Chapter 4: Curtain Falls—for Now
As the self-proclaimed sole inheritor of his mentor Tobirama's true will, Danzo, even in his twilight years, had never given up on becoming Hokage.
Konoha's White Fang—Hatake Sakumo—had long been the sharpest blade in the village. Yet, even so, Danzo had never intended to drive him to death.
Danzo's true goal was always to tarnish Sakumo's name, stripping him of the right to become Hokage. Ideally, once disgraced, Sakumo could be coerced into joining Root under the guise of serving the "greater good of Konoha"—becoming a weapon Danzo could wield himself. That was the perfect scenario he envisioned.
But now, Sakumo had taken his own life.
This development had spiraled far beyond what Danzo had anticipated. For a brief moment, even the seasoned master of manipulation found himself doubting his ears. But he quickly realized his subordinates would never dare fabricate something so serious.
Tch... So that's all your conviction amounted to, Sakumo? Danzo's eyes flashed with disappointment, as if Hatake Sakumo had been his most promising protégé. His words bore no hint of guilt—only scorn.
As always, the shameless have no bottom line.
For the sake of his own ambition, Danzo was prepared to do anything he deemed "necessary" or "right."
Now that Sakumo was dead, Danzo saw no reason to dwell on the matter. His attention shifted immediately to other affairs within the village.
As for the son—Hatake Kakashi, hailed as a genius—he was, after all, just an eight-year-old boy.
A fleeting thought passed through Danzo's mind about whether to bring Kakashi into Root. But there were more pressing matters at hand. Sakumo's death would ripple far beyond Konoha, shifting power balances across the entire shinobi world.
With that, even the idea of recruiting Kakashi was discarded—for now.
Meanwhile, Kakashi, unaware he had narrowly dodged a bullet, returned home.
By the time he reached the doorstep, the crowd that had once gathered had mostly dispersed. Only a few onlookers remained nearby, as if unable to believe that Konoha's White Fang had truly died, or perhaps still harboring ulterior motives.
Not sparing them a glance, Kakashi kept his face expressionless. He pushed open the door and stepped into the cold, empty house.
Alone again... just like in my last life.
His inner monologue carried a bitter edge.
But maybe that's for the best. No attachments. No weaknesses.
He quietly removed his mask, a wry smile flickering in his tired eyes.
As he passed through the hallway, he noticed that his father's body—once lying in the same room—was already gone.
That was to be expected. As a high-ranking shinobi, practically a senior figure in Konoha, Hatake Sakumo's corpse held immense strategic value—especially his brain.
The Hatake clan wasn't a noble family. In fact, by now, it was no longer even a proper clan. Only Sakumo and Kakashi remained. And now, only Kakashi.
As a mere child, Kakashi wouldn't be allowed to handle his father's remains.
A shinobi's body—especially one like Sakumo's—was considered the property of the village.
Kakashi cast just one glance toward the now-empty room before making his way toward his father's study.
There, he moved with practiced ease, reaching for a hidden switch embedded in the far corner of a bookshelf.
Click.
With a faint mechanical hum, the bookshelf rotated, revealing a narrow passage just wide enough for a single adult. For Kakashi's smaller frame, it was no challenge to slip through.
Beyond the entrance lay a dim, cramped room—its shelves lined with scrolls of varying size and color.
This was the true inheritance of the Hatake family.
Stored here were jutsu, genjutsu, taijutsu, forbidden techniques, and most importantly, generations' worth of notes and personal training insights—an irreplaceable treasury.
Compared to the vast repositories of noble clans or the village archives, this modest collection may have seemed paltry. But for an individual shinobi, it was more than enough.
And for Kakashi, only one thing truly mattered now—his father's legendary swordsmanship.
In the original timeline, it was never clear why Kakashi didn't inherit Sakumo's techniques. That mystery no longer concerned this version of him. The past was irrelevant.
The enemies of this world—the real monsters lurking in its darkest shadows—were not foes an ordinary ninja could face. To survive, Kakashi needed power. And fast.
There was no faster path than wielding the same blade that once terrified the entire shinobi world.
After a brief search, Kakashi's eyes lit up as he found a weathered scroll stained with hints of age.
Unfurling it, he saw what he hoped for—his father's meticulously updated training notes and foundational sword techniques, compiled over years of trial and battle.
As Hatake Sakumo's son, Kakashi had received some early training in these methods. But given his young age and undeveloped body, his progress had remained at the foundational stage.
Now, with his father gone, this scroll would be his only teacher.
It would be difficult. But compared to the path Sakumo had carved alone, this was still a blessing.
The groundwork was already laid. Even detailed annotations were included.
At least for now, all Kakashi needed to do... was follow the path set for him.
"First, I have to solidify the basics."
Gripping the scroll tightly, Kakashi whispered to himself, resolve hardening behind his eyes.