The carriage had barely cleared the outer treeline of Konoha when things went wrong.
Shikamaru had settled in, arms crossed behind his head, already half-dozing to the rhythmic creak of wheels and the slow plod of oxen. He figured the ride would be uneventful boring, even. Perfect for thinking about clouds and nothing else.
Less than an hour later, a sharp crack split the air.
The left wheel hit a deep rut hidden by mud and leaves. The axle snapped with a dry snap like breaking bone. The carriage lurched violently to one side, sacks of grain tumbling, crates sliding. Shikamaru braced himself against the bench just in time to avoid being thrown. The old driver cursed loudly as the oxen bellowed and fought the reins. The whole thing tilted, groaned, and came to a grinding halt half off the road, one wheel shattered into splinters.
Shikamaru jumped down, brushing dirt from his jacket, irritation flaring hot in his chest.
"What a drag," he muttered, staring at the wreckage. The driver was already scrambling to assess the damage, muttering apologies and excuses about "bad roads these days."
Shikamaru didn't bother arguing. Seventy ryo wasted, an hour lost, and now he'd have to walk or find another ride. He grabbed his pack and katana, gave the old man a curt nod—"Good luck fixing that"—and started down the road on foot, mood dark.
It didn't take long for another carriage to appear, coming from the opposite direction. This one moved steadily, no rattle or sway. The horse pulling it was striking: a tall, dappled gray mare with a glossy coat that caught the morning light like polished steel, mane flowing in gentle waves. The carriage itself was plain but well-kept—dark wood, simple canvas cover, no flashy paint or unnecessary trim.
An old man sat on the driver's bench, posture straight despite his age. White hair tied back neatly, a short beard trimmed close, eyes clear and calm. He looked dignified, not in a showy way, but like someone who had lived long enough to stop pretending.
Shikamaru raised a hand as the carriage slowed.
"Excuse me," he said. "My ride just broke an axle back there. Heading toward Earth Country. Any chance I can catch a lift?"
The old man reined in the mare, studying Shikamaru for a moment with quiet amusement. Then he laughed—a warm, low sound that carried no mockery.
"Climb on," he said. "Earth Village direction suits me fine. No charge this time."
Shikamaru climbed up beside him on the bench, settling his pack between his feet. The carriage rolled forward smoothly, the mare's hooves clipping steadily against the packed mud road.
"I'm Bana," the old man said after a few minutes, offering a small nod. "And you?"
"Shikamaru Nara."
Bana glanced sideways, recognition flickering briefly in his eyes, but he said nothing about it.
Shikamaru looked around the empty carriage. No passengers. No crates or sacks. Just a folded blanket on the rear bench and a small water skin hanging from a hook.
"You don't seem to be carrying much," Shikamaru noted.
Bana chuckled again. "Just dropped off a couple of travelers in Konoha. Heading home empty now. Gives the horse a light day."
Shikamaru glanced at the mare again. She moved with calm grace, ears flicking at every sound, coat gleaming even under the overcast sky.
"She's beautiful," he said quietly.
Bana's hand rested lightly on the reins. "She's been with me a long time. Good heart. Strong legs. Never complains about the road."
The carriage rolled on, the broken wreck of the first ride fading far behind them. Shikamaru leaned back slightly, watching the trees thin into open fields. The irritation from earlier began to ease, replaced by the familiar pull of quiet observation.
Maybe the journey wouldn't be as smooth as he'd hoped.
But this part, at least, felt like a better start.
The carriage rolled steadily along the rutted dirt road, the dappled gray mare pulling with calm, even strides. The morning mist had burned off, leaving the sky a pale blue streaked with high clouds. Shikamaru sat with one arm draped over the back of the bench, watching the landscape shift from Konoha's familiar forests to wider, rolling fields dotted with wildflowers.
Bana held the reins loosely, letting the mare set her own pace. After a long stretch of comfortable silence, the old man glanced sideways at his passenger.
"So," Bana said, voice low and easy, "what brings a Konoha shinobi all the way out here? Earth Village isn't exactly a tourist spot for Leaf folk."
Shikamaru exhaled through his nose, gaze still on the drifting clouds.
"Bored," he answered simply. "Same life every day back there. Same people, same problems, same everything. Figured it was time to change the pace. Earth Country's far enough to feel different. Quiet enough, maybe. Thought I'd see if it fits."
Bana's mouth curved into a small, knowing smirk. He gave the reins a light flick as the mare stepped over a shallow puddle.
"Well," he said, "Earth Village has its own beauty. Not the flashy kind—none of that blooming cherry nonsense you get in the Leaf. It's harder, slower. Mountains that don't care what you think of them. Soil that only gives if you work for it. But if you're looking for something real… it might surprise you."
Shikamaru tilted his head slightly, considering the words. He didn't reply right away. Instead, he shifted the conversation.
"How long's the trip from here?"
Bana glanced at the horizon, then back at the road.
"Three weeks, give or take. Depends on the weather and how much mud we hit in the lowlands. We'll cross a few rivers, skirt the border mountains. Nothing too rough if the mare keeps her footing. You in a hurry?"
Shikamaru shook his head.
"No hurry," he said. "I've got time."
Bana chuckled softly, the sound blending with the creak of the carriage wheels and the steady clip of hooves.
"Good answer," he said. "Most people rush toward something. Sounds like you're just… going."
Shikamaru gave a faint shrug, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"What a drag either way."
The old man laughed again quiet, warm and let the silence settle back in. The road stretched ahead, empty and open, carrying them farther from Konoha with every turn of the wheels.
Five hours passed in steady, uneventful rhythm. The sun had climbed high, warming the air and turning the road dusty. The mare's steady clip slowed as Bana pulled the reins gently, guiding her toward a shaded patch beside a small stream.
