"Why didn't anyone say anything?!"
Kakashi's voice trembled with pain. He couldn't hold it in anymore, after all, he was still just a child.
"Why was he blamed? Even if he made a mistake… didn't he always complete his missions? Didn't he save his comrades?"
Orochimaru said nothing.
But he knew. He had achieved what he wanted.
At least, the first part.
"The Third, Jiraiya sama, all of you knew what kind of man he was!" Kakashi's voice cracked again. "But none of you stood beside him. You all simply stood by, watching as the village turned its back on him and did absolutely nothing!"
Silence followed. Not awkward, but deliberate.
Orochimaru waited, letting the silence stretch, hoping to draw out more of the boy's raw anguish.
But Kakashi offered no further words. Only silent tears traced glistening paths down his dirt-streaked cheeks as he sank to his knees, his lone visible eye fixed on the worn tatami mats, his small shoulders trembling with a grief that seemed to dwarf his youthful frame.
"Hmm…" Orochimaru hummed softly, carefully setting the blood-stained scroll aside.
Then he spoke, folding his hands in his lap.
"Because, Kakashi-kun…"
He paused.
"The reason given was, he broke protocol."
Kakashi looked up, his lone eye fixed on Orochimaru. He remained silent, but the silence itself was a shout of disbelief and pain.
The air in the room felt thick with his unspoken accusations. He couldn't bear to remain in that stifling atmosphere a moment longer.
Without bothering to wipe away the persistent tears, Kakashi pushed himself to his feet and turned, his steps unsteady as he moved toward the door, each movement a testament to the crushing weight of his sorrow.
As his hand reached for the worn wood of the doorframe—
"That," Orochimaru spoke again, his voice softer now, almost a whisper, "was the palatable lie they fed to the common folk."
Kakashi stopped.
"The convenient justification that the masses could readily accept. Order, regulations, duty. It is the flimsy shield this village hides behind when it lacks the courage to confront its own shadowed reflection."
Orochimaru's eyes glinted in the dim light, knowing the understanding of the human heart's capacity for both cruelty and self-deception.
"But the real reason, Kakashi-kun…" Orochimaru continued, his voice now laced with a chilling undercurrent, "is far uglier."
Kakashi turned back to him, something in his chest tightening, as if his body already knew it wouldn't like the answer.
Orochimaru saw it. The need to know. The fear of knowing. And so, he obliged.
"He wasn't punished for a mistake," the Sannin said slowly, deliberately. "He wasn't saved because he stood in someone's way."
Kakashi's breath caught.
"Someone," Orochimaru went on, each word sharp as a scalpel, "who didn't want him to grow stronger. Someone no one in this village could dare oppose."
Silence.
A long, dragging pause.
Then Orochimaru leaned forward, eyes gleaming like gold under moonlight. He opened his mouth—
And spoke.
But no sound came.
Only the movement of his lips.
Kakashi's eyes widened. His blood ran cold.
He stared at Orochimaru.
Horrified.
Because he understood.
He saw the name.
And froze.
His lips trembled. "No."
He took a step back, shaking his head. "No. Impossible. You're lying."
Orochimaru said nothing.
"Why would he...?" Kakashi's voice cracked. "There's no reason. He respected him. He wouldn't, there's no need for him to—"
Orochimaru cut him off, voice soft but sharp like a scalpel.
"Isn't it obvious?"
He tilted his head slightly, watching Kakashi tremble.
"Why do you think he never stepped forward? Why do you think he stayed silent when your father needed him most?"
Kakashi's breath hitched.
"You've already realised it, haven't you? That's why it hurts so much."
Kakashi staggered back a step, hands clenched, eyes wide.
"But, but," he stammered, confused, afraid, furious, in pain. "There... there must have been a reason. Maybe, maybe he couldn't—"
"Couldn't?" Orochimaru's smile was cruel now. "He chose not to. That's what makes it worse."
The words landed like poison, slow, seeping, undeniable.
Kakashi wanted to scream, to deny it, to cling to something, but no words came.
Because deep down, what Orochimaru said fit.
And that was the part that broke him.
Kakashi stood frozen, breathing shallow, the weight of silent betrayal pressing down on his chest. His father, abandoned. The truth, if it was the truth, felt like a noose tightening around his throat.
Orochimaru's voice slithered through the silence, quiet, almost kind.
"Go back, Kakashi-kun."
He didn't raise his tone. He didn't need to.
"Return to your comfort. To your sense of justice. To the illusion that those above you care."
The words echoed like footsteps in a dark corridor.
"Come back to me only when you're ready, when you have the strength to see this village for what it truly is."
He leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.
"Come back when you can stomach the truth. The real truth. Of how high the rot reaches, of how the so-called 'Will of Fire' burns brightest when it's consuming its own."
Kakashi flinched. But he didn't turn back.
"You'll understand one day. When you see another comrade fall and no one reaches out."
The door creaked softly as Kakashi left, eyes wide, tears dried, and something fragile inside him quietly dying.
Orochimaru leaned back once more, lips curling.
"One seed planted," he whispered.
**************
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