Land of FrostLate at Night
"Move faster—hurry!"
The Konoha encampment, once tightly guarded by rotating patrols, now looked utterly abandoned. Under urgent orders from their officers, the shinobi evacuated with grim faces, slipping away upstream along the frozen river. Only the empty tents and dying campfires remained—a deliberate decoy.
Jiraiya stood at the edge of the chaos, watching in silence. As the overall commander, he had decided to be the last one out.
His gaze drifted to the silver-haired young man beside him. Tension coiled in Jiraiya's chest at the thought of the coming battle, mingled with a quiet, bitter sigh.
After tonight, the name "Jiraiya of the Sannin" would probably become a punchline.
Everyone knew Jiraiya would do anything—anything—to win.
"What's on your mind?" Kakashi asked, breaking the silence.
"That my lifelong reputation is about to go down the drain right here," Jiraiya answered with a helpless smile.
Kakashi glanced sideways at him.
The Sannin's reputation had already taken a nosedive the first time he was caught peeping in a women's bathhouse.
"For the water attack to work," Kakashi continued, steering the conversation back, "someone has to pin down Kumogakure's main force."
Jiraiya fell quiet.
They needed a rear guard—enough bodies to stall the enemy long enough for the flood to do its work.
He had always known sacrifices would be required.
But when the moment came to say it out loud, something in him faltered.
"Eight hundred," Kakashi said calmly, as if he hadn't noticed the older man's hesitation.
"Eight hundred…"
Jiraiya repeated the number under his breath. Honestly, it was far fewer than he'd feared.
"I'll lead them myself."
Jiraiya's head snapped around. "What?!"
Eight hundred men to taunt the Hidden Cloud—then hold the line against a force personally led by the Raikage, complete with the Eight-Tails jinchūriki—until the water came crashing down?
In Jiraiya's eyes, Kakashi had just volunteered to die.
"You still have to coordinate the flood with me!" Jiraiya hissed, voice low and urgent.
He wanted—no, needed—to talk the kid out of this insanity.
"Lord Jiraiya," Kakashi said, turning to face him fully, "are you worried about me?"
"Isn't it obvious?!"
"Anyone else can go. Not you."
The last skirmish with Kumogakure had already proven Kakashi's strength. Ten years from now—maybe fewer—he'd be sitting in the Hokage tower. With a little luck, the hat itself could be his.
Trading a future Hokage for victory in a single battle was a loss no village could afford.
"Only you and I could pull this off," Kakashi replied, unshaken. "And you're the commander. You can't throw your life away. So who does that leave?"
The quiet certainty in his voice made Jiraiya's expression twist.
"What the hell are you trying to prove?!" he growled.
From the very start of this war, Kakashi had been nothing like the broken, hollow-eyed boy Jiraiya once knew.
Assassinating the Cloud delegation. Facing down the council elders. Storming into the jōnin meeting to confront Koharu alone. Proposing the flood plan the moment he reached the front. Teaming up with Guy to kill the Two-Tails jinchūriki.
And now—throwing himself and eight hundred men into the jaws of death.
"Can't you tell?" Kakashi asked. Even the darkness couldn't dull the sharp glint in his visible eye.
"Tell what?" Jiraiya muttered.
Kakashi's next words were soft, almost conversational.
"I want to hear you call me Hokage-sama. Fifth Hokage, to be exact."
Jiraiya's mouth twitched.
"You want to be Hokage."
Suddenly, everything clicked into place.
The fame. The achievements. The growing legend.
Kakashi wasn't just surviving the war—he was building his throne, one corpse at a time.
"You'd support me, wouldn't you?" Kakashi asked.
"Is the hat really worth dying for?!" Jiraiya exploded, incredulous.
Then he remembered Minato—his brilliant, reckless student—who had bet everything on that same chair.
Kakashi's answer was quiet but unshakable.
"Once I'm Hokage, I can finally do what needs to be done."
Jiraiya stared at him, a complicated storm churning behind his eyes.
"And what exactly is that?"
"Make Konoha stronger, of course."
Something about the way Kakashi said it sent a chill down Jiraiya's spine, but there was no time to dig deeper.
"Fine," Jiraiya said at last. "You say only the two of us could hold that line. Prove it. Convince me."
Kakashi extended his fist.
Jiraiya frowned, then mirrored the gesture.
The instant their knuckles touched, Jiraiya's eyes widened.
Chakra—raw, overwhelming, monstrous—poured across the contact like a tidal wave.
More than most Uzumaki. More than many Senju.
Enough to rival a tailed beast.
"This is your confidence?" Jiraiya murmured.
"A fight isn't decided by chakra alone," he added, almost reflexively.
"No," Kakashi agreed. "But it sure as hell tips the scales."
Jiraiya closed his eyes and exhaled.
"…You win."
—
Later, beneath a moonless sky
The sprawling Konoha camp—once home to thousands—now held only eight hundred souls.
Eight hundred shinobi stood in perfect silence, their eyes fixed on the silver-haired figure atop the makeshift platform.
They all knew what was being asked of them.
Hold six thousand Cloud ninja at bay. Buy time for the flood.
A suicide mission by any sane measure.
Yet no one moved to leave.
Kakashi surveyed them—his voice steady, carrying easily across the frigid night without ever rising to a shout.
"I know what you're thinking. That none of us are walking away from this fight."
A pause. The wind moaned through the empty tents.
"You're right. Some of us will die. Most of us, probably. I might be one of them."
He let that sink in.
"But listen carefully."
"Kumogakure spat on the peace we begged for. They used armistice talks as bait, then turned around and accused us of breaking the truce. Fifteen years ago they tried to kidnap the Fourth Hokage's wife for her Uzumaki blood. Today they're trying to steal the Byakugan right out of our comrades' skulls."
His voice never wavered, but the cold fury in it was unmistakable.
"These lying, honorless bastards make me sick."
"I won't lie to you—many of us won't see tomorrow. But understand this:"
Kakashi drew the tanto from his back in one fluid motion and brought it down in a single, vicious slash. The wooden post beside him split cleanly in two, the top half toppling to the ground with a dull thud.
"If I take one step backward," he said, voice like tempered steel, "you have my permission to cut me down yourselves."
"Anyone who wants out—leave now. No one will stop you."
He let the blade hover, moonlight glinting off the edge.
"But the moment we engage, anyone who falters dies the same way this post just did."
"Kumogakure wants a fight?"
"Then we give them a war they'll choke on."
For a heartbeat, the camp was deathly still.
Then a single voice cracked the silence—raw, defiant, trembling with rage.
"Will of Fire!"
The cry rippled outward like a spark in dry grass.
"Will of Fire!"
"I'll take a chunk of those bastards with me even if I have to crawl!"
"Will of Fire!"
"I've lived long enough!"
"Will of Fire!"
"Let's go get some!"
Eight hundred voices rose as one, shaking the frozen earth, drowning the night in fire that no darkness could extinguish.
————
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