(Hokage's Office)
Namikaze Minato stood before the Hokage's desk, a nervous energy thrumming just beneath his calm exterior. He had submitted his report on Team 7's failure, and the silence that followed was unnerving. "Hokage-sama," he began, "I hope my assessment was not too harsh. The two civilians, they showed potential for teamwork, but—"
"Your report was perfectly adequate, Minato," Sarutobi Hiruzen interrupted, his voice calm as he drew on his pipe. "The failure was not yours. It was a failure of circumstance. However, it has brought a critical issue to my attention."
The Hokage set his pipe down, his gaze sharpening. "Hatake Kakashi is more than just a talented child. He is one of the pillars of Konoha's next generation. His potential is immense, but his grief has isolated him. It has made him rigid."
Sarutobi leaned forward, his voice softening with a carefully crafted weight. "You understand this, don't you, Minato? You know what it's like to lose your parents at a young age, to be an orphan left to navigate the world alone. Kakashi is walking that same path, but his is darker. He needs guidance. A firm but compassionate hand to mold that talent before it shatters."
Minato remained silent, his expression unreadable, but the Hokage knew he had struck the right chord.
"I cannot allow a pillar of this village to crumble," Sarutobi continued. "Therefore, I am officially removing him from the standard genin track. I am asking you, Minato, to take him on as your personal disciple. Supervise his training. Be his sensei. More than that," the Hokage added, "I am appointing you as his legal guardian."
The weight of the request settled in the room. This was more than a mission; it was a fundamental responsibility. Minato, the orphan who had risen to become a Jonin of Konoha, was being asked to raise the son of the man who had fallen in disgrace. After a long moment, he gave a single, decisive nod.
"I understand, Hokage-sama. I will do it."
"Good," Sarutobi said, a flicker of a smile hidden behind his pipe smoke. "Go and speak to the boy yourself. Tell him of this new arrangement. It should come from you."
With that Kakashi would not be marked as a failure nor made to be wasted in the Genin Corp.
(1st Person - Judai's POV)
The next morning felt like walking to my own execution. Machi was quiet beside me, the sting of failure radiating off her in waves. Her merchant parents were going to have a fit. Another year in the Academy was a mark of shame, a blemish on the family's attempt to integrate and climb the social ladder in Konoha. For me, an orphan with bright blue hair and no family name to tarnish, it was just another day.Machi was still pissed, mostly at Kakashi, but a good portion of her anger was aimed at me for being right. I just felt a weary sense of inevitability.
We entered the designated classroom. It was filled with about twenty other kids, all of them wearing the same defeated expression. These were the washouts, the ones whose jonin-sensei had deemed them unworthy. I scanned the room, looking for a familiar shock of silver hair.
He wasn't there.
"Where's the brat?" Machi muttered, her eyes also sweeping the room. "Don't tell me the great Hatake Kakashi is too good to show up for his own failure."
A cold knot formed in my stomach. I had expected us all to be here, to face this together. His absence meant something else. It meant he wasn't being treated like us. He was special. We were not.
We sat in silence until an instructor I didn't recognize walked in. He wore the standard uniform of a Konoha chunin and had a completely blank look on his face. He surveyed the room, his gaze lingering on each of us for a moment, as if cataloging our weaknesses.
"All of you are here for one reason," he began, his voice loud and clear, devoid of any warmth. "You have washed out of the Academy training program. None of you are on the fast track for advancement. Few, if any of you, will ever make jounin. From now on, you are plain grunts. I am the only person you need to impress while I see if I can salvage any of you into passable ninja. I will not tolerate backtalk or slackers. After today, all of you will come to class in suitable attire and respond with military discipline.
'Genin Corp?' Judai internally said in confusion.
This wasn't supposed to happen. In my first life, my last life, failing the bell test meant a one-way ticket back to the Academy. It was humiliating, sure, but it was familiar. We would have been in class with the next generation's main cast: Asuma, Kurenai, Anko, Genma, Raido, even Shizune and Aoba. I was prepared for that.
But this? This was the Genin Corps. The meat grinder. A place for washouts and expendable bodies.
Why? What changed?
I racked my brain, trying to find answers. Was it because I used the Fireball Jutsu during the test? I didn't do that the first time around. Or maybe our teamwork was too good, showing potential they didn't want to waste in a classroom? No, that's ridiculous. A few basic fireballs and a half-decent plan aren't enough to change the entire system. Any clan child or dedicated orphan with a library card could learn what I did.
Then it hit me. A memory of a useless goddess laughing. A slightly altered timeline. Maybe this was it. Maybe my simple act of trying harder had set off a butterfly effect, pushing us down a different path.
The final piece of the puzzle was Kakashi's absence. He wasn't here. He wasn't being punished with us. That confirmed it. The village leadership had looked at the three of us and sorted us into different piles. Kakashi was an asset, a prodigy to be nurtured and honed by the best. We… we were something else. We were grunts. Expendable.
