“Everything’s fair when there’re no rules,” Asuma said cheerfully, re-sheathing the blade. “Free-form chakra sounds about right; that was the White Fang’s whole bit. Went with the name. Y’know, I met him once when I was a knee-high niblet. He came to a council meeting. Brought your boy along, too.” Asuma grinned at the memory. “Hatake told me I was a screaming idiot.”

"Which Hatake? Kakashi's good at insults. White Fang was before my time, though." Ryouma’s mouth tightened briefly, turning white at the edges.

“Littlest Hatake,” Asuma clarified. “Your Hatake. White Fang always seemed like a nice guy. Kind of on the quiet side.” He glanced sidelong at Ryouma. “Not something you wanna talk about?”

Ryouma shrugged one shoulder. "I've heard Kakashi mention him all of twice. He killed himself 'cause the village demanded it—'cause he made a choice, an' they thought it was a mistake, an' he wasn't allowed to, y'know, redeem himself by saving more people than he'd gotten killed.” The bitterness in his voice was sharp and personal, as if he was talking about his own father. “He could have, he was better than the Sannin, in his prime—but the village broke him and wasted him, and Kakashi found his body on the living room floor."

Asuma winced. “I didn’t know that bit.”

The White Fang’s story was a cautionary tale for small ninja, a reminder that no one was a smart as they thought they were, and orders were for a reason.

Because the village knew best.

Village is the people in it.