Whenever he impersonated Sukea, Kakashi had to shed every shred of his true self to fully embrace the persona—because Sukea was everything Kakashi wasn't.
Sukea was approachable, friendly, on the shy side, and perhaps a bit unassuming. People thought of him as humble, even a little clumsy or unsure. He was moderately talented, easily overlooked in a crowd, unremarkable in every way that mattered, but overall content with his lot in life.
Because he was everything Kakashi wasn't, Sukea was presently perfect.
"May I?" Sukea asked Sakura, holding up the items in his hands: a wig of straight brown hair cut in a chin-length bob, rectangular purple markings to stick on either side of her cheeks, and dark sunglasses, Ebisu-style, to obscure her distinctive eyes.
Sakura was still too stunned to reply. He didn't mind her silence. It was a miracle she had endured the day as well as she had until now. He admired her professionalism, standing stoically beside him as they dealt with that vile man he longed to throttle. He could only imagine how much she resented Kakashi after the cutting words he'd thrown at her the previous night. Yet, not once had she let it show.
Carefully, he placed the wig on her head, smoothing it into place, then affixed the purple markings to her face. He wrapped a purple scarf around her neck and draped a green coat over her shoulders. It was too big—she'd have to roll up the sleeves.
"What name do you choose for this persona?" he asked.
Sakura shook her head, probably still overwhelmed.
"Rinka," he said softly in her stead, as in "dignified flower" or "elegant bloom".
In earlier years, she had often reminded him of Rin—a brighter, even more talented version, growing into the type of woman Rin might have become had she lived. Now, with the Nohara markings on her face, Sakura could easily pass as one of Rin's cousins.
"You fooled us completely," Sakura said, her tone peppered with a mixture of awe and disapproval. She likely recalled the time she'd fraternized with the Sukea persona, plotting and failing to unmask Kakashi.
"Well," Sukea said with a lopsided grin, the memory was a fond one, he had fooled them completely! "No harm intended. You little squirts tried so hard."
"How do you do it?" Sakura asked, staring him up and down and up again. "Even your voice is different!"
Sukea shrugged nonchalantly. "Eh, it's just practice."
There were Sukea disguises stashed in various places across the country, ready to be deployed at a moment's notice. This persona was as much a part of Kakashi's repertoire as any jutsu—a finely honed tool.
"You'll be my sister," he declared, stepping back to appraise her transformation. Cute.
"Sister," Sakura echoed flatly. "Really."
"Well, I thought…" His face warmed as he trailed off. What had he thought? Not much, admittedly. The irksome situation with the Daimyo had left no room for deliberation, forcing him to rely on quick thinking and her willingness to play along.
"Sister is good," Sakura affirmed, the corners of her lips turning ever so slightly downwards.
Whether good or not, above all things, "sister" was safe.
What Sakura didn't know (and would never know) was that Sukea was utterly, hopelessly in love with her. Just one look at her before him was enough to make his heart stutter and send a swarm of butterflies bursting into flight in his stomach.
And yet, Sukea was the perfect refuge. Through him, Kakashi could be free—free from the crushing weight of duty, from the expectations that came with the title of Hokage, and from the scars of his past that whispered to him how brutally he would be punished for wanting a woman.
Sukea had the luxury of simply being a temporary observer. He could admire her quiet strength, her unshakable resolve, and the grace with which she bore the weight of everything thrown her way. He could imagine, just for a fleeting moment, what it would be like to stand beside her—not as a superior or a colleague, but as someone who could openly care for her, protect her, and cherish her. Sukea could adore her bravery without worrying about what it might cost, admire her without fearing the consequences of his feelings spilling out into the light.
Sukea didn't have to weigh his words or stifle his emotions. He could feel without guilt or restraint.
Sukea could love her silently but fully, for a bittersweet instant that would vanish far too soon.
"I… thank you for doing all this," Sakura said softly, her gaze falling to the ground. "For me."
Her words only made the anger surge back. Anger at the world, at all the men who thought they had the right to belittle and objectify someone like her. Anger at himself—especially at himself—for every word, every action that had driven her to stand here now, thanking him as if she owed him anything at all.