"Time for a break," Bana said, stretching his arms overhead with a low groan. "Lunchtime anyway. Mare needs water, and my old bones need to stop rattling for a bit."
Shikamaru nodded without argument. "Fine by me."
They scanned the horizon for any sign of a roadside stall or inn, but the fields stretched empty. The carriage rolled on another half-hour before the faint outline of a town appeared—low rooftops, a thin trail of smoke rising from chimneys, the distant sound of voices and livestock.
The town was modest, little more than a cluster of wooden buildings strung along a single main street: a few shops, a blacksmith's forge, a stable, and two small restaurants competing for the sparse midday crowd. Bana steered the carriage toward the stable first.
"I'll settle her in," he said, hopping down with surprising ease for his age. "You go find food. I'll join you when she's fed and watered."
Shikamaru shouldered his pack and walked the short distance to the nearer restaurant—a simple place with open sides, wooden benches, and the smell of grilled fish and miso drifting out. He stepped inside, chose a quiet table near the back, and ordered the day's special: rice, grilled mackerel, pickled vegetables, and tea. The food came quickly, hot and plain but satisfying.
He ate slowly, chopsticks moving with his usual unhurried pace. Halfway through the meal, Bana appeared, dust still on his sleeves. The old man ordered generously—extra portions of rice, a bowl of hearty stew, fried tofu, and sake to wash it down. He sat across from Shikamaru, digging in with quiet appreciation.
They ate mostly in silence, the only sounds the clink of bowls and the low murmur of other patrons. Shikamaru's mind drifted as he chewed. The meal was good, but tomorrow there would be another lunch, another dinner, another night under the stars or in some cheap inn. His savings from Konoha would last a while, but not forever. A farm wasn't free, and neither was food on the road.
He needed money. Not a fortune—just enough to keep moving without worrying about the next meal.
When he finished, Shikamaru paid his share with a few coins from his pouch, nodded to Bana, and stood.
"I'm going to look for work," he said. "Missions, odd jobs—whatever's posted. Won't take long."
Bana looked up from his stew, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"Smart. I'll be napping in the carriage when you're done. Don't wake the mare if she's sleeping."
Shikamaru gave a small grunt of acknowledgment and stepped back out into the sunlight. The town's notice board stood near the central well—yellowed papers pinned with requests: missing livestock, bandit sightings on the outer roads, a delivery needed to a nearby hamlet, even a simple field-clearing job for a farmer with a bad back.
He scanned the postings, hands in his pockets, already calculating which ones paid decently and took the least effort.
Behind him, Bana finished his meal, paid, and ambled back to the stable. He climbed into the carriage, pulled a thin blanket over himself, and settled against the bench with a contented sigh. Within minutes, soft snores drifted from under the canvas cover.
Shikamaru glanced once toward the carriage, then turned back to the board. The road ahead still stretched long, but at least now he had a plan for the next meal.
What a drag… but necessary.
Shikamaru left the restaurant and made his way to the town's notice board again, this time reading the postings more carefully. The jobs were there fetching lost livestock, repairing a fence, escorting a merchant's cart to the next hamlet but the pay was pitiful. A handful of ryo here, a few coins there. Barely enough for a bowl of rice and tea, let alone a proper meal or a night's lodging. He scanned each paper twice, hoping he'd missed something worthwhile. Nothing.
With a quiet sigh, he turned away from the board and headed toward the town center. The main square was modest: a dry fountain in the middle, a few merchants hawking vegetables and cloth, children chasing each other between stalls. He walked the perimeter slowly, ears open for any talk of work—overheard complaints about bandits on the roads, a farmer grumbling about weeds overtaking his field, a shopkeeper needing help unloading crates.
Nothing concrete. No one looking for a shinobi's skills, no urgent request that paid decently. Just everyday troubles that locals handled themselves or ignored.
He stopped near the fountain, hands deep in his pockets, staring at the cracked stone basin. Disappointment settled in not sharp, but a dull weight in his chest. He wasn't desperate; he had money. A decent stash of ryo hidden in a sealed pouch at the bottom of his pack savings from years of missions, untouched since he left Konoha. It would carry him far if he was careful. But he didn't want to dip into it for every meal, every night on the road. That money was for emergencies: a real injury, a bribe if things turned ugly, or the day he finally found land to buy. Daily life should pay for itself. That was the plan.
Yet here he was, in a sleepy border town, with nothing worth his time.
Shikamaru exhaled through his nose, the sound almost a laugh at his own expense.
"What a drag," he muttered.
He lingered a moment longer, watching a merchant pack up his stall for the day, then turned back toward the stable. The sun was dipping lower now, shadows stretching long across the dirt street. Bana would be waiting, probably still napping in the carriage.
No point wasting more daylight. Shikamaru shouldered his pack higher and walked back the way he came, footsteps steady but unhurried. The town had offered nothing. Fine. The road ahead would have to do.
He reached the stable just as Bana stirred, sitting up on the bench with a yawn and rubbing his eyes.
"Find anything?" the old man asked, voice rough from sleep.
Shikamaru shook his head once. "Nothing worth the trouble."
Bana gave a small, understanding grunt. "Happens. Climb on. We'll make a few more miles before dark."
Shikamaru swung up onto the bench. The mare nickered softly as Bana took the reins. The carriage rolled out of town, wheels kicking up faint dust in the late-afternoon light.
Behind them, the town shrank into the distance quiet, ordinary, and utterly useless for what Shikamaru needed.
He leaned back, arms crossed behind his head, and watched the clouds again. Tomorrow would bring another town, another board, another chance.
Or it wouldn't.
Either way, the road kept moving.