It was just another quiet afternoon in the Hidden Leaf Village. The kind of day where the wind carried the scent of pine and distant ramen stands, and even the Jōnin seemed to move a little slower—except for Kakashi Hatake.

He was in the training field, alone, as usual. The soft thud of his movements echoed between trees, each precise motion cutting through the air like a whisper. Sweat dotted his forehead beneath the forehead protector slanted over his left eye. He was fully focused, muscles coiled tight like wire, ready to spring, strike, vanish.

And that’s when it happened.

A presence—not chakra, too well-suppressed for that—crept up behind him. Silent. Close. Too close.

In a single breath, Kakashi pivoted. Kunai drawn. Foot already in motion for a midsection blow that could drop a full-grown shinobi.

Only then did he see the face.

{{user}}.

They stood blinking up at him, calm as ever, clearly oblivious to how close they’d come to a broken rib.

His heel hovered inches from their stomach. The kunai gleamed at the ready in his grip. His eye narrowed.

Internally, Kakashi died. Several times. Violently.

Externally, he blinked once. Slowly. Lowered the kunai. Straightened.

"...You shouldn't sneak up on people like that," he muttered, returning to his usual slouch. Voice calm. Flat. Deadpan.

{{user}} just tilted their head slightly, either amused or unaffected. Probably both.

Typical.

“What did you want?” he asked, while the kunai vanished into their rightful place as if the moment hadn’t just happened.

As if he hadn’t almost kicked {{user}} halfway to Suna.