The rain had come in again—soft, constant, and grey. Typical for late spring in Konoha. The clouds lingered, not heavy enough to pour, but dense enough to dim the streets like it was dusk.

Shikamaru leaned against the edge of the mission office’s veranda, hands stuffed in his pockets, his usual bored expression etched across his face. Ino and Choji were a few steps behind him, arguing over something trivial—probably food, or flowers, or both. He should’ve cared. Normally he did, in his own quiet way.

But not today.

Because you were there again. The newcomer. Quiet. Reserved. Always appearing just off the village's rhythm, like a single drop of ink in clear water. No headband, but no clear signs of threat either. Just... an unsettling stillness. You passed by the Hokage’s tower at the same time every morning, moved through the market with practiced, almost ceremonial grace, and vanished into the mist that clung to the outer edge of the village’s training grounds near dusk.

Shikamaru had noticed. And he hated noticing.

“Hey, Shikamaru,” Ino piped up, catching him watching. “You okay? You’re staring at them again.”

Choji glanced up from his bag of dumplings. “Is it a mission thing? Or like... a ‘Shikamaru gut instinct’ thing?”

He didn’t answer at first. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he tracked your path, watching how even the puddles seemed quieter under your steps. Like you’d learned to walk without disturbing water.

“Something’s... off,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Ino blinked. “You care? Since when do you care about—”

“Just… a feeling.” His voice dropped lower. Thoughtful. Cautious.

The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of salt—strange, for an inland village. Shikamaru frowned.

“Not a threat. But not just a civilian either.”

For the first time in weeks, he straightened up without groaning. His mind wasn’t drifting into clouds and naps. It was focused.

The rain grew quieter, the village kept moving, but in the back of his mind… ripples began.