3 years later.

The graveyard was quiet. It always was.

No matter how many times I came here, the silence was the same. The wind stirred faintly, brushing against the edges of the gravestones, but it did nothing to ease the weight in my chest.

I stood before two markers. Uchiha Obito. Nohara Rin.

The names were etched deeply into the stone, their edges weathered by time. Years had passed, yet the memory of that day-the day I failed them-remained sharp.

I said nothing. There was nothing to say that hadn't already been said a hundred times before.

My hands stayed tucked in my pockets, fingers curling into my palms. The familiar pressure grounded me, though it did little to quiet the voice in the back of my mind-the one that always spoke louder when I was here.

A faint sigh escaped me.

Even now, standing in front of them, I couldn't bring myself to reveal the Sharingan beneath my headband. It felt... wrong.

Kneeling down, I placed a small bouquet of white lilies beside their graves. It was the least I could offer after everything I had taken.

Another year. Another reminder of how much had slipped through my fingers.

"...Another year, huh?"

The words came out quietly, more to myself than to them. The wind didn't carry them far. Maybe that was for the best.

A bitter chuckle rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down. "You'd probably call me a fool for still coming here, huh, Obito?"

I could almost hear his voice. Always looking ahead, never dwelling on the past. He'd be frustrated if he saw me now. Maybe even angry.

"You always said I was too rigid. Too caught up in the rules." My fingers brushed against his name. The stone was rough beneath my touch. "You'd probably hate the kind of person I became."

And maybe you'd be right.

The thought lingered, heavier than it should have. I let my hand fall away.

The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of the lilies back toward me. It was a fragile thing-delicate.

Rin was always like that. The kind of person who could smile even when everything was falling apart around her.

"You'd probably smile at me too," I murmured, my voice barely audible. "No matter how much of a mess I've made, you always did."

A sharp exhale left me. I didn't realize how tense my chest felt until I tried to breathe through it. Even after all these years, standing here made it harder to breathe.

Memories. They press against you when you least expect it-when you're most vulnerable.

"I tried to follow the rules," I said, and for the first time, the words felt heavier out loud. "I thought that was the only way to protect people. To keep everything under control."

A pause.

The silence stretched between us-between me and the dead.

"But in the end..." My throat tightened. "I couldn't protect either of you."

The words hung there, raw and unfiltered.

And that was the truth, wasn't it? No matter how much I had tried-no matter how much I had followed the rules-I had lost them both.

I stood up slowly, brushing the dirt from my knee. The weight in my chest didn't lift. If anything, it settled deeper-like an ache that had long since become familiar.

"Whatever happens..." My voice was steady, quieter now. "I'll keep moving forward. Even if it's just for your sake."

It was a promise I'd made countless times. And yet, every time I said it, it felt as fragile as those lilies resting against their graves.

I turned on my heel. My gaze lingered for a moment longer, taking in the names.

Then I looked away.

The path leading out of the graveyard felt longer than it had when I arrived. Each step pressed against me, a reminder that the world outside hadn't stopped-not for them, and certainly not for me.

The village stretched out ahead-a sprawling shadow beneath the pale afternoon sun. Life continued beyond the walls of that graveyard, indifferent to the dead.

I headed toward the Hokage's office. A new mission awaited me. It always did.

The corridor outside the Hokage's office was quiet.

I arrived to find Yamato waiting, his posture as rigid as ever. Even without the mask, his expression rarely changed. Behind him stood five other ANBU, their faces obscured by porcelain.

Yamato gave me a curt nod. "You're late."

I slipped my hands into my pockets, leaning against the wall with deliberate ease. "And you're as stiff as ever."

A flash of irritation crossed his eyes, but it vanished just as quickly. "The Hokage's waiting," he said, voice low but firm.

I considered giving him another jab but held back.

"What's the briefing?" I asked instead.

"A-Rank. Unspecified target," Yamato said, keeping his voice neutral. "Border operation. Details inside."

A-Rank. That explained the numbers. No one sent six ANBU for a simple assignment. Something about that gnawed at me. Missions like these had a tendency to spiral out of control.

"Sounds messy," I muttered, pushing off the wall. "Let's get this over with."

