far too much.

He continued, "The first scout teams have already advanced to secure the area. In the meantime, we're holding our position here and preparing to send in the first larger units." Sakumo tried to emphasize the positive aspects, but Kakashi couldn’t miss what lay behind his father’s words. The faint smile on Sakumo's lips couldn’t hide the deep worry in his eyes.

Despite the significant progress they had made, there was still a long road ahead. The victory was only a small step in a much larger game. Kakashi knew that the voices of dissent against his father likely hadn’t quieted. Even a success like this diversionary maneuver wouldn’t completely silence the doubts and criticism surrounding Sakumo’s decisions.

He had hesitated—and in a time when hesitation was seen as weakness. Worse, he had left his post at the front to rush to his son’s aid. For some, that might have been an unforgivable decision, a betrayal of the rigid principles of the Shinobi Code.

Before Kakashi could ask any more questions, Sakumo stood and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. His voice was calm, though there was a faint sense of urgency in his words.

"Rest, Kakashi," he said gently but firmly. "Shikato and I need to plan the next steps. Once the troops are organized and deployed, we’ll return to the village together. You’ll have the chance to recover there. After that, we’ll figure out what comes next."

Sakumo's gaze grew more serious for a moment. "Then we’ll also need to talk about what happened on the way to the front."

Kakashi suppressed the urge to roll his eyes in irritation. In his view, there were far more pressing matters than dwelling on whatever punishment might await him. His father had hinted at sending him back to the Academy, but Kakashi was fairly certain that was an empty threat—or at least, he hoped so.

Yet there was something else weighing on Kakashi’s mind. He hadn’t missed the concerned glance Shikato had thrown his father—a look that said more than words ever could. Kakashi could read the silent worry clearly and had the distinct feeling that Shikato shared the same fear he did:

Sakumo was ignoring his own injuries. He was trying to appear strong, as he always did, but Kakashi knew his father might easily push himself too far. It was typical of him—typical of the "White Fang" of Konoha, who always placed himself last as long as he could protect others.

Kakashi had seen it many times before, his father pushing beyond his limits, and it had always left a bitter taste in his mouth. The thought that Sakumo might exhaust himself again made the concern in Kakashi churn restlessly. This time, he didn’t want to just stand by. This time, he had to find a way to support his father—whether Sakumo allowed it or not.

Just as Sakumo was about to turn to Shikato, Kakashi reached for his wrist. The sudden contact made Sakumo pause, and he turned back to his son with a questioning look. Kakashi gazed up at him, his expression serious and filled with concern.

"I'm sorry that you got hurt because of me," Kakashi began in a quiet but earnest voice. He hesitated for a moment before adding, even more softly, "Please... take care of yourself and get some rest too."

For a moment, Sakumo looked surprised before his expression softened. A gentle smile crossed his face, one that conveyed far more than words could. "You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine, and I’ll take care of myself."

His eyes briefly flicked to Shikato, who silently understood and gave a slight nod before stepping out of the tent. The air grew still, the only sound being the faint rustling of the tent walls as Sakumo slowly sat back down on the edge of Kakashi’s bed. Gently, he took Kakashi’s hand in his, his movements calm and deliberate.

"Listen to me," he began, his voice firm but full of affection. "It wasn’t your fault that I got hurt. You executed your mission brilliantly, and I’m truly proud of you."

He paused for a moment, his gaze steady on Kakashi, serious yet filled with warmth. "But I could never have left you alone. It was my decision to step in front of the bomb and protect you. I knew the risks, and I accept them."

Sakumo lowered his head slightly, as though searching for the right words, before adding quietly, "I just wish I could have prevented it. I never wanted to put you in a situation like that."

Kakashi could clearly hear the pain in Sakumo’s voice, and it was hard for him to imagine the position he had placed his father in. It had been his own plan—he was the one who had volunteered for the diversion. At the time, the only thing that mattered to him was helping Sakumo and countering the growing dissent against him.

But now, looking back on the events, Kakashi was beginning to understand what that decision had truly meant. He had put his father in danger, forced him into a situation that could have easily cost him his life. Kakashi felt the weight of that responsibility pressing heavily on his shoulders.

