There are some destinies that are impossibly cruel. Some individuals, no matter the heights of power they reach, are fated to stand before an obstacle that is always just a little bit taller, a little bit stronger. A shadow that forever precedes them.
Sasuke Uchiha, the driven avenger, was such an individual.
His recent, almost unbelievable surge in power, courtesy of the mysterious Jars, had only served to propel him into a terrifying, yet inevitable reality: he was now strong enough to challenge his teacher, but still too weak to survive the world his teacher understood.
This particular, agonizing reality was what Shen Mo—the enigmatic Jar Merchant—had struggled to process. The gap between Sasuke's current strength and the true, unfathomable power of his destined adversaries was so vast, it was a gulf no mortal boost could bridge. Not yet.
A soft sigh escaped Kakashi's hidden lips.
"Alright," he began, looking down at the discarded, fractured kunai in his hand, a symbol of the superficial nature of their previous skirmish. He regarded Sasuke, whose stance was a coiled spring of arrogant confidence. "I truly wanted to end this quickly, with just a bit of simple Taijutsu practice. But if you leave the village now—if you abandon the path of a teammate—you will absolutely die."
Sasuke's eyebrows shot up, a furious edge to his voice. "What nonsense is this, Kakashi-sensei? I'm not foolish enough to believe I'm invincible, but I am an Avenger. I will become stronger than anyone!"
He clenched his fists, the image of his older brother, Itachi, burning into his mind. First, I will surpass Kakashi, then I will become stronger still, until I am greater than that man. With the power I have now, how can I possibly die?
"No, Sasuke," Kakashi insisted, his gaze distant, focused on a memory of darkness and blood. "You possess no true understanding of the power held by the man you hate."
Kakashi still held the damaged kunai, but the focus of attention had subtly shifted. An intangible wave of energy began to emanate from the usually lackadaisical Jōnin. It wasn't a mere spike of chakra; it was a fundamental change in presence. A predatory stillness replaced his customary laziness.
What is happening? Sasuke's arrogance flickered, replaced by a subconscious awareness of genuine danger. I feel… different. The air around him is heavier.
It was at that critical juncture that Sarutobi Hiruzen, the Third Hokage, chose to intervene, his voice echoing from his distant vantage point, filled with a deliberate, almost theatrical reverence.
"Sasuke," the old man's voice carried clearly to the training ground. "Your teacher, Hatake Kakashi, is no ordinary Jōnin. He is a true prodigy, one of the greatest talents Konoha has ever produced."
The Hokage launched into a summary that was both a historical account and a veiled warning: "He graduated from the Academy at the age of five, achieved Chūnin rank by six, and was promoted to Jōnin at the age of twelve. He earned great fame on the battlefields of the Third Shinobi War, a legacy that brought him the fearful epithet: 'Copy Ninja Kakashi.'"
The effect was instantaneous. Naruto's jaw dropped.
"Wow! Kakashi-sensei is actually that amazing? He's usually so..." Naruto trailed off, unable to reconcile the legendary resume with the perennial tardiness and general flippancy.
"Indeed," Sarutobi sighed, playing his part perfectly. "I'm frankly surprised he recognized your potential and even agreed to lead your particular team."
Oh, stop with the dramatics, old man. You arranged the team from the start, Shen Mo thought, rolling his eyes inwardly. He understood the timing perfectly. Hiruzen's interjection was a signal to Kakashi: The time for testing is over. It is time for the lesson.
Sasuke, however, was truly stunned. Unlike the strength he had purchased, Kakashi's achievements were organic, earned through sheer genius and blood.
A Jōnin by twelve… just like that man, Sasuke realized, the comparison striking him like a physical blow. They are both monsters of genius.
The shock fueled his fanaticism. He raised his enhanced sword, pointing the deadly tip directly at Kakashi's uncovered eye.
"Then I must ask you this, Kakashi-sensei!" Sasuke's voice was strained, brimming with desperate fervor. "If I defeat you now—the famed Copy Ninja—does that mean I am strong enough to exact my revenge on Uchiha Itachi?"
He had roared his brother's name aloud, a challenge thrown not just at Kakashi, but at the entire world. For Sasuke, revenge was the only currency, and the idea of postponing it was unbearable.