"You deserved none of what happened to you," he said, the words spilling out with vehemence. "It's the least I can do."
The statement stunned her into silence. She bit her lip, a flicker of something—disbelief?—crossing her face before she shrugged with one shoulder.
"Okay," she said quietly. "Fine with me."
It was torture.
After last night, Kakashi hadn't expected her to speak to him again soon, if at all. Organizing a cake for her had been a clumsy gesture to assuage his guilt, with little to no effect. And now that they did speak, it wasn't about the things that truly mattered. The only thing that did matter was how sorry he was. The only thing he should say was an apology. On his knees. But an apology as Sukea meant nothing, and an apology as Kakashi but without explanation was hollow, and he knew he wasn't ready to explain… because he didn't want to take a close look at the twisted part of his life, drag it out into the open and share it with anyone.
"We should stay close to our clones," he said instead, retreating into practicality and hiding behind a fake persona like the worst kind of coward.
"To observe who's going to be on our trail?" she asked.
"Yes." He nodded. That—and because he couldn't afford to deplete his chakra reserves too quickly. A gut feeling told him they'd need every ounce of strength before this stay in the capital was over.
To know where they should be headed, Kakashi checked in with his clone. Together with Sakura's clone, he was right where he was supposed to be—in the thick of the crowd.
"And what will happen tomorrow?"
"Ah, that. Well…" Sukea glanced up at the sky, as if it might offer some divine insight. It didn't. "We'll figure it out."
He would. Another sleepless night wouldn't kill him.
"We need a plan," Sakura said, her tone firm as she fell into step beside him, heading toward the city center. "If we're smart about it, we can manipulate the Daimyo into giving us anything we want."
Sukea shot her a sharp look. "But he won't get what he wants. I absolutely forbid it."
"Do you now?" A sly expression crept across her face. "You being…?"
Damn. She was too quick. She'd already seen through him.
"I can speak for Kakashi," he mumbled. And Kakashi would rather kill that old man than let him ogle Sakura again.
"Like one of his clones?" She shot back.
"Yes, exactly," he countered with a frown.
"But you're not like one of his clones," she mused. "You're entirely different."
"I—"
"And me, your sister Rinka?" she interrupted, her tone growing theatrical. "What should my personality be? Hmm…" She tapped a finger against her nose, feigning deep thought. "Let me be cheeky. Curious. Always on the verge of doing something I shouldn't."
Sukea raised an eyebrow, but she was unstoppable. "I've always been a handful," she declared. "And our parents… they died when I was just a baby, didn't they? So you had to take care of me all on your own."
"Alright," he conceded.
"I suppose we can't break character as long as we're in disguise, can we?"
"That's the rule," he replied with a firm nod. ANBU Training Manual, Volume 3. Living as someone else, even under extreme pressure, was essential for any operative.
"Nii-chan," she chirped, her voice slightly higher than usual. "Do you have money to spend at the festival?"
He hesitated for only a moment before sliding back into his persona. "Little pumpkin," he said, looking down at her with an indulgent smile, "you know there's nothing I can deny you. Anything you want, I'll get for you—with my meager photojournalist salary, of course."
Her laugh was genuine, and before he knew it, she'd slipped her arm through his. The butterflies in his stomach didn't just flutter—they did somersaults.
"Let's go eat grilled squid, Aniki," she said. "And then… cotton candy! Lots of it!"
"Anything for you," he replied—the truth and yet not the truth because Sukea was nothing like Kakashi and nothing he did or said had any meaning beyond this moment.
They caught up to their clones quickly.
Sukea glanced at Rinka, saw her suppress a laugh. The four members of the Daimyo's secret police weren't exactly subtle in their attempts to shadow them: dressed in plain civilian clothing, their stiff postures and darting eyes made them stand out like sore thumbs. It was clear they weren't used to undercover work. They moved awkwardly, jostling through the crowd in pairs, occasionally bumping into vendors and apologizing awkwardly before resuming their pursuit. Their attempts at blending in were comically poor; they lingered too long near stalls they had no interest in, pretending to browse wares but never making a purchase. At one point, one of them attempted to casually follow the clones into a throng of children but found himself surrounded by small, curious faces, breaking into a visible sweat as the kids tugged at his clothes and asked him questions he wasn't prepared to answer.
