Set during Chapter 87, Shikaku's return home.
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"She's your daughter," Kasuga says.
Shikaku would really like to groan. "I only ever hear that when she's causing trouble," he laments.
Kasuga gives him a humourless smile. "That's the point," he says.
Shikaku does appreciate that his clansmen was willing to watch over the twins while he was away, especially as it ended up being for so long, but he doesn't feel that he will appreciate this conversation nearly so much.
He takes a sip of green tea, and guiltily wishes it were something stronger. "So."
Kasuga pauses for a long time, despite having been the one to bring the topic up. He looks… troubled. Not annoyed. Troubled and worried.
Shikaku can feel a headache building already. His return to Konoha has been far more stressful than he'd imagined, out on the border and inventing hundreds of ways that Hidden Cloud might try and attack them.
"She came to me with serious concerns about the spiritual side effects of the jutsu," Kasuga says. "I believe she was experiencing them. Yet within weeks, all the signs went away. Apparently."
Shikaku absorbs this. He drinks more tea. "Apparently?"
"According to her," Kasuga says. "There is no longer a problem." He doesn't sound like he believes it. "I haven't been able to tell otherwise. But … Her progress has been alarming."
"That's always been the case," Shikaku says, because his daughter can be frightening when she decides to do something. She is on par with adults in the clan on more than one matter, learns and absorbs information in startling fashion. Sometimes it seems she already knows and merely needs reminding.
"Train with her," Kasuga says. "You'll see. It's not normal." He shakes his head. "I don't know what she's doing, Shikaku. It's nothing I've ever seen before, and I can't get a word out of her."
"I will," Shikaku says. He sighs and stretches his legs out off of the veranda. Shikako, always Shikako. This is only one of the many conversations he has had since his return. His little dearheart, always at the centre of trouble. And nothing more so than now, while he has been too far away to offer help to her.
He feels like he has failed, and it is – as always – a terrible feeling.
"Kids grow up," Kasuga says, sympathetically. "They don't stay small forever."
"It's not meant to be so fast," Shikaku murmurs back.