Chapter Text
Nobody knows this—or at least, none alive who know this truth—but Kakashi was merely six years old when he had his first kill.
It was not on a mission, nor on the battlefield, but within his own home, upon his own grounds. And it was not any enemy shinobi either, nor a village traitor (at least to him till then, as he was not aware of what the older generation whispered behind his back), but his very own father, the man who had loved and raised him, the very person who had fed him when he had no mother to cry for.
Hatake Sakumo committed suicide—or at least, that was what the rumors and gossip mills of Konoha spread among its people after the incident.
The story told was simple, almost convenient: the great White Fang had ended his own life to atone for his sin. He had abandoned a mission (to save his comrades)—a decision that, they claimed, could have turned the tides of the war. To protect his clan from shame, to preserve the Hatake name from disgrace and embarrassment, Sakumo had done what was “right” before dying.
He did the right thing by dying—that was what people said.
For what many never knew—what only the Hatake bloodline carried in hushed remembrance—was that Sakumo’s death had not been mere suicide. It had been seppuku, a ritual act older than Konoha itself.
To understand the White Fang's final act, one had to look past the ninja scroll and into the brittle, forgotten history of their clan. The Hatake were not born as shinobi. Their roots dug deeper, into the age of the samurai.
The founder of the clan, Hatakae, had been a nameless warrior in the Land of Fire’s imperial court, a man who rose from obscurity by wielding nothing but loyalty as his blade. Because of his unwavering loyalty, he was granted lands near the Nara forest—lands to rest upon once his body could no longer endure the wounds of war—and the right to begin a family line.
There he built a new life, marrying, raising children, and from Hatakae’s name was born the clan of Hatake. Time passed, and the Hatake took to farming as their way of life, but they never let go of their core creed: loyalty to one’s master, the preservation of one’s honor and their samurai way.
When Uchiha Madara and Senju Hashirama joined hands to form an alliance and build a village where every clan could live together in harmony, the Hatake clan stood witness. The two great shinobi undertook a mission to protect the new daimyo in the imperial city, proving their dedication to the vision of a hidden village. The daimyo, understanding that the world was changing and that the Land of Fire must grow stronger to withstand rival nations, gave his blessing. He permitted them to build their shinobi village in the upon Hatake and Nara lands.
Yet the decree went further: he commanded the Hatake clan to forever serve the new village that was to be built on their lands, alongside the Nara. This made the Hatake clan more loyal to the new village — Konoha rather than to the Land of Fire itself—a demonstration of the daimyo’s agreement with Hashirama and Madara.
The Hatake clan did not oppose the daimyo’s order. In this, they found their fate. They did not protest, nor claim their rights as landowners. They accepted the daimyo’s will, swore loyalty, and began living upon their own soil as equal citizens—though in truth, more servants than lords.
Time flowed. Alongside the Uchiha, and Senju, the Hatake helped raise the foundations of Konoha. They laid aside the way of the samurai and adopted the way of the shinobi. Yet through all these changes, one thing remained unbroken: their creed, their culture, their faith in loyalty above all. Loyalty towards their village and loyalty towards their Hokage who protects the village.
This was the story only told and known to the people of the Hatake clan. The Hatake women kept the legacy alive by telling the story of their ancestors to their children, not in order to sow the seed of discord—that their own lands had been taken from them—but to make them proud of their clan and to remind them that they served because they chose to, because loyalty was their honor.
And so, when Hatake Sakumo’s loyalty to his comrades outweighed the mission and the village condemned him for it, he did not cling to life in shame. He did what his blood demanded of him. He took the blade upon himself, offering his life in the old way of the samurai.
He went with seppuku, the ritual death of a samurai. He died not in weakness, but in loyalty—to restore honor for his family, for Kakashi, and for the Hatake name. Not suicide, but sacrifice. Not despair, but duty.
