A/N: It's labelled slight AU, because they're still ninjas...just with technology.
If you know anything about the actual TV show, We Got Married, I hope you like it...?
I'm sorry, this just had to be done.
A large, shiny black limousine stopped abruptly and a well-dressed, flamboyant man stepped out of it. His name was Jiraiya and he was feeling rather vehemently angry on this particular day.
He had just signed an important contract and made all necessary arrangements, only to have his co-workers (all 29 of them) email him with varying degrees of anger. Some had resorted to crass name-calling and others had sent him paragraphs (of which he was tempted to reply "TL; DR" but didn't for the sake of his job) explaining why what he had done simply had to be undone.
Their displeasure was centered around a certain show that would be showing around the streets of Konohagakure and every other ninja village in existence—We Got Married.
It was a show he had watched fervently while abroad and he had also understood the reason for its success. It preyed on two distinctive human desires: love for material things and a need for a family.
Following this awe-inspiring discovery, Jiraiya had pitched the idea to the head of the company, and got it approved. From then on, he only had to select two marketable candidates and the show was in the works. Aspects of the show would have to be modified to fit a ninja audience, of course, but the core idea would remain the same.
Unfortunately, Jiraiya's uptight colleagues just weren't as hip as him. They failed to see the appeal of the two chosen candidates (a rockstar and a pop star? really, now) and even felt that this new show would damage the moral integrity of the network. How prudish and short-sighted of them.
With an annoyed little pout, Jiraiya slipped his phone into his pocket and began walking towards a tinted glass building.
Sakura gritted her teeth. This was the third time all day she'd heard the word 'Congratulations' only to inquire about it and be told nothing.
"Well, thanks." She replied flatly to the brown-haired man sitting across from her. "I suppose you've got nothing else to say?"
The man looked a bit surprised. "As a matter of fact—how'd you know? I've been given a message from your supervisors. They've won an impressive deal with Icha Icha Network; you'll get to star as the female lead in a new show."
Sakura bit her lip. "Really? Why didn't they ask before they began the talks? I'm not sure if I'm ready to start a-acting…"
The man shrugged. "That's all I've been told."
Sakura waved him away. "Thanks." She said with a sigh. It was appalling how ill-informed she and other employees were kept about their work. Although she had hoped to at least be somewhat aware. She was their most popular celebrity, at the moment, and they were constantly enrolling her into multiple projects. She wanted some independence, the ability to choose for herself.
With another deep sigh, she sat down in front of the smooth black piano. It was a Steinway grand piano, an antique given to her by the company's CEO as a reward for winning Best Newcomer two years back. He had been a singer too, at some point in his illustrious career and that piano had been his mother's. She couldn't conceive of why he had given it to her, being that he was still young and could sing and play as well as she (probably better, with her luck) but he had wanted no questions as was the case with everything else he did.
She began to play the first song she had written under the company.
Her short, pink hair fell into her eyes as she leaned her head towards the keys. She didn't need to look, but she also didn't want to make a mistake.
It was a stupid song, that she kind of regretted writing. Every time she held a concert she'd been forced to sing it. It reminded her of bad memories, because right after she'd written it, the guy she had written had rejected her entirely.
She sometimes hoped that her singing career would develop to the point where she never had to sing that song.
But playing it out on piano, without the lyrics, was somehow different. The melody reminded her of her childhood, where, although she hadn't been particularly pleasant, there were good memories for her as well. Like the time she first wandered into the flower shop of her best friend's father. Or when she lost her first tooth. Little bits like that, she could enjoy.
There had also been a scandal, a few years back wherein she forgot to continue singing and the music just played in the background. They'd called her a lip-sync-er but careful attention to the video showed that the background music only contained light vocals and not the main part. Stupid paparazzi.
Her music had degraded after that, she felt, into more pop-enthused items, produced by the company. Only recently had she been coming up with new, fresh songs that had yet to be approved by the CEO, who was away on business. There was so much unfinished business in the music industry…how could she just leave it for acting?
But there was no use moping about it, Sakura thought, as she struck a bad note. It wasn't even her decision to make.
There was no one in the company who wanted to tell him. Try as he might, the CEO could not pay a person enough to make them willing to subject themselves to the incorrigible alternative rock star waiting beyond those doors. Those doors that were already dented and bent because damned if the rockstar didn't live up to his title.
