BBQ Q was one of Konoha's most infamous landmarks, a place where the scent of rendered fat and charcoal smoke acted as a siren song for weary shinobi. It wasn't famous for elegance or the softness of its seating. It was famous for the sheer, brutal weight of the bill that arrived at the end of the night.
The meat served here was top-grade—rich in protein, chakra-dense, and prepared using methods only shinobi clans could truly afford. Rumors drifted through the Academy that some of the livestock was raised under controlled chakra exposure in the lush pastures outside the village, producing flesh far superior to civilian stock. The nutrition was so dense that a single steak could provide the caloric requirement for a high-ranking mission.
Even veteran ninja, those who had seen the bloodiest corners of the Land of Fire, hesitated before ordering freely. They calculated the cost of their skewers against the risk of their next mission.
For Evan Kamiyo, however, cost was irrelevant. While he wasn't a member of the Akimichi clan—who were the restaurant's most frequent and profitable patrons—his body burned through calories at an abnormal rate. His cellular regeneration and constant chakra refinement acted like a furnace that never cooled. Two meals here could sustain him through days of intense, bone-grinding training. Konoha Hospital paid him a specialist's stipend, his completed missions covered the overhead, and for once, Evan allowed himself to experience something ordinary.
"Just one more skewer of the marbled beef," he said, his voice level as he watched the grease sizzle on the mesh grill.
"Alright, kid, wait a moment. You've got a stomach like a black hole," the waiter replied, shaking his head with a mix of respect and disbelief.
As Evan leaned back, letting the heat of the grill warm his face, a loud voice cut through the ambient chatter of the restaurant.
"Evan! Hey! Over here!"
Evan turned his head slightly. In a corner booth, he saw Inuzuka Kiba waving energetically, his wild hair as messy as ever. Beside him sat Aburame Shino, his posture as straight as a pole, his face almost entirely hidden behind a high collar and dark glasses. Across from them sat a woman with short, practical hair and faint purple markings on her cheeks that mirrored Kiba's.
Inuzuka Hana.
"Instructor Hana," Evan greeted, inclining his head.
Akamaru, resting comfortably on top of her head like a fluffy white crown, barked once in friendly recognition.
"You don't need to be so formal, especially not when you're elbow-deep in BBQ," Hana said lightly, a faint smile touching her lips. "I didn't expect to see you here. I figured you'd be buried in a medical scroll somewhere or practicing that Lightning Style everyone is whispering about."
Kiba dragged out a spare chair with his foot, the wood scraping loudly against the floor. "Sit down. You're always eating alone. It's depressing to watch, like you're some kind of wandering monk."
After a brief pause, Evan stood and joined their table. He wasn't one for social pleasantries, but he respected the Inuzuka's raw understanding of biology and the Aburame's mastery of the microscopic.
"This is my older sister," Kiba said, gesturing with a chopstick. "Inuzuka Hana. She's the best vet in the Leaf."
"I know who he is, Kiba," Hana replied, her gaze settling on Evan with a professional curiosity. "Evan Kamiyo. The boy who's making the older medics look like amateurs."
Evan nodded politely. "Thank you again, Instructor. Your family's contribution to the hospital's recent pharmaceutical research was invaluable. Your uncle recovered from his lung injury much faster than the initial prognosis suggested."
Hana blinked, her composed demeanor breaking for a second in surprise. "So you actually remembered that case? Most students just see the wound, not the person or the effort behind the cure."
"Information is only useless if you choose to forget it," Evan said.
Shino remained silent, though Evan could sense the insects beneath the boy's coat shifting faintly. It was a strange, white-noise sensation that pricked at Evan's heightened senses.
After a moment of watching the grill, Evan turned his attention back to the dog on Hana's head. "Akamaru's already four years old, right? His growth rate is significantly higher than the standard canine baseline."
"Yes," Hana replied, her tone becoming more academic. "Inuzuka feeding techniques are designed to accelerate growth during the formative years. We focus on increasing muscle density, endurance, and bone strength through a specific blend of herbs and chakra-infused kibble. But it isn't limitless."
