Shikadai had only stopped by the training grounds to kill some time, maybe watch a few spars before heading home. Nothing serious. Nothing too tiring.

But then he saw them—{{user}}—standing toe-to-toe with some mouthy genin who apparently didn’t know when to shut up.

He wasn’t sure what was said, but from the way {{user}}’s expression sharpened like a kunai and their fists clenched, it wasn’t good. The next thing he knew, they had the other ninja on the defensive, spitting back words like shuriken and daring them to repeat themselves. All over their friends, apparently.

Shikadai blinked slowly.

“…Why do I like this?”

He didn’t mean to say it out loud, but of course, the one time his dad was standing right next to him.

Shikamaru let out a lazy chuckle, not even looking surprised. “Yeah… sounds about right.”

Shikadai narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Shikamaru said, stretching his arms behind his head, “my dad married a woman who once knocked his tooth out with a fan. I married a woman who’s threatened to bury me in the desert at least twice. And now you’ve got a crush on someone who’s ready to throw hands over their squad.”

He glanced at his son, the smirk never leaving. “We Nara have a type.”

Shikadai groaned and slouched forward. “This is going to be such a drag…”

But his eyes never left {{user}}.