Chapter 64: Life After the New Year
"Good morning, Kakashi-kun."
"…."
"Why are you looking at me like that? Did I do something rude?"
Seated amidst a quiet room lined with calligraphy scrolls and neatly arranged documents, Aizen looked up with his usual calm smile. His voice was gentle, perfectly measured.
"Today is the first day of the new year. If you want to go out and play with your friends, you'd better hurry. After all, the research team only grants seven days of leave after the holidays. And time always feels fleeting with those you cherish."
"…He talks so much he almost sounds human."
"Hmm? What was that?"
"Nothing."
Standing by the doorway, Kakashi hesitated. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then thought better of it.
Originally, he'd wanted to ask where Aizen had gone during the Lunar New Year. After all, the entire village had been searching for him. Even Rin, who was among his most devoted admirers, had nearly camped by the gate waiting for him to appear.
But this morning, when Kakashi awoke, Aizen was already back in the writing room—calmly seated as if he'd never left. It was like he'd simply refreshed back into existence, just like a character in one of those strange worlds Aizen sometimes described.
He wanted to ask, but the words wouldn't come. The relationship between them was… delicate.
Kakashi's feelings toward Aizen were complicated.
After spending so much time together, he'd already figured out that Aizen's claim of being just a Chunin was absolute nonsense.
You've built half of Konoha's research foundation, published theories about chakra harmonization, and rewritten half the forbidden scrolls—and you call yourself a Chunin? That was like standing in a field full of corpses and saying, "They just fell over by themselves."
And yet, despite it all, Aizen had never shown the slightest intent to harm him.
If anything, he'd been… protective.
He'd extended Kakashi's stay at the Academy, provided him with books on theory, sealing, and even forbidden arts—always encouraging him to think, to question, to learn. And unlike other mentors who forced ideology upon their students, Aizen never imposed his will.
According to him, "Even if you're young, you're still a ninja with pride and intelligence. I won't make choices for someone capable of thinking for himself."
Those words had stuck with Kakashi.
It left him unsure of how to face Aizen now—this man who clearly had his own schemes and convictions, yet lived with such perfect composure.
He wasn't silent out of aloofness or arrogance; he was silent because he didn't know how to speak to someone like Aizen. Someone who saw every flaw in the world and still played his part flawlessly, as if everything was unfolding according to a plan only he could see.
After a long pause, Kakashi finally spoke.
"…Actually, a lot of people in the village like you."
"Really? That's an honor."
"There are also people who wanted to celebrate the holidays with you. People care about you, Aizen."
"I see. That's wonderful," Aizen replied with a gentle smile, setting aside his brush. "If my work brings others happiness, and if my efforts can lead to peace and progress for the world, then that is reason enough for me to continue."
"…."
That's not right, Kakashi thought silently. You're not doing this for peace. You're doing it for your own ideals.
Watching Aizen return to his paperwork as though the conversation had ended, a quiet frustration stirred in Kakashi's chest. He wanted to question him—to confront him—but he had no proof, no ground to stand on.
And whether it was for his father's sake, or for Konoha's, he swallowed the urge and said nothing.
Then, without warning, Aizen spoke again.
"Actually, Kakashi-kun, you don't need to worry so much."
Kakashi blinked.
Sitting at the low desk, the sunlight catching faintly on his glasses, Aizen continued in that calm, knowing tone:
"You just need to express your own thoughts—your truth. Overthinking only leads to misunderstanding. If you wish to communicate, simply say what's on your mind."
"Did your father really commit suicide?"
"Yes."
"…."
The words were calm—too calm.
Yet to Kakashi, they struck like thunder.
Facing Aizen across the quiet writing room, the boy froze. The air between them seemed to still, heavy with unspoken tension.
Aizen adjusted his glasses, his tone as composed as ever. "It wasn't the result of possession, coercion, or illusion. Your father simply couldn't accept reality. So he chose death—right before your eyes."
His voice was soft, but every word was mercilessly precise.
"There was no genjutsu, no transformation technique, no hidden trigger. It was purely his will. At the time, the rumors hadn't yet spread, and the factions within the village were only beginning to stir. His death confirmed everything."
"I was the one who handled the aftermath," Aizen continued, eyes lowering back to the parchment before him. "I reorganized the incident, structured the records, and buried the truth. But you already know this much, don't you? You saw it yourself, Kakashi. He died in front of you—truly died. There was no miracle waiting to undo that. And I believe someone as intelligent as you understands what that means."
"…Yes."
Kakashi's voice trembled slightly, but the sigh that followed carried a strange relief.
For years, he had buried the question deep within him—why? Why had his father, the White Fang of Konoha, a man like a god in his eyes, chosen to end it all so suddenly?
But hearing Aizen's words, blunt and unembellished, something inside him broke—and with that breaking came release.
Perhaps it wasn't acceptance. Perhaps it was exhaustion.
Still, the truth, no matter how cruel, felt lighter than the weight of false hope.
Aizen's pen scratched against the paper as he spoke again. "So, Kakashi-kun, did you see the New Year's dream?"
"…I did."
"That dream," Aizen said gently, "was your father's choice. You don't need to carry it or seek meaning in it. Sakumo made his decision, and it was his alone."
He turned another page, his tone calm and deliberate, the faint light of the morning glinting off his glasses.
"That's what it means to grow up, Kakashi. Sometimes, what you hope for doesn't come true. Sometimes, those you see as unshakable are far more fragile than you imagine. Love can blind us. But reality never lies."
"There are no miracles or comforting illusions in this world—only truth. Sakumo's decision, painful as it is, was his own. And no matter how you reinterpret it, or how kindly you wish to see it, that will never change."
He paused, then added, "Your father chose me over you. That is the answer to your questions. No amount of sentiment can alter the result. As a researcher, you should understand this—when facts and theory don't align, repeated verification reveals the truth. The error lies not in the data, but in the theory."
"…Then the theory is wrong," Kakashi said quietly.
In that instant, something within him settled.
My father—the man I once revered as a god—didn't think of me at that moment. He was just a man, selfish and fragile.
The thought hurt, but it was also grounding. For the first time in years, Kakashi felt a strange kind of peace.
It wasn't forgiveness. It wasn't bitterness either. It was simply clarity.
Aizen had stripped the illusion away, leaving only the truth—and in that truth, Kakashi found the strength to move forward.
"…Then I suppose there's nothing left to question," Kakashi said, voice steady now. "I'll focus on my work."
He turned toward the door. "I'll be heading out. You can continue your paperwork."
"Oh, right, Kakashi-kun."
Aizen's voice stopped him at the threshold.
"If you don't mind, there will be a diplomatic meeting with the Land of Lightning's delegation this afternoon. I'd like you to accompany me—as the developer of the Blut Vene and Blut Arterie. It's a high-level conference, so be prepared. And if you have any new developmental ideas, we can discuss them afterward."
"…Huh?"
Kakashi blinked.
You said there wouldn't be any work during New Year!
Looking at Aizen's calm expression as he continued sorting papers without the slightest hint of irony, Kakashi's face slowly darkened.
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