The Hatake compound was no longer silent; it was a pressurized chamber of electrical energy and frantic, solitary effort. Kakashi had sealed himself off from the world, the thick outer walls of his home serving as a symbolic barricade against the pity and judgment of Konoha. His immediate surroundings were a forgotten, overgrown training ground behind his house—a field where the earth was now scarred with deep, black furrows, the result of raw, unchecked electrical power.
He had dedicated the last week to mastering the technique he had salvaged from the forbidden section of his clan's scrolls—an A-rank Lightning Release Ninjutsu that fused a continuous, high-intensity current with any physical weapon. He named the technique Raiton: Kiba (Lightning Release: Fang), a cynical tribute to his father. The White Fang was a legend of light and mercy.
Currently, his father's short sword was sheathed, replaced by a standard, durable Konoha-issue katana, its steel blade humming, shimmering under a sheath of brilliant blue-white lightning. The agonizing internal strain required to hold the flow steady felt like forcing a raging river of chakra through a thin, brittle pipe.
"Control. Precision. Efficiency."
Kakashi's mantra was a low, guttural sound, barely audible over the crackling energy. He launched himself at a thick cedar tree, a massive trunk that had stood for generations. The Kiba struck not with a clang, but with a tearing, burning sound—a sound of matter violently giving way. The lightning-sheathed blade extended its reach by nearly a 36 inch, a jagged, electric halo surrounding the steel. The tree, thick enough to withstand a small fireball, was sliced in two, the separation instantaneous and the wood around the cut was perfectly smooth, the edges smoking and fused into glassy charcoal.
He repeated the exercise. Another target—a massive granite boulder—was attacked with a series of blindingly fast, precise strikes. The blade sliced through the rock as if it were air, focusing the lightning force into an overwhelmingly sharp point, offering zero resistance. Kakashi cut it repeatedly until it lay in a pile of perfectly cut, geometric fragments. It was an overwhelming display of raw, focused destructive force.
He pushed the technique, holding the charge, forcing the chakra flow to maintain the agonizingly perfect equilibrium required to keep the lightning stable around the metal. Kakashi's focus was inhuman; his breathing was shallow, precise, allowing him to cycle air with minimal distraction. His chakra control was already legendary for his age—a natural gift he honed into a relentless, energy-saving art form. He had virtually zero chakra leakage; every particle of energy went exactly where it was intended.
Yet, despite this surgical efficiency, a dark, heavy fatigue began to crash against his mind. The feeling was not exhaustion from muscle strain, but a deep, central emptiness, the instantaneous draining of his core reserves.
He glanced down at the katana. The bright blue light around the blade was starting to flicker, destabilizing into erratic, dangerous sparks. The technique was failing.
1 minute, 57 seconds.
With a sharp, involuntary gasp, Kakashi released the flow, and the electrical charge vanished. He staggered back, his body instantly drenched in cold sweat, his vision blurring slightly. He felt utterly hollow, a shell waiting to be refilled. He leaned against the rough bark of a surviving tree, his knees shaking uncontrollably.
Insufficient. The word echoed in the sterile chamber of his mind. Pathetically insufficient.
He sank to the ground, legs crossed in the familiar meditation posture, but his eyes remained open, sharp, and calculating. He didn't allow himself the luxury of simply resting; the immediate failure was now the subject of rigorous analysis.
I managed 1 minute, 57 seconds. Even with perfect control, the C-rank Kiba consumed approximately 85% of my total chakra reserves. This was the objective data of his physical limit. This is unacceptable.
His father had failed because he was emotionally weak, but in a practical sense, his mission failed because he chose to abandon it. Kakashi understood that true power meant never having to make that choice. True power meant completing the mission in any way desired, and even if he abandoned it, nobody would be left alive to question the choice. The Kiba was an amazing jutsu that gave him the power to cut through anything on the battlefield, and its hand signs were easy enough that a little practice would allow for fast activation and deactivation. Still, its crippling consumption left him vulnerable—a flaw he could not tolerate. It was unacceptable that such a low-costing, less destructive jutsu, compared to other Lightning Release Ninjutsu, drained so much of his chakra reserve.
My physical growth will increase my reserves naturally, he thought, his consciousness focused inward on the agonizingly slow churn of his chakra network. But I will never have the chakra reserve capacity of other clans like Senju, Uzumaki, or Uchiha, or even a normal shinobi with naturally large reserves. He needed to breach the wall of natural capacity. Relying on nature will be foolishness. I must find another way to increase my chakra limit.
He then recalled the logs he had kept meticulously over the last week. His focus, intensified by grief and rage, had subtly sped up his natural recovery rate. He calculated the numbers: on the first day, recovering from a similar high-drain jutsu took 45 minutes; today, it was down to 43 minutes and 35 seconds—some measurable improvement of 1 minutes and 25 seconds over the period.
