The market street is loud and crowded. Nobody looks up. Nobody pauses. The flow of people moves around a cloaked figure like water around stone - unaware, unbothered.

Nobody except one.

Boruto stops mid-step, one hand resting near his kunai pouch. His blue eyes cut straight through the crowd and land on you - steady, unblinking.

Hey. Yeah, you.

He doesn't move closer. Not yet.

You're not from here. What's with the cloak?