The next evening, after the fire had burned low and the cabin settled into quiet, Bana rose from the table with a stretch. He glanced at Shikamaru, who was already reaching for his jacket.
"Smoke?" Bana asked, pulling his pipe from his pocket.
Shikamaru gave a small nod, grabbing his own small pack of cigarettes. The two men stepped out onto the porch, leaving Kuro resting on the low cushion near the hearth. The door slid shut behind them with a soft click.
Outside, the forest was dark and cool, stars sharp through the canopy. Bana struck a match, lit his pipe, and leaned against the railing. Shikamaru lit a cigarette with a flick of his lighter, the small flame briefly illuminating his face before he exhaled a slow stream of smoke into the night.
They stood in comfortable silence for a minute, the only sounds the crackle of tobacco and the distant hoot of an owl.
Then Shikamaru spoke, voice low. "I'm heading out for a bit. Need to check the eastern trails see if those hunters left any signs or if they've split up to search wider. I'll be back by nightfall."
Bana puffed once, nodded. "Smart. I've got my own errand. Need to meet a contact in the next valley old favor, nothing dangerous. Should be back by dark too."
Shikamaru flicked ash over the railing.
"Leave the kid alone?"
"He'll be fine. He's healing. Cabin's secure. No tracks lead here. If he's smart, he'll stay put and rest."
Shikamaru gave a faint grunt agreement. He took a final drag, crushed the cigarette under his heel, then shouldered his small pack.
"See you tonight," he said.
Bana raised his pipe in a small salute. "Don't get into trouble you can't think your way out of."
Shikamaru's mouth twitched in the faintest smirk. "What a drag that would be."
He stepped off the porch and melted into the shadows of the trees, footsteps silent on the pine needles.
Bana stayed a moment longer, finishing his pipe. He knocked the ash out against the railing, tucked the pipe away, and headed off in the opposite direction toward the faint path that led down into the valley.
The door opened briefly as he re-entered to grab his coat. He looked at Kuro, who was watching from the cushion.
"We'll both be back by night," Bana said simply. "Stay inside. Don't open the door for anyone. Food's in the pot if you're hungry. Rest."
Kuro nodded once. "I'll be here."
Bana gave a curt nod, then stepped out again. The door slid shut.
The cabin fell silent.
Kuro sat alone in the flickering light of the hearth. The fire popped softly. Outside, the wind moved through the branches in a steady, low sigh. No voices, no footsteps, no sign of the two men who had pulled him from death.
For the first time since the ambush, he was truly by himself.
He stared at the flames, hands resting lightly on his bandaged side. The green case in his pocket felt heavier than before.
He could run. The door was right there.
The forest was thick easy to disappear into if he moved carefully.
But he didn't move.
Not yet.
He leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes, and listened to the quiet house breathe around him.
Night would come soon enough.
And with it, answers or more questions.
For now, he waited.
Kuro sat alone in the small bedroom, the cabin quiet except for the occasional pop of embers in the distant hearth. The green pills had left him clear-headed enough to think, and the stillness made him restless. He couldn't just lie here waiting for nightfall. His hands itched for work something useful, something that might tip the scales if trouble found them again.
He reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out the small metal case, flipping it open. Inside, alongside the remaining green pills, were a few tiny tools: a miniature screwdriver, a set of fine picks, a coil of thin wire, and a handful of small metal components he always carried. He spread them on the blanket, then carefully lifted his injured side just enough to reach the hidden seam in the lining of his cloak.
From the seam he withdrew a compact, unfinished contraption palm-sized, half-assembled: a mechanical trigger mechanism with a spring-loaded firing pin and a slot for a small explosive tag. It was one of the prototypes he'd kept for himself before the Suna deal went bad. Faulty or not, the design was sound in his hands. He began working slowly, methodically tightening screws, threading wire, testing the spring tension with careful flicks of his thumb. Every movement hurt, but the focus dulled the pain. If hunters came again, he wanted something more than gratitude to offer Shikamaru and Bana.