Back then, he hadn’t thought about what it would mean for Sakumo to let him go. He had only wanted one thing: to protect his father from facing another fate like before—being ostracized and judged by the village. He hadn’t wanted Sakumo to break under the burden of his choices again.

Sakumo gently let go of Kakashi’s hand, but his smile remained, warm and patient. "By the way," he began, a hint of curiosity in his tone, "I just remembered—there was something you wanted to tell me before we were attacked. What was it?"

Kakashi felt his heart skip for a moment as he remembered what his father was referring to. But he decided it was better not to tell Sakumo anything for now. Until he understood the truth about the Sharingan or what Orochimaru was really planning, he didn’t want to drag his father into this unnecessarily. Kakashi was determined to handle things on his own—no matter how difficult it might be.

With a convincing blend of surprise and feigned thoughtfulness, he lifted his head. “Really?” he asked, making an effort to sound as innocent as possible. “I can’t remember anymore. Maybe it wasn’t anything important.”

Sakumo furrowed his brow slightly, as if weighing the answer, but eventually he relented and leaned back. “Hmm… maybe. There was a lot happening in that moment anyway,” he said, his tone calm, though his gaze lingered on Kakashi with a probing edge.

Kakashi forced a small smile, even though he knew his father could likely see through him. Sakumo knew him better than Kakashi often wanted to admit, and his silence could reveal just as much as his words. But for now, at least, Sakumo seemed willing to let the matter rest.

“I just hope you’ll tell me someday if you remember,” Sakumo added with a gentle smile as he rose to his feet. “Rest up. We’ll figure out the rest when you’re ready.”

Kakashi gave a faint nod, watching silently as his father left the tent. Only after Sakumo’s heavy footsteps faded and the stillness returned did he let his head sink back into the pillow. With a deep breath, he tried to release the tension gripping his body, but the lump in his throat remained stubbornly in place.

Slowly, he slid further down into the bed, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. He stared up at the fabric ceiling of the tent for a long moment, as if it might somehow offer him answers. Finally, he raised his hands to his face, his fingers burying themselves in his hair.

Stay calm. Think. But that was easier said than done. His thoughts were a tangled mess—flashes of the attack, the inexplicable activation of the Sharingan, Orochimaru, and his father’s injuries all knotted together into an overwhelming web.

There was so much to do, so many problems to solve, and yet he felt paralyzed. Every attempt to form a clear plan was interrupted by another issue surfacing before he could finish sorting the first.

Kakashi took another deep breath, fighting against the rising panic threatening to overtake him. One thing at a time, he reminded himself, even though his body felt heavy and drained.

He had the distinct feeling that time was slipping away from him, yet he was powerless to act immediately. The pressure weighed on him like an invisible burden, but Kakashi knew giving up wasn’t an option. I have to do this, he thought, slowly clenching his hands into fists. I don’t have a choice.

***********

Almost two days passed in which seemingly nothing happened, while Kakashi’s inner turmoil steadily grew. He lay on his cot, a book in his hands, but his eyes barely skimmed the lines. Instead, his thoughts kept drifting back to the unresolved questions that had been haunting him for days.

At the other end of the tent, his father sat poring over maps and reports, working through strategies and crafting new plans. The atmosphere between them was quiet, but Kakashi could feel the tension in the air. It was a silence that weighed heavily on him.

Over the past few days, he had tried repeatedly to find answers, but all he managed to achieve was a growing sense of helplessness. The Sharingan hadn’t resurfaced, and no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t make sense of why Orochimaru had stayed silent.

One possibility kept creeping into his mind, and he liked it less each time he considered it: Orochimaru might intend to report this to Danzo. The thought made Kakashi swallow hard. He knew all too well how ruthless Danzo was and what it could mean if the Sannin shared this knowledge with him.

He closed the book and let it fall carelessly onto the blanket. His gaze wandered to the tent entrance, where the fabric flaps moved gently in the breeze. Each moment of waiting felt as if it was pulling him deeper into a web of uncertainty and fear. Kakashi knew he couldn’t go on like this forever—he needed to act before it was too late. But how?