Yamato turned on his heel, leading the way through the heavy wooden doors. The rest of the team fell in behind us, their footsteps soft but purposeful. I stepped into the office, already feeling the weight of the mission settle against my shoulders.

The air inside was thick with the familiar scent of tobacco. The Third Hokage sat behind his desk, a pipe resting loosely between his fingers. Smoke curled around him, thin and pale against the dim light. He looked tired-tired in the way only men who had seen too much could be. But his eyes remained sharp beneath his age.

"Kakashi," he greeted, then gave a nod to the others. "I trust you're all ready."

"Always," I said. It wasn't entirely true, but it was close enough.

The Hokage let out a slow breath, watching the smoke drift. "We've received intelligence regarding a rogue faction from Kirigakure. It seems they're attempting to smuggle an experimental forbidden jutsu across our borders.

"Do we have specifics?" I asked.

He shook his head, the lines on his face deepening. "No. Only that it's dangerous enough for them to risk crossing into our territory. And that there might be nothing at all. False intelligence is always a possibility." He leaned forward slightly, the weight of the situation clear in his tone. "But if this jutsu exists, we cannot afford to let it fall into the wrong hands."

Yamato shifted slightly beside me. "Where are they now?"

"A remote, mist-covered forest along the border," the Hokage replied. "They move carefully, but our scouts caught glimpses of movement. That was three days ago."

Three days. That meant they could already be inside the Land of Fire if we were unlucky.

"The objective is clear," the Hokage continued. "Intercept and eliminate the smugglers. Secure the jutsu-if it exists. No traces left behind."

"Understood," I said quietly.

"Dismissed," he said finally.

I turned on my heel, my body already moving on instinct. Yamato and the others fell in behind me without a word. We didn't need to speak.

We descended the staircase swiftly, moving deeper into the heart of the village where the world blurred into shadow. I felt the air shift as we crossed the boundary between civilian Konoha and the unseen world of ANBU. A world most people would never know existed.

At the threshold, I pulled my mask from my side and slid it into place. The familiar weight of it settled over my face, cool and impersonal. Here, I wasn't Kakashi Hatake. I wasn't the boy who failed his teammates. I was a weapon. Nothing more.

"We move out immediately," I said, my voice sharper now, stripped of its earlier ease.

Yamato nodded, his own mask hiding whatever expression he might have had. The others followed suit without hesitation.

◆◇◆◇◆

Dawn broke over the Land of Fire, painting the horizon with muted streaks of crimson and gold. The air was crisp, and the scent of dew clung to the leaves beneath Kakashi's boots as he led his team through the thinning woods. Seven figures moved in silence-shadows weaving between the trees. At the front, Yamato kept his pace steady, his eyes scanning the terrain ahead. Behind him, five other ANBU operatives, each masked and disciplined, maintained perfect formation.

Kakashi brought up the rear, his mind a cold and calculating machine. The mission was simple on the surface: intercept and neutralize a rogue faction of Kirigakure shinobi before they crossed into the Land of Fire with a forbidden jutsu.

"Stay sharp," he said, voice low and measured. "We don't know what we're walking into."

Yamato nodded without turning. "Understood. If the intelligence is accurate, we won't risk direct confrontation."

As they drew closer to the border, the terrain grew harsher. The mist, thin at first, thickened with every step. By the time they reached the edge of the forest, visibility had shrunk to mere meters. It wasn't natural-Kakashi could feel the faint stirrings of chakra woven into the mist.

He raised a hand, signaling a halt.

The world fell eerily silent.

No birds. No insects. Just the soft sound of their breathing and the distant rustle of mist curling against branches. Too quiet.

Kakashi shifted his headband, revealing the scarred socket beneath. His Sharingan flared to life, turning the mist into layers of chakra threads. He scanned the area, tracing the delicate filaments lacing the fog. Nothing.

"Yamato," he murmured. "Sweep ahead."

Without hesitation, Yamato formed the necessary seals. "Mokuton: Sashiki no Jutsu." Slender wooden spikes burrowed into the earth and stretched forward, probing the unseen territory.

The moment the wood touched the mist, the ground erupted with chakra.