She rested a hand on Akamaru's head, and the small dog nuzzled into her palm. "The body stops once it reaches a certain balance. If we pushed them any further, their hearts wouldn't be able to support the mass. It's a delicate equilibrium between power and lifespan."
Evan absorbed the information quietly, comparing it to the medical files he had stolen—and then read legally—at the hospital.
"I always thought it was just passive chakra exposure that caused the mutation," Evan mused.
"It's far more controlled than that," Hana answered. "If it were just passive exposure, they'd be wild animals. This is a partnership of blood and biology."
Shino spoke then, his voice a low, buzzing drone that felt like it came from the air itself rather than his throat. "The Aburame method is different. It is not about acceleration."
Evan turned to him, noting the way Shino's glasses reflected the orange glow of the charcoal.
"Our insects coexist with us from the moment we are born," Shino continued. "They strengthen us by providing a secondary sensory network and a biological weapon system. But… they also restrain us."
"Restrain?" Evan asked, his interest piqued.
Shino nodded, the movement stiff. "They are sensitive to the host's chakra. If I approach someone with genuine hostility, the kikaichu react to my internal state before I can even consciously decide to strike. My body is never truly alone, and my intent is never truly hidden from the hive."
There was no pride in his voice. No sorrow either. It was just a cold, biological fact of his existence.
Kiba frowned, leaning back in his chair. "That sounds annoying as hell, Shino. I'd hate to have bugs telling me how I feel."
"It keeps me alive," Shino replied. "It prevents me from making emotional errors."
Evan understood immediately. Strength in Konoha was never a free gift from the heavens. Every advantage, every bloodline, every secret technique came with a price tag—some paid in years of life, some in the loss of privacy, and some in the warping of one's own soul.
After finishing his final skewer, Evan stood up. The meal had been satisfying, but the conversation had been more so. "Thank you for the meal and the talk. This was… useful."
Hana smiled, a genuine one this time. "Anytime, Evan. And I mean it—if you ever decide you want a companion animal, someone to watch your back when you're too busy looking at a scroll, tell me. The Inuzuka owe you a favor for my uncle."
Evan nodded once, a brief, sharp movement. "I will."
As he walked toward the exit, the restaurant's heavy curtains swinging shut behind him, Shino adjusted his glasses. He didn't look at his teammates.
"He's dangerous," Shino said quietly.
Kiba laughed, though it sounded a bit forced. "Evan? Come on, Shino. He's just a medical geek who's good at math. He's not like Sasuke."
Hana watched Evan's retreating figure through the window. "No, Kiba. Shino is right. But it isn't the kind of danger you're used to."
Shino didn't reply—but the insects beneath his coat stirred uneasily. They didn't sense a predator in Evan, not exactly. They sensed something much worse: a void. A calm, clinical silence that was far more terrifying than a roar.
Night had fallen quickly over the village, the lanterns casting long, distorted shadows against the stone walls. As Evan walked home, the cool evening air acted as a balm against the heat of the restaurant.
But halfway to his apartment, he felt it again—that familiar, prickling sensation at the base of his neck. The feeling of being watched.
It wasn't hostile. It didn't carry the jagged edge of a killer's intent.
It wasn't friendly either.
It was just… aware. An observation so thorough it felt like being dissected while walking.
Evan glanced toward a nearby rooftop, his eyes scanning the dark tiles and the silhouettes of the chimneys.
Nothing. Not even a stray cat.
Still, his instincts—the ones he had sharpened through thousands of repetitions and medical simulations—told him the village was tightening. Konoha felt like a fist slowly closing around a prize.
And somewhere in the dark, something ancient, patient, and deeply rooted was observing him. It wasn't looking at him as prey. It was looking at him as a variable—a piece on a board that hadn't yet been assigned a side.
Evan didn't speed up. He didn't reach for a kunai. He simply kept walking, his expression as unreadable as the night sky. If the village wanted to watch him, let them. He had nothing to hide, and everything to prepare for.