Kakashi and Sakura's clones, however, played their roles to perfection. They bathed in the crowd, instantly the center of attention wherever they went.
"They'll be enacting scenes from the book soon!" Rinka giggled, nudging Sukea with her elbow.
Kakashi's clone leaned lazily against a wall, adopting an aloof expression that was very convincing, while Sakura's clone animatedly engaged with a group of excited festival-goers. Someone handed her a flower crown, and she accepted it with a radiant smile before perching it jauntily on her head. Another attendee challenged Kakashi's clone to an arm-wrestling match, and though he put up an admirable fight, he let the challenger win, drawing cheers and laughter from the growing crowd.
When a young child tugged on Sakura's clone's sleeve, asking for a story, she knelt down and improvised a dramatic retelling of a scene from the books, complete with exaggerated gestures and sound effects. Kakashi's clone chimed in at just the right moments, deadpan humor contrasting her lively energy, leaving their audience in stitches.
"Told you so," Rinka said, a smug expression on her face.
Watching their clones play act like this, Sukea was struck by the realization that these replicas put up a performance that blurred the line between mimicry and autonomy.
It was a bit eerie.
He'd noticed it before during missions—the way his clones could adapt, strategize, and execute plans with precision that sometimes even surprised him. But this was different. Here, there were no life-or-death stakes to guide their behavior, no carefully constructed mission parameters to adhere to.
Sukea understood the mechanics of the Shadow Clone Jutsu inside out: clones were extensions of their creators, imbued with his chakra and bound to their will. But now, he found himself wondering: Did the act of dividing one's essence into multiple forms allow the fragments to develop a life of their own under certain circumstances?
When he checked in on how his clone felt, a clear signal returned through the chakra link: enjoyment, warm and uncomplicated. It wasn't just the satisfaction of fulfilling its purpose; it was joy in the act itself. The clone moved with easy confidence, exuding a casual charm that Kakashi himself did not think he possessed. More intriguingly, Sukea sensed a radiant fondness and awe radiating from his clone whenever it turned its gaze toward Sakura's—but no bitterness, anxiety or regret.
His clone's laughter rang out, warm and genuine, as Sakura's clone mock-scolded it for some playful jab. The moment felt so authentic that Sukea's chest tightened. And for a fleeting second, he envied his own creation.
But Rinka tugged on his sleeve. "Nii-chan, come on!" she urged, her voice full of playful impatience. "I'm really hungry!"
He allowed himself a small smile and let himself be dragged away from the square. Since they were doing so well, checking on their clones occasionally from afar was sufficient—and she seemed determined to wring every bit of joy from the night and all the money from his pocket.
Stalls lined the path, offering a myriad of mouthwatering delicacies. They sampled everything: smoky, charred ikayaki—grilled squid slathered with soy sauce, its savory aroma wafting through the air; plump, golden-brown takoyaki stuffed with tender octopus and topped with a drizzle of tangy sauce, a sprinkle of aonori, and a flurry of dancing bonito flakes; and sweet, fluffy taiyaki filled with warm red bean paste, the crisp edges giving way to a soft, pillowy interior.
They sipped on ramune, the iconic glass bottle with a marble stopper, the fizzy, sweet soda bubbling pleasantly on their tongues.
At another stall, they tried freshly made yaki dango, skewered rice dumplings glazed with a sweet soy sauce, their slight chewiness complemented by the smoky char from the grill.
Next, they moved on to okonomiyaki, the savory pancake stacked with shredded cabbage, tender slices of pork, and topped with a swirl of mayonnaise and okonomiyaki sauce, its hearty flavor an explosion of umami.
"Try this," Rinka said, handing Sukea a slice of melonpan, its crispy, cookie-like crust giving way to a soft, sweet bread inside.
