Kick Down the Door, Seize the Blade—White Fang Rescued

The Wood Dragon's jaws snapped shut.

There was no scream. They did not even have time to make a sound. The two Root shinobi vanished from the rooftop as lightly as they had existed while alive—ground into pieces by the dragon's fangs, falling amid the rubble into the backyard.

Less than a second had passed from start to finish.

Nawaki leaped down from the dragon's back and landed on the muddy ground in the Hatake Estate's backyard. The Wood Dragon sank into the earth, and the ground flattened again as if nothing had happened.

There was a smell of blood inside the house.

Faint, but the Sage Body did not lie.

Nawaki did not enter through the back door. He circled around to the front and stopped before the Hatake Estate's main gate. The mob outside had mostly scattered after the Wood Dragon smashed through the wall. The rest huddled at the street corner, holding torches but not daring to approach.

Nawaki glanced at them.

Then he kicked out.

The Hatake Estate's front gate—three inches of thick beechwood, reinforced with fine iron studs, enough to withstand a chūnin's full-force slash.

Shattered.

The door broke into six pieces and spun into the courtyard. The largest chunk embedded itself in a corridor pillar.

Nawaki stepped inside.

The main hall.

Only one candle remained lit.

Sakumo knelt in the center of the floor, a white short blade pressed against his abdomen. A cut had already been made in his clothes, and blood seeped out, dripping down the blade.

One centimeter. The blade tip had already sunk one centimeter into his flesh.

Another half inch, and it would reach his peritoneum.

Nawaki pointed with his right index finger.

The floor exploded.

A finger-thick strip of wood shot from a crack beneath Sakumo's feet, wrapping around his right wrist like a snake. Once, twice, three times—then it abruptly tightened.

Sakumo's hand was forcibly twisted open. The White Fang blade flew from his grip and slammed into the wall with a clang.

Fast. Less than two seconds had passed from Nawaki kicking down the door to taking the blade.

Sakumo suddenly raised his head.

He saw a twelve-year-old boy standing at the entrance to his main hall. Moonlight shone in from behind him, splitting the boy's face into light and shadow.

"Senju... Nawaki?"

"Mr. Sakumo." Nawaki did not enter further, remaining at the doorway. "If you die, Danzō will be grinning in his sleep tonight. Are you sure you want to make that old dog so happy?"

Sakumo's pupils contracted.

He lowered his eyes to the wooden strip around his wrist and tried to struggle.

It did not budge.

"Let me go."

"No."

"This is my business."

"It isn't."

Sakumo's lips tightened into a line. He changed his tone, speaking to Nawaki as he would to a junior—calm, restrained, but firm.

"Nawaki. You do not understand the full situation. During the mission, I abandoned the objective to save my comrades, resulting in—"

"Resulting in mission failure, but people survived. Then everyone in the village started cursing you." Nawaki walked in, his footsteps crisp against the wooden floor. "Then you decided you had failed everyone, that only seppuku could restore the White Fang of Konoha's reputation."

Sakumo said nothing. He tacitly admitted it.

"Finished?" Nawaki crouched three steps away from him, meeting his eyes. "Mr. Sakumo, how many of the people outside cursing you do you think were arranged by Danzō?"

Sakumo's expression changed.

"You—"

"At least half." Nawaki raised one finger. "Root agents blended in with the civilians, steered the crowd, stirred up public opinion, and drove you toward death. If you had successfully committed seppuku just now, two Root sentries on the roof would have come in once you stopped breathing and taken the White Fang blade."

Sakumo's breathing paused for a beat.

"What did you say?"

"Two on the roof. They're already dead." Nawaki's tone was as flat as if he were commenting on the weather. "Your blade, your residual chakra, your corpse—to Danzō, they are all research materials. You think you are washing away disgrace with your death? You are delivering one last grand gift to your enemy."

Sakumo swayed.

Suddenly, commotion erupted outside. Somehow, the mob had found its courage again, and someone began throwing stones into the courtyard.

A broken brick flew in, grazing Nawaki's shoulder before smashing into the wall behind Sakumo.

