POV Shisui Uchiha:
The Rolls-Royce purred down the street like it owned the city.
Shisui sat in the back seat, one arm draped over the leather, the other holding his phone. The screen still glowed with the last message:
Tsunade: Don't (or do) destroy my grandpa too much today ;) wouldn't wanna hear him curse your clan out again, though, you know it's always fun.
He smirked, thumbs tapping lazily.
Shisui: Only if he tells me I can't date you ;)
He stared at the blinking cursor for a moment longer. Then locked the screen and let the phone drop into his coat pocket.
Outside, Tokyo blurred by.
Billboards. Pedestrians. The illusion of peace.
If only she weren't a Senju.
He might've asked her out properly by now.
No secrets. No sneaking around.
No pretending their first time didn't happen inside his office cabinet after a blackjack scandal she started at the grand opening of his new hotel.
It was supposed to be a fling.
A hot, chaotic, no-strings kind of thing.
But now?
He wasn't sure anymore.
Maybe it was still casual for her.
But it wasn't for him.
The car slowed.
Bidding hall ahead.
He straightened, smoothed a wrinkle in his dark navy suit, and stepped out the moment the driver opened the door.
Today was no ordinary real estate grab.
It was Tokyo's newest redevelopment zone—an old residential block flattened, waiting to be reborn as someone's empire.
And he knew exactly what the Uchihas wanted there:
A hotel. High-end. Luxury. The kind that whispers wealth and drowns competition.
The Hyuga weren't coming.
He knew that already. Their supermarket sat just across the street—they wouldn't want another one.
The other bidders?
Not a threat.
They were just here for the show—tokens sent by names that already drank tea with Aunt Mikoto last week. She had a way with polite conversations that left men shaking and signing where she told them to.
Which left only one problem.
Tobirama Senju.
Shisui smirked faintly as he stepped into the hall.
How badly did the Senju want this land?
He was about to find out.
Shisui adjusted the cuff of his suit as murmurs stirred behind him.
The air shifted.
He turned—already knowing who it would be.
Tobirama Senju walked in like the walls parted for him.
Impeccably dressed in a dark suit, no tie, collar open just enough to suggest disdain for dress codes. A thin folder tucked under one arm. Not a wrinkle in sight.
He scanned the room once. Then locked eyes with Shisui.
And smiled.
But it wasn't a warm thing.
It was the smile of a man who already knew where the knives were hidden.
Shisui watched his approach with a calm smile, hands tucked in his coat pockets like this was just another gala.
Tobirama approached, eyes sharp beneath the veneer of civility.
"Shisui Uchiha," he said, voice clean. "The golden boy himself."
Shisui returned the smile—cool, unreadable.
"Senju-sama," he said. "You honor me. Most men send assistants to lose politely."
Tobirama glanced around the room, slow.
"Most men aren't curious," he said. "But I've heard things. That Madara's handed you the empire's front-facing deals. Twenty-one, isn't it?"
Shisui's gaze didn't move.
"Responsibility ages us," he said. "Quickly."
Tobirama smiled. Slight. Surgical.
"Your cousin hasn't aged a day," he said. "Eighteen and still skipping class. Impressive restraint from Madara."
Shisui chuckled once—low, sharp.
"She'll conquer a boardroom before she graduates," he said. "Some of us like a challenge."
Tobirama stepped closer.
"You're bidding to build a hotel," he said. "In a district with three schools, two clinics, and no emergency pharmacy."
Shisui didn't flinch.
He just adjusted the cuff of his sleeve and tilted his head slightly.
"Hotels don't profit from rooms alone," he said. "There'll be a gym. Conference halls. Restaurants. A casino."
He let the word hang for a second—just long enough.
"Besides," he added, tone lighter, sharper, "doctors have flings too. After long shifts. Stress relief and all that."
A pause.
Then—like it was an afterthought:
"I heard your granddaughter enjoys casinos."
Tobirama's eyes flicked. A muscle in his jaw shifted—barely.
But Shisui caught it.
And smiled.
Tobirama stepped away. Calm. Icy.
"Good luck in there, Uchiha-san," he said over his shoulder.
"I look forward to seeing you in business."
The room quieted.
A man in a grey suit stepped to the front of the stage, flipping through bid sheets like they didn't hold the weight of empires.
Shisui leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, expression unreadable. One hand rested on the polished armrest. The other tapped once, lightly, against his knee.
Tobirama sat across the hall. Still. Composed. His folder unopened. He hadn't looked at Shisui once since the banter.
The numbers rolled out.