He felt trapped in a dead end. Every fiber of his being urged him to move forward, to find answers and craft a plan—yet he was stuck. To make matters worse, his father spent nearly every free moment by his side. Sakumo barely left him alone, and while Kakashi appreciated his father’s care, the constant presence was stifling, leaving him no room to think clearly.

He had barely a moment to himself, no chance to organize his thoughts or plan his next steps. Worse still, he couldn’t risk experimenting further with the Sharingan. Since its awakening, there had been no signs that it would activate again. The uncertainty gnawed at him.

But it wasn’t just the mystery of the Sharingan weighing on him—his concern for his father was just as heavy. Over the past few days, Sakumo had barely taken a break. Instead of resting, he had thrown himself obsessively into his work, studying maps and refining strategies as though the entire weight of the war rested on his shoulders.

Kakashi could see that his father was exhausted, even if Sakumo would never admit it. The small signs—the shadows under his eyes, the fleeting moments when he clutched his side—did not escape Kakashi’s notice.

He knew it wouldn’t be long before the plans were finalized and the troops would mobilize. After that, they would return to the village. Kakashi clung to the hope that Sakumo would finally allow himself to rest then. But part of him doubted it. His father wasn’t the type to step back while there was still work to be done—even if it cost him his health.

Just as Kakashi was about to sink deeper into his thoughts, he was startled by the faint rustling at the tent’s entrance. Shikato stepped inside, his face marked by a serious expression. Both Sakumo and Kakashi immediately turned to look at him.

Sakumo, who was bent over his plans, straightened slightly, casting a brief glance at Nara before turning back to his documents. His voice remained calm and attentive as he asked, "What is it, Shikato? Has something happened?"

Shikato let out a quiet sigh and stepped further into the tent, his serious expression unchanged. "You asked to be informed immediately once the first scouting parties returned," he began steadily.

Sakumo lifted his gaze from the papers, his eyes sharp and alert, and gave a silent nod, signaling Shikato to continue.

"The first group just arrived and reported in," Shikato continued, his tone measured but with a hint of urgency. "The enemy appears to have retreated, likely to regroup. This gives us a critical opportunity. If we act quickly, we could deploy the first troops today and weaken their position before they’ve fully reorganized."

Sakumo leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting thoughtfully over the map in front of him, his fingers tracing the inked edges. A moment of silence passed before he finally gave a decisive nod. "Alright. Inform the unit and make sure they’re fully briefed."

His gaze shifted, locking onto Shikato with calm determination audible in his voice. "If everything proceeds as planned, we should be able to return to the village tomorrow. I trust our replacements will arrive today."

"I’ll handle it," Shikato replied, though his expression grew heavier as he added, "but there’s something else."

Sakumo raised an interested eyebrow, slowly looking up from the map. Kakashi, already sitting up straighter, placed the book from his lap aside, curiosity flickering in his gaze.

"Orochimaru has also returned," Shikato continued, his voice steady, though there was an unmistakable weight behind it, "and he wishes to speak with you. He’s waiting outside."

The words hung in the air for a moment, and Kakashi felt a wave of tension ripple through him.

Kakashi swallowed hard, an uncomfortable tightness forming in his throat. As he sat up further, he felt beads of sweat gathering on his brow. One unsettling question burned in his mind: Does Orochimaru want to tell Sakumo something?

Sakumo rose slowly from his chair, a faint, almost reassuring smile playing on his lips, though the cautious calm in his eyes remained unmistakable. "Send him in," he said, his voice steady and firm. "I was planning to thank him anyway."

Shikato gave a curt nod before leaving the tent without another word. The tension in the room seemed to grow thicker with each passing second, and Kakashi felt his nervousness mounting. Almost unconsciously, his hands brushed over his thighs—a quiet attempt to calm himself. At the very least, he was now alert and present, which gave him a sliver of comfort. It meant he had the opportunity to speak with his father immediately—perhaps even with Orochimaru himself.

A thought began to take shape in Kakashi’s mind: if he and his father confronted the Sannin together, perhaps they could reach an agreement—find a way to silence him. Kakashi knew it was a risky move, but he had no other choice. One thing, however, was certain: Orochimaru, enigmatic and unpredictable as he was, respected Sakumo. And that was something they could use.