Meanwhile, Bana walked the winding path down into the valley, pipe unlit between his teeth. The town below was small and sleepy market stalls closing for the day, lanterns flickering on as dusk crept in. He found his old friend at the back of a modest provision shop: a wiry man named Haru, gray-streaked hair tied back, hands stained from years of handling goods.
Haru greeted him with a nod and a quick glance around before pulling him into the storeroom.
"You look like you've been dragging trouble behind you," Haru said, voice low. "What do you need?"
"Information first," Bana replied. "Safest route to Earth Village from here. Quiet trails, no checkpoints. And provisions enough for three men, one injured, for two weeks. Rice, dried meat, bandages, basic medicine. Discreet."
Haru raised an eyebrow but didn't ask questions. He pulled a rough map from under the counter and traced a line with his finger. "This way cut through the western ridge, skirt the river gorge. Avoids the main trade road. Takes longer, but fewer eyes. As for supplies…" He began gathering items into a sturdy canvas pack. "I'll throw in some extra salves. Looks like you'll need them."
Bana nodded his thanks, counting out coins from a small pouch. "Keep the change. And Haru if anyone comes asking about an old man with a gray beard and a horse, you've never seen me."
Haru gave a dry chuckle. "My memory's terrible these days."
At the same time, miles away on the eastern trails, Shikamaru moved silently through the underbrush. He had traded the mask for his usual dark jacket and ponytail, blending into the lengthening shadows. His steps were deliberate, eyes scanning for broken branches, fresh footprints, discarded wrappers any sign the hunters had spread their search this far.
He reached the edge of a small town nestled against the foothills. Lanterns glowed in windows; voices drifted from a tavern. Shikamaru stayed in the treeline, watching.
Then he saw them: four new faces moving through the street—two men, two women, all dressed in plain traveler cloaks but moving with the careful alertness of trained shinobi. One carried a folded paper; another spoke quietly to a stall owner, showing the sheet. Shikamaru edged closer, using the lengthening dusk and the cover of market stalls to slip within earshot.
"…older man, gray beard, braids it sometimes. Travels with a horse and carriage. Seen him lately?"
The stall owner shook his head. "Lots of old men come through. No one stands out."
The woman with the paper unfolded it further Shikamaru caught a glimpse: a rough charcoal sketch of Bana's face, surprisingly accurate, down to the way his beard curved.
They hadn't sketched him. The mask had worked they didn't know what the "masked stranger" looked like. But they were hunting Bana specifically. That meant someone had talked, or someone had seen the carriage and connected the dots.
Shikamaru's expression didn't change, but his mind accelerated. They were asking in the open bold, or desperate. Either way, they were closing in faster than expected.
He melted back into the shadows, following at a distance as the four moved toward the tavern. He kept low, steps silent, tracking their path without closing the gap too much.
If they were this close, nightfall might not be soon enough.
He needed to get back to the cabin and warn Bana and Kuro before the hunters found the trail leading up the ridge.
As night fell, the forest grew darker, the canopy swallowing the last traces of twilight. Shikamaru moved quickly through the trees, silent and swift, his steps barely disturbing the pine needles underfoot. The sketch of Bana's face burned in his memory accurate enough to be dangerous. The hunters were closer than he'd expected, and if they were asking in town, they'd follow the valley paths upward soon.
He reached the cabin just as the first stars appeared. Smoke curled from the chimney, faint lantern light glowing through the shutters. Bana was already back; the mare stood tied near the porch, pack saddled and ready.
Shikamaru slipped inside without knocking. Bana looked up from the table where he was sharpening a small knife, eyes narrowing at the urgency in Shikamaru's posture. Kuro sat on the cushion near the hearth, still pale but alert.
"Inside," Shikamaru said, voice low and sharp. "Now."
Bana rose immediately, sheathing the knife. "What happened?"
Shikamaru closed the door behind him, sliding the bolt. "Four new faces in town. Asking about an old man with a gray beard and a braided ponytail. They had a sketch good one. Not of me; the mask worked. But they're hunting you specifically, Bana. Means someone saw the carriage, or someone talked. They're closing in. We don't have hours we have minutes."
