The wind rustled lightly through the trees as Kakashi walked alone along the dirt path away from the training field. His hands were in his pockets, gait relaxed, but his mind wasn't.
He had just watched Ren Uzumaki masterfully wield fire and wind chakra — seamlessly combining techniques with a level of control far beyond most genin.
"Flame Bullet followed by Gale Palm... and he fused them without hesitation."
His lone visible eye narrowed slightly behind the mask.
"He's not just talented. He's practiced. Focused. Disciplined."
Kakashi stopped at a quiet hill, overlooking the village rooftops.
The late sun bathed everything in orange.
"Ren... calm, silent, razor-sharp."
He thought back to the boy's movements — the way he held back, never flaring his full presence, always measuring, always calculating.
"That's not something you teach. That's something you inherit."
And then his thoughts turned.
To another time.
To another man.
"Sensei... Minato... your sons are growing."
He closed his eye gently for a moment.
"Naruto... he's loud, stubborn, reckless — but there's light in him. A storm with a heart."
Then came the image of Ren again — moving in silence, calculating each strike, shaping chakra with precision.
"But him... he reminds me more of you. That calm. That clarity."
He opened his eye again and turned away from the view.
"You'd be proud of both of them."
He let the silence settle as he walked on.
"And so am I."
The wind picked up gently, carrying the fading scent of smoke and the memory of fire through the trees.