In a tatami room at the Nara Residence, incense smoke curled through the air. Black and white stones lay scattered across the board like stars, while a silent battle of attack and defense unfolded between Shikaku and his son, Shikamaru.
Shikamaru held a stone, his brow furrowed as he considered a dozen moves ahead, each seemingly scattered move linked to the next.
Shikaku sipped his tea at ease, watching his son with a trace of approval.
Then Ao's last words from the Canopy Screen fell heavily into the quiet room: "Shikaku... Inoichi, I'm coming to join you."
Clack.
The stone slipped from Shikamaru's fingers and struck the board, scattering a carefully arranged formation.
His head snapped up. His face went pale, and the eyes that usually held both laziness and wit filled with sudden shock and dread.
He looked at his father. His lips moved, but no sound came out.
The meaning of those words was too clear, too cruel.
Shikaku Nara's hand froze in midair, teacup still in his grasp. The ease faded from his face.
He set down the cup. Instead of looking at the Canopy Screen, he turned to his shaken son.
Seeing the fear and desperate need for confirmation in Shikamaru's eyes, he gave a faint smile. There was a weathered calm to it, and even a hint of understanding.
"Gave you a shock?" Shikaku's voice was steady as ever. He reached over, picked up the fallen stone, and placed it gently beside his son's hand. "With your mind, you must have worked this out long ago."
He spoke as plainly as if discussing tomorrow's weather. He was the chief strategist of the previous generation's Ino-Shika-Cho and the leader of Konoha's Jonin Class. In a future fraught with danger, where even Naruto Uzumaki, the Savior, would