"You will address me as 'Sir'. Said the chunin. That is the only way you will refer to me. Do you understand?"
A few students mumbled a weak, "Yes, Sir."
"I COULD NOT HEAR YOU!" he bellowed, now enhanced with chakra. The force of his voice making me flinch. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
"YES, SIR!" the class shouted back in unison.
"In the future, all replies will be loud and clearly spoken," he continued, his gaze sweeping over us. "You will wear dark blue, dark green, or black clothing. Brightly colored hair will be covered when on duty or dyed. It will not be loose below your neck." His eyes landed on my bright blue hair and Machi's pink-purple mane. "When I call on you, you will rise and stand straight. Are there any questions?"
I hesitantly raised my hand.
The instructor pointed at me. "You, with the spikes."
I stood up, rubbing the back of my head out of habit. "Sir, I don't have any other clothes suitable for ninja work. I don't have enough money to buy any."
The instructor's eyebrow twitched. "Spikey, did I say you could smile or rub the back of your head when you addressed me?"
"No, Sir."
He was in my face in an instant, his glare intense. "Then get down on the floor and give me twenty pushups for your mistake."
I dropped to the floor and quickly knocked out twenty. As I stood up, he was still there.
"How many pushups did you do for me, Spikey?"
"I did twenty, Sir," I replied.
"Really? I never heard you say you did any. Are you lying to me, Spikey?"
"No, Sir."
"THEN I WANT TO HEAR YOU AS YOU DO THOSE PUSHUPS!" he roared.
I got back down and started again, counting each one out loud this time. When I finished the last one, I began to rise, but his boot slammed onto my back, pushing me back to the floor.
"Are you trying to get thrown out of this program, Spikey?"
"No, Sir."
"I think you are. You did every one of those pushups wrong." He looked over at Machi. "Pinkie, what did Spikey do wrong?"
Machi shot to her feet. "He forgot to say 'Sir' each time he spoke out, Sir."
The man nodded. "Do my twenty pushups, Spikey."
I grit my teeth and gave Machi a glare, crying in my heart. 'I thought we were friends but you sold me out and told me to eat dirt.' But I still did another twenty, making sure to bark out "One, Sir! Two, Sir! Three, Sir!" until I was finished.
Finally, he let me stand. "To answer your question," he said, "you may request suitable clothing from the quartermaster. The cost will be deducted if you make genin. Otherwise, you will be billed for it if you wash out entirely." He handed me a requisition form. "Take Pinkie with you. Both of you are wearing clothes that scream 'Kill Me'."
Day by day, for the next three months, we were systematically broken down. The instructor, a man we only ever knew as "Sir," seemed to take a particular, sadistic glee in torturing me and Machi. Every hint of our old personalities—my joking, Machi's temper—was met with harsh physical punishment. We were no longer Judai and Machi; we were Spikey and Pinkie, two interchangeable cogs being hammered into the Konoha war machine.
The other students, seeing us singled out, kept their distance. We became an island of two, relying on each other for everything. We'd watch each other's backs during brutal taijutsu drills, share water during exhausting obstacle course runs, and sit together in silence during lunch.
(Minato's Home)
Minato hummed to himself as he stirred the curry, the aroma filling his small, warm kitchen. He tasted it, nodding in satisfaction. It was a good thing he was cooking tonight. Kushina, for all her wonderful qualities, wasn't exactly allowed to cook for guests. Not after the "incident" involving the visiting Fire Daimyo's advisor and a dangerously undercooked fugu.
The knock on the door was quiet, almost hesitant. Minato wiped his hands and went to open it.
Hatake Kakashi stood on the doorstep, looking small and lost. His shoulders were slumped, and his visible eye was fixed on the ground. He looked less like a prodigy and more like a ghost haunting his own life.
"Kakashi," Minato said with a warm smile. "Come in, dinner's almost ready."
The boy entered silently, taking a seat at the small dining table. He didn't speak, didn't look around, just stared at the wood grain as if it held all the world's secrets.
Minato placed a steaming bowl in front of him. "The Hokage has... reassigned you," he began gently. Kakashi's head snapped up, his eye wide with alarm. "He believes a standard team isn't the right fit for you. So, you'll be assigned to me. As my apprentice."
Kakashi blinked, processing the information. It wasn't a punishment. It was a promotion of sorts.
"There's more," Minato continued, sitting across from him. "He's also appointed me as your legal guardian."
The boy flinched, as if struck. For the first time, an emotion other than stoic grief flickered across his face—confusion, maybe even a hint of fear.
Minato's smile was sad, but kind. "We're both orphans, Kakashi. We have to look out for each other." He pushed the bowl of curry closer. "Now, eat. You need your strength."
Two orphans, one now the guardian of the other, shared a meal in the warm quiet of a home, a world away from the cold, harsh barracks where their former teammates were learning the true cost of being expendable.