The sake cup trembled ever so slightly in Shikaku's weathered hands, amber liquid catching the dying light like trapped fireflies. He hadn't taken a sip yet – couldn't bring himself to, really.
"He harmonized his spiritual chakra in less than a day," Inoichi murmured, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the Nara clan head's private study.
Chōza shifted in his seat, the sturdy chair creaking beneath his frame. "Are you certain, Shikaku?"
"I saw it myself," Shikaku cut him off, his voice rough. "The leaf exercise. Perfect control on his first true attempt." His finger traced the rim of the sake cup, around and around, a nervous gesture he hadn't displayed since his ANBU days. "After a year of frustration and failure, he solved it in a single afternoon."
"That's..." Chōza trailed off, searching for the right words.
"Exceptional," Inoichi finished, then winced as Shikaku's hand tightened around the cup.
"Don't." The word came out sharp as a blade. "Don't say that word. Don't even think it."
The wind picked up outside, sending shadows dancing across the walls like restless spirits. In the garden below, they could hear the distant sound of children playing – other Nara clan members, their laughter carrying on the evening breeze. But not Shikamaru. Never Shikamaru.
"When was the last time you saw him play with the other children?" Chōza asked softly, voicing the concern that had been gnawing at all of them. "Chōji tells me that even when they're in the village together, Shikamaru's always..."
"Reading," Yoshino finished, speaking for the first time since they'd gathered. She stood by the window, her usually stern features softened by worry. "Always reading. Training when he thinks we're not watching. I found calculus books hidden under his futon last week, Shikaku. Calculus."
Inoichi leaned forward, his pale eyes intent. "The way he spoke about chakra theory today... it was innovative. He's approaching it from angles few consider. The metaphor he used about writing with both hands—"
"Enough." Shikaku set the cup down with deliberate care. "I know what my son is. I've known since he beat me at shōgi when he was four."
"You let him win," Chōza said, but there was a question in his voice.
A bitter laugh escaped Shikaku's lips. "No, old friend. I didn't, not really." He stood abruptly, walking to the shelf where an old shōgi board sat gathering dust. "I was hard on him, because I needed to know. Needed to be sure. He trapped me in fifty-seven moves."
The silence that followed was deafening.
"Danzo," Yoshino whispered, the name itself a curse in the gathering darkness.
"Yes." Shikaku's shoulders tensed. "If he learns what Shikamaru is truly capable of..."
"The Academy starts in three months," Inoichi pointed out. "You can't hide him forever, Shikaku."
"No," Shikaku agreed, turning back to face his oldest friends. The shadows seemed to deepen around him, lending his features a carved-from-stone quality that reminded them all why he'd earned his reputation as Konoha's premier strategist. "But I can teach him how to hide himself."
"You're going to train him?" Chōza's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I thought you said—"
"I said I wouldn't teach him advanced techniques until he was ready." Shikaku's eyes grew distant. "But there are other lessons he needs to learn first. How to appear average. How to fail convincingly."
"The long game," Inoichi murmured, understanding dawning in his eyes.
"The longest." Shikaku moved back to the table, but remained standing. "I can't stop him from being what he is. But I can teach him how to survive it."
"The village needs shinobi like him," Chōza argued, though his tone suggested he already knew the response.
"The village," Shikaku paused, "has a habit of burning out its brightest stars." His hands clenched at his sides. "Sakumo. Kakashi. Orochimaru. Itachi. All geniuses. All broken in their own ways. I will not—" His voice cracked, surprising them all. "I will not add my son's name to that list."
"We'll help," Inoichi said firmly. "Whatever you need."
"The Akimichi stand with you," Chōza added. "Always."
Shikaku nodded. "Remember – from this moment forward, Shikamaru is just another lazy Nara child. Nothing exceptional."
"Achoo!"
Shikamaru rubbed his nose, squinting at the late morning sun that filtered through the shop's worn awning. A peculiar shiver ran down his spine, the kind that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention.
"Dattebayo, someone must be talking about you, Shika!" Choji grinned, his round face pressed against the glass display case of Konoha's newest snack shop, "The Crunchy Kunai."
"That's just an old wives' tale," Shikamaru muttered, though his mind flickered briefly to his father's study. "And I can't believe you dragged me to this troublesome place. There isn't even anything to—"
"ARE YOU INSANE?" Choji's voice reached a pitch that made several nearby pigeons take emergency flight. His hands splayed against the glass case like a man dying of thirst finding an oasis. "Look at all these amazing chips! Volcanic Curry flavor! Thunder God Yellow! Tsunade Milk Purple Sweet Potato!"
Shikamaru didn't even want to know what that last flavour entailed.
