He hadn't thought it could get any worse. How wrong Kakashi was.

"That escalated quickly," Genma remarked as he joined Kakashi at the breakfast table the next day, a smirk tugging at his lips. He waved a newspaper through the air like a prize trophy before slapping it onto the table.

Kakashi's stomach sank. Here comes the reckoning, he thought. The bold headline screamed at him in unforgiving black ink: "The Masked Sensei: A Fraud?"

Directly below, a grainy but unmistakable photo—of him. Kissing Sakura with passion.

His clone's final moments before dissipating surged back, vivid and raw—the roar of the crowd, the warmth of Sakura's clone pressed against him, the unfiltered longing his clone had carried. It was one thing to repress feelings. It was another to have them thrown back at yourself with such undiluted force.

Kakashi's chest tightened, a low ache settling deep inside. That kiss—bold, public, unthinkable—was something he'd never have allowed himself. He must have slipped up with his clone because he had been too deeply immersed in his persona of Sukea. Which... didn't make any sense. Just like Sakura had said, shadow clones were copies of their creators. They did not act beyond their creator's will.

"It's not just that one," Genma continued, clearly reveling in the chaos. "Look at the other headlines." He jabbed a finger at the other newspapers he smacked on the table one after the other.

It was frontpage material for all of them:

"Scandal on the Square: Imposters Steal the Show!"

"Promise of Fanmeet Thwarted Brutally!"

"Save Sakura from the Masked Sensei!"

"Fans Outraged! Fraudulent Sensei!"

"'Save Sakura from—' Seriously?" Kakashi snatched the paper from Genma. "This is ridiculous!"

"Oh, it gets better." Genma bit into a rice ball, gesturing at another section. "Read the complaints."

Kakashi scanned further, irritation mounting with every word. Festival-goers were outraged—furious over the lack of an autograph signing, claiming they'd been misled by the organizers. And somehow, Mikoto Kazehana—who hadn't even been at the square—had plenty to say about "the incident" in an exclusive interview.

Of course she did.

Kakashi skimmed the article, his scowl deepening with every line. "'As an esteemed author and longtime admirer, I find it deeply troubling that such a public figure would engage in deception. The 'Masked Sensei' charmed the crowd, only to vanish without a word—an act of careless disregard for his supporters.'"

He snapped the paper shut. "I am not a goddamn literary figure!"

Genma grinned. "Doesn't matter. Wanna bet this will help with the book sales? She even threw in some commentary about how the villages deserve role models with integrity, promising to make it right."

Kakashi groaned. "I'm going to kill him," he muttered under his breath, imagining Might Guy's neck between his hands. "The goddamn meddler."

"Oh, and yes—Sakura's already seen this," Genma added casually. "She left for the palace at sunrise."

Kakashi's scowl deepened. "Hebi's with her?"

Genma nodded. "Sure thing. But you know that Sakura can handle herself."

Kakashi shot him a sharp look. Yes, Sakura was more than capable. But he knew she had been taken advantage of in those foreign lands, by a man specifically assigned for that purpose. That scumbag had probably figured it out quickly—how her insecurities made her vulnerable. How her low self-esteem and desperate need to feel wanted had left her open to the wrong kind of attention. And now, the thought of her walking into the Daimyo's court—not primarily as a shinobi, but as a woman with a role to play—set his teeth on edge.

Genma leaned back, looking far too amused. "So, what's the plan, Hokage? Gonna issue a statement? Deny everything? Or maybe hold a press conference and kiss someone else to make it fair?"

Kakashi exhaled sharply. "Don't test me, Genma," he muttered darkly.

"Oh, come on." Genma's smile faded as he set his fists on the table. "Stop looking like the world is about to end. What's the big deal? So the world knows you like her? Well, great! Seize the opportunity!"

Kakashi's jaw tightened. It's not that simple! He wanted to shout. It never had been. Not for him. Because no matter what Genma thought, this wasn't something he could just have.

Not with who he was.