"It's… good," he admitted after a bite, earning an approving grin from her.
And for dessert, she couldn't resist the delicate sweetness of warabi mochi, translucent cubes of jelly-like mochi dusted in fragrant roasted soybean flour.
"Do you always eat this much at festivals?" Sukea teased as her eyes lit up at yet another stall, this one displaying rows of perfectly glossy candied apples glistening like jewels in the evening light.
"Absolutely," she declared, her expression entirely unrepentant as she handed him a stick with an air of triumph. "It's the rule, Nii-chan. No festival experience is complete without a sugar overload."
It was possible—no, very likely—that Sakura knew Kakashi didn't care for sweets. But tonight, as Sukea, he indulged her without hesitation. He sampled everything she offered, from the crisp candied apple that cracked delightfully with each bite to the soft, citrusy sweetness of yuzu-flavored jelly cups. When she insisted he try a stick of honey-drizzled fried sweet potatoes, he complied, nodding his approval despite the growing ache in his stomach.
By the time she handed him a stick of kakigori, shaved ice piled high and drenched in a vibrant strawberry syrup, he thought he might burst. But seeing her delight as she dug into her own treat made every sugary mouthful worth it.
"Are you sure you're not secretly plotting to kill me?" he asked, feigning suspicion.
"Not sure at all," she replied with a mischievous grin, a smear of syrup glistening on her lip.
He wanted to bend down and kiss it away, but instead turned his head the other way until it felt safe to breathe again.
Rinka's eyes sparkled as they approached the game stalls next. One in particular caught her attention: Wooden targets spun slowly on a rack, daring challengers to knock them down with small beanbags. She stopped abruptly, tugging his sleeve. "Let's try this one!"
Sukea stepped forward, studying the targets. His mind briefly considered calculating angles and trajectory, but he would not use any of his abilities, no chakra, no shinobi tricks—just honest effort.
The first beanbag missed entirely, sailing wide to the right. The second grazed a target but failed to knock it over. By the third attempt, he thought he knew what to do. Sukea narrowed his eyes, focused on the prize—a stuffed rabbit that Rinka had secretly been eyeing—and threw the beanbag with precision.
The target toppled with a satisfying thud.
"Nii-chan!" Rinka exclaimed in her high-pitched, character voice, clapping her hands together. "You did it!"
The stall owner handed him the rabbit, which he passed to her with a small flourish. She hugged it tightly, her smile lighting up her face. "I didn't think you'd win!"
"Never doubt your Aniki," he replied with mock seriousness, the corners of his mouth twitching into a grin. "Happy birthday, my darling."
The word shocked her; she froze in her tracks. Then, something shifted—a new light sparked in her eyes, one that was unexpectedly soft. It was the same look that had left him utterly defenseless before, and it was all it took, he was once again lost.
Lost beyond saving.
Sister, my ass.
She could play along, adopt the persona of Rinka, and keep up the charade. But there wasn't a sliver of sisterly affection in her when she looked at Kakashi's alter ego. Sukea was fun. He was kind. He tried his very best to make her feel good.
And as a result, she did feel good. More than that: she felt wanted, protected, seen.
Sukea had a way of looking at her, of listening to her, that made her feel as though she were the most important person in the world. He didn't hold back his smiles, didn't hide behind evasive words or an unreadable mask. Sukea was easy to love in ways Kakashi wasn't, because he hid close to nothing about himself.
And yet, no matter how skillfully Kakashi buried himself under the disguise, how seamlessly he inhabited the role of this cheerful, unguarded photojournalist, there was no separating the two. Sukea was Kakashi, and Kakashi was Sukea. The disguise didn't erase the man beneath it. It only let him pretend to be someone else—a version of himself he believed was safer, softer, more deserving of her time.
She wouldn't burst his bubble. She wouldn't let on that she had long since realized the truth behind his elaborate performance. He wanted to be someone else, if only for a little while, because he was afraid of the person he believed his true self to be.