First bid.
Second.
Tobirama raised the paddle. The number announced drew murmurs from the side rows. It was high—too high.
Shisui clicked his tongue quietly.
Not worth it.
He knew the math. With that price, and construction costs, it'd take five years just to break even. Not counting delays. Not counting politics.
He didn't raise the paddle again.
The bidding paused.
Then ended.
The host stepped back up. Smiled.
"Congratulations to the winning proposal—Uchiha Crest International."
The room stilled for a second too long.
Shisui's brow furrowed.
He hadn't outbid. He hadn't needed to.
He stood slowly, adjusting his lapel. Eyes flicked to Tobirama—who was also rising. Calm. Too calm.
This wasn't Aunt Mikoto.
If she'd arranged something, she would've told him. She liked to take credit for her plays.
Then who?
As he exited through the rear glass doors, the wind catching at his coat—Tobirama was already waiting.
He stood beside the entrance like he'd known exactly where Shisui would go.
The wind ruffled his collar slightly. His face, however, was stone.
Shisui stepped forward.
"Withdraw your bid?" he asked.
Tobirama didn't smile.
"No," he said. "Someone just made a choice."
A pause.
"Or a statement."
Shisui met his gaze—silent calculation.
Tobirama stepped closer. No heat. No raised voice. Just frost sharpened into syllables.
"Tell Madara…"
A beat.
"…the Senju accept the challenge."
He turned.
Took three steps.
Then looked back.
"Congratulations," he said.
Tone clipped. Almost polite.
"I look forward to watching you explain this."
And with that, he vanished into the waiting car.
Shisui stayed in place, wind biting colder than before.
Someone was moving pieces behind the board.
And it wasn't him.
—
POV Itachi Uchiha:
She was on time again.
The Akatsuki stared at her like she'd walked in with blood on her heels.
Sasori leaned back in his seat, already grinning.
"I won the last bet," he said calmly, flicking his pen like a knife. "Collecting from Kakuzu after class."
Kakuzu groaned under his breath.
"I overestimated the professor again."
That set them off.
Deidara wheezed, slapping Konan's arm like she'd somehow started it.
Izumi leaned over her desk, whispering, "What did he say after?"
Hidan mimed a dramatic swoon.
Konan just raised a single brow, quietly sipping her iced espresso.
Chaos. Always.
Itachi sat through it—perfect posture, legs crossed, fingers resting on the edge of her tablet.
But she didn't smile.
Didn't throw a jab. Didn't roll her eyes.
She exhaled—barely.
Then:
"This isn't a game anymore."
That shut them up.
Just for a second.
She kept her gaze forward, voice low, almost too calm.
"I actually liked the kiss."
A pause.
"And I don't feel victorious."
No one spoke.
Not yet.
"He kissed me like I was just another girl."
She blinked, slow.
"No declarations. Just… someone to forget."
Then she smiled.
Sharp. Cold. Beautiful.
"And he will pretend it didn't happen. Again."
Deidara nudged her knee under the desk.
"You want me to throw a paint bomb at his office window?" she whispered.
Itachi didn't answer.
Konan leaned forward, elbows on her desk, voice quieter.
Measured. Like always.
"Then maybe you should confront him," she said.
"You don't need to wait for declarations. You're not the type."
Kakuzu didn't look up from his tablet.
Still scrolling, still half-distracted.
"Or you could wait," he muttered.
"See what he does. If he runs again, then burn him."
Hidan cackled.
"Love is war, babe."
Itachi turned slightly.
Looked at each of them—this ridiculous, chaotic, strangely loyal circle.
"None of you are helpful," she said flatly.
"We're trying," Konan said, smiling just barely.
And then—the door opened.
Kakashi walked in. Neutral. Calm. Gray suit.
The room shifted.
Not visibly.
But Itachi felt it.
She didn't look up.
Just folded her hands neatly on the desk.
And said nothing.
Kakashi was mid-lecture. Something about statistical variance. The equation sprawled across the board like a threat.
He spoke with ease, sleeves rolled, voice smooth and sure.
She wasn't listening.
Her gaze was fixed on the window.
Beyond the glass, the campus curved into sunlight. Somewhere down there, Kisame would be arriving soon.
He'd said Haku was coming with him today—curious to see the koi pond in the university garden. Itachi had told her it was real. And peaceful.
The thought of Haku smiling made her smile too. Just faintly.
She didn't hear the silence until it was too loud.
"Miss Uchiha," Kakashi's voice cut through the room, sharp but calm.
"Please stand."