Not with the way his life had been built around loss, around duty, around keeping himself at a distance. Not when the thought of losing her—even as a friend—was a risk he wasn't sure he could take.

Genma studied Kakashi's face, then smirked. "Okay. Then you won't mind if I go out with her?"

Kakashi froze.

His grip on the table tightened, knuckles going white. His first instinct was to shut that down immediately—to tell Genma to back the hell off. The idea of Genma, or anyone, taking Sakura out—laughing with her, touching her, kissing her—sent something sharp and ugly twisting in his gut.

He minded. A lot.

But what was he supposed to say? That she was off-limits? That he wanted her, but knew he could not have her? That even so, nobody else deserved her?

Genma's grin widened as the silence stretched. "Thought so," he chuckled, pushing back his chair. "You should eat something, Hokage-sama. Or do you want me to go full out Yamato on you?"

"I have eaten," Kakashi lied reflexively, but the untouched plate in front of him told a different story.

Genma scoffed. "You look gaunt." He tilted his head, giving Kakashi a once-over. "Keep this up, and you're gonna lose your youthful looks."

Kakashi exhaled sharply. "Genma."

"What?" Genma shrugged, all faux innocence. "I'm just saying, sleep deprivation and heartbreak? Not a good look for you. The new anti-fans of the Masked Sensei will eat you for lunch."

Before Kakashi could respond, the door creaked open, and Kuma entered, his bear mask dangling loosely from his wrist. He gave a low bow.

"A phone call for you, Hokage-sama."

"A phone call?" Kakashi echoed, brow furrowing. It was unexpected—probably meant trouble in the village.

Kuma straightened, a surprising eagerness in his expression. "You know... it's that device that transmits voices... much like a messenger bird, only without the feathers and far less... chirpy."

Genma snorted. "Wow, Kuma. Really doing a stellar job explaining the basics of technology to your aged Hokage."

Kuma's eyes widened in sudden panic. "Oh! I-I'm so sorry, Hokage-sama, I didn't mean any disrespect, I thought... I was just trying to—"

Kakashi waved it off with a weary sigh. "It's okay. Who is it? Yamato?"

Kuma nodded eagerly, relieved to move past his blunder. "Yes, Hokage-sama. It's Yamato-san."

"Put that mask back on," Kakashi instructed as he rose from his seat, his voice firm. "We have no reason to be carefree or at ease."

Kuma scrambled to obey, slipping the bear mask over his face quickly, posture straightening as Kakashi strode past him toward the front desk.

The innkeeper's daughter was stationed there, and as soon as she caught sight of him, her expression twisted into something unmistakably sour. She shoved the receiver into his hand with more force than necessary, her glare practically searing into his skin.

Kakashi blinked. Oh, fantastic. Apparently, fans of Sakura's Adventures had really decided he was the villain in last night's debacle. Did this make sense to anyone?! How was kissing Sakura and then disappearing a crime?!

"Seriously," he muttered under his breath, lifting the phone to his ear. "Yes? It's Kakashi."

"What the heck are you doing?" Yamato's shrill voice exploded from the receiver, loud enough that Kakashi instinctively pulled it away from his ear. That's why he hated technology. It was always tedious.

He sighed. "Worrying for nothing, it seems. Why are you calling? I thought something terrible must have happened in the village."

"I'm calling at the order of the village council," Yamato blustered. "Everyone is very concerned and very irritated by what we read in the papers this morning."

"That was fast," Kakashi mused, rubbing his temple with his free hand. He was developing a headache.

"It's called technology," Yamato huffed. "You'd understand how fast news travels if you actually used a computer for once in your life."

"Even pictures?" Kakashi asked haltingly.

"What do you think," Yamato sighed. "It's a disaster. They're saying that never in the history of Konoha has any Hokage been this humiliated in public."

Humiliated? Kakashi frowned, rolling his shoulders. He didn't feel particularly humiliated. Annoyed? Yes. Mildly exasperated? Absolutely. But humiliation required shame, and he wasn't ashamed of—

"They're furious, Kakashi," Yamato continued. "The village council is up in arms. You kissed her. In public. And it wasn't exactly a chaste kiss from what we could see..."