The moment Orochimaru entered the tent, the air seemed to shift, thickening with an almost tangible presence. His gaze swept slowly through the space, as though he were cataloging every corner, every detail. Finally, his eyes settled on Kakashi.

Kakashi felt his shoulders tense involuntarily, but he forced himself to meet the Sannin’s gaze.

Orochimaru’s expression betrayed nothing at first—his face was a mask of perfect composure. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a subtle, dangerous smirk that sent a chill down Kakashi’s spine. Before Kakashi could react or interpret the gesture, Orochimaru turned his attention to Sakumo with fluid grace.

Sakumo greeted Orochimaru with a warm smile and a polite nod. “Welcome back,” he said in a calm, steady voice, pushing his papers aside.

Orochimaru returned the nod and stepped closer to the table. His eyes flickered over the scattered documents, as though absorbing their contents in an instant. “It seems you’ve already been planning your next moves,” he remarked, his voice low and almost flattering.

His gaze shifted back to Sakumo, a glimmer of calculation flashing in his golden eyes. “The attack on their camp caught them completely off guard. They’ve retreated far, likely to reorganize. It would be wise to capitalize on this opportunity and strike swiftly,” he added, his words smooth and deliberate, like silk gliding over a blade.

Sakumo nodded thoughtfully, his eyes fixed on the maps before him. “It does seem to be our best chance at the moment,” he said, his tone calm but resolute. A heavy silence fell over the tent as Orochimaru stood motionless. Kakashi couldn’t tear his eyes away from the Sannin, searching for any sign—any flicker of emotion or intent—but Orochimaru’s face remained an impenetrable mask. His cold, intense gaze lingered on Sakumo, unreadable and unnerving.

Sakumo cleared his throat softly, his voice firm as he spoke again. “I want to thank you, Orochimaru,” he began, his eyes briefly meeting the Sannin’s before returning to the maps. “Thank you for saving Kakashi and me. Without your intervention, we might not be here now.”

Orochimaru raised an eyebrow and stepped closer to the table. His fingers began tapping rhythmically against the rough wood surface, as though drumming to an invisible beat. The tension in the room seemed to mount with each tap, and Kakashi felt a knot tightening in his stomach. Would the Sannin reveal everything now?

Kakashi forced himself to remain calm, even as his heart raced. In his mind, he prepared feverishly, searching for the right words—the words that might protect both his father and himself.

Orochimaru’s gaze eventually shifted to Kakashi, locking onto him with an intensity that made him feel exposed, as though the Sannin could see straight through him. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. But instead of looking away, Kakashi squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and held the piercing gaze. His gray eyes narrowed slightly, silently conveying a steely resolve.

Orochimaru betrayed no emotion as he turned back to Sakumo. “It was pure luck—nothing worth mentioning,” he said dismissively, a cold smile flickering across his lips. He raised a hand and waved it off as if the matter were of no consequence.

“There wasn’t much left to do, after all,” he added, his tone carrying a faint, almost mocking edge.

Kakashi’s eyes widened briefly as he caught the silent challenge in Orochimaru’s gaze. It was unmistakable—the Sannin knew. His eyes conveyed far more than his words ever could, and Kakashi felt a cold knot tightening in his stomach. Instinctively, he clenched his jaw, refusing to look away, his posture tense and his eyes flashing with defiance. It was a silent warning—but one that Orochimaru appeared entirely unfazed by.

The Sannin remained unperturbed by Kakashi’s stance. Instead, the faintest hint of amusement played on his lips before he turned his attention back to Sakumo, as if nothing had transpired.

Sakumo frowned slightly, his eyes narrowing as he fixed Orochimaru with a questioning look. “What do you mean, there wasn’t much left to do?” he asked, his voice calm but edged with a note of suspicion. His brows knit together, betraying his unease.

A seemingly friendly, yet undeniably insincere smile spread across Orochimaru’s face. “Your boy fought valiantly,” he began in a tone that bordered on praise but carried an undercurrent of subtle mockery. He let the words hang in the air, drawing out the tension like a blade poised above their heads.

