The sun crept over the rooftops of Konoha, golden light spilling across the village like an artist's brush. The streets were already alive with the sounds of merchants setting up their stalls and shinobi preparing for the day ahead. But one small house near the training grounds remained disturbingly quiet.
Inside, sprawled across a bed like a starfish that had given up on life, lay a boy. His short silver hair stuck up in odd directions, and a faint trail of drool ran down the corner of his mouth, pooling onto his pillow. This was Ronin Hatake son of Kakashi Hatake, the famed Copy Ninja of the Hidden Leaf. Not that anyone would guess he was a ninja right now.
"Mmm... five more minutes," he mumbled, burying his face into the pillow as sunlight dared to peek through his curtain and strike him directly in the eyes. A tanto, sleek and polished, leaned against the wall near his bed, untouched. His gear bag was tossed haphazardly into the corner, kunai spilling out like they had better places to be.
"Five more minutes, huh?" A familiar voice, calm but slightly amused, cut through the silence. Ronin's eyes snapped open. He sat up too fast, tangling himself in his blanket. His mismatched socks one black, one green somehow managed to dangle mockingly off his feet. Standing in the doorway was Kakashi Hatake, his ever-present book in one hand, the other casually tucked into his pocket. His expression was hidden behind his mask, but the faint upturn of his visible eye was enough to convey his smug satisfaction.
"You're going to be late," Kakashi said, his voice betraying not a shred of urgency. "It'd be a shame if the son of the great Copy Ninja tripped his way through his own graduation ceremony."
Ronin groaned, finally yanking himself free of the blanket and rubbing his face. "I've got time," he muttered. His voice was still thick with sleep, but his heart wasn't buying it. He glanced at the clock on his desk. The numbers glared back at him like a judge ready to deliver a death sentence.
Seven fifty. Ten minutes until the ceremony started.
Ronin froze. "TEN MINUTES?!" Kakashi flipped a page of his book. "You'd better hurry, then," he said, stepping aside just in time to let Ronin scramble out of bed and nearly trip over his gear bag. "I'm fine! I'm totally fine!" Ronin shouted as he dove out the bed His silver hair, though shorter than Kakashi's, refused to cooperate, sticking out in chaotic tufts. It made him look less like a shinobi and more like a hedgehog that had lost a fight with a lightning storm. "Why didn't you wake me up sooner?!"
Kakashi shrugged, his visible eye crinkling in what could only be described as a smile of pure mischief. "I thought you could use the practice in time management. Consider it training."
Ronin gritted his teeth, stuffing a handful of kunai into his gear bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "Next time, try training me with something that doesn't involve public humiliation," he muttered. "Where's the fun in that?" Kakashi replied, stepping aside to let his son bolt past him.
Ronin skidded to a stop just before the door, grabbing the tanto from its resting place against the wall. The blade was light in his hands, its edge gleaming faintly in the morning light. Kakashi gave him it a few days ago as a pre-graduation gift. He hadn't said much about it at the time, just that it was a tool that would reflect the strength of the one who wielded it. At the time, Ronin thought the words were unnecessarily cryptic. As he gripped the handle tightly, he wasn't so sure.
The streets of the Hidden Leaf Village were already busy by the time Ronin stumbled out of his house, stuffing a rice ball into his mouth as he ran. Shinobi darted across rooftops, their shadows flickering briefly against the walls below. Merchants called out from their stalls, selling everything from fresh produce to ninja tools. Children raced through the alleys, playing at being ninjas themselves.
Ronin weaved through the crowd, muttering apologies every time he bumped into someone. "Sorry! Excuse me! Coming through!" He winced as one particularly annoyed old man shook his fist at him, shouting something about "kids these days."
By the time he reached the Academy gates, his headband was slightly askew, and his scarf his prized possession had somehow unraveled halfway down his back. He tugged it back into place as he slowed to a walk, trying to at least look like he hadn't been running for his life. The Academy's courtyard was packed with fresh Genin and their families. Ronin slipped into the crowd, trying to blend in. He caught snippets of conversation with other students bragging about their final grades or speculating about their future teams.
"Ronin Hatake!" His name rang out over the chatter, and all eyes turned toward him. He froze. The instructor, a sharp-eyed woman with a clipboard, raised an eyebrow at him. "Glad you could join us," she said, her tone dry.
Ronin scratched the back of his neck, forcing a smile. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."
As he stepped forward to accept his Headband, he felt the weight of dozens of stares. Whispers followed him, some awed, others skeptical.
"That's Kakashi's kid, right?"
"Yeah, but he doesn't look like much…"
"I heard he's pretty good though."
"We'll see."
Ronin forced himself to smile, but deep down, he felt the sting of every word. He wasn't Kakashi Hatake. He wasn't a legend. Not yet.
But maybe, someday, they'd see him for who he was not the shadow of his father, but something entirely his own.