Chapter 5: Flames of Youth and Shadows of Isolation
Kakashi Hatake walked through the dimly lit streets of Konoha, his hands in his pockets and his head bowed low. The night had settled over the village, painting the rooftops and streets in shades of gray and black. The glow of lanterns flickered faintly, casting dancing shadows that seemed to echo the turbulence within his heart. His mind churned with thoughts he couldn't quite grasp—pieces of No Longer Human refusing to settle, whispering truths that made him feel uncomfortably exposed.
The book rested in his hand, its weight far greater than the mere physical object. It had shaken something within him, stirring memories and emotions he had buried beneath layers of duty, loss, and survival. Kakashi's silver hair glinted under the moonlight as he sighed, the sound almost drowned out by the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle night breeze.
As he turned a corner, lost in his thoughts, a loud voice broke through the silence.
"Kakashi! My eternal rival!"
Kakashi barely had time to react before Might Guy appeared before him, striking a flamboyant pose. Guy's bowl-cut hair gleamed, and his green jumpsuit seemed to almost glow under the moonlight. His teeth flashed brilliantly as he gave Kakashi a thumbs-up, the sheer intensity of his energy like a punch to Kakashi's senses.
"Guy…" Kakashi muttered, his voice weary. He didn't even try to muster his usual calm tone, too drained from the emotional impact of the book he had just read.
Guy didn't seem to notice—or rather, he ignored it entirely. "I've been training all day, honing my youth! And now that you're here, Kakashi, we must settle the score! Let's have a match—taijutsu only! No Sharingan!"
Kakashi shook his head, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Not tonight, Guy. I don't have the energy."
Guy blinked, his enthusiasm faltering for a moment as he stared at his rival. He was used to Kakashi brushing him off, but this was different. Kakashi's voice lacked its usual sharpness, and his posture seemed… off. For a man who carried himself with such effortless confidence, Kakashi now looked tired—drained in a way Guy couldn't quite place.
"Hmm… Kakashi, are you feeling unwell? You're acting strange," Guy said, his voice tinged with concern.
Kakashi turned his gaze away, his single visible eye avoiding Guy's scrutiny. "I'm fine. Just… tired."
Guy frowned, uncharacteristically serious for a moment. "Tired? My eternal rival, you should know that rest is important for maintaining your youthful spirit! Perhaps you should—"
"Guy," Kakashi interrupted, his voice sharper now. "Just leave it. I'm going home."
Guy stepped aside, watching as Kakashi walked past him. His eyes trailed to the book in Kakashi's hand, noticing it for the first time. The plain yet striking cover caught his attention, and he squinted to read the title in the dim light: No Longer Human.
Kakashi's figure disappeared into the distance, but Guy remained rooted to the spot, his curiosity piqued. What kind of book could leave Kakashi so subdued?
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A short while later, Guy entered a nearby bookstore, still puzzling over his friend's unusual behavior. The shopkeeper greeted him with a smile, and Guy, ever direct, pointed to the shelf where the book stood prominently displayed.
"I'd like a copy of No Longer Human, please," Guy said, his tone unusually quiet.
The shopkeeper handed him the book, and Guy examined the cover closely. It was simple, almost understated, but there was something about it that felt heavy. He paid for it and left the store, clutching the book as if it were a treasure.
When he arrived home, the small, tidy room seemed to welcome him with its familiar warmth. Guy sat on the edge of his futon, the book resting in his lap. He took a deep breath, then opened it to the first page.
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"I have no idea what it means to live a normal life. I have been shunned by society for as long as I can remember, and even now, I do not know whether it is because of some flaw in me or because of the world itself."
Guy's eyebrows furrowed as he read the opening lines. There was an immediacy to the words, a rawness that struck him. He turned the page, drawn in despite himself.
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"I have spent my life pretending, wearing masks to fit in with those around me. But no matter how hard I tried, the laughter always sounded hollow, the smiles forced. The world seemed to exist on a stage, with everyone playing roles they had been assigned at birth. And me? I was a miscast actor, fumbling through scenes I didn't understand."
Guy paused, his fingers gripping the edges of the page. Something about these words resonated with him, though he couldn't quite put it into words. He thought back to his childhood—the years when he had been the odd one out, the weakling, the boy everyone laughed at.
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The memories came unbidden: the jeers of his classmates, the feeling of inadequacy when he compared himself to prodigies like Kakashi or Itachi. Even now, as a respected jonin, Guy knew people still found him strange. His boundless energy, his eccentric mannerisms—they were often the subject of amusement. But he had learned to embrace it, to let their laughter fuel his determination rather than break him.
And yet…
As he read further, the book began to peel back layers he hadn't even realized existed.
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"There are times when I wonder if I exist at all. If the people around me see me as a person or merely as an idea—a caricature of someone who fits into their world. I laugh when I'm supposed to, I speak when I'm expected to, but inside, there is only silence."
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Guy's hand trembled slightly as he turned the page. The protagonist's struggles felt far too familiar. How many times had he questioned whether the bonds he forged were real? Whether people truly accepted him for who he was or merely tolerated him because of his persistence?
He continued reading late into the night, the words cutting deeper with every page. The protagonist's descent into despair, his inability to connect with those around him—it was painful to read, but Guy couldn't stop.
By the time he reached the final lines of the first part, the room was silent except for the faint rustling of pages. Guy closed the book, his heart heavy but his mind racing.
For the first time in years, he allowed himself to feel the weight of his own struggles—not as failures but as scars that had shaped him. The book hadn't broken him. If anything, it had reminded him of how far he had come.
He looked down at his calloused hands, the hands of a man who had fought tooth and nail to carve out a place for himself in the world. He wasn't like the protagonist of the book, trapped in his despair. He had found a way to overcome it—not through talent or brilliance, but through sheer will and effort.
Guy took a deep breath, his eyes shining with quiet determination. "I'm not the same as him," he murmured to himself. "I've fought for my place in this world. And I'll keep fighting."
The book rested on the table beside him, its cover catching the faint light of the moon. Guy sat in silence for a long time, reflecting on the path he had walked and the path still ahead.
And when he finally lay down to sleep, his mind was calm, his heart steady. He didn't know who Dazai was, but their words had touched something deep within him, and for that, he was grateful.
For Guy, the flames of youth burned brighter than ever, but now, they were tempered by a deeper understanding of the shadows that had shaped them.
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