Unseen II

Then It was subtle, but deliberate.

Kakashi turned his head slightly—just enough for Haruki to know he was no longer pretending to read his book.

The air around them rippled again. Not a breeze. A disturbance. Like space folded to allow something through, then snapped shut too fast to track.

Haruki didn't flinch, but he focused.

His chakra stretched out, gently, without force. Not to confront—just to listen.

He could almost feel the silence shift. Like the world was drawing breath.

Then it was gone.

Kakashi's voice was quiet. "We've got a guest."

Haruki nodded once. "What was that?"

Kakashi exhaled, eyes scanning the trees. "Hard to say. Could be... something. Probably just passing interest. Not worth panicking over."

Haruki's mouth was a thin line. "Should I be worried?"

Kakashi actually considered it. "Not yet. But it's best they know you noticed."

A moment later, Haruki turned his head, not abruptly, just enough to scan the treeline.

He let a flicker of chakra push outward. Not aggressive—just precise.

There was a small shimmer. Faint. Deliberate. As if a presence had acknowledged being seen.

Then it vanished.

Kakashi didn't comment. Instead, he gestured lazily toward the edge of the mist. "That's enough for today."

Haruki didn't argue.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, the training ground behind them dissolving into forest again.

Then Kakashi said, "You understand now?"

Haruki didn't ask what he meant. Not at first.

But then he stopped walking too.

"Why are you training me, Kakashi?"

Kakashi looked at him—long enough for Haruki to see that the man had expected the question.

"Because you're different," he said. "And I've seen what happens to different people when no one prepares them."

Haruki searched his face. "So this is charity?"

"No. This is insurance. For you. And maybe for something more. But mostly... it felt right."

Haruki didn't nod. But he didn't press either.

"This isn't about drills," he said.

Kakashi stopped walking.

"Let's just say... the shinobi world doesn't like surprises," Kakashi said, voice low. "And you, Haruki, are full of them. I'm not saying they've noticed yet. But if they do—if the right kind of people take interest—it won't be a conversation. It'll be a maneuver."

Haruki's brows drew slightly together.

"So they don't know yet?"

"No," Kakashi said. He paused, then added, "But some people make a career out of spotting talent early—and deciding how to use it before it finds its own path. Which is why we're here."

Haruki's shoulders squared.

"So this was a warning?"

"No," Kakashi replied. "This was a demonstration. You needed to see the lines being drawn."

He didn't sound pleased about it.

Haruki was quiet for a moment.

"How does the Hokage allow this to happen?"

Kakashi gave a small shrug. "He doesn't know everything. Sometimes that's by design. Sometimes... it's just the way the village works."

Haruki's brows furrowed slightly. "So if someone notices, it won't be from the top?"

"No," Kakashi said. "But there are always people watching from just off the page. And the only thing more dangerous than a secret... is a secret someone thinks they own."

Haruki looked down at his hands. They were steady.

"Then I won't let them own it."

Kakashi smiled faintly behind the mask.

"That's the spirit."

They resumed walking, but now Kakashi's posture was looser again—shoulders slack, one hand back in his pocket, the other flipping open his dog-eared book.

Haruki watched him for a beat.

"You really do read that in public?"

Kakashi turned a page without looking up. "I find it inspires a healthy respect for unpredictability."

Haruki's lip twitched. Barely.

They walked until the trees thinned.

And the world, for the moment, went still again.

But something had changed.

Not the world.

Haruki.

_________________________________________

Kakashi entered quietly, as he always did.

Sarutobi didn't look up at first. He finished the line he was writing, capped the ink, and then folded his hands calmly in front of him.

"Hatake," he said.

Kakashi bowed slightly. "Hokage-sama."

The old man studied him. "You've been spending time with young Haruki Hyuuga."

Kakashi nodded. "Yes."

"That wasn't an order."

"No, sir. It was my choice."

Sarutobi raised an eyebrow. "Why him?"

Kakashi took a breath before answering. "Because he's different. Sharp where he shouldn't be. Quiet in the ways that matter. There's something under the surface, something even he doesn't fully see yet. But it's there."

The Hokage said nothing.

Kakashi stepped forward. "I don't think he knows how dangerous he might become. Not just because of power. But because of what the world might demand of him if no one steps in."

Sarutobi's gaze drifted to the window. Light traced the lines of his face like rivers carved by time.

"I won't let him become another Itachi," Kakashi added quietly.

The silence that followed stretched longer than expected.

Then the Hokage looked back at him. Not with anger. Not even with surprise.

Just something older.

Something Kakashi couldn't read.

But it settled the conversation.

"Do what you must," Sarutobi said at last. "But tread carefully. With him, and with those who will start asking questions."

"I will," Kakashi said. "I'll keep him just visible enough to be forgotten."

Sarutobi gave a tired smile. "You were always good at walking lines."

Kakashi turned to leave, then paused at the door.

"He's not a tool. He's not a time bomb. He's a boy. And a better one than I was."

Sarutobi didn't reply.

But as the door closed behind Kakashi, he let his eyes fall to the scrolls again.

He didn't lift his pen.

And the look on his face lingered long after the room was empty.

_________________________________________________________

Below the village, where sunlight dared not stretch, a narrow corridor unfolded in silence.

A man moved through it without sound, his steps absorbed by the stone, his cloak trailing like spilled ink.

He passed a pair of unmarked operatives—motionless but not idle. Their masks, smooth and emotionless, turned just slightly as he entered the chamber.

Inside, the room was not grand. Not a hall for audiences or declarations. Just a table. A scroll. A candle left to burn low.

Another figure stood near the far wall.

Older. Robed. His eyes half-lidded, as if perpetually disappointed by everything.

The cloaked man knelt. "The Hyuuga child. Unusual readings in the outskirts. A ripple during Hatake's solo drill."

The elder did not turn. "And?"

"We suspect he's hiding something—something not Byakugan. Hatake is circling him. Quietly."

"He would. He plays both loyal hound and heretic."

The kneeling figure bowed deeper. "Should we initiate a trace?"

The elder finally shifted his gaze, barely.

"No. Not yet. Hatake's leash is long, but not severed. Watch him."

A beat.

"Kakashi sees many things," the elder murmured. "The question is what he chooses to report."

Silence returned.

A rustle of parchment.

"You believe the child is a risk?"

"I believe the child is unread."

A pause, heavier now.

"And unread things..."

"...become wild cards," the elder finished.

The man at the table said nothing more.

Neither did the elder.

But behind the stillness, something calcified.

Not interest.

Order.

And above, where the village bustled, the dust stirred in threads unseen.

No orders were given.

None were needed.

The loom had been set. Now, they would wait to see what pattern emerged.