webAppInput

SceneIdQuery

myProfile

scene

query SceneIdQuery(
  $id: ID!
  $webAppInput: WebAppInput
) {
  myProfile(webAppInput: $webAppInput) {
    ...MyProfile_myProfile
    id
  }
  scene(id: $id) {
    ...Scene_scene
    ...SceneMedias_scene_16LRdq
    id
    order
    rating
    title
    seoTitle
    seoDescription
    isPublished
    isScheduled
    publishedAt
    content
    embeddedMedia {
      mediaId
      state
    }
    story {
      ...Story_story
      id
      isMine
      commentsAccess
    }
    prevScene {
      id
    }
    nextScene {
      id
    }
  }
}

fragment JobInfo_job on AiGenerationJob {
  id
  type
  status
  currentStage
  attemptCount
  maxAttempts
  lastErrorCode
  scheduledAt
}

fragment MediaStatusFields_media on Media {
  id
  status
  generationError
  activeGenerationJob {
    ...JobInfo_job
    currentStage
    id
  }
}

fragment MyProfile_myProfile on User {
  id
  name
  email
  isAdmin
  hasEverPaid
  isEmailConfirmed
  isEmailNotificationEnabled
  isTelegramNotificationEnabled
  isTempPassword
  avatar
  cover
  about
  contacts
  support
  telegramId
  vkId
  availableLimits
  frozenLimits
  urlSlug
  topUpPackages {
    id
    price
    currency
    toBalanceLimits
    bonusLimits
    totalCreditedLimits
    USD
  }
  availablePaymentProviders
  aiGenerationCosts {
    plan {
      size
      cost
    }
    characterSuggest
    ideaExpand
    sceneWrite {
      length
      cost
    }
    mediaGenerate
    animate {
      withoutAudio
      withAudio
    }
  }
  activeGenerationJobs {
    id
    type
    status
    limitCost
    story {
      id
      authorTitle
    }
  }
}

fragment SceneMedias_scene_16LRdq on Scene {
  id
  story {
    id
  }
  mediaAttachments(viewMode: READ) {
    id
    media {
      ...MediaStatusFields_media
      id
      type
      genesis
      previewSrc
      mediaSrc512: mediaSrc(size: 512)
      mediaSrc1024: mediaSrc(size: 1024)
      videoPosterSrc(size: 1024)
      sourceMedia {
        id
        mediaSrc1024: mediaSrc(size: 1024)
      }
      userPrompt
      finalPrompt
      rawPrompt
      mediaAttachments {
        id
        story {
          id
        }
        scene {
          id
        }
        character {
          id
        }
      }
      embeddedInScenes {
        id
      }
    }
  }
  embeddedMedia {
    mediaId
    state
  }
  sceneCharacterStates {
    id
    character {
      id
      name
    }
  }
}

fragment Scene_scene on Scene {
  id
  order
  displayOrder
  title
  rating
  isPublished
  isScheduled
  publishedAt
  minWaitersToPublish
  waitersCount
  readCount
  content
  story {
    id
    isMine
  }
}

fragment Story_story on Story {
  id
  title
  createdAt
  publicDescription
  type
  size
  narrativeType
  rating
  hasCharacters
  status
  isPublished
  isMine
  publishedAt
  likesCount
  favoritesCount
  displayDirection
  plotGenres
  settingGenres
  moods
  tropes
  displayContentWarnings
  sceneAtmospheres
  publishedStats {
    scenesCount
    wordsCount
  }
  author {
    id
    name
    urlSlug
    avatar
  }
  characters {
    id
    name
  }
  fandoms {
    id
    urlSlug
    translation {
      canonicalName
      id
    }
  }
  myState {
    isLiked
    isFavorited
    isWaiting
    id
  }
  lastPublishedScene {
    id
  }
}


The next morning came too quickly. Temari had barely slept, the decoded names burning behind her eyes every time she closed them. Gaara. Danzo. Kazuma. The words rattled through her skull like loose shrapnel. She rose before dawn, pulled on her usual gear—purple sleeveless top, mesh under, black shorts, sandals—and strapped her giant fan across her back. She needed air. She needed answers. More than that, she needed to look Shikamaru Nara in the eye and make him tell her everything.

