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Boruto runs like the wind. Also like the wind, he runs quite without direction. Without aim. He runs without the foggiest clue of where Sarada would be gallivanting along, in his self-perceived studly, handsome-as-hell body. Tralala, he runs.

Just as he rounds the corner of the large tent, a fold of fabric slaps him in the face. Lo and behold, the pale, reticent, kind of creepy Yamanaka Sai follows along after.

"Sarada," Sai says with the ghost of a smile. He plants his foot in front of Boruto's path, as if curious about something.

Boruto stops and readjusts his posture. Sarada's line of sight still took getting used to. He isn't used to looking up at the man. Boruto's honest enough to admit to himself that Sai is scarier from the twenty-five degree angle.

"Reporting for duty early?" Sai smiles.

"Nah," Boruto says, before an idea strikes.

The real Sarada would have entered the tent with his password by now, but Sarada still hasn't told him her password. Surely there's a reason. What if it's something super embarrassing? His brain tells him: yes, of course it would be something embarrassing. Maybe her favorite movie actor, or something nerdy like favorite author.

Boruto peers at the pale man inquisitively, while Sai looks placidly back, eyes closed and incomprehensible.

"Hey, hey. My ANBU password… can I change it? I… don't know if it's… appropriate now. You know… it's a little too…"

Boruto gesticulates meaninglessly with his hands.

Sai pauses, then nods.

"I guess that makes sense. It's high time you grew out of your crush."

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The thing about owing people is that you have to owe the right people, only. Finding yourself indebted to the wrong person is like shooting yourself in the head with a gun loaded in all the slots. You're the only one thinking you're still playing Russian Roulette with each "favor". Wrong person number one would probably be Hatake Kakashi, retired hokage and hobbiest sadist.

"What do you mean, give the speech commemorating Nanadaime's achievements? You're the one giving the speech, Rokudaime sir!"

Hatake Kakashi is beatific. His face (the part uncovered) is radiant as the sun.

Scorching like the sun.

Merciless upon the parched, desert land that is Sarada's nerves as the sun.

His voice is deceptively light.

"Just a small favor."

As the responsible one of her friend group, Sarada's heard this line a million times. She knows how to counter.

"A hundred thousand ryo." Her outstretched hand make a grabby motion, for good measure. She tries very hard to make Boruto's face look menacing and not the usual daydreaming look he has on during mission briefings.

Kakashi looks woe begotten, aghast, and forlorn. There's a small puddle of tears collecting in his left eye.

It's a fucking lie, she knows.

"You're rich, anyway," she mutters, scowling. All politicians recouped somehow, after retiring from office. Most made speeches. "And it's not like I'm cut out to give your speech for you. Aren't previous hokage supposed to do that for new ones?"

"Well, I'm just so busy," the silver-haired retiree living off his pension coffers demures. "Old too, you know. My memory doesn't work like it used to. And years of harboring the Sharingan have taken its toll on my eyesight. Won't remember my speech even if I have it written down."

As a bona-fide Uchiha, Sarada can attest to the unlikeliness of that account. Her father's eyesight is fine, and unless Kakashi has been shooting black fire at regular intervals for fun during his peaceful term as Rokudaime, then there was no reason for him to plead blindness as an excuse. Well, she wouldn't put it past him. Maybe that's why the Hokage office desk never smelled the same after, and the Hokage Office paperwork strangely charred at the edges when Sarada was working as courier.

"Let me make this worth your while, Sarada-chan" Kakashi finally eye-smiles.

She's a pragmatic creature. Her mother's handiwork, really. All those years of being rendered homeless after their mortgaged houses crumbled down at the flick of a finger. Money doesn't grow on trees.

"I'm listening."

"If you give this speech, I won't tell anyone about your body-switching fiasco."

Sarada humphs, and looks unimpressed.

In what screwed up universe is this making anything 'worth her while'? Wasn't this blackmail? And a very strange variant of it, too.

"Go ahead! Tell everyone! We'll need publicity to find some way to switch back, anyhow!" Sarada says, triumphant in her flawless logic.

Kakashi sighs mournfully.

"What a cold-hearted girl you are, Sarada-chan. I wonder where you get it from. Probably Sakura… no, no, more likely Sasuke… Well, they were both so ungrateful… Now that I think about it, who was the one who rescued both of them as tender young children from Zabuza, from pirates, from man-eating tigers, from…" the list went on and on, impressively. Senile memory problems her ass.

"From their own puberty..." Kakashi shudders, then recovers. "Oh right, it was me!" he sing-songs.

Kakashi concludes impressively by smiling demurely up at her from his wheelchair.

"So of course their only daughter can't do this old man one small favor."

"I… you," Sarada sputters. "I don't care if you're the Rokudaime. My father was right about you."

"And this is why they picked me for Hokage," Kakashi nods in agreement. "Imagine the additional years of therapy the village would need if I subjected them to yet another speech. It's up to you, young Sarada. It's up to you."

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Suzu: The hiatus nearly ended this little story. As with these things, writing muses come and go. But we all need something silly and lighthearted in our lives.

Thanks to everyone who read, faved, commented. It's honestly you guys that revived this from the dead.