It might have been unprofessional to analyze someone without their consent—particularly the Hokage, her superior—but she couldn't help it. The realization didn't feel like an intrusion; it felt like an understanding. Seeing his vulnerabilities like this allowed her to reframe her own role at his side.
She knew now that Kakashi hadn't meant to hurt her. Not truly. He was protecting himself in the only way he knew how. He was like Sasuke in so many ways: pushing people away was his armor, his defense against a lifetime of loss.
This realization was a way back—a tentative bridge to the friendship she had feared she'd lost.
It had to be enough.
"Should we go to the main square to see who this Mikoto Kazehana truly is?" she suggested, idly fluffing the soft pelt of her stuffed rabbit. "It's nearly 7pm."
Sukea, who looked slightly green around the edges, hesitated before nodding. She wasn't particularly sorry for having fed him until he was ready to burst—after all, there wasn't an ounce of fat on this man. A little indulgence wouldn't kill him and it had been so much fun.
"I guess we should," he agreed, his voice a touch weary. "Once she sees our clones…"
"She'll either be delighted," Sakura said with a sly grin, "or she'll flee."
Sukea chuckled, though it turned into a faint grimace. "If she's smart, it'll be the latter."
"Do you think she ever feels guilty for exploiting us for her stories?" Sakura mused aloud.
"Not even an ounce of guilt in that one, I'm sure," Sukea replied with a scoff. "Imagine the amount of money she must be raking in. Why feel guilty when you're swimming in royalties?"
"It has to be someone we know," Sakura said. "Someone from Konoha, maybe. Oh! Shouldn't you have seen people's tax returns? Wouldn't there be someone who suddenly started earning insane amounts of money?"
When Sukea gave her a bemused look, she backpedaled. "Oh, right. Sukea doesn't know about people's tax returns in Konoha. My bad."
"Kakashi doesn't either," Sukea shrugged. "Shikamaru handles the taxes. Kakashi wants nothing to do with such things."
"For someone who so desperately doesn't want to be Hokage, he's a very good one," Sakura said.
Sukea didn't reply, but she thought she heard him sigh.
The throng of people grew thicker as they neared the square. It seemed like everyone had decided to converge on the book signing, jostling to catch a glimpse of the mysterious author of the Land of Fire's most popular book series. The noise was almost deafening—excited chatter, the occasional burst of laughter, and the calls of vendors hawking their wares.
Then, both Sakura and Sukea froze in unison. Cutting through the crowd like a ship through water was a glossy wheelchair. A stunning woman with a striking air of poise and confidence pushed, while another equally beautiful woman flanked it, fussing over the seated man in a sharp green suit.
Heading straight for their shadow clones was none other than Might Guy.
"What is he doing here?" Sukea exclaimed.
"Do you think he'll realize those are just clones?" Sakura whispered, feeling equal parts alarm and amusement.
"If he does," Sukea murmured, eyeing the Fire Daimyo's spies warily, "he'll play along." He sounded slightly dubious though.
"My long-time rival!" Might Guy's booming voice carried over the din, his exuberance cutting through the noise like a clarion call. Kakashi's clone turned toward him, saying something in response that was lost in the crowd's roar. Whatever it was, it earned a hearty, belly-shaking laugh from Guy. His hands clapped together in delight, startling a few festival-goers nearby.
"Careful," Sukea whispered as he gently steered Rinka into the shadows. "The last time he saw me, he was suspicious. He'll remember me."
"All the glory to him for that," Sakura craned her neck, she didn't want to miss anything. "I still don't understand how you were able to fool people so thoroughly."
Sukea gave her a deadpan look. "It is a well-practiced skill and I would prefer this disguise to remain a secret, Rinka," he said, guiding her further behind a row of booths. "If Guy so much as glances this way, we run."
"But I want to stay here and watch!" She complained. This was promising to become a top tier kind of spectacle. When she peeked around the corner again, she giggled. "Oh no."
Might Guy engaged in an excessively flamboyant handshake with Kakashi's clone. The movements were theatrical, almost choreographed, as he spun, kicked his good leg high in the air, and even struck a "Youthful Pose" so dramatic it could have been lifted straight from one of his own action-packed training montages. The crowd roared in approval.
