Konoha’s Five-Element Ninja

Chapter 71: A Ninja's Confession

Sakumo Hatake slowly stood up, pushing open the wooden sliding door. He gazed at the lonely crescent moon hanging in the sky, pulling his loose robes tighter around himself before speaking.

"Do you know about the Warring States Period?"

Hayama frowned, his patience wearing thin. Every older ninja seemed to love talking about the Warring States Period, and he had grown sick of hearing about it.

"I don't care about that bullshit. All I know is that you're choosing to run away."

Sakumo smiled faintly, not refuting him. But in that smile, Hayama saw boundless exhaustion.

"Hayama, you were born in Konoha Year 24, so naturally, you've never seen the cruelty and chaos of the Warring States Period. I—"

"I don't want to hear these old stories. There's no point in talking about them now!"

Before Sakumo could finish, Hayama rudely cut him off, pacing restlessly around the room like a caged beast, his frustration palpable.

Sakumo, however, remained unfazed. "Then let me tell you my story instead."

Hayama bent down and picked up his soot-covered Konoha forehead protector. Chakra surged within him, and arcs of lightning flickered in his palm as he zapped the metal plate repeatedly, venting his pent-up frustration. Only after calming down did he nod expressionlessly, allowing Sakumo to continue.

"I was born in Konoha Year 6. Back then, the village was pitifully small, not even deserving of the name 'village.' It was merely a two-kilometer-long street running north to south. Yet despite that, everyone's faces were filled with contentment. They took pride in what they were building, pouring their hearts into it."

"Do you know? During our hardest times, the village ran out of food entirely, and winter was fast approaching. It was Lord Madara Uchiha who shamelessly went to the daimyo to ask for grain. At the time, I was only four years old. A single bowl of porridge passed through the hands of five starving people before it finally reached me. They all watched, expecting me to eat it, despite their own hunger. That was the moment I understood hope, the moment I understood what the village meant."

"When I was ten, the First Hokage and Madara Uchiha both fell, and the Second Hokage, seeing the hostility of the other villages, began preparing for war. Back then, countless shinobi volunteered to join the battlefield. They truly loved this young, flawed village. For its sake, my father and three uncles all died in battle. When their bodies were returned, they still had smiles on their faces. I believe they died with pride, proud to be Konoha shinobi."

"At thirteen, I was promoted to Chunin by the Second Hokage for my battlefield achievements, marking the start of my true life as a ninja. From the dust-filled Wind Country to the towering peaks of Earth Country, to the fierce lands of Lightning Country—I fought for over twenty years. During that time, I lost countless comrades, and I nearly died several times myself. But I survived. Eventually, people started calling me the 'White Fang of Konoha.'"

"But I was never a true powerhouse. Compared to those who shaped the Warring States Period, I was nothing. Yet, I never felt ashamed of my strength, because my love for the village surpassed anyone's."

Sakumo stopped, his gaze wandering over the desolate Hatake compound. The weight of sorrow and regret filled his expression.

"At seventeen, I became the 39th head of the Hatake Clan. But by then, the clan, once moderately strong, had already dwindled. My uncle, before his death, clutched my hand and begged me to be a proper clan leader, not just a good ninja. He wanted me to preserve what was left of our bloodline, to ensure the family's survival."

Sakumo pointed to a patch of ground outside, the only spot untouched by weeds. "I stood there and announced that I would seal the clan off to recover our strength. But do you know what happened? The ten or so remaining clan shinobi knelt before me, refusing to move for two days and two nights, begging me to rescind my order. Their blood was still warm, their wounds still fresh. The village needed them. So, I revoked my decision and led them back to the battlefield."

"By the time I was twenty-two, every adult shinobi in my clan was either dead or crippled. I was the only one left, and the war had finally paused. The continuous fighting had reduced the Hatake Clan to nothing more than a civilian ninja family. Hundreds of our kin had died for the village. That is something I will never forget."

Tears streaked down Sakumo's face. This man, feared by the entire shinobi world, was weeping as he recalled the past.

Hayama's earlier frustration faded. He looked at Sakumo but found no words of comfort. Pain like this couldn't be soothed with words. Only time could numb it, allowing people to carry on.

In his past life, Hayama had always believed that memories, no matter how deeply etched, would eventually be dulled by the mundane distractions of life. But in the world of shinobi, nothing faded. The memories of war, of blood and death, remained as vivid as the day they occurred. Even now, he couldn't forget the scene of a comrade's stomach being split open by a Wind Release jutsu, his organs spilling onto the ground.

For the first time, Hayama truly understood Sakumo's pain. It was the kind of sorrow that would still bring tears even after five hundred years. Time wouldn't heal it—it would only deepen.

Sakumo wiped his eyes and continued. "I often wake up in the middle of the night, haunted by the sight of my father scolding me for my failures, my uncle's dying eyes staring at me, and the fear of my clan's eventual extinction."

"But when I first held Kakashi in my arms, I finally became a man. At that moment, my ninja path solidified, and my strength grew tremendously."

"Hayama, the bond of blood is extraordinary. It makes a man mature in an instant. One day, you'll understand."

Hayama sat cross-legged on the veranda, idly picking at the weeds with a kunai. Sakumo's words didn't resonate with him.

"So, you're just going to abandon Kakashi and kill yourself?"

"I already said—no one can accompany you forever. Kakashi is the son of the White Fang. He must bear this burden, no matter how difficult it is."

A kunai flew, embedding itself deep into a cracked wooden pillar. Hayama had interrupted Sakumo once again.

"I've always believed that what sets ninjas apart from samurai isn't just chakra. It's an unyielding will and a willingness to use every means necessary. If a little setback makes you choose death, maybe you were a samurai all along."

But Sakumo wasn't seeking advice. He had summoned Hayama to entrust him with his final wishes.

"People react differently to situations. If this had happened to you, you would have laughed it off and moved on—"

"No. This would never happen to me," Hayama interrupted. "I would order my subordinates to push forward at all costs. Even if they all died, as long as I survived and completed the mission, sacrifices would be necessary."

Sakumo shook his head, disagreeing. He believed that while sacrifices were inevitable, the mindset one had when dying mattered. The shinobi of the Hatake Clan had died knowing they served the village, smiling in their final moments.

Hayama sighed, lighting a cigarette. He took a deep drag before exhaling.

"There are always other choices. You could join Root. You could defect."

"Root treats shinobi as disposable tools. And as for betraying Konoha... my ancestors are watching me from above. I could never do that."

Hayama angrily flicked his cigarette away. "Only the living can carry on a legacy. If you die, you lose everything—honor, power, your family. Do you think Sarutobi will protect Kakashi? He'll turn him into nothing more than a mindless tool!"

"You talk about honoring your clan's past, but have you thought about the comrades who stood by you? The future waiting for Kakashi? If you do this, all you'll achieve is making your enemies laugh!"

Sakumo merely sighed. "That's why I called you here tonight."

Hayama clenched his fists. "In the end, no one can make your choices for you."

Sakumo gave a small smile. "Let's set that aside. Now, let me introduce you to a few people."

As Hayama lit another cigarette, he stared at the waning moon, unable to understand why some shinobi valued honor above life itself.

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