The training ground near Suna's south gate was empty when she arrived. The sun had just cleared the walls, painting the sandstone in long orange shadows. Dust kicked up in faint spirals where the morning wind cut through the alleys between practice posts. And there he was—slouched against a boulder near the center of the field, one hand in his pocket, the other weaving half-hearted signs. His shadow stretched and twisted across the ground, pulsing like a living thing before snapping back to his feet. He looked bored. He looked like he hadn't a care in the world.

Temari's jaw tightened. She knew that look. It was his shield.

She crossed the training ground in long, deliberate strides, her sandals crunching against the packed earth. The wind caught her ponytails, flicking them against her shoulders. She stopped about ten feet away, planted her hands on her hips, and waited.

Shikamaru didn't turn. He made another lazy hand sign, and his shadow stretched again—longer this time, reaching toward a post before retracting.

“You're up early,” he said, his tone flat. “Troublesome.”

“Don't.” Temari's voice cut through the air like a whip. “Don't you dare pretend this is just a morning walk.”

He sighed, finally letting his hands drop. He turned to face her, and she saw it—the guarded flicker in his dark eyes before he smoothed his expression into neutrality. “What are you talking about?”

“The note.” She took a step closer. “The one you read. The one you memorized before I could stop you. Don't lie to me, Shikamaru. I know you saw it.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture she'd seen a hundred times—his tell for discomfort. “I don't know what note you mean.”

“Bullshit.” The word came out hard, and she saw his eyes narrow slightly. Good. She wanted him to know she wasn't playing. “I found it in your quarters. You read it, and you pretended you hadn't. You thought you were being clever, but I'm not stupid.”

A long pause. The wind carried the distant sound of merchants setting up stalls near the gate. Shikamaru's gaze dropped to the ground, and for a moment he looked almost tired—not the lazy tired he usually wore, but something deeper. He let out another sigh, longer this time, and when he looked up, the mask had slipped.

“It's troublesome,” he said quietly. “I was hoping to keep you out of it.”

“Keep me out of it?” Temari's voice rose. “It's my brother they're talking about. My village. My Kazekage. You don't get to decide what I'm part of.”

“I know.” He shifted his weight, crossed his arms. “That's why I was hoping to figure things out before you found out. But you're too sharp.”

Temari's heart hammered against her ribs. She forced herself to breathe. “Tell me what you know. Everything.”

Shikamaru glanced around the training ground—empty, still. He uncrossed his arms and walked a few paces, then stopped, facing away from her. “The note you decoded. It's a cipher from someone in the village. Someone high up. It mentions three names: Gaara, Danzo, and Kazuma.” He paused. “I've been tracking similar communications for weeks. They all point to a deal being made.”

“What kind of deal?” Her voice came out thinner than she wanted.

He turned to face her. “A power consolidation deal. Danzo wants influence in Suna. Kazuma wants leverage in Konoha. And Gaara... Gaara wants stability. But the methods they're discussing aren't exactly clean.”

Temari felt her stomach drop. “You're accusing my brother of something.”

“I'm not accusing.” Shikamaru's tone was calm, deliberate. “I'm investigating. There's a difference. The note suggests they're planning to eliminate certain obstacles—dissenters in the council, loyalists who might oppose the merger. It's not signed by Gaara, but it's about him. He's the centerpiece.”

“He's my brother.” The words came out like a blade. “He's the Kazekage. He's done more for this village than anyone—including your precious Hokage.”

“I know.” Shikamaru held her gaze. “I'm not saying he's guilty. I'm saying there's a plan, and he's part of it. Maybe as a willing participant, maybe as a pawn. Either way, we need to know more before anyone makes a move.”