Kakashi felt the dull throbbing in his head intensify. "That wasn't me," he muttered. "It was a clone."

"A clone!" Yamato groaned. "And that's your excuse? The elders think this sets a dangerous precedent," Yamato went on, clearly reading from a list of grievances. "That a Hokage should not display such undignified, reckless behavior in public. That a man in your position must exercise restraint and lead with honor, not—"

"—not swap spit in the middle of a festival?" Kakashi deadpanned.

"Pretty much," Yamato confirmed. "They're calling it 'conduct unbecoming of the Hokage.'"

Kakashi exhaled slowly. He supposed he should have expected this. The village council was as old-fashioned as they came—deeply rooted in tradition, obsessed with decorum. A Hokage was supposed to be an unshakable pillar of leadership, duty-bound and untouchable. They weren't supposed to be seen engaging in something as human as romance, especially not publicly, and especially not with a former student.

And therein lay the real issue, didn't it? The council had always held strict, if unspoken, views about relationships between shinobi—who was acceptable, who wasn't. And while Sakura was no longer his student, the perception lingered. To them, this wasn't just about a kiss. It was about propriety, power dynamics, and the image of the Hokage, which was the benign father of the village.

Kakashi resisted the urge to sigh. "So what do they want? A formal apology?"

"More like a public clarification," Yamato said dryly. "Preferably one where you don't admit to being a fraud, a scoundrel, or an opportunist seducer of young kunoichi."

Kakashi did sigh this time. Loudly. "Fantastic."

He caught the eye of the innkeeper's daughter, who was eagerly hanging onto his every word. "A public clarification," he repeated slowly. "Alright. Tell them they'll get it."

Yamato hesitated on the other end. "Kakashi, don't do anything stupid."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Kakashi said smoothly, before promptly slamming the receiver down.

He exhaled through his nose, forcibly unclenching his jaw. His headache had fully settled in now, a dull, persistent throb behind his temple.

A public clarification.

As if that would fix anything. As if words alone could smooth over the mess Guy had caused. Because Kakashi knew who was responsible for this disaster—knew exactly which meddlesome, overly enthusiastic, green-clad menace had orchestrated this absurdity.

And he was going to find him.

Sakura sat stiffly on the silk-cushioned bench, hands folded neatly in her lap, back straight despite the dull ache creeping up her spine. The hall they had put her in was grand—high ceilings painted with delicate landscapes, gold-threaded curtains drifting lazily in the morning breeze. Servants moved quietly through the corridors, their slippered feet barely whispering against the polished floors. But none of them looked at her.

No one had looked at her in hours.

At first, she had convinced herself that the Daimyo was simply busy. That this was a test of patience, of poise, of diplomacy. But as the sun arched higher and the shadows stretched across the palace floor, the truth settled in her stomach like a cold stone.

She wasn't going to be received.

A quiet humiliation burned at the edges of her composure. She had been dismissed without a word—not in any official capacity, not with an apology, not even with the courtesy of being told to leave. Just left to wait, to sit in this grand, hollow space, ignored like an afterthought.

Sakura swallowed, forcing herself to breathe evenly, to keep her face impassive. She had always known politics was a game, but she had naively thought she would at least be permitted to play.

Of course the Daimyo had seen the newspapers too. Now that it looked like she was Kakashi's lover, he didn't even bother to renew his advances.

She let out a slow, measured breath and reached for the folded sheets of paper in her pocket—her proposal for the expansion of Konoha's hospital. The project she had poured her heart into. The proposal that mattered.

And now? Now she was nothing more than a salacious headline.

The newspapers had screamed at her from crisp sheets of inked paper—Masked Sensei's Secret Love Affair! Cherry Blossom Adventurer Caught in the Middle! And other bald-faced nonsense, written with the only aim to sell more copies of whatever news outlet it happened to be.

She could only imagine what her friends were thinking.

Or her parents.

Her stomach twisted at the thought of trying to explain.