Bana's expression tightened, but he didn't panic. He gave a short nod, already moving toward the back room.
"Shock's one thing," he muttered. "But I'm ready. What's the plan?"
Shikamaru glanced at Kuro, then back to Bana. "You and Kuro take the carriage. Head west along the ridge trail Haru told you about quiet, no checkpoints. Keep moving till you find a safe spot to hole up. Wait for me. Don't stop unless you have to. I'll buy time here."
Kuro stood slowly, hand pressed to his side. "You're staying? Alone?"
Shikamaru met his eyes. "I'm better at waiting than running. They're expecting an old man and a wounded kid. They won't expect me. Go."
Bana didn't argue. He grabbed the medical pack, a blanket, and the provisions Haru had given him earlier. "Carriage is saddled. Mare's rested. We'll move fast."
Kuro hesitated for a second, then nodded. "We'll wait. Don't die."
Shikamaru's mouth twitched in the faintest smirk. "What a drag that would be."
Bana helped Kuro to the door. Kuro moved stiffly but steadily, supported by the old man's arm. Outside, the mare nickered softly as Bana untied her reins and helped Kuro climb into the back of the carriage. He covered him with the blanket, then took the driver's bench.
"Stay low," Bana told Kuro. "No lights. No noise."
Kuro nodded once. Bana snapped the reins gently. The mare started forward, wheels rolling quietly over the soft forest floor. They disappeared into the trees, swallowed by shadows within moments.
Shikamaru watched until the carriage was gone, then turned back to the cabin. He stepped inside, slid the door shut, and extinguished the lantern. Darkness settled over the room, broken only by the dying embers in the hearth.
He moved to the window, cracking the shutter just enough to see the trail leading up from the valley. His katana rested against the wall within easy reach. He crouched low, shadow stretching long across the floorboards, waiting.
The forest was silent no owls now, no wind. Only the distant crunch of approaching footsteps on pine needles.
They were coming.
Shikamaru exhaled slowly, eyes calm and calculating in the dark.
"Let's see how many steps ahead they really are," he murmured.
The night waited with him.
The cabin sat silent in the deep night, shutters closed, hearth embers barely glowing. Four shadows detached from the trees and converged on the house two from the front trail, one from the east side window, one circling to the back door. They moved with practiced quiet: black cloaks blending into darkness, hands near weapons, breaths controlled. No words passed between them; only gestures.
The front pair slid the door open an inch at a time. The east-side man pried a shutter latch with a thin blade. The back intruder eased through the rear entrance. Inside, they spread out systematic, thorough. One checked the bedroom, flipping the blanket and mattress. Another opened cabinets, rifled shelves. The third kicked over a stool, peered under the table. The fourth scanned the hearth, poking at the dying coals with the tip of a kunai.
Nothing. No bloodstains, no scattered belongings, no sign of recent occupation beyond the cold pot and faint ash. The cabin felt empty for days.
Frustration rippled through them. One man slammed a fist against the wall soft thud, restrained rage. Another hissed a curse under his breath.
"Gone again," the tallest muttered. "They're ghosts."
As they turned to leave, the woman at the front door paused. A single folded paper had been tacked to the inside of the door simple parchment, sealed with a plain wax dot. She pulled it free, unfolded it, and read aloud in a low voice:
"To the four who came looking:
Forget the past. It's already behind you.
Chasing shadows only tires the hunter.
Move on."
No signature. No flourish. Just clean, precise handwriting.
The woman's eyes narrowed. She tore the letter in half, then in quarters, letting the pieces flutter to the floorboards.
"They're mocking us," she said, voice tight with anger.
The tallest man kicked the torn scraps. "They were here. We're close. They can't have gone far with a wounded man and an old fool."
The group stepped outside, closing the door behind them. The night air felt colder now, the forest thicker with silence.
Then the woman stopped. She tilted her head, eyes half-closed, chakra subtly flaring along her senses.