A white barrier flashed into existence, curving into a dome around them. Runes burned across the surface, locking into place with a crackle of energy. Kakashi's mind sharpened instantly. A sealing barrier-and a sophisticated one.

"It's a trap!" His voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

The team shifted instinctively, drawing closer to the center. No panic.

The mist stirred.

From the edges of the barrier, figures emerged, each identical. They wore black, form-fitting garb. Their faces concealed behind white masks with a cross carved over the left eye and a thin, unnatural smile for a mouth. Their movements were synchronized, deliberate.

Yamato tensed. "How many?"

"Eight. No-nine," Kakashi corrected, his Sharingan tracking subtle chakra signatures. "They were waiting."

He edged closer to Yamato, voice lowering beneath the audible range of their enemies. "It's him."

Yamato's head turned slightly. "Who?"

"The Bishop."

The name dropped like a stone, heavy with implication.

Yamato's voice was sharp. "You're sure?"

"The appearance matches perfectly." Kakashi's tone was calm, but beneath it lay an edge of unease. "White mask. Cross over the left eye. That smile. It can't be coincidence."

He flexed his fingers, feeling the familiar weight of a kunai slide into his palm.

"Three years ago, Hiashi Hyuga was found dead. No witnesses. No traces. The only lead was a flash of white and a smile like that." His Sharingan burned, mapping every detail. "Since then, his presence has spread across all the 5 great nations like a plague. Captures, Stealing, Political kills. The intelligence network labeled him an S-rank threat. Flee on sight. And his bounty-one of the highest in all five nations."

Yamato's composure didn't waver. "If it's him, why are there so many?

"That's the mystery," Kakashi admitted. "Official reports suggest he's a one-man army who uses advanced cloning techniques. But no one's confirmed whether he's truly alone or if he works with a team."

His voice grew quieter still. "If this is the real Bishop, we can't afford mistakes."

The masked figures took a step forward in unison.

The barrier hummed around them, sealing their exit.

Yamato shifted his stance. "Orders?"

Kakashi's visible eye narrowed. "We hold formation. No one acts alone."

The air grew heavier as the masked figures advanced another step.

"Whatever happens," Kakashi murmured, "stay close. This won't be a fair fight."

His Sharingan burned brighter, tracing every flicker of movement. This was no ordinary mission. And the enemy before them was no ordinary shinobi.

The white-masked figures moved.

Kunai knives shot through the dense mist, their speed unnatural. Kakashi's eye narrowed as he tracked their trajectories-no explosive tags, no obvious tricks-but the sheer velocity forced him to dodge. His body moved on instinct, weaving through the hail of steel. The others followed suit, but the moment the kunai struck the ground, they detonated.

Explosive bursts ripped through the forest. The shockwave tore branches from the trees, forcing the team to scatter. Kakashi landed lightly on a tree branch, already assessing the situation. Eight figures moved in unison, surrounding him. Their intent was clear-they weren't aiming to kill. Not yet. The constant barrage of kunai was designed to restrict his movement, to force him on the defensive.

Despite the clarity the Sharingan provided, their coordination remained unnerving. Each strike came from a different angle, each movement perfectly synchronized. It was as if they shared one mind.

Yamato and the other ANBU tried to close in, but before they could advance, one of the white-masked figures flickered into their midst.

Yamato's breath caught in his throat. This one was different.

The masked figure moved with a smooth, deliberate grace, threading through the group like water. One of the ANBU reacted, drawing a kunai, but the masked man merely passed by him without striking. For a moment, it seemed as though nothing had happened.

Then the ANBU's head slipped from his shoulders.

Blood sprayed into the air. The other four moved to engage, but the Bishop was already among them.

A second ANBU stumbled back, clutching at the stump where his arm had been severed. Another's chest caved in with a wet crunch before his body fell lifelessly to the ground. The third reached for a jutsu, hands forming seals, but his throat opened in a thin, clean line before the chakra could even gather. In mere seconds, the forest floor was painted crimson.

Yamato's hands flew into motion. "Wood Style: Binding Roots!"

Thick branches erupted from the ground, lunging toward the masked man. But as soon as the wood twisted around him, his body moved in an unnatural way, his form blurred, and he was gone. Yamato's eyes widened.