But Kakashi's response was a crushing denial.
"If your enemy is Uchiha Itachi," Kakashi stated, his tone firm, "even I cannot guarantee myself a victory." He paused, his gaze hardening. "And there is absolutely no way you can defeat me in your current state. If you leave the team to pursue him, you will be nothing more than a corpse. You will die, Sasuke."
Kakashi was a man defined by his lost comrades. He would not allow a student under his care to rush to a foolish, needless death. The lesson had to be harsh. It had to be unforgettable.
Sasuke was enraged by the cold, dismissive words. "Then show me! You haven't seen the full extent of my power!"
"Then," Kakashi concluded, his hand slowly reaching up to the Konoha forehead protector that shielded his left eye, "I shall grant you a true experience of a ninja's life-or-death combat."
The silver fabric was peeled back, revealing a jagged, horizontal scar. And beneath the scar, the pupil.
Sharingan.
A crimson storm of three tomoe.
Sasuke's breath hitched in his throat. His own Sharingan—newly awakened and still nascent—pulsed wildly in response to the sight of this foreign, powerful dōjutsu.
Why? How does Kakashi possess the Sharingan? Even among the Uchiha, an eye technique of this maturity is rare!
He wanted to demand answers, to unleash a torrent of questions about his clan, about the eye, but the words withered on his tongue.
The air had grown cold. Killing intent.
As Kakashi began to pool his chakra, the swirling, visible energy around him escalated, forming a furious, audible vortex. The Jōnin seemed to have physically transformed. He was no longer a man; he was a cheetah, sleek, focused, and utterly lethal.
Sasuke felt the prickle of danger across his skin. Even a momentary lapse, an irregular breath, a twitch of the eye—it would be capitalized upon. It would mean death. The hilt of his sword, usually a comforting weight, now felt slick with sweat.
"Sasuke," Kakashi's voice was a low, guttural growl, carried to the boy from all angles on the churning wind. "If you call yourself an avenger, then see me as your most hated enemy. And I, unlike a mere teacher, am now genuinely determined to kill you."
Whether the words were true didn't matter. The aura of murder was genuine—the visceral, unmistakable scent of the battlefield. Sasuke felt it deep in his bones, a terror that was utterly real.
"Damn… Damn you!"
He took a sharp breath, gripping his sword until his knuckles turned white. He erupted into motion, a flurry of bizarre, rapid, almost dance-like steps.
Seven Star Footwork.
This was the complex movement technique he had gained overnight: an intricate blend of Taijutsu footwork and Kenjutsu speed. His body flickered, creating four or five perfect, identical afterimages—ghosts—that rushed Kakashi from different angles, all seemingly holding the deadly blade. The real and the unreal intertwined, a seamless tapestry of offense.
Sarutobi Hiruzen, watching intently, nodded in silent approval. This was easily a B-rank physical skill, possibly A-rank with further refinement. What incredible power did that merchant sell him?
Kakashi remained completely still, seemingly indifferent to the blinding, ferocious assault.
He's not even looking at the clones!
"Got you!" Sasuke's confident shout broke the silence.
His real body, which had lagged slightly behind the ghost images, had slipped in behind Kakashi's supposed blind spot. He pressed the cold steel of his katana directly against the Jōnin's neck. A slight push, and the fight would be irreversibly over.
"I still won," Sasuke stated, a triumphant but shaky confidence in his voice.
Kakashi leaned his head slightly back, the tip of the blade resting against the leather of his flak jacket. "Sasuke," he whispered, his voice dangerously low, "as a member of the Uchiha clan, do you truly not know the fundamental effect of the Sharingan?"
"What!?" Sasuke's eyes narrowed, a cold feeling of dread creeping up his spine.
The ground beneath his feet suddenly churned. A hand, rough and strong, erupted from the earth and seized his ankle in a crushing grip. Simultaneously, the Kakashi figure pressed against his neck vanished in a puff of green smoke. It was a clone!
"A clone?! When did he have time to weave the seal?"
Kakashi's chilling voice echoed from the ground beneath him, granting no time for thought, no chance for escape.
"Earth Release: Headhunter Jutsu!" (Doton: Shinjuu Zanshuu no Jutsu)
The merciless lesson had begun.