Shikamaru sat in one of the hospital's intensive care ward's waiting areas, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers interlocked as if they were the only thing keeping him together. In front of him sat Temari.

"Come on," she said, her voice firm. "It doesn't help anyone, working yourself up." Her sharp green eyes studied him critically. She was poised, legs crossed, her hands resting delicately on her knees. Her giant fan, ever present, leaned against the wall, propped up on the bench beside her. "With every mission comes sacrifice. You've had psychological training!"

Shikamaru wanted to respond. He wanted to tell her that no amount of training could prepare him for this. He wanted to admit what was clawing at the edges of his mind: that he wasn't fit to be a shinobi. That realization had hit him like a kunai to the gut after the mission to retrieve Sasuke had ended in failure. Every comrade under his command had been injured. Sasuke and Naruto's conditions were still unknown.

But he said nothing. Words weren't possible, not when his mind was waging a silent war, assimilating an avalanche of memories that didn't belong to him.

Or did they?

Shikamaru was Shikamaru, or at least he thought so. And yet, somehow, he was also someone else entirely. Another version of himself, one who had lived an ordinary life in a world where shinobi were nothing more than characters in a Japanese cartoon. Over twenty years of memories from that other life had been dumped into his consciousness, flooding his mind with knowledge that felt impossibly vivid and unshakably real. Stories. Futures. Worlds. A cascade of information that shouldn't exist, and yet… it did.

Who was he now? Was he Shikamaru, and this stranger's memories were simply a rebellious surge in his mind? Or was he the other person, now occupying Shikamaru's body?

For now, it didn't matter. He was here. He was Shikamaru. He had Shikamaru's body, Shikamaru's mind, and Shikamaru's responsibilities. And if the fragments of the future that lingered in his mind were real... if the horrors he remembered were to come, then giving up wasn't an option.

His friends would be in the thick of danger. Some of them would die far too young. His teacher, too. His village would be destroyed. He couldn't allow any of that to happen.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Temari asked after a while, her tone sharper now.

Shikamaru blinked, the world around him snapping back into focus. Her gaze was fixed on him, her brow furrowed lightly. She wasn't angry, he realized, but worried. He felt a pang of guilt for letting her sit in silence, trying to get him out of whatever pit she thought he was in.

Right. He couldn't wallow. He couldn't let himself sink into self-pity. That wouldn't help anyone. He had to train. He had to become better. It had been theorized that Shikamaru could have been a prodigy had he applied himself. It was maybe too late to earn such a title, but he could still rise to the top. To stand alongside the monsters of this world, perhaps not in raw strength, but in strategy and execution. Itachi wasn't a chakra monster, after all, and yet his name was whispered with both reverence and fear. There was strength in finesse.

Shikamaru exhaled slowly. Yes, he could work with that. He didn't need the raw power of a bijū or the unrelenting stamina of someone like Naruto. What he needed was control, discipline, and preparation.

"Sorry," he said, finally breaking his silence. "Just thinking."

"Yeah, I figured," Temari said, leaning back with a sigh. She crossed her arms, but the tension in her shoulders softened. "What about?"

Shikamaru briefly debated what to say. He couldn't tell anyone the truth, it would send him straight to T . Still, that didn't mean he had to lie.

"I have to do better. Next time. They won't stop being sent on missions, and if they're sent under another commander, I can't guarantee they'll survive. So I have to be better, I have to get stronger. So that next time, something like this doesn't happen."

Temari's eyes widened slightly, the intensity of his words catching her off guard. She uncrossed her legs, leaning forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees as she studied him. "That's… a lot to put on yourself," she said, her voice softer now. "You're not responsible for everything that happens. You know that, right?"

"Maybe not," Shikamaru admitted, his gaze fixed on hers. "But that doesn't matter. If there's even a chance I can keep them safe, it's my responsibility to take it."

For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the hospital around them. Temari didn't look away, and neither did Shikamaru. He wasn't sure if she understood, but it didn't matter. This wasn't about earning her approval or anyone else's. This was about his team, his friends, and the village he'd sworn to protect.

From somewhere nearby he heard the familiar hum of his father, and guessed he wouldn't have to be told off this time.

Then Tsunade came out of the intensive care ward. "He's okay now," she said with a soft smile. Shikamaru exhaled deeply, relief washing over him, even though he already knew Chōji would be alright. "His medication had a side effect that was eating away at his healthy cells... But I found an antidote that worked. I thank you, Shikaku." She sat down next to Shikamaru. "The Nara clan's sacred medicine guide was a big help. It took tremendous effort to put it together. It's the sweet fruit of all your daily labor."

"Thank you, really!" said Shikamaru's father, leaning casually against the wall, his voice carrying the weight of his gratitude.