So, opposite to the practices of any other company, the CEO made his way down the white hallway and knocked on those cracked doors while furtively petting his pet dog. He was scared too, judging by the timidity of his knock.
"What do you want, yeah?" The blond rockstar, whom we know as Deidara, half-barked and half-snarled. What is most curious was that his facial expression in no way matched his tone of voice. If anything he looked rather amused as he stared at his pudgy, dumpy boss.
The boss whimpered a bit but then composed himself. After all, he was the one who wrote Deidara's paycheck for goodness' sake.
Deidara looked expectantly at the boss. His long blonde hair was splayed over shoulders and it became evident that he wasn't even wearing a shirt while his fingers toyed experimentally with the guitar lying on his lap.
"Uh," The boss cleared his throat, feeling strangely like a second-class immigrant from Corea, "I have organized a new project for you."
"You?" Deidara gave a sharp laugh. "What if I don't want it?"
"Well, there's really not much of a choice here, you see," The boss prayed for the might to say these next words, "The company is losing stock and you're really not as popular as you once were."
Deidara narrowed his eyes. "What did you say?"
The boss gulped. Perhaps he could have exercised a bit more prudence… "What I mean to say, is t-that, this is an opportunity to revive our prospects!" He squealed the last word, noticing Deidara had stopped strumming his guitar. "Er, you should really do it!" He mentally slapped himself. What happened to maintaining authority? Around the intimidating blonde, it seemed impossible.
Deidara crossed his legs and dropped the guitar onto the ground where it made a loud clang. "Please. Enlighten me on what the hell this so-called 'project' is, yeah. Does it involve music?"
The boss seemed even more flustered, if anything. "S-sort of?"
"Tch. I'll take that as a 'no.' Forget it. I'm not interested, yeah." He said it with defined firmness that the boss was reluctant to challenge. Still, the CEO had seen the data. If Deidara didn't improve his behavior or at least show a cleaner image, the petulant rockstar might make the company bankrupt. And the CEO was at the very least a businessman.
"You don't have a choice." The boss said, still, for the life of him, sounding scared.
Deidara raised an eyebrow. "Oh? I could pummel you to the ground, yeah." He commented off-handedly. "Or set your face on fire. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
The boss wiped his forehead, not bothering to disguise the copious amounts of sweat forming on his face. "Deidara, let's not play games. If you want to do more music gigs, you'll have to cooperate with me on this. I've signed you up for one season of WGM."
"WGM?" Deidara echoed.
The boss panicked a bit. He hadn't even explained or won Deidara over. He was such a fail CEO… "Yes, WGM. It's said to be the hottest show on cable. And you'll be the male lead. Don't you look forward to it?"
Deidara snickered. "You think a cheap show's going to win the audience more than my music? Typical." He leaned backwards into the couch. "You're just one of those bastards who don't appreciate my music, yeah."
The boss was slowly losing patience. Fear was turning into irritation.
Deidara didn't look too happy either, judging from the malicious look on his face.
The boss tried a last appeal. "There will be cute girls."
Deidara growled. "You think that's going to win me over?"
That was it. The boss had him. "It's got to, unless you're as gay as everyone says you are."
Ten minutes later, the boss walked out of Deidara's rickety dorm room with a bloody lip and a signed consent form. It paid to be well-versed in the ways of the rockstar.
What both Sakura and Deidara's companies had failed to tell them, Jiraiya mused to himself, was that they were going to be on a fake marriage show with each other. Now, he had no idea how well they knew each other, but if his suspicions were correct, two reasonably attractive teenagers of opposite genders spending everyday with other would have to fall in love at some point.
Jiraiya's chuckles to himself were anything but subtle. Heck, even Kakashi, whose nose was glued to an orange book, noticed it.
"Jiraiya." Kakashi greeted faintly. "You seem happy today."
Jiraiya broke into a grin at this statement. "Why, you've only seen half of it! Wait until two weeks from now! I'll be laughing all the way to the bank." Jiraiya slapped the younger man on the back while showing off his belly laugh.
Kakashi backed away slowly, muttering something about 'gayness' and 'Gai'. Shrugging, Jiraiya slipped out his phone and lost himself to the world of electronics.
Review so I can know whether this whole plan was a fail or not.