Temari's hands clenched into fists at her sides. The wind picked up, tugging at her ponytails, carrying the sharp scent of dust and hot stone. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to walk away. But she couldn't—because a small, ugly part of her knew he might be right. Gaara had changed, yes. He had grown. But he was still a weapon, forged in blood and loneliness, and the village had never fully trusted him. Maybe he'd decided to force that trust. Maybe he'd decided to carve a path no matter the cost.

“Who else knows?” she asked, her voice rough.

“Baki.” Shikamaru's answer was quiet. “He's been suspicious for a while. He asked me to look into it before you even arrived. That's why I was in the archives—Baki gave me access.”

Temari's breath caught. Her sensei. The man who had trained her, who had watched Gaara grow from a monster into a leader. If Baki suspected something, then it wasn't just Shikamaru's paranoid logic. This was real.

She took a step back, forcing herself to think. The training ground stretched around them, empty and silent. A lizard skittered across a rock, disappearing into a crevice. She could feel the weight of her fan against her spine, a familiar pressure.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

Shikamaru scratched the back of his head. “I was hoping you'd help me dig deeper. You have access to places I don't. The administrative wing, Gaara's office, the council chambers. If there are more documents, you can find them without raising suspicion.”

“I want you to help me uncover the truth.” He met her eyes, and for once, there was no laziness in them. “If Gaara's innocent, then we'll clear his name. If he's involved, we need to know before Danzo's poison spreads. Either way, the truth matters.”

Temari stood still, the wind swirling around her. She thought of Gaara's voice, calm and gentle, when he'd appointed her as his envoy. She thought of the shadows under his eyes, the weight he carried every day. She thought of the note, the cold precision of the cipher, the names linked like a chain. She thought of her father, of Rasa's cruelty, of what happened when power was taken by force. And she knew, with a certainty that cut through her like a blade, that she couldn't look away.

“I'll help you,” she said, her voice low. “But if this leads to a trap—if you try to hurt him, or betray him—I will kill you. And I won't make it quick.”

Shikamaru's lips quirked into something almost like a smile. “Wouldn't expect anything less.” He extended his hand. “Partners, then?”

Temari stared at his hand for a long moment. The calloused fingers, the dark skin, the faint scars from years of training. She thought of all the battles they'd fought together, all the words exchanged across the sand. He was a rival. An ally. A nuisance. But he was also honest, in his own roundabout way. And honest was what she needed now.

She took his hand. His grip was firm, warm, and she held it a beat longer than necessary before pulling away.

“Fine,” she said. “We'll get the evidence. But if we find proof of Gaara's innocence, you drop the investigation. And if we find proof he's involved, we deal with it together—no running off to Konoha with a report.”

He turned back toward the boulder, picking up a scroll he'd left leaning against it. “I've been mapping out possible contacts. There's a merchant who travels between Suna and Konoha—she might have carried messages. And a clerk in the records office who's been acting nervous. We start there.”

Temari followed his gaze, her mind already running through possibilities. The sun climbed higher, casting sharp shadows across the training ground. She could feel the heat building, the day stretching ahead like a road she didn't want to walk. But she would walk it. For Gaara. For Suna. For herself.

"One more thing," she said, and he paused, looking back. "If this goes wrong—if someone dies—I'm blaming you."

He let out a short laugh, dry and tired. "That's fair."

They stood there for a moment longer, two figures in the empty field, bound by secrets and suspicion. And then Shikamaru unrolled the scroll, and the work began.

The next morning came too quickly. Temari had barely slept, the decoded names burning behind her eyes every time she closed them. Gaara. Danzo. Kazuma. The words rattled through her skull like loose shrapnel. She rose before dawn, pulled on her usual gear—purple sleeveless top, mesh under, black shorts, sandals—and strapped her giant fan across her back. She needed air. She needed answers. More than that, she needed to look Shikamaru Nara in the eye and make him tell her everything.