Kakashi gritted his teeth. This level of speed and lethality left no doubt in his mind.

"This is bad," he muttered to himself.

The masked man flicked his fingers, and a barrier wall split through the dome in a clean, seamless motion. Yamato and Kakashi found themselves separated-isolated. This was planned from the beginning.

Kakashi's thoughts raced. This enemy wasn't just skilled-he was methodical. Every move had been premeditated. The eight surrounding him were decoys, distractions meant to keep him pinned while the true threat eliminated his support. And now, with the barrier dividing them, he and Yamato were next.

Yamato's breath came hard and fast. "Kakashi-senpai," he called out, voice tense. "What is this? Who is this?"

Kakashi's eyes sharpen with killing intent. "Prepare yourself."

The air grew heavier with each passing second.

Yamato stood frozen, his eyes locked on the Bishop. The white mask remained emotionless, the thin, curved smile painted across its surface a cruel mockery of human expression. Nothing moved-no sound, no sign of life beyond the faint stir of mist curling at their feet. It was as if the entire forest held its breath, waiting for someone to break the silence.

A bead of sweat rolled down Yamato's temple.

He had faced countless enemies in his time as an ANBU operative-rogue ninjas, mercenaries, even S-rank criminals-but something about the man before him defied logic. The stillness wasn't hesitation; it was control. Absolute, terrifying control.

"Wood Style: Wood Clone Technique."

Five clones burst into existence beside him, their forms twisting from the earth in rapid succession. Without hesitation, they surged toward the Bishop. Each clone moved independently, coordinating their attacks from multiple angles. Two advanced from the front while the others flanked, aiming to overwhelm him in one swift strike.

The Bishop didn't react.

No flicker of movement. No defensive stance. He simply stood, hands relaxed, fingers barely shifting by his sides. Yet as the first clone lunged, something impossible occurred.

The clone froze mid-strike.

Yamato's breath hitched in his throat. The other four followed, their motions halted as if caught in an invisible snare. Time seemed to fracture. A chilling stillness settled over the battlefield, broken only by the faint creak of wood under pressure.

Then, without warning, the clones shattered.

Jagged pieces of wood exploded in every direction, raining debris across the forest floor. Yamato's heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to process what he had just witnessed. The Bishop hadn't moved. Not an inch.

"How?" he muttered under his breath, scanning for any clue.

His eyes fell to the Bishop's hands-fingers twitching ever so slightly. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but there was no mistaking it. Was that all he needed? A faint gesture, and the clones were annihilated.

What kind of technique was this?

Yamato clenched his fists. This wasn't normal speed. He had fought against swift opponents before, but this went beyond human limits. There was no motion blur, no visible transition between action and consequence.

The silence broke.

The Bishop moved.

Yamato's body tensed as his hands flew into a familiar sequence of seals. "Earth Release: Earth Flow Rampart!"

The ground trembled beneath his feet. In an instant, a massive wall of stone surged upward between them, rising like a fortress to cut off the Bishop's approach. Yet even as the barrier formed, something was wrong.

The Bishop didn't stop.

Yamato's heart skipped a beat. The Bishop's body rose with the wall-floating effortlessly, as if gravity itself held no sway over him. His feet hovered just above the stone, as if he were one with the very air. For the first time, a shiver of unease crept into Yamato's spine.

"No way..." he whispered.

Before the thought could settle, the Bishop was already upon him.

Yamato barely had time to register the shift. His trained reflexes kicked in, his right hand striking out to intercept the attack. But his arm stopped cold, as if hitting an unseen wall. It was as though the air itself had locked his movement in place.

A flash of pain exploded in his gut.

The Bishop's fist struck with a force that felt like being hit by a battering ram. Yamato's body crumpled inward as the punch drove him back into his own earth wall. Stone shattered around him as the impact reverberated through his ribs. The world blurred for an instant, and he felt himself being thrown through the air.

The ground rushed up to meet him.

Yamato hit the earth hard, skidding several meters before coming to rest against the base of a tree. His vision swam as he coughed, the metallic taste of blood rising in his throat. His