Shikaku Nara did not answer immediately.
He looked at his son before him, his fingers lightly tapping the tabletop.
Once.
Then again.
The candlelight in the study swayed with the night wind, and the shadows on the wall wavered with it.
Shikamaru did not press him.
He knew that what his father was about to say was what truly could not be heard by outsiders.
"Because this failure did not cause the Third to lose his prestige."
Shikaku Nara finally spoke.
"It made everyone see that he could no longer lead Konoha forward."
Shikamaru frowned.
"Just one misjudgment?"
"On the surface."
Shikaku Nara shook his head.
"But the conflicts that have accumulated within Konoha can no longer be resolved by a single apology and a single compensation payment."
He rose to his feet and walked to the window.
The Nara Compound outside was utterly quiet.
Now and then, patrolling shinobi streaked over the rooftops in the distance, their chakra fluctuations vanishing in an instant.
Shikaku Nara raised his head and looked into the pitch-black night.
"Shikamaru, what do you think Konoha is?"
"A shinobi village."
"Too simple."
Shikaku Nara turned back.
"Konoha is a tree."
"The First and Second planted its roots. The shinobi of the war years were its trunk, while the great clans and civilian shinobi were its ever-growing branches and leaves."
"And the Third and those high-ranking elders are the old branches perched atop the tree."
Shikamaru listened in silence.
Shikaku Nara returned to the desk and picked up a scroll without opening it.
"They occupy the best positions."
"They control the village's mission assignments, shinobi training, business operations, resource distribution, and every important decision."
"They decide who can become jonin, who can enter ANBU, which clan receives more missions, and which forces must be suppressed."
Shikaku