The training ground near Suna's south gate was empty when she arrived. The sun had just cleared the walls, painting the sandstone in long orange shadows. Dust kicked up in faint spirals where the morning wind cut through the alleys between practice posts. And there he was—slouched against a boulder near the center of the field, one hand in his pocket, the other weaving half-hearted signs. His shadow stretched and twisted across the ground, pulsing like a living thing before snapping back to his feet. He looked bored. He looked like he hadn't a care in the world.

Temari's jaw tightened. She knew that look. It was his shield.

She crossed the training ground in long, deliberate strides, her sandals crunching against the packed earth. The wind caught her ponytails, flicking them against her shoulders. She stopped about ten feet away, planted her hands on her hips, and waited.

Shikamaru didn't turn. He made another lazy hand sign, and his shadow stretched again—longer this time, reaching toward a post before retracting.

“You're up early,” he said, his tone flat. “Troublesome.”

“Don't.” Temari's voice cut through the air like a whip. “Don't you dare pretend this is just a morning walk.”

He sighed, finally letting his hands drop. He turned to face her, and she saw it—the guarded flicker in his dark eyes before he smoothed his expression into neutrality. “What are you talking about?”

“The note.” She took a step closer. “The one you read. The one you memorized before I could stop you. Don't lie to me, Shikamaru. I know you saw it.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture she'd seen a hundred times—his tell for discomfort. “I don't know what note you mean.”

“Bullshit.” The word came out hard, and she saw his eyes narrow slightly. Good. She wanted him to know she wasn't playing. “I found it in your quarters. You read it, and you pretended you hadn't. You thought you were being clever, but I'm not stupid.”

A long pause. The wind carried the distant sound of merchants setting up stalls near the gate. Shikamaru's gaze dropped to the ground, and for a moment he looked almost tired—not the lazy tired he usually wore, but something deeper. He let out another sigh, longer this time, and when he looked up, the mask had slipped.

“It's troublesome,” he said quietly. “I was hoping to keep you out of it.”

“Keep me out of it?” Temari's voice rose. “It's my brother they're talking about. My village. My Kazekage. You don't get to decide what I'm part of.”

“I know.” He shifted his weight, crossed his arms. “That's why I was hoping to figure things out before you found out. But you're too sharp.”

Temari's heart hammered against her ribs. She forced herself to breathe. “Tell me what you know. Everything.”

Shikamaru glanced around the training ground—empty, still. He uncrossed his arms and walked a few paces, then stopped, facing away from her. “The note you decoded. It's a cipher from someone in the village. Someone high up. It mentions three names: Gaara, Danzo, and Kazuma.” He paused. “I've been tracking similar communications for weeks. They all point to a deal being made.”

“What kind of deal?” Her voice came out thinner than she wanted.

He turned to face her. “A power consolidation deal. Danzo wants influence in Suna. Kazuma wants leverage in Konoha. And Gaara... Gaara wants stability. But the methods they're discussing aren't exactly clean.”

Temari felt her stomach drop. “You're accusing my brother of something.”

“I'm not accusing.” Shikamaru's tone was calm, deliberate. “I'm investigating. There's a difference. The note suggests they're planning to eliminate certain obstacles—dissenters in the council, loyalists who might oppose the merger. It's not signed by Gaara, but it's about him. He's the centerpiece.”

“He's my brother.” The words came out like a blade. “He's the Kazekage. He's done more for this village than anyone—including your precious Hokage.”

“I know.” Shikamaru held her gaze. “I'm not saying he's guilty. I'm saying there's a plan, and he's part of it. Maybe as a willing participant, maybe as a pawn. Either way, we need to know more before anyone makes a move.”

Temari's hands clenched into fists at her sides. The wind picked up, tugging at her ponytails, carrying the sharp scent of dust and hot stone. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to walk away. But she couldn't—because a small, ugly part of her knew he might be right. Gaara had changed, yes. He had grown. But he was still a weapon, forged in blood and loneliness, and the village had never fully trusted him. Maybe he'd decided to force that trust. Maybe he'd decided to carve a path no matter the cost.

