Kuro woke to the low crackle of a fire and the faint scent of pine smoke mixed with stew simmering on the hearth. His eyelids felt heavy, but the sharp edge of pain in his side had softened to a dull throb. He lay on a thick wool blanket spread over a sturdy wooden bed in a small, warmly lit room. The walls were rough-hewn logs, the ceiling low with exposed beams, and a single lantern hung from a hook, casting soft orange light across shelves lined with dried herbs, hunting knives, and a few well-used bows.
He shifted carefully. The room was clean, lived-in not abandoned. A rifle rested in the corner, a pair of boots by the door, and the faint sound of someone moving in the next room carried through the thin partition.
A quiet voice came from the doorway.
"You're awake. Good."
Bana stepped in, carrying a clay mug of steaming broth. The old man looked the same gray hair tied back, pipe tucked behind his ear but his posture was relaxed, as if the house had already become familiar.
"Take it slow," Bana said, setting the mug on a small stool beside the bed. "You've been out for hours. Fever broke about an hour ago. You're lucky wound's clean, no infection so far."
Kuro pushed himself up on one elbow, wincing but managing to sit. His voice was rough. "Where… are we?"
Bana pulled a stool closer and sat, elbows on his knees.
"A hunter's cabin. Deep in the woods, off the main road. We found it after we left the lake. Took us a good few hours to get here had to go slow so you wouldn't bleed out again in the carriage. The hunter who lives here was out checking traps when we rolled up. Saw the shape you were in and didn't hesitate. Kind man. Said we could stay as long as we needed. He's got a spare room, plenty of firewood, and he's not the type to ask too many questions."
Kuro glanced around again the personal touches: a worn coat on a peg, a half-finished carving of a deer on the table, the faint scent of leather oil. It felt like a home, not a hideout.
"He's letting strangers stay? Just like that?"
Bana gave a small shrug. "Some people still remember what it's like to need help. He said he's seen worse than a bleeding kid and an old man with a horse. Told us to make ourselves at home, then headed back out to his traps. Said he'd be gone till morning, maybe longer if the game's moving. We've got the place to ourselves for now. Maybe a few days, if we're careful."
Kuro took the mug with shaking hands and sipped the broth. Warmth spread through him. "And Shikamaru?"
"Out scouting," Bana replied. "Checking the trails around the woods, making sure those masked bastards aren't sniffing around. He'll be back before dark. Doesn't like leaving things to chance."
Kuro stared into the mug for a moment. "He really saved me. After taking their money… I thought"
"You thought he sold you out," Bana finished, nodding. "That was the point. He took the coin to make them believe he was done. Sold the act so they'd drop their guard. Then he swapped you out with a shadow clone while they were busy celebrating. Clever. Ruthless in the quiet way. You're alive because of it."
Kuro exhaled slowly. "I don't even know why he bothered."
Bana studied him for a long second, then leaned back.
"That's between you and him. But Shikamaru doesn't step into fights for no reason even if he pretends it's all 'troublesome.' Maybe he saw something worth saving. Maybe he was bored of the road. Either way, you're here. Rest. Eat. Heal. We're staying put for a while no running while you're half-dead. Those hunters will be angry when they realize they got played. Let them chase shadows for now."
Kuro nodded faintly, the weight of the words settling in. He took another sip of broth, feeling the warmth reach deeper.
Outside, the forest rustled softly trees swaying, an owl calling in the distance. Inside, the fire popped, steady and comforting.
For the first time in weeks, Kuro wasn't moving.
He wasn't sure how long that would last.
Bana stood, brushing his hands on his trousers. "I'll check on the horse and get some fresh air. You rest. Don't try to get up yet those stitches will tear if you're stupid."
Kuro nodded weakly. The old man slid the door open, letting in a rush of cool forest air laced with pine and earth, then stepped out. The door closed with a soft thud, leaving Kuro alone in the quiet room.
The pain in his side flared again deep, insistent, like a knife twisting every time he breathed too deeply. He gritted his teeth and reached down, fumbling at the torn pocket of his cloak still draped over the foot of the bed. His fingers closed around the familiar hard shape of the small metal case.
He pulled it out, thumbed the latch open. Inside, nestled in padded lining, were a dozen small green pills his emergency supply, nothing fancy, just something to blunt the edges of pain and force his body to rest when it refused.
Kuro tipped two into his palm, stared at them for a second, then tossed them into his mouth. No water; he swallowed them dry, grimacing at the bitter, herbal taste that coated his tongue. He closed the case with a soft click, dropped it back into the cloak pocket, and lay down again.
The ache began to dull almost immediately, spreading outward like cool water over hot coals. His eyelids grew heavy. The fire crackled low in the hearth. Outside, the wind moved through the trees in a steady whisper.
Within minutes, sleep pulled him under deep, dreamless, merciful.
Outside, Bana stepped onto the small porch that wrapped around the front of the hunter's cabin. The night air was crisp, stars sharp overhead through gaps in the canopy. The mare stood tied to a post nearby, munching contentedly on a bundle of hay the hunter had left out.
A faint glow caught Bana's eye.
