Chapter-5

Aizen Sōsuke, male, 20 years old, as recorded in Konoha. An orphan adopted by the Konoha Orphanage, he was sent to the Ninjutsu School for study. After graduating with ordinary grades three years later, he joined Konoha for ninja operations. His official record is spotless, a pure white resume. It could be said that he is one of Konoha's most innocent individuals. A native of Konoha, he lived under the watchful eyes of both Anbu and Root since infancy—like a Buddha, untouched by suspicion.

Of course, if anyone could truly perceive his heart, they would realize something was deeply wrong. This person had a monumental secret, because he wasn't the Aizen Sōsuke of this world. In fact, he wasn't even the Aizen Sōsuke from the world of the Shinigami. His current existence was a strange amalgamation, much like Kurosaki Ichigo, the one he had always viewed with interest.

The man standing here was a fusion of three distinct individuals: Aizen Sōsuke, the god of death; Aizen Sōsuke, a young Konoha ninja; and a modern young man from the real world. Together, they formed this new Aizen.

In his original world, before he came to Naruto, he was just an ordinary guy—although one who admired the Shinigami universe. When he first realized that he had been transported to Konoha, he couldn't help but feel confused. He wondered if he had ended up in the wrong place. Shouldn't it have been somewhere else? Shouldn't he have been given the memories of a bloody battle against Aizen, so he could fight his way through and change his fate?

"Hokage? Really?" he thought. He hadn't even seen Naruto yet. He vaguely recalled hearing something about powerful bosses appearing later in the series, battling aliens, and rumors about Chakra being part of a massive conspiracy. What was all that supposed to mean? Why were aliens involved in what used to be a ninja village brawl?

At first, he was curious. However, as the Thousand-Year Blood War arc came to a rushed conclusion and life's responsibilities like work began to take over, his thoughts about the story started to fade. It wasn't until Aizen reappeared in the anime that he realized how much he had loved the series in his youth.

When he heard that the Thousand-Year Blood War would begin again and that Aizen was returning to the stage, he was filled with nostalgia and excitement. By then, he had a successful career and some savings. He eagerly turned on his home theater projector to relive the moment when Aizen reappeared on screen, feeling that familiar rush of excitement.

But now, here he was—in a new world, as a new Aizen, standing at the crossroads of fate.

At the same time, he inherited all the memories of Aizen Sōsuke, right up to the events of the Thousand-Year Blood War. Based on the name and status, it seemed very likely that Aizen Sōsuke had picked him up as he crossed over. But such small details didn't matter much to him. With a brand new body and memory, Aizen Sōsuke was confident he could survive in this world. Perhaps he could even find a few people who truly understood him.

Then he realized he was completely wrong. So very wrong.

He found someone who understood him—himself. He now fully comprehended why the original Aizen had acted the way he did in the world of souls. Because now, as Aizen Sōsuke in the Naruto world, he harbored almost the same thoughts. He was even walking the same path.

In the beginning, he was content living in this village. Compared to the destitution of the Rukongai in the Soul Society, Konoha seemed almost like a paradise. Though it wasn't as advanced as the modern world he had once lived in, it was far better than the lowest of the low.

But with the onset of war, the ugliness of the various villages, including his own, gradually filled him with disgust. This deformed world was repulsive. The "Will of Fire," a hollow ideology, was preached with no substantial backing. The ninja system relied heavily on sending young soldiers to the front lines with no real strategy. While the strong dictated the outcome of battles, they sent waves of children to their deaths without a second thought. It wasn't that people were unaware that these children could serve a greater purpose in the future—but that was in the future, not the present.

What were they supposed to do now?

Twisted and grotesque systems operated as if they were unquestionable truths in this world. People fought for money that held no real meaning. They fought for missions with no higher purpose. The lives of people were even more meaningless than in the Soul Society. At least when the Soul Society culled its population, it was to maintain the balance between the Three Realms and Hell—a necessary, natural action.

But here? There was no grand purpose, just senseless conflict.

The Central Forty-Six Chambers were decadent enough, but comparing them to the ninja world, it was hard to determine which was worse. The Soul Society, despite festering for millions of years, paled in comparison to the indifference and ruthlessness Aizen found in this world. The tailed beasts, once given by the First Hokage as symbols of peace and friendship, were intended to unite villages and foster understanding through chakra. Hashirama Senju had hoped that one day the world would stop fighting, with chakra and the tailed beasts acting as a bond for peace.

But, in reality, the moment Hashirama died, the flames of war were ignited. The Ninja Wars began almost instantly, using his death as a catalyst. Morality, faith, respect, and honor—these were mere concepts that seemed to evaporate in the hands of the shinobi. The worst part was that they didn't even respect history.