She blinked once.
Then rose.
"I assume," he continued, walking toward the board, not looking at her,
"that you know how to finish this equation—since you clearly have time to admire the trees outside."
There was a beat.
Then—
Her phone rang.
Shrill. Brief. She glanced down.
Kisame.
She silenced it. Fast.
But the damage was done.
Kakashi turned. Slow. Controlled.
"Put your phone on my desk," he said.
"You'll receive it back after lecture."
Her lips parted slightly. She stared at him—longer than she should have.
Then she unlocked her phone. Saw the message:
Shark guy: We'll be there in 16.
She typed fast: Will be there.
Then looked up.
He was watching her now. Eyes narrowed. That unreadable expression he wore when he was either judging or unraveling.
She smiled. Slight. Sharp.
She walked down the aisle like it was a runway.
And placed the phone on his desk—delicately, like a gift.
Turned. Returned to her seat.
The Akatsuki burst into muffled laughter.
Deidara grinned. "Slayed."
Konan smirked. "Executed."
Hidan wheezed. "She flirt-punished herself."
Itachi just sat back down. Unbothered. Regal.
But her heart beat once—louder than she expected.
She glanced at the clock.
15 minutes.
Her gaze flicked back to the window.
And there they were.
Kisame. Haku.
Kisame leaned against his bike, a paper bag in one hand, the other ruffling Haku's hair as they walked past the koi garden. The girl was pointing at something—laughing.
Itachi felt her lips twitch. Just slightly.
She raised her hand.
"Hatake-sensei."
Kakashi turned from the board, marker still in hand.
"Yes, Miss Uchiha?"
Her tone was smooth. Calm.
"May I be excused?"
He blinked once. Just once.
Set the marker down with practiced ease.
Then:
"Class ends in twenty minutes," he said, voice mild but clipped.
"You're an adult. I'm sure you can wait—just like I'm waiting for you to start asking questions about actual study materials."
The Akatsuki collectively held their breath.
Deidara elbowed her.
Konan didn't even blink.
Itachi tilted her head slightly.
She didn't argue. Didn't smile.
But her voice came cool and poised:
"Understood, sensei."
She leaned back in her chair, fingers interlacing over her knee.
But her eyes were already back on the window.
She stared at the clock like it owed her money.
Five minutes left.
Outside, Kisame and Haku had disappeared into the courtyard stalls. The shadows on the koi pond had shifted. The sun was stretching long. Her patience, short.
And then—
His voice again.
"Alright," Kakashi said, capping his marker with a sharp click. "We've covered a critical formula today."
He turned, sweeping his gaze across the room like a lazy blade.
"Who'd like to volunteer and rewrite it on the board?"
Silence.
Not even Hidan dared to move.
He paused.
And then—of course—
His eyes landed on her.
"Miss Uchiha."
Her lashes didn't even flicker.
"If you can rewrite the full formula," he said evenly, "I'll let you leave five minutes early."
She stared at him. Just long enough to let it sting.
Then:
"Guess I'll wait, sensei."
Her tone was sweet. Sharp enough to cut glass.
Deidara wheezed.
Konan smirked without lifting her head.
Kakuzu muttered, "Brutal."
Kakashi nodded once. As if satisfied.
And turned back to the board.
The final chime rang—clean, sharp, freeing.
Chairs scraped. Tablets clicked shut. Conversations restarted like unpaused soundtracks.
Itachi stood with practiced grace.
Didn't rush. Didn't speak.
She walked up to the desk at the front, heels quiet against tile, movements fluid.
Kakashi didn't say a word.
She reached for her phone.
Took it. No glance. No nod. No thank you.
Just turned.
Her coat swept behind her like a whisper, and the Akatsuki followed without needing to be called.
Deidara tossed her a grin.
Konan was already checking her lipstick.
Hidan offered a loud, "Ten out of ten silent exit. Very mafia."
Itachi didn't answer.
But her fingers curled briefly around her phone.
And behind her—she didn't have to look to know—
Kakashi was still watching.
She stepped out into the courtyard, sun brushing the tops of her heels, phone tucked neatly into her blazer pocket.
Ahead—through the tiled archway and past the koi garden's edge—stood Kisame, all towering calm in a black button-down, sleeves rolled, posture loose like always. The other rested casually on Haku's shoulder.
Haku beamed the moment she saw them—eyes wide, hands clutched to her schoolbag like she was stepping into a palace instead of a university food court.
"You came!" she said, running forward. Her voice always soft, but joyful.