She could try "It's not what it looks like", the old, well-tried classic that was never sufficient. Maybe she could claim it was a tactical maneuver instead. A distraction technique! Classic shinobi misdirection. While everyone was busy gawking, she could have easily assassinated someone. (Not that she did—but she could have.) That would at least make her look competent.

Or maybe a medical excuse? Kakashi was choking—on... air. And she had to administer emergency CPR. With extra flair. For morale.

Or—yes! A conspiracy angle. Kakashi was being blackmailed, and she had to play along to protect state secrets. No, she couldn't say what secrets. That was classified.

Actually, the best move might be outright denial. "What kiss? That was Genjutsu. You should get your chakra checked."

Or deflection! "Look, the real question here is—why are we even talking about this when Danzo once tried to overthrow the government? Priorities, people."

Sakura exhaled, pressing her fingers against her forehead. What a disaster! The only thing she should say was the truth: "Yes, I'm in love with him! So fucking what?"

Ah, but alas... Could she endure being that woman again? The one who loved hopelessly, who made a fool of herself over a man who—no matter how much she wanted him to—would never love her back?

The answer was no.

She glanced at the ornate doors at the end of the hall one last time. Still shut.

Fine. If the Daimyo wasn't going to see her, she wasn't going to sit here like an idiot. It was time to walk out of this palace with whatever dignity she had left and face the mess waiting for her outside.

And face Kakashi.

Sakura exhaled sharply, pressing her lips together. She had spent the last few hours trying not to think about him. Trying not to picture his reaction, the way his gaze would skim the headlines, unreadable. Whether he regretted it. Whether he blamed her for the fallout.

She'd messed everything up.

Sakura shot to her feet, her movements sharp with frustration. She barely managed to keep herself from storming out—if she was going to leave with dignity, she needed to at least look composed. Shoulders back, chin lifted, one foot in front of the other.

The marble floor was cool beneath her sandals as she strode forward, the echo of her steps swallowed by the cavernous hall. She had barely passed the gilded pillars when a figure stepped into her path.

He was tall, with the kind of effortless posture that spoke of wealth and breeding. His robes were made of silk so fine it caught the light like water, the deep blue embroidered with delicate silver thread. His long black hair was tied back neatly, framing a face that was both striking and refined—sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and eyes so dark they seemed to drink in the glow of the chandeliers above. His skin was smooth, sun-kissed rather than pale, the warmth of it standing out against the cool opulence of the palace.

He smiled, slow and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world. "Lady Sakura," he said, his voice rich and confident. "Leaving so soon?"

Kakashi landed soundlessly on the plush carpet, his eyes sweeping the room with measured incredulity. The suite was undoubtedly the most expensive in town, dripping with excess. It was also undoubtedly the most tacky. The walls were paneled with dark, polished wood, the ceiling inlaid with gold leaf. A chandelier, grotesquely large, hung above a low table laden with exotic fruits, fine sake, and an assortment of foreign sweets. Silk curtains billowed in the breeze, framing the massive open balcony that overlooked the cityscape below.

And in the middle of it all, a slightly fuller and subtly softer version of Might Guy reclined in his wheelchair, dressed in an absurdly flamboyant bathrobe—emerald green, with embroidered lotus flowers and a golden sash.

"Kakashi! My friend, I have been expecting you for hours!" Guy spread his arms wide in an extravagant greeting, his white teeth practically gleaming.

Kakashi took a step forward, only to be intercepted.

The brunette in the silk yukata—Stunning Woman Number One, as Kakashi had already dubbed her—glided smoothly to Guy's side, red lips curving in amusement. Meanwhile, the statuesque blonde—Stunning Woman Number Two—stepped directly into Kakashi's path. Her piercing blue eyes locked onto him with the unwavering focus of a bodyguard, her stance radiating the kind of quiet menace that suggested she took her job very seriously.

Kakashi arched an eyebrow at her. "I'm not going to attack a man in a wheelchair," he said dryly.