Shikamaru leaned against the porch railing a few paces away, a thin cigarette glowing between his fingers. Smoke curled upward in lazy spirals, mingling with the pine scent. He looked relaxed hands in pockets, ponytail loose, eyes half-lidded on the dark woods but Bana knew better.
Bana pulled his own pipe from his jacket, packed it with tobacco, struck a match, and lit it. The first puff was slow, savoring. He stepped up beside Shikamaru and leaned on the rail.
"Kid's awake," Bana said quietly. "Took some pills from his case and passed out again. Looks like he's got his own supply of trouble-killers."
Shikamaru exhaled a thin stream of smoke. "Good. Means he's not completely helpless."
A pause. The fireflies blinked in the trees. Bana took another drag.
"You really think those masked men will let this slide?" he asked.
Shikamaru's gaze didn't leave the darkness. "No. They got played. That stings more than losing the target. They'll report back to whoever hired them probably someone high up in Suna's chain. Then they'll start hunting properly. Tracks, informants, maybe even a tracking team. We've got a few days, maybe a week, before they close in."
Bana nodded slowly, pipe stem tapping against his palm. "And the kid? Kuro. You got any idea what he did to earn that kind of price on his head?"
Shikamaru took a final drag, flicked the cigarette butt into the dirt, and ground it out with his heel.
"Not yet. He'll talk when he's ready. Or when he has to. Right now he's just grateful and scared. That's enough to keep him quiet."
Bana chuckled dryly. "You're not exactly the warm, welcoming type, Nara. But you still dragged him out of that mess. Why?"
Shikamaru shrugged, hands sliding back into his pockets. "What a drag if I didn't. Eleven against one. Kid was bleeding out on the road. Walk away and I'd be thinking about it for weeks. Easier to fix it and move on."
Bana studied him for a long moment, then let out a low laugh.
"You say that like it's simple. But you're the one who took their money, sold the bluff, and swapped him out right under their noses. That's not 'easy.' That's calculated."
Shikamaru's mouth curved in the faintest smirk. "Calculated is easier than emotional."
P
Bana puffed on his pipe, smoke drifting upward. "Fair enough. But now we've got him. And trouble's coming. You planning to keep playing guardian, or is this where you cut loose?"
Shikamaru stared out into the forest, eyes distant.
"Not sure yet," he said quietly. "Depends on what he tells us. And how much of a drag it turns out to be."
The two men stood in silence for a while, smoke curling between them, the night settling deeper around the cabin. Inside, Kuro slept on, unaware that the quiet he'd found was only temporary.
The road ahead was still long and getting more complicated by the hour.
Shikamaru leaned against the porch railing, the last ember of his cigarette glowing faintly before he flicked it into the dirt and ground it out with his heel. The night air was cool, the forest around the hunter's cabin whispering with wind through the pines. Bana stood a few paces away, pipe smoke curling lazily upward, his posture relaxed too relaxed, considering the mess they'd just walked into.
Shikamaru watched him for a long moment, eyes half-lidded but sharp.
"You're awfully calm about all this," he said quietly, voice low enough not to carry inside. "Masked shinobi, a bleeding fugitive, shadow clones, bribes, running from hunters. Most people would be shaking or asking a hundred questions. You just… lit your pipe and started cooking broth like it's a normal Tuesday."
Bana took a slow drag, exhaled through his nose, and gave a small shrug. The lantern light from the cabin window caught the lines on his face deep, weathered, the kind that came from decades of seeing things most people never did.
"I've had my share of bad Tuesdays," he replied simply. "Long history. Too long to bother unpacking for every stranger who shows up bleeding on my doorstep. Or in this case, on a hunter's doorstep."
Shikamaru tilted his head slightly, ponytail shifting. "That's not an answer. It's a dodge."
Bana chuckled—low, dry, without much humor. "It's the only answer you're getting tonight. Some stories stay buried because digging them up doesn't change anything. Just makes the dirt messier."
A pause. The wind moved through the trees again, carrying the faint scent of woodsmoke and distant rain.
Shikamaru crossed his arms, leaning his back against the post.
"Fine. Keep your history. But you know too much about me. The way you talked to Kuro earlier—describing my habits, my 'what a drag' routine, how I think five steps ahead even when I look like I'm sleeping. We met what, six days ago? Seven? You talk like you've been watching me for years."
Bana met his gaze steadily, pipe stem tapping once against his palm.
"You're famous, Nara," he said, matter-of-fact. "Been famous since the war. People talk. Travelers swap stories in taverns, merchants carry rumors across borders, old shinobi retire and gossip like grandmothers. The lazy genius from Konoha who outsmarted armies and walked away yawning. Half the roads between here and the Sand border still retell how you turned the tide at the last battle without breaking a sweat. I didn't need to spy on you. The world did it for me."
Shikamaru's expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed a fraction.
"Stories get exaggerated. And they don't tell you how someone thinks. Not the details you dropped to Kuro."
Bana gave a faint, crooked smile.
"Maybe not. But they tell you enough. Enough to recognize the type. Enough to know you don't jump into fights for glory or money—you do it when the math adds up to something you can live with. And enough to know you're not the type to let a kid bleed out on the road just because it's 'troublesome' to walk away."
