Dead-fish eyes downcast, Kakashi trudged through Konoha so gloomy he could not even be bothered to open his beloved little orange book.
He had tried to force himself not to believe Mo Ke. Tell yourself it was all manipulation meant to push him away from the village. Tell yourself it was just a lie.
Kakashi loved Konoha like a first love. Konoha had answered with a slap.
And then the village showed him what true efficiency looked like.
At first light the Third Hokage convened an emergency assembly. He officially declared the Third Great Ninja War over and announced that a Kumogakure peace delegation would arrive in half a month, with a grand festival to follow.
Once the cheers died down, Hiruzen warned the townsfolk in a hard voice to stop spreading nonsense. Uzumaki Naruto was a poor orphaned child, not any reincarnated fox. The real Nine Tails had been wiped out three years ago by the Fourth.
To make the point theatrical, he somehow produced a giant fox head, dabbed in black paint until it looked convincingly monstrous.
He followed with sentences for a handful of ninja who had seeded the rumor mill at the start. Three years each. The crowd went silent as winter stone. People traded quick looks. Who ever said the kid was a demon fox? Not me. I even patted his head once when he was little.
Some still doubted. That was when the Konoha Police mobilized. The entire Uchiha force took to the streets, eyes sharp. Any whisper with the words demon fox drew a clean takedown and a walk to the cells for forty-nine days.
Twin pressures did the work. Civilians and rank-and-file ninja wilted fast. Family clans had already been briefed. The night before, clan heads dragged their loudmouths into meetings and tuned them up until the lesson stuck.
By the time Kakashi walked the market road he heard lines like I always thought that kid was quick and that golden-haired boys are always the hero in stories, how could he be a fox. The rumor had flipped in a day.
Debunking is hard for one person. When a power structure decides, it can be easier than starting the rumor.
Let it all burn. I am tired.
Kakashi dragged his feet. What had crushed his father into the grave, the thing heavier than the sky, had been brushed aside in Konoha by a few speeches and a stage prop.
Father, you were stronger than the Sannin. You were faithful. They called you the White Fang. What did any of it mean.
A green blur slapped him on the shoulder so hard he stumbled. He already knew the voice before he turned.
"Yo, Kakashi, my eternal rival! Why so gloomy? Come run five hundred laps around the village with me!"
He envied Gai for a beat. No shadows. No doubts. Maybe Father had been right. Maybe Gai really would surpass him.
Surpass. The word lit a fuse. In his mind, Gai's back overlapped with that terrifying red-haired youth's silhouette. A spark caught.
Right. If I become that strong, then I can do what is right and protect who I choose. If I become that strong, a single sentence from me would be enough to wash my father's name clean.
Most things are illusions. In this world, only strength is real.
On the cliff above Konoha, a lone figure began to climb again, one hand after the other, fingers grinding into stone.
Mo Ke did not take Naruto back to the shopping district. Trouble magnet. He sent a single message to the Third instead. Build me a house here by the training grounds. We will live on the edge of the village.
Hiruzen's eyes lit at the thought of that walking calamity not sleeping next to the Hokage's roof. He snapped his fingers. Yamato, Konoha's elite civil engineer, threw up a grand old-style mansion in a night and paid for it by flattening his chakra for two weeks. They even fenced off a plot.
As for the jinchuriki being whisked away, Hiruzen did not let the thought bite. He felt as bleak as Kakashi. What use was the fox when the man who wanted him could fold you with one hand.
Hiruzen was famous for taking things as they came. He learned from Shikaku and laid back. If the storm will not leave, at least let it settle on the outskirts. Even four Kage together would not cross that threshold now.
Lose the Nine Tails you could not safely use without risking the village. Gain a top tier force who would not help unless the village was truly dying. On balance, it almost felt like profit.
Profit, profit everywhere. Pity Danzō. With Mo Ke's attitude, even if the old man outlived Hiruzen he still would not sit in the Hokage's chair.
Hiruzen saw through Danzō like glass.
He still called ANBU and issued quiet orders.
Then he stood at the window and watched the streets grow bright and busy. Jiraiya. Tsunade. Come home. The old man cannot carry this alone.
Inside the grand house with its old-world beams, Naruto bounced from hall to hall, climbing, hopping, gasping at every corner. Mo Ke lounged on the couch with the television on and called the boy dramatic.
The land had been free, the price a protracted chakra hangover for Yamato. From the outside it looked imposing. Sell it and it would not fetch as much as Naruto's little place near the center ring.
Mo Ke had his quiet anyway. If he needed anything, he could just call out and the ANBU in the trees would fetch it. Turn surveillance into service.
"Pervert Mo Ke, when can I go out. I want to shop. I have been wearing the same thing for three years."
"Ask yourself. I already rewired your soul into shinigami format. When you convert your whole body into spiritons, you can walk out. A ghost in the street will give people heart attacks."
Souls worked differently here than in the world of death. In the shinobi lands, even ordinary folk could sometimes perceive a soul if it had not been pulled away. But without a body, souls were fragile.
Anyone who could mold chakra had a decent spirit by definition. In the other world that meant shinigami potential. Mo Ke had poured spiritual power into Kushina and rewrote her soul's core. The rest she had to grind herself.
He could not help grousing. Shiki Fujin yanks out a blue soul, Nagato's technique yanks out a blue soul, and during the Fourth War everyone could see souls and hug it out, yet no one's soul ever floats up on death. Did souls go straight into Pure Land from inside the corpse.
Pure Land would be a prize. Fire Country spoke of no reincarnation. The First and his age were all still there. Whoever could control Pure Land would sit on a well of power.
"You are hiding something from me. Why is my conversion so slow. I am only at a tenth."
"Big sis, it took me years."
"Who are you calling big sis, you creep. I am twenty-four."
"You have been dead three years. Twenty-seven."
"Shut up. Have you ever seen a dead person age. I am twenty-four."
She had him there. He bowed to the logic.
Dusk had deepened. Mo Ke stood and stretched. He had a night meeting to keep. When everyone had been leaving yesterday, he had wrapped a whisper in spiritual pressure and set an appointment.
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