"Should we just… let them enjoy it?" Sakura asked, barely containing her laughter when Guy and the clone engaged in a ridiculous series of moves, each more outlandish than the last. The crowd cheered again, clearly loving the show.
Sukea let out a long, exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as though trying to will away the inevitable headache. "Just stay out of sight. He'll get bored eventually," he muttered.
But the more Guy performed, the more the clone seemed to mirror his energy, fully matching each exaggerated movement and throwing in a few flourishes of its own. The two were like a well-rehearsed pair of performers, their back-and-forth act growing more elaborate with each second.
Guy suddenly grabbed Kakashi's clone in a headlock, shouting, "Youth! It's all about Youth, my friend!" Then, in a move that could only be described as 'unsanctioned,' he lifted the clone up, spun it around, and placed it onto his shoulders, much to the crowd's delight.
Sukea, despite his best efforts, was unable to suppress a grimace of disbelief. "He's not going to stop, is he?"
"Nope." Sakura giggled. "This is definitely Guy Sensei at his finest."
"I swear," Sukea muttered, his eyes narrowed at the spectacle. "If they start doing a duet, I'm leaving."
And just as if on cue, Guy leaned in with an overly dramatic expression, whispering something into the clone's ear. The clone nodded enthusiastically, and with no further warning, the two of them broke into a synchronized set of jump kicks, shouting "Youth!" in perfect unison.
"And there goes the last of my reputation," Sukea groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
"People will love you all the more for it," Sakura nudged him in the ribs. "There's nothing more boring than a genius with no flaws."
That shut him up and put a frown on his face. "I have flaws," he mumbled.
Sakura caught the change in his demeanor, but before she could comment, she pointed to a group of figures in the distance. "The Daimyo's men had enough," she observed, noting their retreating figures.
Sukea shook his head in exasperation. "They're going to report back that I have gone insane."
But it was not over yet. Guy leaned in once more, again whispering something into the clone's ear. When he straightened, Kakashi's clone's eyes shifted from Guy's gleaming face to Sakura's clone's waiting figure.
The real Sakura's heart skipped a beat when her clone seemed to still entirely, its movements slowing to a careful, almost calculated pace.
With a predatory grace, Kakashi's clone moved slowly toward Sakura's like a feral animal closing in on its prey. The crowd, once roaring with excitement over Guy's antics, grew quieter, sensing the tension in the air. The clone stopped just a breath away from Sakura's, the two figures locked in a charged stillness that seemed to draw the entire festival into their orbit.
Then, lightning fast, Kakashi's clone seized Sakura's by the shoulders and pulled it to him. For one heartbeat, the world seemed to freeze as all eyes fixed on the pair. And then, he kissed her—a kiss that was raw and unrestrained, the kind that left no room for doubt about its passion.
The festival erupted. Cheers rang out, whistles pierced the air, and the thunder of clapping hands swelled like a tidal wave. Some parents yelped in outrage, rushing to cover their children's eyes while muttering complaints about public decency. Others laughed, their frantic cameras snapping photos to immortalize the moment.
Amid the chaos, Sakura's entire world began to spin. Her breath caught, her pulse quickened, and the ground beneath her feet seemed to waver. Her clone's thoughts, its memories, its emotions—all of it pressed into her like a tidal wave. It was a storm of feelings: the affection, the longing, the hunger, the raw and unfiltered passion her clone felt.
"Maintain control," Sukea's sharp voice cut through her haze, his grip firm on her arm.
"I'm trying," she gasped, clutching his sleeve as though grounding herself. But the flood was too much. It was like trying to contain an ocean in a teacup. The kiss—the passion behind it—shook her to her core, stripping her of her composure and leaving her raw and vulnerable.
In a puff of smoke, Sakura's clone dissipated.
For a single, stunned moment, the festival square fell silent. Then, the crowd erupted once more, but this time in disarray.
"What just happened?" a woman asked, her voice rising above the commotion.