Kakashi felt his entire body tighten in response. His fists clenched unconsciously, and he shifted forward uneasily, as though he might leap into the conversation at any moment. His throat felt constricted, and a prickling unease churned in his stomach.

The seconds stretched into an agonizing eternity as Orochimaru paused, his silence unbearable. Kakashi’s heartbeat thundered in his chest, so loud he was certain it must be audible to everyone in the room. Panic flickered in his eyes as he stared at the Sannin like a wolf sizing up a dangerous adversary.

“Of course, he didn’t stand much of a chance,” Orochimaru finally continued, his tone tinged with feigned regret. “But he bought you precious time. If not for that, I likely would have arrived too late. I must admit, I was impressed by his fighting spirit.” His words sounded almost complimentary, but the subtle edge in his voice made Kakashi flinch internally.

Orochimaru’s gaze remained fixed on Sakumo, his demeanor as composed and calculated as ever. Yet it was Kakashi who couldn’t hold back any longer. His eyes widened in shock, and he shifted restlessly on the cot, the tension radiating from him palpable.

He stared at the Sannin in disbelief. Orochimaru had lied. The man, who had seen and understood everything, was deliberately withholding the truth. Kakashi could hardly process it. Why? What was his purpose? A man like Orochimaru, who never missed an opportunity to use information to his advantage, was now keeping silent about the biggest secret of all.

Relief washed over Kakashi, mingling uneasily with suspicion. Orochimaru’s silence was anything but altruistic—that much was clear. It meant he had a plan. And Kakashi knew all too well that whatever Orochimaru was scheming, it could only spell trouble.

Sakumo’s eyes widened in surprise, and his gaze immediately snapped to Kakashi. For a moment, silence hung in the air, broken only by the sudden sharpness in Sakumo’s voice. “You didn’t tell me you fought.”

Kakashi glanced quickly at his father, his thoughts racing like wildfire through his mind. He forced himself to suppress the rising panic and maintain his composure. “I…” he began, but the words caught in his throat as his eyes briefly darted to Orochimaru, who was watching him with an unsettlingly calm expression.

The quiet game the Sannin was playing made Kakashi’s heart race faster, but he steadied himself and turned his focus back to Sakumo. “I… I can’t really remember what happened after the explosion,” he finally lied, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Orochimaru interjected, folding his arms and leaning casually against the table.

“He barely even realized I’d arrived,” he added, his tone smooth and unhurried. Kakashi felt a knot tighten in his stomach as the Sannin continued. “By the time I reached him, he was already unconscious.”

A cold shiver ran down Kakashi’s spine, and it grew harder for him to maintain his outward calm. Inside, a tempest of unanswered questions raged, and the pressure to uncover the truth felt almost unbearable.

His gaze remained fixed on Orochimaru, whose impenetrable expression betrayed nothing of his true thoughts. Yet Kakashi could feel it—there was a sinister intent lingering in the air, hidden beneath the Sannin’s measured words and controlled demeanor.

Orochimaru was planning something. Of that, Kakashi was certain. The possibility that he might involve Danzo gnawed at him like an unforgiving shadow, relentless and consuming.

Sakumo’s eyes shifted back to Orochimaru, his brow furrowing slightly in concern. After a moment, he nodded slowly, as if weighing the Sannin’s words. “That makes sense,” he murmured softly, his gaze falling momentarily to the ground. “Kakashi did suffer a pretty severe concussion.”

But Kakashi could hear the subtle undertones in his father’s voice—the unspoken guilt that clung to Sakumo like an invisible burden. It was clear that this situation had shaken him deeply, far more than he would ever admit.

Seeking to shake himself from his thoughts, Sakumo suddenly raised his head, speaking with a firm tone, though his eyes still betrayed his inner conflict. “Why were you even there?” he asked, fixing Orochimaru with a piercing stare.

Orochimaru straightened from the table, his gaze briefly sweeping across the tent as if searching for the right words. Finally, he turned partially to the side, his voice dropping to an unusually quiet, almost contemplative tone. “Even if the boy does get on my nerves from time to time, he’s still my student,” he began, a faint hint of honesty in his words that momentarily threw Kakashi off balance.