If this process of draining and restoration continues, the recovery time will become so negligible that, theoretically, it would grant the appearance of infinite chakra flow. I could use smaller, less costly jutsu indefinitely. That would be efficient in a protracted conflict.
But it is not enough. To master the truly devastating techniques—A or S ranked—required reserves far beyond these pitifully low amounts. Even if he could perform them, the time needed to gather enough chakra would be a fatal luxury in battle.
He focused on the Shadow Clone Jutsu (Kage Bunshin no Jutsu) the only A—rank jutsu he knows well knows about the forbidden version of it Multi Shadow Clone Jutsu but that is dangerous because when you make a shadow clone your chakra splits in half and if you make too many your chakra level can go so level that the user could die from chakra exertion currently even with having the best chakra control he can only make 26 shadow clone without dying but it will surly make his body and the clone so out of chakra they will not be able to use any jutsu making them half useless. He also recalled his father's stern warnings about its inherent risk of sensory overload and fatigue. Kakashi dismissed them. The mechanism was simple: create physical copies let them whatever you want to accomplish and gather that experience and memory. After that then recall them it will transfer experience and memory gathered by that clone.
Kakashi saw an elegant, brutal shortcut. What if the Shadow Clones focused not on training, but on accelerated, full-cycle chakra recovery? When the clones dissipated, the collective mental fatigue would transfer, but so too would the experience of the restored chakra. By forcing multiple versions of himself to meditate and restore their chakra simultaneously, he could potentially stack the cumulative feeling of restoration, shocking his own core capacity into a higher state.
He calculated his current limit. Summoning that many and experimenting with them might be dangerous.
A controlled experiment.
With clinical determination, Kakashi raised his fingers into the sign of the Ram. "Kage Bunshin no Jutsu!"
Four puffs of smoke erupted, revealing four perfect copies of Kakashi, each as cold-eyed and stoic as the original. He felt the instant, significant drain of splitting his chakra in 5 parts.
He didn't speak. He simply transmitted the mental command: Meditate. Full chakra restoration. Now.
The five figures—Kakashi and his four clones—formed a tight circle on the scorched earth. They sat cross-legged, heads bowed, shutting out the world. The silence returned, heavy with the strained focus of five minds struggling to achieve a single, massive goal. The communal focus was unnaturally effective.
Finally, after 43 minutes, Kakashi felt the sudden, distinct fullness return—the collective reserves almost entirely replenished. 25 seconds faster than the single body, he noted, a sliver of satisfaction piercing his cold exterior.
He stood up, signaling the end of the exercise.
"Kai." (Release.)
The five clones vanished in simultaneous puffs of smoke.
The feedback was not a gentle return of Chakra; it was a physical hammer blow. His mind was instantly flooded with five times the normal sensory data, the pressure of five chakra circuits simultaneously snapping closed. A tidal wave of white-hot agony instantly surged through Kakashi's nervous system, overloading every sensory input. The sound in his ears was a high, agonizing shriek.
His knees buckled instantly, hitting the hard earth with a sickening thud. The world tilted violently. The sharp, burning sensation erupted in his eyes, nose, and mouth, followed by the warm, thick taste of copper. This blood was not just from his mouth, but evidence of burst capillaries and violent internal pressure.
He heard the liquid sound of his own blood hitting the dirt, pooling quickly beneath him as he retched, his body convulsing in shock. He had pushed the limits of the clone transfer, and his body was violently rejecting the attempt to break the natural order. His vision, now clouded with his own blood, flickered, fighting the darkness that threatened to claim him.
"Not good," the single, remaining logical thought whispered in the ringing silence. "The physical strain is too much."
Just as the blackness began to consume the edges of his sight, a sound broke the barrier of the compound—a desperate, familiar, and loud sound that cut through the internal screaming of his body.
"Kakashi! What the—?!" It was Obito's voice, laced with panic and confusion.
He dimly registered rapid footsteps approaching. Two blurry shapes materialized, rushing toward the epicenter of his pain. He recognized the bright pink of Rin's vest and the wild, uncontrolled movements of Obito.
Obito stood frozen, a statue of pure horror, staring at Kakashi's bleeding, convulsing body. But Rin, with the instant reaction of a medical-nin, dropped to her knees.
"Kakashi, what did you do?!" she cried, her voice cracking with fear and urgency.
He felt the sudden, gentle warmth of her small hands grasping him, pulling his ravaged body into her soft embrace. The sudden, unearned comfort was the final trigger. The physical agony, the crushing fatigue, and the shock of his own self-inflicted violence proved too much, and the cold, powerful mind of Hatake Kakashi dissolved into a merciful, deep darkness.