Boruto wandered through the village streets as he often did, hands stuffed into his pockets, his expression carrying that usual mix of boredom and restless energy. The noise of the Chūnin Exams still lingered faintly in the distance—cheers, laughter, and the occasional clash of weapons—but here, in this quieter stretch of road, everything felt strangely subdued.

That was when it struck him. The prickling sensation on the back of his neck. The uneasy weight of unseen eyes.

He slowed his pace, frowning. Someone’s watching me.

Boruto turned sharply, scanning the shadows between the shops and rooftops until his gaze locked onto a figure standing just at the edge of the lantern light. The boy looked to be about Boruto’s age, maybe a little older. His stance was steady, shoulders squared like a trained fighter. A jagged scar cut across his cheek, but it wasn’t the scar that unsettled Boruto most—it was the eyes. Cold, detached, as though they were looking straight through him rather than at him.

Boruto’s throat tightened. He shifted his weight, trying to sound braver than he felt. “W-who are you? Why are you following me?” he stammered, his voice catching.