Then Orochimaru paused, as if carefully weighing his next words, before continuing with a faint twitch of his lips: “I needed to ensure he could handle himself.” His voice was once again composed.

After a brief silence, he added in a tone that almost resembled praise, “Of course, I should have known you’d never leave him on his own.” His gaze shifted to Sakumo, though the vigilant, predatory glint in his eyes remained.

Sakumo studied Orochimaru with a piercing stare, as if trying to see past the Sannin’s facade. Kakashi, too, focused intently on Orochimaru, his mind whirling with thoughts and theories. Even during their journey to the front, Kakashi had suspected that Orochimaru—though in his own cryptic, reserved way—might harbor a certain fondness for him. It wasn’t as obvious or warm as Minato’s care, but there were subtle hints.

The memory of Orochimaru’s reaction when he saved Kakashi from the explosion lingered in his mind. It had been excessive—more than necessary, more than expected. And Kakashi had a hunch as to why. It had to have something to do with Tsunade’s brother, Nawaki. The boy’s death had deeply affected Orochimaru, more than he had ever admitted. Perhaps Kakashi reminded him of Nawaki—a young ninja full of potential, caught in the heart of war, surrounded by danger.

But even if that were true, it didn’t explain why Orochimaru was staying silent now. Why had he lied about what really happened? Was he holding something back to protect Kakashi? Or was Kakashi misinterpreting the situation entirely? Could Orochimaru’s silence be part of a larger, incomprehensible plan? The idea that Orochimaru might actually want to protect him felt strange to Kakashi—and yet, it lingered, just out of reach.

Before Kakashi could sort through the whirlwind of his thoughts, Orochimaru abruptly turned fully away from them. His voice was cool and detached as he announced, “I’ve heard you’re returning to the village tomorrow. I’ll be joining you.”

Sakumo met Orochimaru’s gaze and gave a slow nod. “I’ll let you know when we’re ready to depart.” His tone was calm, almost overly polite. The Sannin gave a curt nod, then turned and began to walk away without another word.

But just before Orochimaru could leave the tent, Sakumo stopped him with a brief remark. “Orochimaru?”

The Sannin halted, casting a cold, inquisitive glance over his shoulder. “Yes?”

For a moment, Sakumo hesitated, as if searching for the right words. Finally, he spoke softly, though his voice carried genuine gratitude. “Thank you. For everything. Especially for looking out for my son.” His eyes stayed firmly on Orochimaru, and a faint, almost apologetic smile played on his lips. “Perhaps I misjudged you.”

Orochimaru paused, motionless like a statue, before slowly turning to the side. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, yet it carried a cutting sharpness that penetrated the room: "You shouldn't be so sure of yourself, Sakumo. Trust your instincts instead." Without another explanation or a glance back, Orochimaru vanished from the tent.

Sakumo and Kakashi watched Orochimaru for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Kakashi sighed quietly and lowered his gaze to his hands. After this conversation, he felt like he understood the situation even less. It didn’t help him organize his thoughts or solve any of his problems—in fact, it felt like everything had become even more complicated. The Sannin was a mystery, and Kakashi had no idea how to properly assess him. He needed to talk to someone about it. Once they were back in the village, he would have to go to Minato and tell him what had happened. He just hoped his sensei would still speak to him. An apology would be unavoidable.

Sakumo turned to Kakashi, slowly approached him, and sank down beside him with a deep breath. "I suppose I should really be grateful that Orochimaru is your sensei," he said, looking thoughtful. "It seems like he's changed."

Kakashi nodded silently and continued staring at his hands. Maybe his father was right—maybe Orochimaru had actually changed through his role as Kakashi’s sensei, or at least something within him was beginning to shift. But Kakashi could hardly imagine that this would be enough to fundamentally change Orochimaru. Most likely, the Sannin was still pursuing his own secret experiments and continuing to work with Danzo.

Sakumo draped an arm around Kakashi and gently pulled him closer. Kakashi let it happen and rested his head on his father's shoulder. It was undeniable that this closeness helped him organize his thoughts and emotions, giving him a bit of clarity. There was still so much to think about and plan. Above all, he needed to find a way to speak to Orochimaru alone—and hopefully before they returned to the village.