“Who else knows?” she asked, her voice rough.

“Baki.” Shikamaru's answer was quiet. “He's been suspicious for a while. He asked me to look into it before you even arrived. That's why I was in the archives—Baki gave me access.”

Temari's breath caught. Her sensei. The man who had trained her, who had watched Gaara grow from a monster into a leader. If Baki suspected something, then it wasn't just Shikamaru's paranoid logic. This was real.

She took a step back, forcing herself to think. The training ground stretched around them, empty and silent. A lizard skittered across a rock, disappearing into a crevice. She could feel the weight of her fan against her spine, a familiar pressure.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

Shikamaru scratched the back of his head. “I was hoping you'd help me dig deeper. You have access to places I don't. The administrative wing, Gaara's office, the council chambers. If there are more documents, you can find them without raising suspicion.”

“You want me to spy on my brother.”

“I want you to help me uncover the truth.” He met her eyes, and for once, there was no laziness in them. “If Gaara's innocent, then we'll clear his name. If he's involved, we need to know before Danzo's poison spreads. Either way, the truth matters.”

Temari stood still, the wind swirling around her. She thought of Gaara's voice, calm and gentle, when he'd appointed her as his envoy. She thought of the shadows under his eyes, the weight he carried every day. She thought of the note, the cold precision of the cipher, the names linked like a chain. She thought of her father, of Rasa's cruelty, of what happened when power was taken by force. And she knew, with a certainty that cut through her like a blade, that she couldn't look away.

“I'll help you,” she said, her voice low. “But if this leads to a trap—if you try to hurt him, or betray him—I will kill you. And I won't make it quick.”

Shikamaru's lips quirked into something almost like a smile. “Wouldn't expect anything less.” He extended his hand. “Partners, then?”

Temari stared at his hand for a long moment. The calloused fingers, the dark skin, the faint scars from years of training. She thought of all the battles they'd fought together, all the words exchanged across the sand. He was a rival. An ally. A nuisance. But he was also honest, in his own roundabout way. And honest was what she needed now.

She took his hand. His grip was firm, warm, and she held it a beat longer than necessary before pulling away.

“Fine,” she said. “We'll get the evidence. But if we find proof of Gaara's innocence, you drop the investigation. And if we find proof he's involved, we deal with it together—no running off to Konoha with a report.”

Shikamaru nodded. “Agreed.”

He turned back toward the boulder, picking up a scroll he'd left leaning against it. “I've been mapping out possible contacts. There's a merchant who travels between Suna and Konoha—she might have carried messages. And a clerk in the records office who's been acting nervous. We start there.”

Temari followed his gaze, her mind already running through possibilities. The sun climbed higher, casting sharp shadows across the training ground. She could feel the heat building, the day stretching ahead like a road she didn't want to walk. But she would walk it. For Gaara. For Suna. For herself.

"One more thing," she said, and he paused, looking back. "If this goes wrong—if someone dies—I'm blaming you."

He let out a short laugh, dry and tired. "That's fair."

They stood there for a moment longer, two figures in the empty field, bound by secrets and suspicion. And then Shikamaru unrolled the scroll, and the work began. «The Coded Shadow», part 4. Fanfiction — Naruto.

A Heated Discussion. The Coded Shadow — Naruto fanfiction | Fanfica

A Heated Discussion

Hidden Leaf

When Temari and Shikamaru are paired as proctors for a joint Sand-Leaf chunin exam, the routine assignment turns perilous. A coded note slips from Shikamaru’s shadow, revealing a secret investigation into a conspiracy that implicates her own brother, Gaara. Now Temari stands at a crossroads: protect her family’s name or stand with the man who uncovered the truth. As the shadows close in, every choice carries a cost—and the answer might shatter everything she holds dear.

The Coded Shadow — A Heated Discussion

Parte 4: A Heated Discussion