Aizen, in his time in the Soul Society, had visited the Central Forty-Six Chambers and the grand library guarded by nobles. There, he found countless volumes that documented the truth—cold, unaltered facts of history. Though those in power were corrupt, at least history had not been rewritten. The ugly behaviors of the ancestors were documented, not revised or embellished, and were stored in the library without bias or emotion.

This world, however, was different. In less than fifty years, history had already been completely rewritten. No one spoke about the truth anymore; good and evil had become blurred beyond recognition. Figures who had lived just a hundred years ago were already mythologized, and events from a thousand years ago had turned into legends. The legacy of the First Hokage had been erased by tacit agreement, as if the world had always been fragmented into village-states.

Aizen couldn't quite decide which world—the Soul Society or the shinobi world—was more flawed. However, he quickly found the answer to this dilemma in his other memories: those who falsify and revise history are doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past. They learn nothing from their errors.

The shinobi world was like a Colosseum—a pit of chaos and hatred, where bloodshed never ceased. And combined with his vague memories of his past life, Aizen was certain: this world was a cage. A cage defined by ignorance, hatred, and a twisted will.

Aizen Sousuke—whether it was from his original memory, the memory of the Soul Society, or even the memory of the modern world—despised one thing above all: the ignorance and the inability to escape from it. Despite the simplicity and kindness of the villagers and his initial struggle with their naivety, it didn't take long for him to see past it. Within a month, he realized it didn't matter. As long as both sides were true, he had no reason to lie. However, the sad reality was that most ordinary people were trapped in an invisible cage, unable to break free due to their limited vision and knowledge. They merely circled within that cage, ignorant of its confines.

Incapable as they were, choosing to remain with the light wasn't an unacceptable choice. But danger was always present, and progress was inevitable. Even the peaceful villagers lived unknowingly in the company of beasts, oblivious to the lurking crises. But to step forward, to face the looming clouds of an uncertain future, that took true courage.

"Well, that's all right," Aizen murmured to himself.

As long as one's heart remained unconfused and resolute, there would be no retreat. He glanced at the three words, "no retreat," that he'd written on the desk. Nodding in satisfaction, he picked up the rice paper and stood, hanging it on the railing behind him to let it dry naturally.

After finishing, Aizen turned his attention to the boy kneeling on the ground. "It's really a rare visitor, Kakashi-kun. I thought I would have to visit the cemetery to find you today. What brings you here all of a sudden? Is it your mood, or do you wish to communicate with me?"

Hatake Kakashi, still kneeling in silence, appeared dazed as he looked around the room. A day had passed, and despite his hesitations, he felt compelled to see Aizen Sousuke. This was the first time he had come to the home of the man who, by Konoha's legend, was the kind old sage everyone admired.

It was rumored that this enormous house was donated by the Hokage himself, but Aizen Sousuke had transformed most of it into a hotel for free accommodation. He only charged a small fee for meals and helped those who were homeless or victims of domestic violence. The only parts of the house that truly belonged to Aizen were the spacious calligraphy room and a small adjacent chamber. Despite the absence of the rumored shabby hut, the elegant calligraphy room alone left the well-informed Kakashi in awe.

Majestic calligraphy and paintings hung from beams like curtains, creating a partitioned space. The room was filled with the stark contrast of black ink on white rice paper, and at the center sat Aizen Sousuke, dressed in a pure white haori over a black inner garment. His gentle smile remained fixed as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. But Kakashi's attention was drawn to the large characters behind him—'No Retreat.' Despite Aizen's calm demeanor, those three words filled the young Kakashi with an inexplicable sense of fear.

The calligraphy surrounding him felt like a ferocious beast, observing him from the ink. As the breeze blew, the rice paper fluttered, and the distant sound of summer bells chimed. When Aizen softly posed his question, the six-year-old Kakashi shivered and lowered his head, unable to meet the man's gaze.

After a pause, Kakashi spoke in a low voice, "...Can I trust you?"

Aizen chuckled softly. "Please don't ask such innocent questions, or you will appear weak, Kakashi-kun."

He picked up a paperweight, laid down a fresh sheet of rice paper, and dipped his brush into the ink. "What a person is, is defined by their actions, not by what others say. Otherwise, prejudice and rumors will distort your perception."

"If you trust the words of an enemy, you might grow hostile toward your allies. If you believe in outsiders, you may distance yourself from your family. These might seem like small matters, but they shake the foundation of your understanding."

"Who are you, and who are others? Who will accept you, and where do others stand? These are things you must figure out... though, for someone your age, it may be too soon."

Was Kakashi still a child, or was he merely pretending not to understand? Aizen glanced at Kakashi's blank face and pushed his glasses up regretfully. "Very well, I'll be more direct. This was meant to be discussed with you in three days."

Aizen set down his brush, stood up, and turned to face Kakashi, who looked both perplexed and wary. Stretching out his palm, he said calmly, "Be my son, Kakashi."