His first mistake had been the chunin selection exams, where genin from the entire continent, from the five great nations down to adjacent smaller nations, came together. For some reason, while the shinobi world was rocked by disaster and strife—Konohagakure rogue ninja, Orochimaru’s secret maneuvering, the death of the third Hokage—Shikamaru was the only one allowed the promotion to chunin. He was the lone graduate.
And it wasn’t as though he had particularly worked for it. During the one-on-one fight part of the exam, he had initially been thrown completely by a cheeky female ninja when she used a ridiculously large fan to create storm-level winds, but in the end the fight had come to a stalemate, and he had surrendered.
That had been well received.
Once a ninja became a chunin, they had people under them. The quality deemed most valuable for this purpose was an ability to accurately assess any given situation. The examiners handed down top marks for Shikamaru’s sportsmanlike admission of defeat.
This was a mixed blessing.
He hadn’t even wanted to take the exam; he’d been forced into it by his master Sarutobi Asuma. He hadn’t had any intention of getting good marks or any real interest in doing it at all. But reality led Shikamaru to the rank of chunin, and the way the villagers looked at him changed.
It was around this time that his life plan started slipping off the rails.
When Sasuke left the village, Shikamaru had chased after him as the leader of a team of ninja in his class. After that, he was seen as standing a head higher than others in his year and given responsibility for a number of missions. The more he resisted, the more reality pulled Shikamaru higher and higher.
Two years after the Fourth Great Ninja War, Shikamaru turned nineteen, an age at which he could no longer be called a child.
How fortunate he was to have people counting on him. How wonderful it was to be needed by people. No one had to tell him; he knew it. Shikamaru’s friends had actually risen all the way to the top to become heroes of the village—of all ninja—simply out of the desire to be needed by people. He knew without anyone having to tell him that people were creatures who needed others. Which was why he didn’t feel weird when someone said to him, If you weren’t here… If he was needed, he’d face whatever problem needed facing unflinchingly, with everything he had; he hadn’t once cut corners on a mission.
Nineteen years since he’d been born into this world.
Already, his entire self was ensnared by too many ties and obligations. Akatsuki, the organization plotting to rule the world, had killed his teacher Asuma. And Asuma had had a girlfriend named Kurenai, and Asuma’s baby had lived in her belly. That baby was already two years old. Her name was Mirai.
Become Mirai’s teacher…
It was a promise he had to keep.
Shikamaru’s father, Shikaku, had worked as an officer of the Allied Shinobi during the Fourth Great Ninja War. He died with Ino’s father, Inoichi, when Obito’s maneuvering ended in Ten Tails’s Biju Bomb blowing up the alliance headquarters. The last words of his father and Inoichi were still clear in his ears even now.
Never forget that we live on inside you. Forever.
Become a great man like your father…
He had sworn it to the man who gave him life in this world.
And Naruto. The shinobi hero, always forthright, never doubting for a second he would someday be Hokage.
Huh. I’m the only one who can be his advisor, Shikamaru had thought on death’s doorstep, as Sakura treated his injuries in the battle with Ten Tails.
Make Naruto the Hokage and be his right hand.
That was the dream.
He was bound by so many ties and obligations, he couldn’t even count them all. He had no doubt these were the power propelling him forward. Shikamaru could live as Shikamaru precisely because everyone had him in their hearts.
And yet…
It was exhausting sometimes. The real him wasn’t the man everyone thought he was. He was the sort you could find anywhere, who felt like every little thing was a drag, who dreamed of having a just-right life. The more people expected of him, the more he wanted to run away. That was the true nature of this man, Shikamaru.
Way back when, his friends had understood his tendency to find everything to be a hassle, his lack of motivation. When had everyone started getting the wrong idea? When had Shikamaru stopped saying “what a drag”? He felt like both had happened around the same time.
“That’s…” As he stared up at the clouds, a deep crease carved itself out between his eyebrows. His almond-shaped eyes focused on a single point in space, where he could just make out a lone falcon.
The majestic bird, wings spread, turned slowly to the west in the creeping crimson of the early-evening sky, Shikamaru in the middle of its arcing trajectory. Or rather, more accurately, the circle of its flight had the Hokage Residence as its center.
This wasn’t a matter to simply sit up for. He stood. His mind, drifting along on a boundless ocean only seconds before, had already snapped back to reality, a whetted blade. His eyes caught hold of the falcon and didn’t let go.
Jet black…
The falcon was a pure black, as though it had been drawn in ink. No, it really had been drawn in ink. The Art of Cartoon Beast Mimicry, Sai’s jutsu.
Sai had taken Sasuke’s place on Team 7, the team Naruto and Sakura belonged to. With his special technique, the Art of Cartoon Beast Mimicry, he could give life to the beasts and birds he drew and make them move.
The falcon flying above Shikamaru’s head was drawn by Sai.
“Finally here, huh,” he muttered to himself, as the falcon stopped circling in the sky and started to descend.
Shikamaru started running. His feet headed for the stairs to the lower level, at the bottom of which was the Hokage’s office, the falcon’s destination. He grabbed on to the staircase railing, and the bird disappeared into the side of the building, brushing up against his cheek as it did. He very nearly flew down the stairs and raced along the hallway.
The office.
He opened the door without knocking.
“Oh, Shikamaru,” Kakashi said. He was standing in front of a desk piled with a mess of documents and books, holding out a scroll.
“Sai’s falcon just came into this room.”
“Mm.” Kakashi flipped around the scroll he had been reading so Shikamaru could see it.
Text dancing on a white background leapt into Shikamaru’s field of view. He rushed over to get a closer look.
“It seems the situation is even more serious than I thought,” Kakashi said, looking at Shikamaru. His eyes were so fierce he was almost glaring, and his usual absentminded tone was also abnormally serious, all of which gave Shikamaru a bad feeling.
His eyes chased after the characters written on the scroll: “I don’t know myself anymore…” This last sentence alone, spelled out in a fine brush, looked to Shikamaru especially vivid.