"Where'd she go?" a man yelled, "bring the Cherry Blossom Adventurer back!"
Sakura blinked, disoriented. The clone's brief existence had left an indelible mark, its emotions seeping into her own like ink bleeding across a page. Chief among them was an aching, unspoken yearning for Kakashi—a desire so deep and unguarded it felt like a foreign object lodged in her chest.
"Aha!" Might Guy shouted, his booming voice cutting through the rising din of the festival. His tone was triumphant, laced with excitement and just the right amount of accusation. "Imposters!"
Kakashi's clone vanished in a sudden puff of smoke too and Sukea staggered back when the clone's chakra merged with his.
The crowd gasped collectively, heads whipping around in confusion. Then came the shouting.
"Wait, what just happened?"
"He's gone too?"
"That wasn't real?"
The noise grew louder. The energy shifted—where there had been excitement and laughter, there now was anger and frustration.
"Kakashi!" Might Guy bellowed, pointing dramatically at the empty space where the clone had been moments ago. "I will find you!"
Sakura's eyes darted toward the edge of the crowd. The Daimyo's men were heading back, their postures stiff with purpose as they frantically scanned the sea of people.
"This," Sukea muttered, his voice low and urgent, "is when we run. The show is over."
Sakura cast one last glance at Might Guy, who was sitting in his wheelchair with an expression of exaggerated suspicion and heroic determination. The crowd swirled in chaos, unsure whether to be angry, entertained, or just confused.
"Let's go," Sukea urged.
Sakura clutched her stuffed rabbit tightly, her grip almost white-knuckled as they moved into the quieter section of the city. The streets were deserted here, lined with shadowed alleys and the faint glow of aging lanterns. The energy of the festival felt like a different world entirely. He led her down a narrow lane, toward the slightly run-down house tucked away in the stillness.
"Wait here," Sukea instructed when they reached the doorway.
But Sakura didn't comply, she followed him inside this time. His hesitation was only very brief—he let her enter behind him, lighting a few lamps when they were both inside. The interior was as modest as the exterior suggested, but tidy. A plain table. A few shelves. It felt staged, like a shell of a place rather than a home. An ANBU hide-out, most likely.
Sukea stood in the center of the room and began removing his disguise piece by piece. The scarf came first, dropped onto the table. Then the heavy coat, revealing the familiar frame beneath. Contact lenses went into a small case. The wig was carefully set aside, and with a quick motion, he peeled off the purple stickers that had transformed his face.
His real clothes were in a neat pile by the side, waiting to replace the casual outfit Sukea had worn.
Sakura stepped into his path before he could reach it. She planted herself firmly, her arms crossed, her gaze unwavering.
"When do we stop pretending we're not Kakashi and Sakura?" she demanded.
He froze and closed his eyes. Slowly, he exhaled. "Now."
"Is there anything you want to say to me?" Sakura asked.
"Yes. I'm sorry," he said softly, opening his eyes to meet hers.
"Sorry about what?" she shot back. She ripped the dark sunglasses from her face and tossed them onto the growing pile of his discarded disguise. The wig followed, then the scarf, then the coat. The purple stickers she crumpled between her fingers.
"Ah…" He exhaled again, slower this time, like he was trying to steady himself. "Everything."
"That's not specific enough, Kakashi," she said, hands on her hips, her tone biting. "And I won't accept it."
For a moment, it seemed like he might turn away, but he stood his ground. His shoulders lifted slightly before falling in a long sigh.
"I don't even know where to begin," he admitted, his voice low. "I'm sorry for not being the reasonable one. For letting… for letting things get out of hand between us. For…" He faltered, his words catching in his throat. "For treating you badly. It was never my intention to… I…"
He broke off, his jaw tightening, clearly struggling to say anything more.
"It's okay," she interrupted, lifting her chin with a touch of defiance. "You didn't mean it the way it sounded, I get it. I'll get over it. This…"—she held up the stuffed rabbit with a faint, wry smile—"makes up for some of it, for sure."
