My Techniques are a bit off

"Click."

Just as Link was deep in thought, the sound of a door opening broke the silence, followed by measured footsteps approaching.

"..."

Another classic Nara pineapple hairstyle appeared—this one smaller. The boy entered, scratching his head, but froze upon noticing a guest in the house. He swallowed his words and stiffened.

"This is my son, Shikamaru," Nara Shikaku introduced the younger pineapple head and gestured for him to come over. "This is Link, a Chūnin."

The resemblance between the father and son was uncanny.

Shikamaru hesitated for a moment, his expression unchanging but clearly muttering "troublesome" in his head as he begrudgingly walked over, sat neatly beside his father, and gave a small, polite bow. Despite his composed demeanor, his thoughts were already far away.

Link nodded in acknowledgment and then said, "Sensei, I'll be in your care from now on."

The decision to become Shikaku's apprentice was simple.

By officially aligning himself with the previous generation's "Nara" of the Ino-Shika-Cho trio, he gained the Nara clan's backing—a significant advantage.

In the short term, this move would solidify the moderates' trust in him.

In the long term, it provided a stepping stone to becoming a Jōnin or even a Hokage.

As for the Hokage's sacrifices? "If I ever become Hokage, why would I care about those?" Link mused.

Shikaku smiled warmly, stroking his goatee. Whether this arrangement was purely political or not, it was undeniable that gaining such a talented apprentice was a boon.

Meanwhile, Shikamaru's half-lidded eyes shot open, his mouth slightly agape. His face screamed "Did I miss something?" as he glanced between his father and the now-upright Link.

His questions multiplied.

"Feel free to come by if you ever need anything," Shikaku said, standing up. "Why don't you stay for dinner tonight? You and Shikamaru are about the same age; it'll be good for you to connect."

"Troublesome… troublesome… troublesome…" Shikamaru muttered internally.

His father didn't give him a chance to protest, walking off cheerfully. "I'll leave you young folks to it."

Left in the living room, the two boys sat across from each other, staring silently.

"Link."

"Shikamaru."

They introduced themselves again, then fell back into silence.

Eventually, Shikamaru decided to take the initiative, feeling it was his duty as the host. "I've heard about you. A prodigy who became a Chūnin in the same year you graduated."

"You flatter me," Link replied dryly.

Ironically, Shikamaru himself would achieve the same feat during the Chūnin Exams.

"I saw you at Yakiniku Q earlier today," Shikamaru continued, trying to keep the conversation alive.

"Mm." Link's response was short.

Shikamaru stood abruptly. "I'm going to the bathroom." He left and didn't return.

"He's probably not coming back," Link thought, glancing at the door.

Talking with someone as prematurely mature as Shikamaru was slightly challenging for him. Their dynamic had shifted too quickly from strangers to a peculiar form of camaraderie—after all, Shikaku was now his sensei.

Whether in his past or current life, Link believed the bond between master and apprentice was inherently close, especially in a profession like being a ninja.

Betraying a mentor was something only a particular deranged individual would do. Even Orochimaru, when confronting Hiruzen, had to stab his own hand with a kunai to resolve his inner conflict.

Hell, Orochimaru shed tears afterward.

"Still… keeping some distance might be better," Link thought, attempting to maintain his usual detachment.

…

Correction: Keeping distance didn't help much.

Link felt utterly out of place as he walked home.

Shikamaru's mother, Shikaku's wife, Yoshino Nara, was exceedingly welcoming.

Upon learning that Link was an orphan and now "family," she smothered him with kindness, conversation, and concern.

Meanwhile, Shikamaru had eaten and disappeared, and Shikaku sat silently beside them, not daring to interject.

What should've been a casual dinner had stretched until nine at night.

"A meddlesome woman with no concept of boundaries," Link thought, shaking his head.

Drawing a breath, he refined his chakra, formed hand seals, and slammed his hands together.

"Summoning Jutsu."

As the technique activated, he projected his thoughts into the ether: "Any Konoha ninja out there?"

"Figures. Another damned brat from Konoha, playing with life and death... (Insert about fifteen profanities here)."

Link canceled the jutsu without hesitation, blocking out the angry soul's tirade.

There were too many dead in the Pure Land.

Well, obviously.

He'd been experimenting with his summoning jutsu lately, hoping to find useful souls to bring back. Unfortunately, contacting a Konoha ninja was like finding a needle in a haystack.

Over 99% of the souls he reached were either clueless civilians unaware they were dead or resentful individuals. Many were like the one just now—immediately hostile.

So far, he'd found only two Konoha ninja souls: his father and...

Link performed the jutsu again, this time with specific intent.

After briefly greeting his father, he called out: "Nawaki, good evening."

"Evening already? Time sure is strange here…" Nawaki's thoughts responded, contemplative.

In the Pure Land, time didn't seem to exist. For the dead, it felt like only a second had passed between Link's first and latest contact.

Theoretically, this ability was perfect for interrogation—souls couldn't lie in this state. However, without a medium to pinpoint specific souls, finding the right one was an arduous process.

Even standing near the Memorial Stone or graves didn't seem to help. Link was still trying to figure out the logic behind it.

"Did you need something?" Nawaki asked cautiously.

Keeping his tone light, Link replied: "Have you ever thought about returning to the living world?"

After all, if he wanted to assemble an army of revenants, he needed willing souls from the Pure Land.