Shikamaru's throat felt tight. He wasn't sure what to say.

Before he could find the words, a voice cut through the air. "Lady Tsunade!"

Shizune rushed into the hallway, her cheeks flushed, her face sweaty, and her breathing labored. "Hyūga Neji… is out of the danger zone!" she panted.

A collective breath of relief passed through the room, though Shikamaru noticed how the tension in Tsunade's shoulders didn't fully ease.

"And one more thing..." Shizune added. "Hatake Kakashi and Uzumaki Naruto, the two of them just returned a moment ago. Naruto is injured but his life is not in danger."

Shikamaru's heart lifted, though only briefly. Shizune seemed happy about the news, but Tsunade's expression darkened. Her smile faded.

"Just the two of them?" she asked.

The silence that followed was heavy, pressing down on everyone. Shizune hesitated, then nodded.

Tsunade sighed deeply, her hands folding in her lap as she looked down for a moment. Then, raising her head, she turned to Shikamaru. "Shikamaru... it looks like we failed. And yet... you all survived. I can't ask for more."

Shikamaru lowered his head. Itwasthe best-case scenario, really. Chōji, Neji, Naruto... they were all alive. Injured, yes, but alive. For a mission that had spiraled out of control, survival was a rare victory. Yet, it didn't feel like one.

He clenched his fists in his lap, his knuckles white.Next time.The words echoed in his mind. Next time, he wouldn't let anyone get this hurt. Next time, he wouldn't fail his team. Not as their leader, not as their friend. With the knowledge he now had, the memories of another life, he could prepare for the future. Hehadto prepare for the future.

The Akatsuki. Danzō. The Fourth Great Ninja War. Madara. The deaths of people he cared about... Asuma, Neji, so many others. It was all there, like a shadow lurking in the corners of his mind. The future wasn't set in stone, not yet. But the pieces were moving, and if he didn't act, he knew exactly where they would fall.

Shikamaru leaned back in his seat, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. The question wasn't whether he could prepare. He could. The question was how.

His clan's jutsu was versatile, yes, and he had always prided himself on his ability to adapt. But it wasn't enough. Shadow techniques could only take him so far, especially against the kinds of enemies he knew were coming. What he needed were better tools. Something to expand his repertoire, to level the playing field against godlike foes.

If the future was going to pit him against monsters, then he needed to become the epitome of what a ninja should be: unseen, unknowable, always one step ahead. To do that, his skill set needed to grow. Drastically.

Genjutsu. The subtlety of illusions had always intrigued him, though he'd never had the patience, or the necessity, to learn. But illusions paired very well with shadows. With genjutsu, he could disorient and manipulate his enemies, buying precious time for his strategies to take root. He'd need to improve his chakra control for that, of course, something he'd always thought of as "good enough" until now. Fine-tuning illusions required precision, the kind of control that could direct chakra down to the tiniest thread. The effort would be immense, but the payoff was undeniable.

And if he was already working on his chakra control, why stop there?

Medical ninjutsu. Another skill that demanded precision, but one with even greater potential. With med-nin training, he could not only heal his allies in the field but also strengthen his own body. He thought of Tsunade's monstrous strength, her chakra control refined to the point of physical perfection. He could learn how to push his body further, and also to recover faster.

The pieces of his plan began falling into place.

The most important piece of all, the one that tied everything together, was fūinjutsu.

The holy grail of Naruto fanfiction.

He almost snorted at the thought. In those stories, it was often treated as a magical solution, the answer to every problem. Overpowered seals that could stop time, destroy armies, or grant unlimited chakra. It was an entertaining fantasy, sure, but reality was less extreme. And yet, that didn't make fūinjutsu any less important.

In the real world, fūinjutsu wasn't magic that could do anything. It was a tool, albeit versatile, that demanded precision and discipline. It required more than just brute force or raw talent. It demanded creativity, foresight, and an almost obsessive attention to detail. And those were skills he had in abundance.

Those three specializations would be what he would build himself upon. A trifecta of subtlety, precision, and control. They were branches of skill that didn't rely on overwhelming power but on adaptability and finesse. Combined with the shadows that were already his trademark, they would turn him into a shinobi capable of matching even the monsters of this world.

And, of course, he'd need to condition his body. Harder, faster, tougher. His physical limits needed to rise. No sense in having a brilliant mind if his body couldn't keep up with the demands of the battlefield.

Ugh, what a drag,he thought, groaning internally. The idea of grueling physical training wasn't exactly appealing, but it was necessary. He couldn't let himself become the weak link in his own plans.

He had two years before shit hit the fan. It wasn't a lot of time, not for what he had in mind. But it was enough. It had to be.

Well... it's time to see what a motivated Shikamaru can do.