Shikamaru stared at him for another long beat. Then he pushed off the railing, hands sliding back into his pockets.
"You're still dodging," he said quietly. "But I'll let it go. For now.
Bana puffed on his pipe again, smoke drifting upward like a slow signal.
"Smart. Some things aren't worth digging for until they dig for you."
The two men stood in silence, the forest breathing around them. Inside the cabin, Kuro slept on, oblivious to the quiet tension on the porch.
Shikamaru glanced toward the dark trees, mind already turning over possibilities hunters, trails, the kid's story he still hadn't heard.
Bana knocked the ash from his pipe against the rail.
"Get some rest," he said. "Tomorrow's going to be another long day."
Shikamaru gave a small grunt agreement, maybe, or just acknowledgment.
He turned toward the door, pausing once.
"If your history ever decides to crawl out of the dirt," he said over his shoulder, "I'd like to know before it bites us."
Bana's smile was small and unreadable.
"Noted."
The door slid open and closed behind Shikamaru with a soft click.
Bana stayed on the porch a moment longer, staring into the night, pipe cold in his hand.
The forest kept its secrets.
So did he.
The next morning light filtered through the cabin's shutters in thin, golden shafts. Kuro woke slowly, the pain in his side now a steady, manageable ache rather than a sharp stab. The green pills had done their job; he felt clearer-headed, though still weak. The smell of fresh tea and woodsmoke drifted from the main room.
He pushed himself up carefully, testing his balance. The stitches held. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood slow, deliberate then shuffled toward the open doorway.
Bana was at the low table, pouring tea into three clay cups. Shikamaru sat cross-legged on a cushion near the hearth, arms folded, eyes half-lidded as he stared into the low flames. Both men looked up when Kuro appeared.
"Morning," Bana said, sliding a cup toward an empty spot. "Sit before you fall. You look steadier than yesterday."
Kuro lowered himself onto the cushion, wincing once as he settled. He took the tea with a quiet nod of thanks. The warmth seeped into his palms.
Shikamaru spoke first, voice low and even.
"You're alive. That's step one. Step two is figuring out why eleven professionals were ready to gut you on a public road. Start talking."
Kuro stared into his tea for a moment, then exhaled slowly.
"I'm… good with contraptions," he began. "Mechanisms. Traps. Weapons. Not jutsu-based—pure engineering. Springs, gears, triggers, explosive seals if needed. I started small: kunai launchers, hidden blades, things shinobi could carry without chakra. Word spread. Eventually Suna's armory reached out. They wanted a batch custom explosive tags fused with mechanical triggers for bigger blast radius, less chakra drain. I delivered.
They paid. Then… the weapons came back faulty. Triggers jammed, seals misfired, some even blew up in their own hands during testing. Losses men, equipment, reputation. They blamed me. Said I sabotaged them on purpose. I didn't. I swear I didn't. But they wouldn't listen. Next thing I knew, hunters were on my trail. They want me dead to cover the embarrassment and recoup the cost in blood."
A long silence followed. The fire popped once.
Shikamaru let out a low, dry chuckle almost amused.
"Faulty weapons, huh? And you just happened to sell them a batch that blew up in their faces. Convenient scapegoat."
Kuro's head snapped up. "I didn't do it on purpose"
"I know," Shikamaru cut in, still smirking faintly. "Doesn't mean it's not funny. Suna's armory gets embarrassed, someone has to pay. Easier to pin it on the outsider than admit their own inspectors missed something. Classic."
Kuro relaxed a fraction, shoulders dropping. "Yeah. That's what I figured."
Bana set his cup down and looked at Shikamaru.
"You believe him?"
Shikamaru leaned back, arms crossed behind his head, gaze drifting to the ceiling beams.
"One cannot believe everything coming from someone's mouth that easily," he said quietly. "Especially when the story's this clean. Faulty weapons, perfect timing for blame, hunters sent to silence him. It fits too neatly. Could be true. Could be half-true. Could be he's leaving out the part where he did cut corners or skim materials to make a bigger profit."
He glanced at Kuro, expression flat.
"But I also don't think you're lying. Not completely. Your fear's real. The wound's real. The hunters were real. So we'll go with what we've got until something doesn't add up."
Kuro met his eyes, steady despite the pallor on his face.
"I'm not hiding anything. I built them right. They worked when I tested them. If something changed after delivery… that's on Suna's side, not mine."
Shikamaru gave a small nod.
"We'll see."
Bana poured himself another cup of tea, the steam rising in slow curls.
"So what now?" he asked. "Kid can't run forever. And those hunters aren't going to forget getting played."
Shikamaru's smirk faded. He stared into the fire.
"Now we wait," he said. "He heals. We scout. We listen. And when the next move comes… we make ours."
The cabin fell quiet again, only the crackle of the hearth and the distant call of a bird outside.
Kuro sipped his tea, the warmth steadying him.
For the first time, he didn't feel completely alone in this.
But he knew the road ahead was still long and the truth might be more complicated than any of them wanted to admit.