The sun dipped low over the sandstone buildings of Sunagakure, casting long shadows across the Kazekage's office. The wind outside whispered faintly, tugging at the corners of paperwork scattered across Gaara’s desk. He didn’t look up from the document he was signing until Shinki’s quiet voice broke the silence.

"Before you found me... things were different."

Gaara set his pen down, his teal eyes meeting Shinki's. He waited. Shinki rarely brought up the time before he'd come under Gaara’s care, and when he did, it was never lightly.

"I didn’t have much. No family. No name anyone cared to remember. But there was one person," Shinki said, arms folded across his chest. “They ran a little stall near the old market gate. They used to give me food when they could. Not just scraps. Real food. Warm. I didn’t know why they did it, but… I think it kept me from becoming someone worse."

Gaara nodded, listening intently. He caught the flicker of emotion in his son’s voice—respect, maybe, or longing. Maybe both?

"I miss them sometimes," Shinki admitted, glancing out the window. “I never said thank you.”

There was a long pause, filled only by the scratching wind. Then Gaara stood.

"Then we will find them."

Shinki turned, surprised. "What?"

Gaara’s expression was calm, resolute. “If someone helped my son when he had nothing, they deserve recognition. As Kazekage, it is my responsibility to remember those who strengthen this village—even in small, quiet ways. Let’s visit their stall. You can thank them. I can too.”

A rare smile touched the edge of Shinki’s mouth.

Together, they stepped out into the setting sun—father and son—on their way to repay a quiet kindness long overdue. Gaara was curious to see who this person was.