Chapter 187: Chapter 187 Kakashi's Path
Kakashi's heart pounded heavily.
Hearing Orochimaru's words, he closed his eyes, tears quietly rolling down his cheeks.
Nearly a decade of pent-up sorrow and internal conflict seemed to melt away with those tears. For the first time in a long while, a flicker of vitality returned to his expression.
It's a painful thing—to deny the person you respect most, especially when that person is your own father.
Change doesn't come in an instant. It's a slow, painful process. And if you're not careful, emotions resurface like bubbles, emerging from the depths of your heart.
What truly hurts isn't popping those bubbles—but realizing they keep coming back.
And so you wonder: What's the point of this cycle?
But now… finally, the cycle ends.
The sky was fading into twilight, and the morning mist drifted through the trees. In the stillness of the forest, Kakashi exhaled deeply. His gaze was calmer now.
He had accepted his father's decision. The past no longer weighed him down. He was ready to move forward.
Orochimaru, standing nearby, noted the change with a faint smile.
"So, after learning about Sakumo's choice… how do you feel?"
"Will you take revenge on the village? Even if there's no specific culprit, it's clear the elders—and the villagers who remained silent—bear some responsibility."
Kakashi shook his head.
"My father acted according to his beliefs. If I took revenge, it would dishonor him."
"You don't have to look at it that way," Orochimaru replied. "Sakumo's path wasn't necessarily right. You don't need to follow it blindly."
He smiled.
"If we all lived strictly by our parents' values, then what I'm doing would also be a betrayal."
"In the end, it comes down to what you believe. If you're angry, don't suppress it."
Kakashi was surprised. He hadn't expected those words from Orochimaru.
Anger?
He clutched his chest, lost in thought.
The power-hungry elders… the villagers who so easily turned their backs… If he claimed to have no resentment, he would be lying.
But what good would revenge do?
They hadn't done anything clearly wrong. The Third Hokage may have made sacrifices—but they weren't for selfish reasons. Konoha's ninja laid down their lives for the village.
Can you really call that evil?
No—the tragedy didn't come from malice, but from clashing ideals.
Ideals…
Kakashi reflected.
Orochimaru had said the village changed after Sakumo's death. That thought stirred something deep in him.
But had it truly changed that much?
Was the "before" better for the village? Or the "after"?
For the first time in his life, Kakashi began to truly question—not as a ninja, but as someone trying to understand the shape of the world.
He had always been a genius on the battlefield. But in matters like these… he was a novice. He had never thought about the village's path with the mind of a leader.
After some silence, he turned to Orochimaru and asked the question weighing on his heart.
"The path that suits you is the right one," Orochimaru answered. "There's no need to cling to one side or the other."
He shook his head.
"What Sakumo opposed wasn't sacrifice. It was treating sacrifice as normal, and giving up on thinking for yourself."
Of course, there was more to it than that.
Orochimaru didn't care how many ninja lived or died. But he did care about how they lived.
If they all became like Danzo's soldiers—lifeless, thoughtless tools, corrupted from the root—then the system was broken.
A good ninja shouldn't just follow orders. They should think, act, and create value.
Just like Kakashi.
"The opposite of sacrifice is compromise. It's harder to achieve—but it's better," Orochimaru continued.
"Belief isn't something you talk about—it's something you prove, with strength."
"I respect Sakumo. But even he might not have found the best way."
"Don't give up thinking. Don't indulge in emotional righteousness. Do you understand?"
Kakashi nodded firmly.
"It's time. Let's go."
Orochimaru leapt into the treetops, vanishing into the mist. Kakashi followed close behind.
A new sense of purpose filled him. With his burden lifted, the world ahead looked brighter.
Elsewhere, deep beneath the ruins of Root...
In a hidden underground lab, another transformation was taking place.
Click... crack... click...
The glass chamber of a nutrient tank shattered. A dark green solution spilled onto the floor as a thin, dried figure stepped out.
"Congratulations, Danzo-sama. The first-Hokage cell transplantation was a success. How do you feel?"
The lead researcher beamed, his excitement masking the horrific cost of the experiment.
Danzo flexed his left arm. Once shriveled from old injuries, it was now restored—firm and muscular. His body felt as strong as it had been in his prime.
Young again…
The word echoed in his mind.
Danzo laughed—quietly at first, then louder and louder—until it became a wild, unrestrained cackle. Arms outstretched, he reveled in his rebirth.
Decades of frustration had dulled his senses. He'd been moving like a machine, forcing himself to keep going, never stopping to question.
But now… finally, he had a second chance.
Though Root had been destroyed, he had returned to his peak. Stronger than Hiruzen, who had grown old and weak.
Danzo covered his face, trembling with joy.
The Genin nearby were awestruck. Seeing Danzo like this, even after the loss of Root, filled them with renewed hope.
After a long moment, Danzo calmed down and went to wash himself.
But in the mirror, a stranger stared back.
Sunken eyes. Gaunt cheeks. A skeletal frame. He looked more like a corpse than a man.
Only then did he understand the cost of his so-called "success."
"Haa…"
Danzo clenched his fists, steadying his breath. He left the bathroom and approached the lead researcher.
The man kept a calm face, but his legs trembled as Danzo approached.
"L-Lord Danzo, this is a normal post-operative reaction. With rest, your body will recover."
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