"Wait."
The others froze.
"I feel it," she whispered. "A presence. Nearby. Not far. Someone's watching."
The tallest man's hand went to his blade. "Direction?"
She pointed northwest toward the ridge trail that cut through denser woods. "There. Faint, but steady. Like someone holding still, waiting."
The four exchanged glances. No hesitation now. They melted back into the trees, moving as a unit, following the faint pull of chakra signature.
Behind them, the cabin stood dark and empty once more.
High on the ridge above, hidden among the branches of a tall pine, Shikamaru crouched motionless. His shadow stretched long and thin down the slope, blending with the night. He had felt their chakra flare when the woman sensed him deliberately let it brush the edge of her perception, just enough to draw them away from the western escape route.
His mouth curved in the faintest smirk.
"Come on," he murmured to the darkness. "Let's see how far you'll chase a ghost."
He waited until their footsteps faded into the trees, then dropped silently to the ground and started moving in the opposite direction toward the path Bana and Kuro had taken.
The game was on.
And he had just bought them a few more hours.
Shikamaru emerged from the trees just as the carriage rounded a sharp bend in the ridge trail. The mare was already at a brisk trot, Bana gripping the reins with steady hands, Kuro half-reclined in the back under a blanket, his face pale but alert. The night air was cold, carrying the sharp scent of pine and distant rain.
Shikamaru vaulted onto the moving carriage without breaking stride, landing lightly on the bench beside Bana. The old man didn't flinch just flicked the reins harder.
"Drive faster," Shikamaru said, voice low and calm. "Take us as far as this trail will go tonight. No stops. No hesitation."
Bana nodded once, sharp and decisive. He snapped the reins again. The mare surged forward, hooves pounding the dirt, wheels rattling over roots and stones. The carriage jolted but held steady, picking up speed as the trail narrowed into a long, descending stretch.
Kuro shifted in the back, wincing at the motion. "What happened? Did you"
"Later," Shikamaru cut in, eyes scanning the dark canopy overhead. "Just keep moving."
The carriage raced onward, trees blurring past in the moonlight. Bana kept the mare at a hard pace, guiding her with practiced ease around ruts and fallen branches. After several minutes of tense silence, he glanced sideways at Shikamaru.
"Did you kill them?" he asked quietly.
Shikamaru shook his head once.
"No. Waste of energy. They're hunters trained, stubborn, but not suicidal. I led them on a chase, left enough false trails to keep them busy till dawn. Easier to escape than fight. They'll be tired and angry tomorrow. We'll be gone."
Bana exhaled through his nose, a faint nod of approval. "Smart. Always was."
Kuro leaned forward slightly from the back. "Then why the hurry? If they're chasing shadows"
Shikamaru's gaze flicked upward, toward the narrow strip of sky visible between the treetops.
"Because I didn't expect this."
High above, a faint silhouette cut across the moon—dark wings spread wide, gliding silently on an updraft. Not a bird. Too large, too deliberate. A shinobi using a flight technique or a summon, circling lazily but purposefully, tracking the trail below.
Bana followed Shikamaru's line of sight. His jaw tightened.
"Air support," he muttered. "They're not playing anymore."
Shikamaru's expression remained calm, but his hand drifted to the hilt of his katana.
"Keep driving," he said. "Don't slow down. If they spot us, they'll signal the ground team. We need distance—enough to lose them in the gorge ahead."
Bana cracked the reins again. The mare leaned into the harness, the carriage bouncing harder now as the trail dropped steeper toward the river gorge. Wind whipped past them, carrying the faint, distant flap of wings overhead.
Kuro gripped the side rail, eyes wide. "Can we outrun someone in the sky?"
Shikamaru's voice stayed even, almost bored.
"We don't have to outrun them forever. Just long enough."
He leaned back slightly, shadow stretching long behind the carriage, thin tendrils already creeping along the ground ready, waiting.
The chase had just gained a new dimension.
And the night was far from over.
Shikamaru didn't notice but the Naruto gave was glowing !!!.