People are strange that way.
When someone stands at a height you believe is forever beyond your reach, you don't feel jealousy. You feel awe—an almost blinding reverence. Everything they do seems perfectly justified, wrapped in an aura of untouchable rightness.
That was exactly how nine-year-old Uchiha Itachi felt.
Maybe, someday, time and experience would blur that worship, even overturn it entirely. But right now, in this moment, Itachi looked up to Kakashi—the man who had become Hokage—with something close to devotion.
All the old misunderstandings, the quiet resentment he'd once harbored, had vanished the instant Kakashi donned the hat. In their place was only a tangled knot of admiration and gnawing guilt.
He didn't know how to face the Hokage anymore.
Not after he'd badmouthed Kakashi right in front of the man's live-in partner—the legendary Uchiha weapon from five centuries past.
So ever since graduating from the Academy, Itachi had thrown himself into missions and training, pushing himself harder than anyone expected of a child. He told himself it was for the village. Really, it was penance.
He knew his small strength meant next to nothing to Konoha as a whole, but it was the only apology he could offer.
Another ordinary day slipped by.
Missions complete, training finished, Itachi found himself wandering back to the bank of the Naka River—the exact spot where he'd first crossed paths with the Hokage all those years ago.
Only this time, the riverside wasn't empty.
"H-Hokage-sama?!"
Itachi froze. The figure sitting there was unmistakable—silver hair catching the late sunlight, posture lazy and relaxed—and yet the sight of him made Itachi's stomach lurch. He wanted to bolt.
Run. Just turn and run.
He had misunderstood this man. Worse—he'd marched straight into the Hokage's home and trash-talked him to his face (well, almost). The memory burned.
Longing warred with shame inside his chest until he felt like he might choke on it. His legs twitched, ready to carry him away.
Then his father's voice echoed in his mind, steady and proud: You really are my son.
A shinobi faces his mistakes. That's what it means to take responsibility.
Itachi forced his feet to root themselves to the ground.
"Ah, Itachi. Been a while."
The white-haired man spoke without turning around at first, lounging by the water with a fishing rod resting lightly in his hands. A faint, familiar curve touched the corner of his visible eye—like he was smiling behind the mask.
Right on cue, the float dipped. Kakashi flicked the rod up smoothly, and a fat black fish broke the surface, thrashing in the air.
"Hokage-sama… you're fishing?"
Itachi's voice came out stiff and embarrassingly obvious.
"Pretty clear, isn't it?" Kakashi answered, unhurting the fish with practiced ease and dropping it into the woven basket at his side. He waved Itachi over. "Come sit."
Itachi hesitated, then shuffled forward and lowered himself onto the grass a respectful distance away.
"I just… never imagined the Hokage would have time for something like this," he admitted, cheeks warming.
"That I'd be this idle, you mean?" Kakashi supplied, amused.
Itachi nodded before he could stop himself, then realized how that sounded and froze.
Kakashi only chuckled softly. "The old way was one Hokage trying to carry the whole village on his back. One person's wisdom can never outshine the combined wisdom of everyone. Sometimes the job isn't to do everything yourself—it's to trust your comrades to handle their share."
He cast the line again, the plunk of the sinker the only sound for a moment.
Itachi blinked. It made sense, but… the Hokage was supposed to be invincible, wasn't he?
"Every Hokage started out as just another nameless shinobi in this village," Kakashi continued, voice low and easy. "No matter how strong you get, you're still only one person. You need the people around you."
Itachi absorbed that quietly, then nodded. As expected of Hokage-sama—humble enough to admit he wasn't omnipotent, that he needed comrades just like anyone else.
The gentleness in Kakashi's tone suddenly reminded Itachi of the cold, distant man he'd met three years ago by this same river. A childish pout tugged at his mouth.
"Then why did you ignore me that day?" he asked, a touch sulky. "I was your comrade too, wasn't I?"
He meant the afternoon Kakashi had been training Wind Release—the day the Nine-Tails attacked, the day everything changed.
Kakashi's single eye softened with something unreadable.
A perfectly timed shadow of sorrow crossed his face.
Itachi's breath caught. He remembered: the Fourth had just died sealing the Nine-Tails. That night, Sharingan had been seen in the beast's eyes. An Uchiha had controlled it. His sensei and his sensei's wife—Kakashi's teacher—had been crushed beneath the rubble.
No wonder Kakashi had brushed him off back then.
Panic flickered through Itachi. The entire village still whispered about the Uchiha that night. And here was the Hokage, pretending none of that history weighed on him.
Yet this same Hokage had let Fugaku join the Council of Elders anyway.
Personal feelings set aside for the good of the village.
As expected of Hokage-sama…
Guilt surged hotter than ever.
"Hokage-sama—"
[Uchiha Itachi's emotional fluctuation +1] [Chakra +1%]
Kakashi ignored the translucent prompts floating in his vision and tipped his head toward the basket bobbing in the shallows. "I've got nothing else going on today. Want to stay and let me cook for you? Grilled river fish—my specialty."
Itachi's eyes widened, a spark of boyish excitement breaking through the gloom. "Really? I—I mean, is that okay?"
"Itachi."
A cool, familiar voice cut across the clearing.
Itachi whipped around, face lighting up. "Shisui-nii!"
Kakashi turned as well, easy smile in place. "Shisui. Long time no see."
Uchiha Shisui approached with that quiet intensity he always carried—black shinobi garb, short tantō strapped across his back, dark curls brushing his forehead. His expression was politely neutral, but his eyes flicked between Kakashi and Itachi with sharp attention.
"What's the Hokage doing chatting with Itachi all the way out here?" he asked, tone light but edged underneath.
"I caught a few fish," Kakashi said, unfazed, gesturing lazily at the basket. "Thought I'd grill them. You're welcome to join."
Shisui's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Tempting, but no thank you. Aunt Mikoto already has dinner waiting. If Itachi's late, she'll worry."
He rested a gentle but firm hand on Itachi's shoulder and tugged the younger boy to his feet.
Kakashi lifted both hands in mock surrender. "Fair enough. That's a shame, though—"
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