reborn as Sakumo Hatake

The morning sunlight filtered through the window, bathing the room in a golden glow. He stood motionless, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Silver hair that shimmered in the light. A face that bore both strength and weariness. He raised a hand and touched his cheek, feeling the roughness of skin hardened by years of combat. 

*Sakumo Hatake.* 

It wasn't a dream. The memories were there, woven into his consciousness as if they'd always been his own. They were fragmented and incomplete, like pieces of a puzzle, but the key details were all too clear. He was a shinobi of Konoha, a father to a prodigious young Kakashi, and a man whose life was destined to end in tragedy. 

But not this time. 

Taking a deep breath, he turned from the mirror and surveyed the room. It was modest but well-kept. A simple futon lay neatly in one corner, and a low table held scattered scrolls and tools of the trade—kunai, shuriken, and a tanto in its sheath. 

*I need to get my bearings,* he thought. *If I'm going to change things, I need to understand where I am in Sakumo's timeline.* 

The sound of footsteps outside the room broke his train of thought. The door slid open, and a boy stepped in—a child no older than five, with spiky silver hair and sharp gray eyes that seemed far too mature for his age. 

"Father," the boy said, his tone calm but tinged with curiosity. "You're awake." 

*Kakashi.* 

Seeing the boy in the flesh was surreal. This was the same Kakashi who would grow into one of the most formidable shinobi of his generation, the man whose stoicism and loyalty had made him a fan favorite. But right now, he was just a child—a boy who had yet to experience the pain and loss that would shape his future. 

"Yes," Sakumo replied, his voice steady. "I didn't mean to worry you." 

Kakashi's expression remained neutral, but there was a flicker of relief in his eyes. "You've been resting for a while. Should I bring you breakfast?" 

Sakumo hesitated. The memories in his mind told him that Kakashi was already independent, even at this young age—a result of Sakumo's demanding role as a shinobi. But seeing the boy's quiet strength stirred something within him. 

"No, I'll join you," he said, offering a small smile. "Let's eat together." 

---

The meal was simple—rice, miso soup, and pickled vegetables—but it was enough to ground him in the reality of this new life. Kakashi ate in silence, his posture straight and disciplined, a far cry from the carefree behavior one might expect from a child his age. 

Sakumo watched him carefully, guilt gnawing at the edges of his mind. He knew how much pain this boy would endure in the original timeline, and he was determined to spare him from that fate. 

After breakfast, Kakashi left to train, leaving Sakumo alone in the house. He stood in the small courtyard, the tanto from his room in hand, and took a deep breath. 

*Time to test this ability.* 

Closing his eyes, he focused on the memories of his wish. God had granted him the power to copy anything he observed—an ability limited only by his own determination. But he needed to understand its limits. 

He began with basic movements, practicing kata with the tanto. The muscle memory came naturally, the blade slicing through the air with precision. But then he stopped, an idea forming in his mind. 

From the corner of his eye, he noticed a bird perched on a nearby branch. It was small, a sparrow, its wings fluttering as it prepared to take off. 

*Can I copy that?* 

He focused intently on the bird, watching its movements with laser-like precision. When it took off, he mimicked the motion, leaping into the air and twisting his body. To his astonishment, he felt a surge of agility, his body moving with a fluid grace that wasn't entirely his own. 

He landed lightly on his feet, his heart racing. It wasn't a perfect replication—he couldn't *fly*, after all—but the enhanced coordination and speed were undeniable. 

"So it works," he murmured. 

The possibilities were endless. If he could copy something as instinctual as a bird's flight pattern, what else could he learn? Jutsu? Fighting styles? Even Kekkei Genkai techniques? 

But before he could delve further, a voice interrupted his thoughts. 

"Father?" 

He turned to see Kakashi standing at the gate, a training kunai in hand. The boy's sharp eyes studied him with curiosity. 

"Yes, Kakashi?" 

"I was going to practice throwing kunai," he said. "Would you… join me?" 

The request was hesitant, as if Kakashi wasn't used to asking for his father's time. Sakumo's heart ached at the thought. 

"Of course," he said, sheathing the tanto. "Show me what you've got." 

---

Kakashi's technique was impressive, even for his age. The boy's throws were precise, each kunai striking the target with minimal deviation. Watching him, Sakumo felt a swell of pride—and a flicker of determination. 

"Good," he said, nodding in approval. "But try adjusting your grip slightly. Like this." 

He demonstrated, his movements smooth and deliberate. Kakashi watched intently, mimicking his father's form. 

To Sakumo's surprise, the boy grinned—a rare, genuine smile. "I'll work on it." 

They continued practicing together, the hours slipping by unnoticed. For the first time, Sakumo felt a sense of peace, a connection with his son that he was determined to nurture. 

But as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the village in golden hues, a familiar thought crept into his mind: *This peace won't last.* 

The world of shinobi was unforgiving, and he knew the challenges that lay ahead. The Third Great Ninja War loomed on the horizon, and with it, the mission that would seal Sakumo's fate. 

But this time, he had an advantage. This time, he had the power to change things. 

As he watched Kakashi pack up the training equipment, a new resolve took hold. 

"I won't let history repeat itself," he murmured. "Not for me. Not for him."