Long, silver-white hair, a black cloth mask covering the lower half of his face, and a Konoha forehead protector obscuring his left eye.
This... this is Hatake Kakashi?
Under the dim glow of the night, a thin young boy stared into a mirror in shock.
"What's going on? How did I become Kakashi?" he muttered to himself, his voice trembling.
Before he could make sense of it, a rush of memories surged into his mind, causing an unbearable pain. His body tensed before he collapsed onto the floor with a muffled groan.
By the time the moon reached its peak, he groggily opened his eyes. His head felt heavy as he forced himself up, sitting on the cold wooden floor.
Looking around at the distinctly Japanese-style room, a bitter smile appeared on his lips. The atmosphere outside was filled with the stench of destruction. The distant flickering of torches illuminated the remnants of a chaotic night.
The Nine-Tails' attack.
The death of the Fourth Hokage.
And then... Obito, Rin...
This was the world of Naruto, and he had become Hatake Kakashi—the man who bore an unfathomable weight of loss.
His father, Sakumo, had taken his own life. Then Obito was crushed beneath a boulder, and soon after, Kakashi himself had been forced to kill Rin with his own hands. And now, he had lost his sensei, the Fourth Hokage, Minato Namikaze. The turmoil of emotions—grief, regret, and despair—must have created an opening, allowing a soul from another world to merge with Kakashi's.
But Kakashi's original consciousness had not disappeared. Instead, it had fused with this new presence, their memories intertwining. That was why he had blacked out earlier.
Rubbing his silver-white hair, Kakashi stared at his own reflection in the mirror. A sigh escaped his lips, and he recalled an old saying: Since I'm here, I might as well accept it.
Outside, the Hidden Leaf was eerily silent. The village, still reeling from the attack, had been left in ruins. Everyone—villagers and shinobi alike—had collapsed from exhaustion, with only the bare minimum of guards left to patrol.
Tomorrow would be the mass funeral.
Among the fallen was Konoha's youngest Hokage and Kakashi's own mentor, Minato Namikaze.
A suffocating sorrow welled up within him, a reflection of Kakashi's lingering emotions. He exhaled sharply before pushing himself off the floor and walking toward the futon. Lying down, he stared at the wooden ceiling, his mind clouded with uncertainty.
Hatake Kakashi, the Copy Ninja of Konoha. In the early days, he had been regarded as an elite among shinobi. But later, especially during the Fourth Great Ninja War, his role had diminished. Aside from his battle against Obito, most of the crucial fights had fallen to Naruto and Sasuke.
Even in the war's climax, it had taken Obito's temporary gift of both Mangekyō Sharingan for Kakashi to make any significant contribution. And if not for Naruto's intervention with Pain, Kakashi would have died in battle long ago.
But this was a man hailed as a genius—a shinobi who had achieved the rank of Jonin at just twelve years old, setting a record even Itachi Uchiha hadn't surpassed. How had things come to this?
Looking back, it seemed Kakashi had shone brightest in his youth. He was undoubtedly strong, but never as formidable as the legends of his era. He could hold his own against powerful opponents but often lacked the endurance to finish the fight—earning him the nickname "Hatake Fifty-Fifty."
Some speculated that his decline began with Minato's death. At only thirteen or fourteen, Kakashi had been at the prime age for exponential growth. Naruto and Sasuke, between ages thirteen and sixteen, had advanced at terrifying speeds, eventually surpassing even Kage-level shinobi. If Kakashi had continued training at the same rate, perhaps he too could have reached a similar height.
But with every loss, his drive had waned. By the time he realized his stagnation, it was already too late. Though he had improved, his progress had never been exponential.
Steeling himself, Kakashi glanced down at his own lean yet well-defined arms. He knew that this world was brutal—one misstep and death would follow. If he wanted to survive, he had to push forward.
Fortunately, he wasn't starting from zero. His body was already in peak condition, and his proficiency in ninjutsu and taijutsu remained intact. He just needed to reorient himself. As a Jonin, he already had the skills to hold his ground.
At fourteen, he had twelve years before Naruto's story began. Seventeen years before the final battle.
Seventeen years.
Clenching his fists, he made a silent vow: Seventeen years may seem long, but I can't waste a single moment.
Despite his shortcomings, Kakashi was still an exceptionally well-rounded shinobi. Skilled in taijutsu, genjutsu, and ninjutsu, with an analytical mind that made him a brilliant strategist. It was no surprise that he had so many admirers.
But what he was best known for was his Sharingan—the infamous "Copy Ninja."
Many believed his reliance on the Sharingan was his greatest weakness. While it granted him incredible abilities, it also placed a tremendous burden on his body.
For one, as a non-Uchiha, he lacked the natural chakra efficiency to sustain it. Unlike those born into the clan, he couldn't deactivate the eye, meaning his chakra was constantly being drained.
Secondly, the more he used it, the greater the strain on his body. Overusing it resulted in extreme exhaustion and even put his life at risk.
This was why Kakashi so often collapsed after prolonged fights.
His chakra reserves weren't actually small. Official databooks placed his chakra level on par with the Third Hokage's. Yet, the constant drain from the Sharingan made it seem otherwise.
It was clear—the Sharingan was both his greatest weapon and his greatest limitation.
If he wanted to grow stronger, he had two options: remove the limitations of the Sharingan or drastically increase his chakra reserves.
Reaching up, Kakashi brushed his fingers over his covered left eye. Beneath the cloth, he could feel the slight warmth of the Sharingan. Even now, it was slowly siphoning away his chakra.
Lifting the forehead protector, he gazed at the mirror once more. A deep scar ran down his eyelid, and within it, the scarlet glow of the Sharingan gleamed ominously. The three black tomoe spun slowly, reflecting the weight of the power it held.
This was the infamous Sharingan—the eye that bound its users to fate. For the Uchiha, it was a blessing. But for outsiders, it was a curse.
Danzo had filled his body with them and was ultimately consumed by their power. Others who had taken them suffered terrible consequences.
And Kakashi? He had only one, yet even that came at a cost.
The greater the power, the heavier the price.
And now, it was time to see if he could change his fate.