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Kakashi's voice cut through the air, sharp and urgent. "Wait, Sasuke!" His hand stretched out toward the path where Sasuke had just vanished, the dust still settling in the wake of his swift departure. But Sasuke was already gone, his figure a blur in the distance, his resolve unshakable. He didn't pause, didn't turn back—Kakashi's plea fell on deaf ears.
With a heavy sigh, Kakashi lowered his hand. There was no choice now but to follow. He couldn't let Sasuke go alone, not like this. Behind him, Aoba's voice broke the tension, tinged with uncertainty. "Did I say something wrong?"
Guy, Kurenai, and Asuma exchanged glances, their eyes rolling in unison at Aoba's obliviousness. But Kakashi was already moving, his focus entirely on the path ahead.
Sasuke's desperation drove him forward, his feet pounding against the earth as he raced to Naruto's house. But Naruto wasn't there. The empty room only fueled Sasuke's frustration. Without hesitation, he turned and sprinted toward the Ichiraku Ramen shop, the next logical place to search. There, he learned the truth: Naruto had left the village with Jiraiya, one of the legendary Sannin.
The news hit Sasuke like a blow. His jaw tightened, his fists clenched. If Naruto was gone, then so be it. Sasuke's path was clear. Without a second thought, he turned his back on Konoha and ran, his heart set on a single goal—vengeance.
Kakashi trailed behind, his presence silent and deliberate. He could have stopped Sasuke. He could have intervened, forced him to stay. But he didn't. Kakashi understood the weight of Sasuke's pain, the fire that burned within him. To stop him now would only push him further away, turning Kakashi into an enemy—a barrier to Sasuke's quest for revenge. And Kakashi couldn't bear that. Not yet.
Still, he didn't actively aid Sasuke either. If Sasuke could find Itachi on his own, so be it. If he failed, perhaps that would be for the best. For now, all he could do was watch, follow, and hope that Sasuke would find his way back from darkness—before it was too late.
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Inoiki sat at the dining table, quietly eating his lunch. He had just returned home and, as was his habit, taken a bath immediately after. It was a ritual he followed religiously—after any fight, big or small, or even after an intense training session, he felt unsettled if he didn't cleanse himself. The water seemed to wash away not just the physical grime but the lingering tension of battle. Now, refreshed and calm, he focused on his meal.
The door creaked open, and Inoichi stepped inside, his expression tense. His eyes scanned the room and landed on Inoiki, who was eating in silence. Inoiki's mother noticed Inoichi's arrival and smiled warmly. "You've come at just the right time, dear. Go wash up, and I'll serve you lunch."
Inoichi nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly at the familiar comfort of home. After a quick wash, he joined Inoiki at the table, picking up his chopsticks. Between bites, he broke the silence. "I heard you fought Itachi and Kisame."
Inoiki's response was a simple, noncommittal "Hmm," his eyes never leaving his plate.
Inoichi studied his son for a moment, relief washing over him as he noted Inoiki's calm demeanor. There was no sign of injury or harm—just quiet resolve. Still, as a father, he couldn't help but voice his concern. "I'm glad you're alright. But you need to be more careful. First Orochimaru, and now Itachi and Kisame? Together, they're even more dangerous than Orochimaru alone. You can't keep taking these risks."
Inoiki paused, setting his chopsticks down. He met his father's gaze, his voice steady but firm. "I know how dangerous they are. And trust me, I don't go looking for trouble. But I can't just stand by and do nothing when people like them are involved. If I'd walked away, who knows what they might have done to the villagers? I couldn't take that chance."
Inoichi sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. He had no rebuttal. His son's words carried a weight of truth and responsibility that he couldn't argue against. Instead, he nodded slowly, acknowledging Inoiki's point even as worry gnawed at him. The conversation lapsed into silence, the clink of utensils against plates the only sound in the room.
After a moment of silence, Inoiki set his chopsticks down and looked at his father. "By the way, Dad, did Uncle Shikaku and Choza agree to my request?"
Inoichi nodded, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Yes, they did. They'll be coming over this evening to discuss the matter of the chakra weapons with you."
Inoiki's expression remained calm, but a flicker of satisfaction passed through his eyes. He gave a small nod before returning to his meal. The rest of lunch passed in comfortable quiet, the clink of utensils against plates the only sound in the room.
Later that evening, the drawing room was bathed in the warm glow of lamplight. Seated around a low table were Inoiki, Inoichi, Choza, and Shikaku. The atmosphere was serious but not tense, the weight of the discussion balanced by the familiarity between them.
Shikaku, ever the pragmatist, was the first to break the silence. Leaning forward slightly, he fixed Inoiki with a measured gaze. "So, you're looking to acquire chakra weapons?"
Inoiki met his gaze without hesitation. "Yes."
Shikaku nodded slowly, his fingers steepled in front of him. "We can arrange it, but only enough material for five chakra kunai. That's the limit."
Inoiki's brow furrowed, his tone tinged with frustration. "Why? Is it really that difficult to secure more materials? You're some of the most influential figures in the village. Surely you can manage more than that."
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