[Starting in Naruto with a Daily Login System] Chapter 62: Smoke and Mirrors

I didn’t sleep.

Didn’t rest.

I walked straight from the border back to the village, my legs barely holding me up, blood crusted under the armor I hadn't taken off in two days. My ribs felt cracked, my shoulder out of place. Chakra reserves? Gone, scraped empty three provinces ago.

 But I didn’t stop.

Because none of it made sense.

Senju bloodline.

It kicked in, like it always did. My body, battered and beaten, began healing on its own, a familiar warmth spreading through my veins, mending the worst of the damage. Muscles knit back together, broken bones re-aligned, and the bruises began to fade as if time itself was working to restore me.

But the pain?

The pain stayed.

It didn’t go anywhere. It lingered, sharp and insistent—every step, every movement reminding me of the fight. My body may have healed, but the wounds on my soul? The exhaustion in my mind? That couldn’t be fixed by blood alone.

I kept walking, because I had to. Because even if my body was strong enough to push through, my mind wouldn’t let me rest until I figured out why it all happened.

The Hokage Tower rose like a question mark over Konoha’s skyline, and I stormed through it like a threat. Civilians scattered. Chunin guards froze.

I didn’t knock.

Didn’t announce myself.

Just pushed open the door like I still had the right to.

Hiruzen looked up from a stack of scrolls, calm as ever. “Kakashi,” he said. “You’ve returned sooner than expected.”

I didn’t speak. Just dropped the broken remains of my mission scroll on his desk like a corpse.

His eyes narrowed. “What is this?”

“You tell me,” I said, voice like gravel. “You sent me into a trap.”

He leaned back slowly, examining the scroll. Then looked up. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t lie to me.” My voice cracked. Pain flared down my spine, but I didn’t flinch. “The outpost was empty. The target didn’t exist. And someone was waiting for me.”

“Who?”

“The Masked Man.”

His expression didn’t change.

I took a step forward, close enough to see the flicker in his eyes. Confusion. Real confusion. Not fake. Not feigned. He wasn’t hiding something.

He didn’t know.

“I never gave this mission,” he said finally. “That’s not my seal.”

“It’s your handwriting.”

“I haven’t written anything in days.” His brow furrowed. “I… remember speaking with you.”

“So do I.”

“But…”

He blinked.

Then again.

Slower.

Like something was slipping.

Falling.

“I don’t remember what we talked about.”

There it was.

Not a lie.

Not a mistake.

An illusion.

A genjutsu so precise, so seamless, it reached the Hokage.

Not just manipulated.

Rewrote.

I stepped back, stomach turning. “You were caught in it.”

His hand trembled slightly. That wasn’t fear. That was rage. The kind old men get when the world reminds them they’re not gods.

“I didn’t even feel it,” he whispered. “Whoever this is… he’s beyond ANBU.”

“He’s beyond a lot of things.”

The silence settled between us, cold and heavy.

That man had known every move I’d make. Every jutsu I’d use. He knew my reflexes. My tempo. My choices.

And now I knew why.

He didn’t just set the trap.

He designed it from the inside.

My chest ached. My jaw throbbed. My whole body screamed for rest. But there was a sound in the back of my head that wouldn’t stop.

A question I couldn’t answer.

And a voice I couldn’t forget.

Not yet. Not enough.

I turned to leave.

“I’ll double security,” Hiruzen said behind me. “Alert Intelligence. Run chakra scans on everyone. If he’s inside the village—”

“He’s not.”

I didn’t explain.

I couldn’t.

Because the truth was worse than infiltration. Worse than manipulation.

He didn’t need to sneak in.

He could just walk right through the front gates, and no one would ever know.

Hiruzen didn’t stop me. He didn’t ask for clarification or call for backup or even offer me a chair. Maybe he saw it in my eyes—whatever was holding me upright wasn’t chakra anymore. It was something much thinner. Meaner. Something you couldn’t put on a chart or prescribe pills for.

The door shut behind me with a finality that felt too loud. Like it echoed down the walls of the Tower, rattling the bones of the village.

I walked out, past the genin in the waiting hall pretending not to stare. Past the guards who suddenly remembered something important in the other direction. Past the ANBU shadows who didn’t make a sound but flared their chakra, just enough to say: we see you.

I didn’t see anyone.

Because I was seeing him.

The Masked Man.

Every twitch of his fingers, every calculated movement burned into my nerves. Seamless. Refined. Like he wasn’t just good, but familiar. Like my shadow had grown teeth and finally turned around to bite.

And I’d lost.

No excuses. No clever tactics. No last-second save.

He beat me.

He beat me because he knew me—every habit, every weakness. 

I reached the edge of the Hokage Tower and looked out over the village.

The streets bustled, unaware. Unconcerned. Kids ran past an open dango stand. Jounin traded sarcastic jokes on rooftops. Somewhere, Genma was probably asleep on a rooftop. And Shisui—if he hadn’t accidentally set himself on fire—was probably trying to drag Tokuma into some kind of flaming disaster labeled “training.”

Life went on.

Even when the monster was already inside the walls.

I closed my eyes.

The Senju blood was still working, patching me up like some divine medic with too much pride and not enough sense. But the pain kept screaming.

Because I wasn’t broken from the outside.

I was splintered inward.

He said something before he vanished.

Right before I blacked out, body crushed and chakra bleeding out into the dirt, he leaned down—so close I could feel the breath through his mask.

"You’re not ready."

That’s what he said.

Not you’ll never win.

Not you’re too weak.

Just: “You’re not ready.”

Like he was waiting for me to catch up.

Like this wasn’t the end.

It was a test.

Or a beginning.

“—Kakashi?”

I blinked. Reality snapped back like a rubber band across the brainstem. I was halfway down the stairs outside the Tower. Someone was standing in front of me.

It was Genma.

Eyes bloodshot. Senbon bouncing between his teeth. “You look like crap.”

I didn’t argue.

He tilted his head. “You dying, or just brooding real hard?”

“Bit of both.”

He squinted at me. “Want company, or a head injury?”

“Company’s fine. Save the head injury for after.”

“Alright, but I’m charging for it.”

We started walking. Or, more accurately, I limped and he strolled like a man with no pressing obligations and way too much time.

“You gonna tell me what happened?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

“You gonna lie if I ask?”

“Definitely.”

“Great. I’ll get popcorn.”

I didn’t laugh. But my shoulder twitched, which was the broken-rib equivalent of a chuckle.

He didn’t push. Just walked beside me, quiet for a while. Then, casually:

“You ever get the feeling someone’s been watching you your whole life?”

I stopped walking.

He didn’t.

Just kept going. Hands in his pockets.

“Like... someone’s been waiting for the exact moment you think you’re safe. Think you’ve got it all figured out. Then bam—” he snapped his fingers, “—you realize the game started way before you got here?”

I stared at his back.

“Just me?” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Cool. Must be the senbon talking.”

“No,” I said. My voice cracked again. This time from something that wasn’t pain.

“It’s not just you.”

He nodded once.

Then he smiled, the kind that didn’t touch his eyes. “Well. That’s just soothing.”