Shikamaru reached toward the back of Chisen's neck.
Chisen tilted his head away.
"Don't touch it."
"I want to see the Brand."
"No need."
Shikamaru's hand froze in midair. He looked into Chisen's eyes. There was no weakness there, no stoicism, not even pain. Only something he had seen many times before-the expression Chisen wore on missions, on a knife's edge, when surrounded by enemies. It wasn't ruthlessness or coldness, but absolute focus, stripped of every unnecessary emotion.
Shikamaru withdrew his hand.
"Chisen."
"Yeah."
"What are you hiding?"
Chisen looked at him without speaking.
Shikamaru stepped back and leaned against the rail at the foot of the bed, folding his arms.
"You'd almost bled dry when you got back last night. Shizune spent nearly three hours stitching you up, and Tsunade came herself to suppress the Brand. The wound through your left shoulder nearly reached your lung. The tear in your abdomen almost damaged your mesentery. Kagura said you had less than twenty percent of your chakra left. Kiba said you were barely tougher than something made of paper." He said it all in one breath, then paused. "But now you're sitting here, breathing as steadily as if you'd never been hurt. Tell me, could a normal person lose that much blood, get poisoned, and have several holes cut into him, then recover this much in less than twenty-four hours?"
Chisen glanced down at the bandages around his abdomen.
"I heal fast."
"However fast you heal, you can't outpace the human body's limits."
Chisen didn't argue again. He took the blade off his knees and planted its tip on the windowsill, stacking both hands on the hilt as though leaning on a walking stick. The morning light shifted slightly across his face, illuminating his eyes more clearly.
"Shikamaru."
"Go ahead."