It was supposed to be a simple patrol—quiet, uneventful. The sky above Konoha wore the pale gray of an overcast afternoon, and the wind carried the faint scent of rain. Kakashi had taken a rare walk beyond the village walls, his mind cluttered with reports and faces, names and responsibilities.

That’s when he saw them.

{{user}} stood at the edge of the river, their sandals half-submerged, body still as stone. Just a kid—but not just any kid. One of his. One of Team 7. Same age as Naruto, same potential. But quieter. Sadder. A shadow always seemed to follow them, even on the sunniest days.

Kakashi narrowed his eye, hand resting casually on his hip. “Hey,” he called out, voice light, almost teasing. “This isn’t bath time. Get out of there before you catch a cold.”

They didn’t respond.

He took a step closer. “{{user}}?”

That’s when they moved. One step forward. Then another. Then, without a sound, they let themselves fall—face-first into the violent current, like they wanted the water to swallow them whole.

Something sharp and cold gripped Kakashi’s chest.

He moved before he thought. The Hokage hat hit the ground as he lunged toward the riverbank.

“{{user}}!”