The field hospital smelled of antiseptic, smoke, and chakra residue that hadn't yet faded. It was quieter than the battlefield, but Shikaku had always thought places like this were worse. Too many people survived just long enough to realize what they'd lost.
He passed rows of cots without slowing, nodding once to a medic who recognized him and immediately pretended not to notice the way Shikaku's eyes scanned everything—wards, seals, exits.
Shigen was in the far corner.
He looked smaller than Shikaku remembered.
Bandages wrapped his torso, his right side encased in a lattice of temporary sealing tags meant to keep his chakra from hemorrhaging. His breathing was steady, but shallow. The shadows around his bed were unnaturally still, as if even they were waiting.
Shikaku pulled up a chair and sat.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, quietly, "You look terrible."
Shigen's lips twitched. "Good. Means I'm still alive."
Shikaku snorted despite himself. "Barely. You were declared dead for half a day."
"Would've been simpler."
"Don't start."
Shikaku leaned back, arms folded, eyes half-lidded—but his focus was razor sharp. "The report says a civilian pulled you out."
Shigen didn't answer immediately.
"That civilian," Shikaku continued evenly, "used Ice Release."
Shigen turned his head just enough to meet his brother's gaze.
"She saved my life."
The words landed exactly where Shikaku expected them to—and still managed to hit harder than he liked.
"I didn't ask what she did," Shikaku said. "I'm asking what you are going to do next."
Shigen closed his eyes.
"Follow her."
Of course you will. Shikaku exhaled through his nose. "You realize what that means."
"Yes."
"You realize what they'll do if they find her."
"Yes."
"And you brought this problem back to Konoha anyway."
Shigen opened his eyes again, and this time there was no humor in them. Only something stubborn and frighteningly calm.
"She's not a problem."
Shikaku studied him for a long moment, then stood and walked to the bedside window. Outside, the village was rebuilding—roofs being repaired, training grounds reopened, children running where soldiers had once marched.
"This village," Shikaku said slowly, "has a habit of turning people into threats the moment they become inconvenient."
"I know."
"Then why?"
Shigen's voice was quiet. "Because if she hadn't been there, I'd be dead. And because if Konoha decides she's an enemy… I won't pretend I didn't know her."
Shikaku closed his eyes.
He'd been afraid of this answer.
"Where is she?" he asked.
"Somewhere near the border. She's moving constantly."
"And you?"
"I'm supposed to be resting." Shigen smiled faintly. "You've never liked that word."
Shikaku turned back to him. "You're going to tell me everything. No omissions. No heroic editing."
Shigen nodded. "I was hoping you'd say that."
There was a pause.
Then Shikaku added, "And Shigen?"
"Yeah?"
"If you've tied yourself to a Yuki… then this isn't just your life anymore."
Shigen's gaze drifted to his bandaged chest, to the seals glowing faintly under the cloth.
"I know," he said. "That's why I need your help."
Shikaku didn't answer right away.
Instead, he reached into his vest and placed a single shogi piece on the bedside table.
A pawn.
"We'll talk," he said finally. "But understand this—once you step onto the board, I don't get to pretend I don't see you."
Shigen smiled, tired but genuine.
"Good," he said. "I was counting on that."
Shikaku turned and left the ward, already calculating angles, consequences, and the shape of a future that had just become far more dangerous.
Some wars didn't announce themselves.
They simply survived—and waited.