The shop owner, a wizened old man with more liver spots than hair, started waving his cane. "Oi! Stop smudging the glass, you little—"
But Choji was beyond hearing, his face now practically melded to the display case as he made what Shikamaru could only describe as 'intimate' noises at the rows of colorful packages.
"Mendokuse," Shikamaru sighed, watching his best friend's display with second-hand embarrassment. The memory of his last attempt to comment on Choji's snacking habits surfaced unbidden, making him wince.
Three Weeks Earlier
"Oi, Choji," Shikamaru had said, sprawled in his usual cloud-watching spot. "Don't you think eating all those chips might be... problematic? You might end up with a bit of a..." he'd gestured vaguely at his midsection, the word 'fat' dying on his tongue as the atmosphere suddenly changed.
The rustling of the chip bag stopped.
The birds stopped singing.
The wind itself seemed to hold its breath.
Shikamaru turned his head lazily, only to freeze at the sight before him. Choji stood perfectly still, chips forgotten in his hand, and for just a moment – though Shikamaru would later convince himself it was a trick of the light – he could have sworn he saw the crimson pinwheels of the Sharingan spinning in his friend's eyes.
"Oh dear," was all he managed before the first punch came sailing toward his face.
What followed was three minutes of what Shikamaru would later classify as 'aggressive cardiovascular exercise.' He dodged each wild swing with his hands still tucked in his pockets, body moving on pure instinct.
'Well,' he thought as he leaned away from another haymaker, 'at least I can confirm my physical capabilities are well above average for our age group. Even an enraged Choji is easy to read and—'
Then Choji's movements suddenly accelerated, fury lending him speed that shouldn't have been possible for someone his size.
"SHANNAROOOOOO!"
Present Day
Shikamaru absently rubbed his jaw, the phantom pain making him grimace. He'd learned two valuable lessons that day: never comment on an Akimichi's weight, and never, ever underestimate the speed of an angry Choji.
They strolled through the village after Choji had finally been pried away from the display case, armed with several bags of chips that crinkled with every step.
"Ne, Shikamaru," Choji munched thoughtfully on his Thunder God Yellow chips, "why are you always so... peaceful? Not like that damn Ino, always screaming about everything."
Shikamaru chuckled, a half-remembered quote floating up through the increasingly murky waters of his previous life. "The loudest one in the room is often the weakest one in the room."
"Eh?" Choji blinked, orange-dusted fingers pausing halfway to his mouth. "Where'd you hear that from?"
Something flickered in Shikamaru's mind – a dimly lit room, a screen playing some movie about Wall Street, the taste of microwave popcorn – but it slipped away like water through his fingers. "Hmm," he shrugged, "not sure actually."
"Well, anyway," Choji continued, already onto his second bag, "can you believe the Academy starts in three months? Dad says they have this amazing cafeteria with unlimited—"
Shikamaru's attention drifted as his friend launched into an enthusiastic description of the Academy's dining facilities. His eyes caught movement above – a squad of ANBU moving with that grace over rooftops. He watched them for a moment, noting their formation, the way they seemed to bend light around themselves, before deliberately turning his gaze back to the ground.
"—and they even have special lunch sets on Fridays! Isn't that amazing, Shika?"
"Mm? Sorry, repeat that? Wasn't listening."
"Mou!" Choji's cheeks puffed out in irritation, making him look even more like the hamster Shikamaru sometimes privately compared him to. "You never listen! And here I was about to tell you that Dad gave me some extra ryo to get something for you..."
Shikamaru's ears perked up despite himself, an idea taking shape in his mind. Time to play a different kind of game. "Eh, you wouldn't do anything interesting with it anyway, Choji."
"Would too!"
"Would not."
"WOULD TOO!"
Shikamaru cracked open one eye, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh really?"
"Choji," he drawled, "how tall would you say you are when you stand on my shoulders?"
"Eh?" Choji paused mid-chip, orange dust coating his fingers. "I don't know... maybe like a really short adult? Why are you—" His eyes widened as understanding dawned. "Oh no. No no no. Whatever you're thinking, Shika—"
Shikamaru's lazy smile had an edge to it that made Choji's stomach flip, and not in the pleasant, just-found-a-new-flavor-of-chips way. "You want to do something interesting with that money, right?"
Twenty minutes and one borrowed trench coat later. stolen from Choji's father's closet, though Shikamaru insisted on calling it "tactically acquired", they stood in an alley beside the Dragon's Claw Weapons Shop. The establishment's worn wooden sign creaked in the afternoon breeze, the carved dragon's eyes seeming to follow them accusingly.
"This is crazy," Choji whispered from somewhere around Shikamaru's navel, his voice muffled by the coat. "We're going to get caught. We're going to get in trouble. We're going to—"
"Oi," Shikamaru hissed down at his friend's hidden form, "less catastrophizing, more focusing on walking straight."
