The night was as cool as water.
After days of brewing and clashing, public opinion in Konoha had not subsided. Instead, it had become a storm sweeping through the entire village. The argument in the Hokage's office that had ended on bitter terms was like a signal, making everyone realize that the leadership was divided on the matter.
And so, two utterly different voices clashed fiercely in every corner of the village.
Beginning with Senju Chen's speech at the Ninja Academy, voices supporting Hatake Sakumo began to gain a foothold.
"Lady Tsunade is right! Young Master Chen of the Senju said so too! There's nothing you can't give up for your comrades!"
"Exactly, those were living, breathing people! Does the village leadership think a human life is worth less than a piece of intelligence?"
"Lord White Fang is a hero! He protected his comrades and upheld the Will of Fire!"
Yet another voice, pushed by certain people with an agenda, grew sharper and more damning.
"A hero? A hero who caused the village enormous losses?"
"Don't forget, both of the people he saved said they would rather have sacrificed themselves! Hatake Sakumo's 'kindness' insulted their resolve as ninja!"
"If everyone followed his example, how would we ever carry out missions? He's going to destroy Konoha's ironclad rules all by himself!"
Hero. Sinner.
Those two utterly opposing words were turned over endlessly by countless people, until both became crushing mountains pressing down on the little courtyard of the Hatake residence.
Hatake Sakumo had not left home for several days.
He merely sat quietly beneath the eaves, polishing the White Fang Tanto that had once struck terror into countless enemies at the mere mention of its name. Its blade remained sharp, its cold gleam biting, but the hand holding it carried an air of death.
His eyes were hollow. The fierce spirit that had once resembled a lion's had been worn away entirely by the endless abuse and attacks.
He listened to the faint discussions outside his gate, listened to how those who had once admired him now scorned and reviled him. What cut him deepest was Kakashi.
His son, the child who always wore a stern face and disguised himself with a maturity beyond his years, had lately been hiding secretly in corners to watch him, his eyes filled with confusion, pain, and... a trace of wavering that even he himself had not noticed.
The Senju boy and the Might boy had indeed helped Kakashi a great deal, ensuring he was no longer isolated and helpless at school. Yet that only drove a thorn deeper into Hatake Sakumo's heart.
Even children knew to stand up for their comrades, yet he had made his own son endure humiliation that should never have been his to bear, all because of his own "mistake."
Was I... really wrong?
That question gnawed at his soul day and night like a venomous snake.
Until one night, an unexpected person appeared before him like a phantom.
Orochimaru.
He brought another "answer." A "solution" that was mad, twisted, and yet fatally alluring.
There was no moon that night.
Heavy clouds obscured the sky, shrouding all of Konoha in oppressive darkness.
Hatake Sakumo lit the lamp in his study.
He spread out a roll of blank paper, ground the ink, and lifted his brush. At that moment, his hand was steadier than it had ever been.
He no longer looked at the darkness outside the window or listened to those irritating voices. All that remained in his mind was Orochimaru's husky, magnetic voice.
"A living 'sinner' will only leave your son bearing shame forever. But a tragic hero who, after 'giving his life for the village,' then kills himself because he cannot endure the humiliation... can let him grow up surrounded by everyone's sympathy and respect."
"Hatake Sakumo, you have already 'died' once. This time, you will 'die' for your son and for the village."
The brush touched down.
Ink spread across the paper, forming lines filled with remorse and tragic resolve.
[I betrayed the village's trust and placed personal feelings above the mission. This was a grave sin. The rumors and slander are my deserved punishment. Yet I have failed Lord Hokage's efforts to nurture me, failed the sacrifices of my comrades, and, above all, failed the honor of the Hatake Clan... Only death can atone for my sins before the world.]
[Kakashi, my son, do not follow the example of your failure of a father. Remember, the rules of a ninja stand above all else.]
Every word was like a blade, cutting his past glory and convictions to pieces, stroke by stroke.
When he finished, he set down the brush, folded the suicide note neatly, and placed it in the most conspicuous spot on the desk.
Then he rose and walked toward Kakashi's room.
A faint, almost imperceptible, unusual fragrance lingered in the room. Kakashi slept deeply, his little brows tightly knitted even in his dreams, as though he were struggling against something.
Hatake Sakumo knew it was the drug Orochimaru had provided. It could put someone into a deep sleep from which no disturbance would wake them.
He slowly knelt beside his son's bed and reached out to stroke that short, silver-white hair, but halfway there, his hand fell limply back down.
He feared that his hands, stained with "sin" and lies, would sully his son's dreams.
He simply watched in silence.
He watched his son's young face, those tightly shut eyes that refused to compromise with the world.
Pain, reluctance, regret, resolve... Countless emotions surged through his chest before finally becoming a single scalding tear that fell soundlessly onto the tatami.
Kakashi...
Forgive me.
Your father will use his own "death" to pave the road to your future.
He unfastened the White Fang Tanto from his waist and gently placed it, sheath and all, beside Kakashi's pillow.
From that day onward, the short blade that represented the honor of "Konoha's White Fang" would no longer belong to him.
He took one last, long look at his son, as though trying to carve that face into his soul forever. Then he stood, turned resolutely, and left.
The door slid gently open, then closed without a sound.
Hatake Sakumo's figure vanished completely from the room, from the home he had protected with his life.
At the Senju residence, that same late night.
Senju Chen lay beneath his bedding, breathing evenly, like a child long since lost in dreams.
Yet his consciousness was utterly clear, like a god high above the heavens, coldly looking down upon the play he had directed with his own hands.
He could imagine Hatake Sakumo's inner struggle as he wrote his suicide note.
He could imagine how that father's heart had shattered as he bid farewell to his sleeping son.
He could even "see" Hatake Sakumo leave his home, meet that figure as cold as a snake in the agreed-upon dark corner, and disappear together into Konoha's night.
It was done.
From now on, Konoha's White Fang would no longer exist in this world.
There would only be a bounty hunter code-named "Fang."
And a "tragic hero driven to death by public opinion" was worth far more than a living "controversial figure."
It would become an everlasting thorn in the Third Hokage's heart, deepening his doubts and guilt over the balance between "rules" and "human feeling."
It would become a mirror, forcing every Konoha ninja to reconsider "missions" and "comrades."
More than that, it would become a seed, planting the belief that "comrades come before everything" in the hearts of Kakashi, Might Guy, and more of the younger generation.
And all of this would become his strongest lever for moving this world in the future.
Senju Chen quietly gazed at the ceiling.
Uncle Sakumo, your "death" will be the first ray of light to illuminate Konoha.
Early the next morning.
As the first rays of sunlight pierced the clouds and lit up Konoha, a piercing scream shattered the tranquility of the Hatake residence.
"Lord Sakumo... Lord Sakumo has... killed himself!"
The news struck like a magnitude-ten earthquake, instantly throwing the entire village into an uproar!
The villagers who had just been arguing endlessly over "hero" and "sinner" were utterly stunned.
Those who had loudly cursed him gaped, disbelief written all over their faces.
Those who had defended him had eyes full of grief, indignation, and sorrow.
In barbecue restaurants, in taverns, on training grounds... Every discussion stopped dead at that moment.
All of Konoha fell into deathly silence.
Then an even greater surge of emotion, mingling shock, regret, guilt, and anger, swept through everyone's hearts like a tsunami.
He was dead.
"Konoha's White Fang," who had once shaken the Shinobi World through his strength alone, had not died on a brutal battlefield or beneath an enemy's blade. Instead, he had died in his own village, beneath the... tongues of the very people he had protected with his life.
An era belonging to heroes drew to a close in the most tragic, most humiliating, and most suffocating way.