Kakashi stared at her, his maskless face pale with disbelief. "Sakura, why are you so ready to forgive so easily? Why do you not fight for your right to be angry? Is it because you don't believe you deserve good things?" His voice cracked briefly. "It breaks my heart to see you put your own wishes last every single time. You have a right to be furious with me—I hurt you, whether I wanted to or not. And I lied to you. I… I lied because…"
Kakashi's words choked off again, and he dragged a hand down his face, his fingers pressing hard into his temples. He looked so utterly distressed that Sakura should have felt sorry for him. She really should have.
But instead, something entirely different bloomed in her chest—a rush of stupid, giddy hope that she desperately tried to squash. Was it possible…?
"And now there's no way back," he muttered, his voice heavy with resignation. "There are hundreds of people with proof that we two are… well…"
"Oh yes," Sakura cut in, her tone as dry as the desert. "We were kissing the living daylight out of things in front of a LOT of people. Truly, a scene for the ages."
Kakashi groaned, dragging his hands down his face again, as if he could physically rub the embarrassment away. "I am sorry my clone did that," he mumbled. "I really don't know how such a thing could happen…"
"Really?" Sakura's tone shifted from deadpan to pointed as she crossed her arms and fixed him with a sharp look. "You expect me to believe that, Kakashi? I remember your shadow clone jutsu lesson very well, dear Sensei. And in that lesson, you assured us that a shadow clone is an extension of its creator, carrying its memories, feelings, and experiences. So, obviously…" She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a softer but no less accusatory tone, "your clone kissed mine because it wanted to. And that means you want to kiss me."
Kakashi's eyes widened slightly, his mouth opening as if to argue, but no sound came out.
Sakura didn't relent, because why should she? "But hey, it's okay if you want to keep denying it. I know what I know. And I will let you, the venerated Hokage, do all the explaining. Because I am sure there will be a lot of explaining to do once those photos will start to appear in the newspapers."
"I…"
"Hey, I really enjoyed myself," Sakura hummed. "One of the best birthdays I've had in a long time, actually. You should convey my thanks to Sukea. He was a delight. The only thing I'm slightly worried about is explaining to the Fire Daimyo what happened tonight without enraging him to the point that he refuses to fund anything he doesn't absolutely have to."
Kakashi seized the change of topic like a lifeline, though his voice was still hesitant. "I'll come up with something. I can handle him."
"I've already come up with something," Sakura interrupted smoothly, stepping forward. "I'll go there alone. Breakfast, lunch, or dinner—whatever he prefers. And I'll find out what's really going on. The Fire Daimyo is ill, Kakashi. I'm almost certain of it. His symptoms, the way he carries himself, his mood—it's not just stress or age. Something is wrong, and I need to figure out what it is. Once I do, I'll offer to treat him at the hospital in Konoha. He'll see the hospital, experience its capabilities firsthand, and when he leaves healthy, he'll be grateful. Fond of us. He'll associate Konoha with his recovery and shower us with funding for every initiative we present."
Kakashi frowned, his brows knitting together. "I don't know about this, Sakura," he admitted reluctantly. "I don't want you there by yourself."
"I'm 24 years old, Kakashi," Sakura countered, her tone laced with exasperation. "I'm an adult, whether you want to accept that or not. That means I make my own decisions, and I take responsibility for them."
"But I…" Kakashi started, his mouth pressing into a thin line as if searching for the right words.
Before he could finish, the door creaked open. Kuma and Hebi entered the room silently, both bowing respectfully.
"Hokage, your orders?" Kuma asked.
Kakashi's expression shifted instantly. Miraculously, a mask was in place, his face hidden. His shoulders squared, and the air of leadership took over. "We go back to the hotel and rest," he instructed.
His gaze flicked to Sakura, holding hers for a moment. There was something there, something in his eyes—a cryptic expression she couldn't quite read. Was it worry? Frustration? Or maybe something else entirely? Whatever it was, it felt like tonight, she had cracked open a tiny fissure in his carefully crafted armor—and that, Sakura thought with satisfaction, was a victory.