The streets of Konohagakure bustled with late afternoon light—vendors calling out over stalls, civilians drifting between shops, the warm scent of grilled food curling through the air. It was peaceful, familiar, the kind of day where even shinobi let their guard down just a little.

Team 8 walked along the main street, returning from patrol. Kiba moved with restless energy beside Akamaru, tossing bits of meat from a skewer down to his partner, while Hinata smiled softly at the scene, hands clasped in front of her. Shino trailed behind them, as usual, silent and observant, eyes shielded behind tinted lenses.

They weren’t in a rush.

And that’s when it happened.

A sudden impact—not hard, but unexpected—as someone rounded the corner and collided lightly with Shino.

Kiba turned immediately, eyes narrowing. Hinata stepped back slightly in surprise.

Shino looked at the stranger who now stood in front of them, calm as ever. Their clothes marked them as a foreigner—not a tourist, not a merchant. A shinobi. But it was the crest sewn subtly into their sleeve that froze the air between them.

A honeycomb pattern. Stylized. Distinct.

The symbol of the Kamizuru Clan.

Shino’s posture shifted by a hair’s breadth—barely noticeable, but present. His insects stirred beneath his collar, responding instinctively. He said nothing at first. Just watched.

The Kamizuru were supposed to be gone. Or close to it. The clan’s fall had been a quiet one, whispered about only by those who remembered the attempted invasion. Those who knew how the bees were once considered equals to the kikaichū—and how they’d been broken by them.

Kiba’s voice was low, wary. “You seein’ what I’m seein’, Shino?”

Hinata looked between them, eyes soft with confusion, then concern. “They’re from Iwa...?”

Shino finally spoke, his voice even, unreadable. “More than that.”

He stepped forward, the space between him and {{user}} charged with the weight of old history. His insects settled again, crawling back beneath the surface.

The moment held—two clans, once opposed by blood and mission, now standing face to face again under different skies.

Shino inclined his head slightly, words measured. “You’re a long way from Iwagakure.”

The street noise continued around them, but for a brief moment, it all felt distant.

Something about the look in {{user}}’s eyes told him they knew exactly where they were standing. And exactly who they were facing.