The park is still, the low sun casting long shadows over the empty paths as Kakashi sits on a weathered bench, his legs stretched out, the remnants of his jog fading into the cooling evening air. He flips open his beloved Icha Icha Paradise, his eyes, one donned with a never-fading scar, linger on the pages without truly reading.

A breeze stirs the trees, their leaves rustling and taking him back just as fast. Kakashi sighs, the calmness of the moment settling over him, but his mind remains restless, constantly shifting, never fully at peace as he keeps being alert. He's hyperaware of his surroundings, of the sounds, natural and man-made, the scents, the sights. Nonetheless, to outsiders, he's as nonchalant and cool as can be, his expression well hidden behind a stony facade and an additional black face mask.