The blonde didn't move an inch. Her perfume—heavy, unmistakably aphrodisiac-laced—hit Kakashi's senses like a hammer. Of course. Subtlety had never been Guy's strong suit.

From his chair, Guy let out a deep, satisfied chuckle. "Ah, my ferocious kittens," he purred, waving a lazy hand. "Step away, step away. He's my dearest friend!"

The blonde hesitated, her eyes narrowing, but after a beat, she stepped aside reluctantly. She still watched Kakashi like she was waiting for an excuse to pounce. The brunette, meanwhile, retreated to a nearby armchair, stretching out with an almost theatrical display of long, smooth legs.

Kakashi exhaled slowly, turning his unimpressed stare back to Guy. "And you're here, why, exactly?"

"Ahahahaha!" Guy boomed, throwing his arms wide as if to deflect the question bodily. "Believe me, I had no idea you'd be here too! What a coincidence! I am so glad to see you in such great health! It's been too long—nine months? Ten?" Guy gestured towards a chair. "But come, my friend! Sit, eat, drink! Indulge in the pleasures of life while you are still young and handsome."

Kakashi sat down gingerly, not really in the mood to humor Might Guy's whims but nonetheless curious about what had happened to his friend since the last time they had spoken. It did seem like a very long time ago.

The brunette moved with practiced grace, kneeling beside Kakashi to pour him a cup of tea. Her soft eyes remained on him as she placed a plate of delicate sweets within reach.

Kakashi didn't touch any of it.

"You've come to scold me," Guy observed, tilting his head back dramatically.

Kakashi huffed. "I got a phone call from the village council this morning." He crossed his arms, exhaling sharply. "I do not enjoy having my face all over the news."

Guy chuckled, utterly unrepentant. "Ah, yes. That was unfortunate."

Kakashi gave him a flat look.

"I had no idea your clone would go straight for Sakura's," Guy continued. "I merely said, If you want to win this competition, you have to kiss someone in public. Never would I have expected such bold enthusiasm!"

Kakashi immediately felt heat rise to his face. Just great. He felt like a schoolboy caught passing a love note in class.

"It pleases me, my friend," Guy declared, striking his chest, "that you, too, have discovered the intimate pleasure of youth! But where are my manners? Allow me to introduce you to the two dazzling constellations that have graced my orbit!"

He gestured first to the blonde. "This is Sylvie, my loyal protector, my stalwart guardian against those who would dare disturb my tranquility."

Sylvie tossed her hair over one shoulder, watching Kakashi with open suspicion.

"And this," Guy continued, motioning to the other woman, "is Beatrice—a woman of beauty, wisdom, and impeccable taste."

Beatrice tilted her head, smiling in a way that felt far too familiar for Kakashi's liking.

"...Right," Kakashi muttered, wondering just how much the company of two such women might cost. "The intimate pleasure of youth."

Who was he to judge? And yet, against his own wishes, he did.

He understood why Might Guy had left the village. Losing the use of one's legs—when they had been so central to his identity—meant losing a part of himself. Without purpose, a man could wither away. But this? Women, pleasure, indulgence... Was that really a purpose worth living for?

Guy's laughter tapered off, his smile fading. "Kittens," he said, "why don't you leave us alone for a bit."

"Are you sure?" Sylvie asked sharply.

Guy waved a hand with his usual bravado. "Yes, yes. I am sure. My old friend and I have much to discuss."

Sylvie hesitated, her gaze flickering between them before she gave a short nod. She turned on her heel, her long, golden hair swaying as she strode toward the adjoining room. Beatrice, however, moved more slowly. She ran a deliberate hand along the back of Guy's chair, her lips curving in amusement.

"If you need anything, anything at all—" she murmured.

Guy grinned. "Ah, Beatrice, your generosity knows no bounds."

Beatrice lingered a beat longer before finally following Sylvie, closing the door behind them with a soft click.

Silence settled between the two men.

Kakashi leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "...The intimate pleasure of youth," he repeated dryly. "That's what you're calling this?"