The mission came and went, dreadful in its own right, but what awaited Sakumo afterward was far worse. His life began to unravel day by day. The Hokage’s cold rebuke, the council’s scorn, the whispers that spread like wildfire—each one branded him deeper with the mark of disgrace. In the shadow of an ongoing war, the village needed a scapegoat, and Sakumo Hatake became its sacrifice.
They called him a traitor. They said he abandoned his mission on purpose. When Sakumo tried to defend himself, when he sought the support of the very comrades he had saved that day, even they turned away. Some out of fear of siding with him against the majority. Some out of jealousy, secretly glad to see the great White Fang fall from grace. And others—perhaps the cruelest of all—because admitting Sakumo had been right would mean admitting their own cowardice. To say he did the right thing by abandoning a doomed mission was to admit that they themselves had feared death.
Heartbroken, Sakumo watched the people of Konoha—the very people his clan had once sacrificed everything for—cast him aside. His clan, once proud and loyal to the core, was now nearly extinct. Only two remained alive: Sakumo, and his son, Kakashi.
For a time, Kakashi was his only light in that deepening darkness, the one reason he still clung to life. But even that flickering light grew dim when he realized how cruel the village could truly be—when their hatred began to fall upon Kakashi, the innocent boy who had done nothing but breathe.
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” they whispered. Kakashi, a prodigy who had just been promoted to chūnin at such a young age, was no longer admired. He was feared. “He will betray us, just like his father,” they muttered, branding him before he was even old enough to understand betrayal.
One day, after returning from grocery shopping, Kakashi asked a question that froze Sakumo’s blood cold.
“Tou-san… what does ‘traitor’s bastard’ mean?”
Sakumo’s breath caught. “What happened, Kakashi? Why are you asking this?”
Kakashi explained. On his way home, carrying their groceries, an older boy had deliberately shoved him, sending vegetables spilling onto the dirt.
“Hey! Why would you do that? At least help me pick them up!” Kakashi had shouted.
The boy turned with a smirk, his group of friends at his side.
“Oh, it’s just the traitor’s bastard,” one sneered.
“What’s your deal, kid?” another added. “Pick up your damn groceries and scram.”
Knowing he was not at fault, Kakashi had shot back, glaring. “Can’t you even, see? At least watch where you’re walking.” A fight broke out, and of course Kakashi —talented as he was—won and taught them a sharp lesson.
But even in victory, confusion gnawed at him. Recently, almost everyone in the village had been acting differently—even the kind shop lady, who used to slip him umeboshi when his father wasn’t looking, now avoided his eyes. He could not understand it, and in truth, he did not care. What worried him most was his father.
Lately, Sakumo had grown weaker, quieter. During dinner, he would zone out, staring into some distance only he could see. Whenever Kakashi asked, he would smile faintly and say, “Don’t worry. It was just a mission gone bad. Everything will be alright after some time.” And Kakashi believed him… though the worry never left his young heart.
When Sakumo heard the full story from Kakashi’s lips, he felt his heart twist. His son was no bastard! He has a father, and he definitely had a mother whom Sakumo married. How cruel could people be, to spit their hatred at an innocent child? The fault did not lie with those children who mocked him—it lay with their parents, who poisoned their ears with venom.
But one truth became painfully clear: this could not go on. Not for Kakashi. If his son was to live proudly, free from the weight of his father’s disgrace, then Sakumo would have to bear the burden alone.
He knelt before Kakashi, forcing a smile. “It’s just a bad word, one people use when they hate someone but have nothing real to blame them for. Promise me, Kakashi—you will never believe their words, nor ever use such words against anyone else. You’re my good son, and you will listen to me, right?”
“Yes, father. But… why do they hate me? What did I do to them?”
“Oh, you did nothing wrong, my beloved son. Sometimes, people are simply like this. But trust me… after this, everything will get better. I promise.”
Because I will give them no reason to hate you. I will cleanse your name, and our clan’s name, even if it costs my own blood.
And Kakashi, ever the dutiful son, believed every word—never knowing how close tragedy already loomed.