"I still don't understand why I have to be on the bottom," Choji grumbled, shifting his stance.
"Because," Shikamaru explained with the patience of someone who had already calculated seventeen different possible outcomes of this venture, "if we fall, you're better cushioning. Besides, I need to be able to see what I'm buying."
A gauze mask covered the lower half of Shikamaru's face, borrowed, actually borrowed this time, from his mother's medical supplies. His hair had been pulled down from its usual spiky ponytail, falling around his face in a way that added at least a few years to his appearance. Probably. Maybe. Look, he'd worked with what he had.
"Ready?" he asked, patting what he hoped was Choji's shoulder and not his head.
"No."
"Perfect. Let's go."
The bell above the shop door chimed as they entered, announcing their presence with cheerful betrayal. The interior was a weapon enthusiast's dream – walls lined with gleaming kunai, shelves displaying everything from standard shuriken to exotic blade configurations that made Shikamaru's past-life tactical mind practically salivate.
Behind the counter stood a man who could only be Tenten's father – the resemblance was obvious, though his features were weathered by years of forge work. He looked up from polishing a katana, his expert eyes immediately noting something... off about his newest customer.
"Welcome to Dragon's Claw," he said slowly, setting aside the blade. "Can I... help you?"
"Yes," Shikamaru attempted to deepen his voice, channeling his memory of his father's most authoritative tone. It came out sounding like he was gargling gravel. "I require some basic supplies. Training materials."
The shopkeeper's eyebrow rose slightly. "Training materials?"
"Indeed." Shikamaru gestured expansively, nearly losing his balance atop Choji's shoulders. "Senbon. Kunai. Wire. The essentials."
"For...?"
"My student." Shikamaru coughed, trying to maintain his questionable vocal disguise. "Yes. My young, very promising student. Who is not me. Because I am clearly an adult. With adult... things."
Beneath the coat, Choji made a sound that might have been a whimper or possibly just indigestion from stress-eating his way through three bags of chips before this mission.
The shopkeeper's other eyebrow joined the first. "I see. And does this... student have their Academy registration papers? Or perhaps their guardian's authorization?"
"Ah." Shikamaru hadn't actually expected to get this far. His mind raced. "Would you believe they were... eaten by a dog?"
"A very large dog," he added helpfully when the shopkeeper's expression didn't change.
A bead of sweat rolled down Shikamaru's temple. This was fine. Everything was fine. He just needed to maintain their cover for a few more minutes, complete the transaction, and—
"Ah... ah... ACHOO!"
The explosive sneeze from below sent Shikamaru lurching forward, his carefully maintained balance deserting him like shadows at high noon. The coat flapped open, revealing a glimpse of Choji's round face and panic-stricken eyes.
"Shikamaru," Choji wailed, his voice several octaves higher than usual, "I can't keep this up any longer! The coat's too hot and I think there's a spider in here and—"
"Tactical retreat!" Shikamaru yanked the coat closed, but the damage was done. "Run!"
They burst out of the shop in a tangle of limbs and borrowed clothing, Choji's natural momentum carrying them halfway down the street before either boy realized they were still attached to each other. The coat flapped behind them like a particularly ungainly cape.
From the shop doorway came the sound of rich, deep laughter. "Oi, Nara-kun!" the shopkeeper called after them. "Next time just ask your father to bring you! And return Akimichi-san's coat before he notices it's missing!"
They didn't stop running until they reached their cloud-watching hill, collapsing in a heap of embarrassment and relief. The coat, somehow still mostly intact, puddle around them like a defeat flag.
"Well," Shikamaru said finally, staring up at the clouds that seemed to be laughing at him, "that could have gone better."
Choji sat up, his face flushed from exertion and mortification. "Could have gone better? Could have gone better? We just tried to... to... what did we even try to do?"
"Technically," Shikamaru mused, "we attempted to perpetrate fraud through identity deception and potential misrepresentation of Academy credentials." He paused. "Also probably some kind of height-related misdemeanor."
"We stood on each other in a coat and tried to buy weapons!"
"That's... another way of putting it, yes."
They looked at each other for a long moment before breaking into helpless laughter.
"Your voice," Choji wheezed between giggles. "You sounded like you were trying to swallow rocks!"
"Better than you sneezing us into next week," Shikamaru retorted, but there was no heat in it. "Though I have to admit, your timing was..."
"Troublesome?"
"I was going to say 'catastrophic', but that works too."
As their laughter faded, Shikamaru's mind was already spinning through alternative plans. Perhaps he could convince his father that proper weapon training was essential for his development.
"Ne, Shika?" Choji's voice interrupted his plotting. "Next time you want to do something interesting with my money, can we just buy more chips?"
Shikamaru smiled, a genuine one this time. "Sure, Choji. Sure."