Nara Shikaku hated reports that tried to sound optimistic.
He sat cross-legged in the temporary command tent, a thin stack of mission summaries spread out before him. The war was far from over, the paper in his hands told a different story. Casualties reclassified as "acceptable." Border incidents labeled "isolated." Entire units reduced to footnotes.
He tipped a shogi piece between his fingers, letting it fall onto the board with a soft click.
The Third Great Ninja War will not end for years, and already, people were trying to pretend there were low casualties.
Outside the tent, new Konoha shinobi's moved with the restless energy of shinobi who hadn't yet been through war. Supplies were being counted. Squads reassigned. Commanders argued over borders that still smelled like blood.
Shikaku exhaled slowly.
Peace was always when the real problems started.
A shadow crossed the tent flap.
"Come in," Shikaku said, without looking up.
The messenger hesitated before stepping inside—a chunin by the look of him, bandaged shoulder, eyes a little too sharp for someone his age.
"Sir. This came in from the Kirigakuret war front. Late report."
Shikaku finally looked up.
Late reports were never good news.
He accepted the scroll and unrolled it in silence. His expression didn't change as he read, but something behind his eyes tightened.
Ambush by Mist forces.
Survivors: one.
Condition: critical.
Name: Nara Shigen.
The shogi piece slipped from his fingers and struck the board harder than intended.
The messenger flinched.
Shikaku closed his eyes for a brief moment, then reopened them. "Where is he?"
"Field hospital. He was… brought in by a civilian contractor, sir. Or at least that's what the report says."
Shikaku's gaze sharpened. "A civilian?"
"Yes, sir. But—" the chunin hesitated. "There were traces of Ice Release chakra at the site. The medics noted it, but command hasn't… addressed it yet."
Silence filled the tent.
Shikaku folded the scroll carefully, as if the act itself required control.
Ice Release.
So the rumors were true.
The war hadn't just stirred old grudges—it had shaken loose ghosts people had been hoping would stay buried.
"Thank you," Shikaku said at last. "That will be all."
The messenger bowed and left quickly, clearly relieved.
Shikaku remained seated, staring at the shogi board.
His younger brother.
Reckless. Idealistic. Always convinced he could think his way out of any situation.
And now alive—by a miracle that carried a political cost Konoha was not prepared to pay.
Shikaku reset the fallen piece and placed it back on the board.
"If Ice Release is moving again," he murmured, "then someone is going to try to erase it."
He stood, rolling up the scroll and slipping it into his vest.
The war had ended.
Which meant the game was finally beginning.