Two days later, Rin showed up again, this time with Obito trailing behind her. She carried a small, covered box that smelled fantastic—all warm butter and fine vanilla. Inside were handmade, golden, crescent-shaped shortbread cookies, the kind of comforting flavor that only comes from genuine care and home baking. Rin had definitely made them for Kakashi, but, no surprise, Obito was the one who ate most of them.
The expression on Obito's face as he devoured the cookies was totally comical—pure, unadulterated happiness that briefly made him forget how much he was supposed to dislike Kakashi. He even tried to sneak a look under Kakashi's mask as Kakashi lifted a cookie, but, naturally, his attempt was completely hopeless. Kakashi ate his portion with a detached silence that told his friends nothing, yet Obito happily interpreted it as enjoyment.
It didn't take long for the sugar rush to kick in and for the boys to fall back into their familiar, loud arguments about who was actually stronger.
"You'll never beat me once I awaken my Sharingan!" Obito declared dramatically, pounding his chest like he was fighting off a stampede. His tone was fired up and totally self-assured. "I'll see through every trick and move you have, just you wait!"
Kakashi's reply was cool, perfectly measured, and utterly cutting. "You? Awaken the Sharingan? A Uchiha who needs goggles and eyedrops just to find the door? If that ever happens, I'll awaken a dōjutsu of my own—despite not even having one in my clan." His tone was pure mockery, a casual dismissal that hit Obito harder than any physical blow.
Obito's face went instantly red. He leaped to his feet, knocking his chair slightly. "You just wait till you're back at the Academy! I'll beat your sick, weak body into shape! You won't even know what hit you!"
Kakashi tilted his head slightly, his eyes half-lidded. His tone remained as calm as a frozen lake. "Even now—hooked up to this machine, unable to use a single jutsu—I'd still win. You know it, and I know it."
"Oh, really? Then let's fight right now—" Obito lunged forward, but Rin's patience snapped.
Rin's hand came down hard on Obito's head with a deep, echoing thump that silenced the entire quiet section of the hospital hallway. "That's enough, both of you!" she snapped, her voice high and tight with frustration. "Kakashi, you're still recovering, and Obito—can't you control yourself for once? You are in a hospital!"
Rin sighed deeply, rubbing her temple with a tired gesture. This boy has absolutely no idea what to say or when to just shut up, she thought, her exhaustion clear. After a few more minutes of forced small talk about Academy classes and upcoming exam anxiety, Rin and Obito said their goodbyes and finally left. The room immediately fell into a deafening silence.
The moment the door clicked shut, Kakashi pressed his palms together, mimicking the meditative pose he had perfected. Then, he pressed his toes together. The slight pressure immediately sent a familiar, agonizing spike of pain through his body, tracing the damaged lines of his chakra circuit.
The pain was still there, sure, but by now, he had grown accustomed to it. For the past two days, he had been engaged in secret, methodical training—not to heal, but to map his entire chakra circuit through sheer endurance and control. Each surge of discomfort revealed another corner of his body's inner network, a precise path of damage or flow.
I understand the risk now, he thought, his jaw clenched against a wave of nausea. This pain isn't an accident. It's a message.
He could now feel the precise paths of chakra within himself—the strong, healthy currents, and the weak leaks where the flow bled from his damaged channels.
Sometimes the pain blurred his vision, and for half a second he imagined his father's hand steadying his shoulder—then it was gone. The awareness was startling, almost overwhelming in its detail, but it was deeply instructive. His control had sharpened dramatically. At times, it felt as though he could will the chakra to move as he desired, not just guide it, but command its very direction.
"Father was right," Kakashi thought, a cold, clinical affirmation. "If you want to learn, you can learn from anything. Pain and necessity are the best teachers."
He continued this routine, focusing his concentration until his temples throbbed, for the next five days. He used the pain as an anchor, forcing his mind to trace the damaged pathways until the flow was perfect. Slowly, the physical pain faded, replaced by a cool, almost electric sensation—his chakra flowing in what felt like perfect, effortless precision through his restored circuits. The feeling of absolute, internal command was unnerving even for someone as controlled as him, but it was undeniably progress.
Through this brutal process, Kakashi had discovered something new and terrifying. He could now manipulate his chakra with pinpoint accuracy—he could drain his circuits completely to mimic total exhaustion, or dangerously flood certain areas to amplify his strength severalfold. He recognized this was the key to breaching his natural limits, but he refrained from testing it immediately. His body wasn't fully healed yet, and recklessness now could undo everything he had suffered for.