Nawaki did not even turn his head.

He pressed his palms together.

"Wood Release: Four Pillar Prison."

The ground trembled. A ring of thick wooden pillars erupted simultaneously outside all four walls of the Hatake Estate. Intertwining branches rapidly grew between the pillars, forming a complete cage that sealed every rioter outside.

Screams, curses, pounding—all of it was blocked behind the wooden walls, reduced to muffled thuds.

Silence.

Nawaki lowered his hands and continued looking at Sakumo.

"No one will disturb us now. Let's continue."

Sakumo stared at the wooden pillars that had risen around them and fell silent for several seconds.

"There is no point in saving me." His voice dropped. "I no longer have the face to remain in Konoha. Rules are rules. I violated a shinobi's code—"

"A code?"

Nawaki laughed. Not mockingly, but like someone who had just heard a bad joke.

"Mr. Sakumo, you have spent your entire life following rules and codes. And what did that get you? Did the rules protect you? Did the code block the stones outside?"

Sakumo opened his mouth but made no sound.

"You chose to save lives. You were not wrong. The ones who were wrong were the people who made the rules and turned saving lives into a crime." Nawaki stood, looking down at him. "If you die, the legend of the White Fang of Konoha ends here. The people outside will curse you for two days, then forget you. The Third Hokage will sigh and say, 'What a pity.' Danzō will drink a toast to celebrate one less obstacle in his way."

He paused.

"And then?"

"Then Kakashi will spend the rest of his life carrying the name 'White Fang's son.'"

Sakumo's body stiffened.

"People will point at his back and say—look, that's the son of a worthless man. His father could not even protect his own reputation and killed himself with seppuku." Nawaki's voice was quiet, but every word drilled into Sakumo's bones. "Do you think a six-year-old kid can bear that?"

"Enough."

Sakumo's voice had gone hoarse.

Nawaki did not stop.

"You choose to die with dignity. Fine. That is the way of a warrior. But have you ever considered this—your dignity is being bought with the rest of Kakashi's life?"

Sakumo lowered his head.

The only sound in the entire main hall was the occasional faint flicker of the candle flame.

After a long while.

"...What do you want me to do?"

That was exactly what Nawaki had been waiting for.

He pulled something from his clothes.

A folded secret letter. Its edges were stained with dried blood, taken from the corpse of a Hidden Stone shinobi. Holding the letter, he crouched down and met Sakumo's gaze.

"The reason the entire village is spitting on you is because someone needs you dead." Nawaki unfolded the letter and held it before Sakumo. "Look carefully. The rules, the code, Konoha's glory that you keep talking about—look at what the people who made them have been doing behind the scenes."

Sakumo's gaze fell upon the letter.

The first three lines—a secret correspondence between Danzō and Hidden Stone.

The middle—a procurement list for human experiments using the First Hokage's cells.

At the bottom—a list of names, marked as "expendable assets."

The twelfth name was Sakumo Hatake.

Sakumo's eyes slowly widened.

"Do you understand now?" Nawaki slapped the letter onto Sakumo's knee. "You were not being targeted because you broke the rules. You were being targeted because you were too strong, too conspicuous, and standing in certain people's way. Public opinion, rumors, insults—it was all carefully planned. The purpose was to make you do it yourself and save them the trouble."

Sakumo stared down at the letter on his knee without moving.

The candle flame flickered again.

His shoulders began to tremble.

Not from fear. From rage.

The kind that seeped out through the cracks in his bones.

Nawaki stood and brushed the dust from his pants.

"Mr. Sakumo, you have two choices."

He raised one finger. "First, I let go of your hand right now. You take back your blade and keep cutting. Fulfill your bushido, fulfill Danzō's plan, and make Kakashi the son of a sinner for the rest of his life."

A second finger.

"Second—"

Before he could finish.

A dull explosion came from the direction of the Senju Clan Compound.

The light of the Four Red Yang Formation flashed violently three times in the night sky, then—went out.

Nawaki turned to look out the window.