Guy let out a short laugh. "You disapprove? They're the best thing that has happened to me since I took Rock Lee as my pupil."

"I don't disapprove," Kakashi said. "I'm just a little... surprised?"

"Surprised I took a different path?" Guy huffed. "Surprised I aim to find joy where I can?" He gestured broadly at the lavish suite. "Is that so wrong? Not all of us want to live like an ascetic all our lives."

Silence stretched between them.

"I watched you rise, my friend," Guy said, his voice quiet and intense. "Hokage! My orphaned Kakashi of the Sharingan, the Hokage! Do you know how proud I am? But I'm also so damn envious." He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "Look at you. Still so young, so strong, so handsome."

"Cut it out," Kakashi muttered, acutely embarrassed.

"No, I won't let you judge me," Guy said with sudden vehemence. "Because you? You have it all. The love of the people, the love of a beautiful woman, fame, the greatest purpose any Shinobi could dream of... I was lonely for such a long time, Kakashi. And I was bored."

Yeah. It was obvious.

"You're Mikoto Kazehana, aren't you?" Kakashi confronted his friend.

"Ha," Might Guy replied with a grin. "What if I say yes?"

"But you can't write," Kakashi frowned, remembering Guy's horrid letters.

"True," Might Guy nodded solemnly.

"And everybody is convinced the author is a woman," Kakashi continued haltingly. "It's true, it feels that way."

"And you're the expert, aren't you," Guy nodded again.

Or women.

"Damn you," Kakashi got to his feet hastily. "The intimate pleasure of youth!? You... consult? Advise? What exactly do you contribute to this literary conspiracy?"

Guy chuckled, lifting his hands in a calming gesture. "It's more like a collective," he explained. "But yes, I do know a little more about villages, senseis, and the rest."

"The rest?" Kakashi repeated warily.

Guy smirked.

Kakashi exhaled sharply. "How much money have you made?"

Guy's grin widened.

Kakashi stopped pacing, leveling him with a sharp glare. "Sakura is going to kill you."

Guy hummed, tilting his head. "Mm. Possible."

Kakashi ruffled his hair in agitation. "And why her? Why take Sakura as the lead figure?"

"That wasn't my idea," Guy admitted with a shrug. "I just went along with it."

Kakashi narrowed his eyes. "And the masked sensei...?"

Guy's smirk returned, slower this time. More deliberate. "That was my idea." His gaze locked onto Kakashi's, unflinching. "Dashing figure that you make and all. And the mystery... well, it outsells Sakura's Adventures by far."

Kakashi stared at him, mouth opening and closing as his brain struggled to process the sheer audacity. "Damn you," he muttered again, shaking his head. He wasn't sure whether to strangle Guy or burst into laughter.

Maybe both.

But first things first.

"I need you to set things straight," Kakashi said. "A public clarification."

"Of what exactly?" Guy asked warily. "Our identity has to remain a secret."

"The kiss," Kakashi ground out. "You need to publicly state that it wasn't real."

Guy blinked. "But it was real."

Kakashi shot him a deadpan look. "No, it wasn't. It was my clone and her clone."

Guy leaned back in his wheelchair, rubbing his chin in exaggerated contemplation. "So... let me get this straight. You, Hatake Kakashi, Hokage of the Hidden Leaf, want me—Might Guy, co-conspirator of the most scandalous literary sensation of the decade—to lie?"

"Yes."

"To the entire village?"

"Yes."

"To Sakura?"

Kakashi hesitated. His fingers twitched at his side.

Guy's grin stretched wide. "Ahhh," he said knowingly, eyes twinkling. "So that's how it is."

Kakashi scowled. "That's not how anything is."

Guy merely hummed, looking far too entertained. "Well, my friend, this is an interesting predicament. But if I say it was staged—if I claim it was some sort of elaborate marketing stunt for the crossover everybody is demanding—what's in it for me?"

Kakashi stared at him, incredulous. "Are you seriously negotiating?"

Guy shrugged, unbothered. "I am but a humble writer now, Kakashi. I have to consider my brand."