Now, sitting upright on his hospital bed, Kakashi flexed his fingers slowly, opening and closing his hand, adjusting to this strange, potent new sensation of absolute control. The Automated Healing Chakra Supplier (AHCS) device lay quiet and inactive nearby, its reassuring green glow long extinguished. He didn't need it anymore.
A few moments later, Nurse Shizuko and Tsunade entered the room, carrying a clipboard heavy with paperwork. Tsunade's expression was firm but tinged with concern.
"Alright, Kakashi," Tsunade said, her voice carrying the weight of her medical authority. "We're releasing you today. But let me be perfectly clear: that does not mean you are completely healed."
She gestured toward his hands and feet. "The initial micro-fractures in your chakra circuit are gone, but the channels themselves are still sensitive. They are not capable of taking the load of chakra when using Ninjutsu. If you push it, you will rupture them, and I won't be able to fix the damage next time."
She paused, making sure he met her gaze. "So, do not use any jutsu for two full weeks. Take care of yourself, and please," her voice softened, betraying a flicker of genuine emotion, "don't do anything your father wouldn't want you to do." She stepped closer. "If you need any kind of help—medical or otherwise—just come to me. Understand?"
Nurse Shizuko then handed Kakashi the papers and a pen, telling him where to sign. "Stay safe, Kiddo," she said with a warm, exasperated sigh. "And try to enjoy life a little."
Kakashi signed the papers with his usual mechanical precision. He looked up, his eye meeting her gaze squarely. "Don't worry, I will." Today was the day he would finally be released.
He quickly dressed himself in his dark navy blue t-shirt with full sleeves. He left the room, the scent of antiseptic already fading from his clothes. Obito and Rin just came outside the hospital gate.
Obito's face lit up with an enormous smile, his voice booming with excited relief. "Oh, you got released already! That's awesome! Come to the Academy—I'll show you the new Fireball Jutsu I learned! It's so cool!"
Kakashi stopped, his expression neutral. "Oh, about that. I will not go to the Academy for the week. So, don't worry about me. I have things to do." His tone was casual, dismissing his friend's eagerness without a second thought.
He glanced at Rin, who was holding a small, cheerful bouquet of white and blue flowers—a clear, innocent contrast to the clinical coldness of his hospital room. She looked unsure and deeply concerned.
Seeing his attention, she offered the bouquet. "I brought some flowers for you. I hope you like them, and please," her voice dropped to a soft plea, "don't do anything dangerous."
Kakashi nodded. "I will try to stay safe, and the flowers are pretty." He accepted the bouquet from Rin, careful not to let their fingers touch. "See you at school."
With his casual farewell given, Kakashi performed a high jump—a sudden, unnecessary burst of physical activity that showcased his restored body—and, utilizing high-speed shinobi jumps, shot away toward his home, leaving Obito and Rin standing by the gate.
He moved quickly, a blur through the winding streets of Konoha, the flowers still clutched lightly in his hand. His thoughts were a cold vortex centered on the two weeks of wasted time, the temporary ban on jutsu. He had to pivot to find an alternative way to build power without chakra.
He passed a narrow alleyway and, without breaking stride or showing a flicker of emotion, simply dropped the bouquet of blue and white flowers into a dusty, metal dustbin.
For a split second, the scent of the flowers clung to his fingers—sweet, fragile, and achingly alive. His hand hesitated, almost imperceptibly. Then he brushed it away, like dust.
The act was surgical and immediate—a final, absolute rejection of their compassion and concern, instantly severing the soft ties that could hold him back.
But as he walked on, he caught himself curling his fingers inward, as though trying to crush the lingering trace of that scent. It annoyed him that it wouldn't fade right away.
He opened it and spoke into the silence. "I'm back home."
He stood in the doorway longer than he needed to, listening to the stillness. For a moment, he thought he heard his father's voice—then realized it was just the wind through the paper doors.
No one was there. He took a single, quiet, sad breath, the sound barely disturbing the dust motes dancing in the morning light. It was an acknowledgement of the vast, empty space that was now his house.
He removed his shoes and went directly to his father's room, which had remained perfectly preserved since the day Sakumo had died. He placed his hand on the wooden floorboard near the edge of the futon and, with a push of a secret button, lifted the secret panel. He reached inside and pulled out a heavy wooden box full of scrolls written by his father.
He looked down at them with a mischievous glee that had a terrifying, analytical edge to it. He whispered to himself, his voice cold and dry, "Let's see how my father became such a legend of the five great nations." His new phase of training had begun.