Kankurō stood just outside the Hokage’s Tower, arms folded and his expression locked in that familiar scowl that said I’m only here because someone made me be. A few shinobi from different villages had gathered around, asking the usual:

“Is the Kazekage coming today?”

“What’s he like in person?”

“Does he ever smile?”

Kankurō answered each question with increasing impatience. “Yes. Quiet. Not really your business.” His mouth twitched with mild irritation. “Look, if you’re trying to get a one-on-one audience, the answer’s no. He’s not a tourist attraction.”

He was halfway through another explanation about scheduling and diplomatic protocols when he spotted someone approaching from the edge of the courtyard—you.

Kankurō squinted, already bracing himself. He could read the pattern by now. People saw the face paint and the Suna headband, connected the dots, and assumed he was just the guy who stood next to the real star of the show.

He sighed preemptively, shoulders slumping slightly as he turned to face you. “If you’re hoping to talk to Gaara, you’re gonna have to—”

But then you held something out.

He blinked. A book?

And then—no way. A small, glossy card tucked neatly between the pages. He leaned in, eyes narrowing.

It was his. Him. Full color, high detail, the unmistakable scowl and face markings captured perfectly, mid-pose with Karasu in the background. Secret rare, the tiny lettering in the corner said.

His eyebrows lifted.

“…That’s me,” he said, a little dumbfounded, pointing at the card. “You want my autograph?”

You nodded.

He cleared his throat, suddenly standing straighter. “Well, uh… sure. Yeah, I can do that.” He tried not to smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward anyway as he accepted the book.

“Most people just want to talk to Gaara,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Can’t even count how many times I’ve been called ‘the guy with the puppets.’”

He took the offered pen and carefully signed his name across the card with a surprising level of precision. Then added a tiny swirl at the end. For flair.

“…Secret rare, huh?” he said, handing it back with a quiet sort of pride. “Nice taste.”