The Akatsuki moved like shadows falling into place.
Deidara gave Kisame a two-finger salute. "Shark-boy survived another week. Amazing."
Konan smiled faintly. "Haku, your hair's grown longer."
Sasori offered a brief nod. "You're taller."
Hidan dropped to a bench and said, "I hate mornings."
Itachi let them greet, watching the effortless way Haku slid into their world.
Kisame caught her eye—just for a moment.
That quiet, unreadable look of his.
She walked toward him, deliberate as ever.
He smirked.
"You're late,"
She raised a brow, unbothered.
"I have a strict professor."
Deidara made a gagging sound.
"You mean Hatake?"
"Strictly repressed."
Konan swatted her arm.
Haku was already leaning over the vending machine like it was the Louvre.
"They have cinnamon buns in glass domes," she said breathlessly.
Itachi followed her gaze. Paused. Then stepped toward the machine and tapped her card against the sensor.
The bun rolled out with mechanical grace.
She handed it to Haku.
"Fuel for exploration," she said simply.
Haku's eyes widened.
"Thank you, Itachi-nee."
Kisame chuckled under his breath.
Itachi turned to him, sliding her hands into her blazer pockets.
"Any plans tonight?" she asked, voice casual.
"I could use ramen."
He held her gaze. Steady. Honest.
"I have my evening booked with a friend."
No apology. No explanation.
Just the truth.
Itachi didn't falter.
She nodded once.
"Understood."
Her eyes flicked to her phone screen.
Then, to the group:
"I have to go."
A pause.
"Seminar prep."
She turned on her heel, coat swaying like command, and walked away.
—-
POV Kakashi Hatake:
Kakashi sat in his office, slumped back in the chair like the air had betrayed him.
He'd done everything right today.
Kept his tone even.
Confiscated her phone per protocol.
Called her out for distracting during class.
Professional.
Responsible.
Utterly.
Defeated.
He had kissed her. Again.
And now he was pretending—again—that it didn't happen.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands steepled against his mouth.
She's your student.
She's eighteen. You're not.
You're a professor. You know better.
And yet… she tasted like defiance. Like danger. Like something that could ruin him if he asked for more.
His gaze shifted to her thesis draft on the desk.
He had barely touched it today.
And then—
A knock.
Soft.
Measured.
He didn't have to ask.
He already knew.
Her.
She took her seat with that same elegance, legs crossed, expression cool.
"Have you chosen your key points for the presentation?" he asked.
His tone was even. Measured. Paper-thin control.
She opened her tablet, tapped through her notes.
"Three angles," she said. "First: how shadow economies stabilize black market employment. Second: the legal blind spots in financial audits on legacy industries. Third: the ethics of public silence around illicit capital."
He didn't respond right away.
Then he leaned back, fingers steepled under his chin.
"You're romanticizing criminal infrastructure," he said.
"If you present that to an audience of government investors, they'll rip your logic apart before your first slide."
Itachi didn't blink.
"Then they should be prepared to rip apart their own quarterly reports."
He tilted his head, sharp.
"Is that your strategy? Offend your audience into silence?"
Her smile was faint. Controlled.
"No. Just mirror their hypocrisy."
His jaw tightened. He looked at the paper on his desk, not her.
"Cut the second point," he said.
"Expand the third. And be ready to defend the first like your reputation depends on it."
Across the desk, Itachi didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Just tilted her head slightly.
"The legal blind spots in audits," she repeated. "You think it's too dangerous?"
Kakashi's gaze flicked to her.
"I think it sounds like a threat in a silk wrapper."
She paused, as if weighing how honest to be.
Then—deliberately—she spoke:
"That's the point, Hatake-sensei."
A beat.
Then, softer:
"But if you're worried it's too sharp, I'll blunt the edge."
She tapped her tablet once, flipping to a new screen.
"I'll pivot the second angle. Instead of focusing on audits, I'll analyze how legacy industries often outpace regulation—how they evolve faster than legal language can define them."
She looked up, eyes cool, lips faintly curved.
"It says the same thing. Just sounds less like an indictment."
Kakashi stared at her for a long, quiet moment.
She was… terrifying.
In the most brilliant, infuriating way.
He exhaled.
"That works."
She leaned back, satisfied.
"I thought so."
His gaze lingered longer than it should have.
Her lips were rose-colored today.
Soft. Composed. Untouched.
Her mind, on the other hand—
Sharp as rose needles.
Every word deliberate. Every silence a test.
And suddenly—
He wanted to kiss her again.
Worse—he wanted her to let him.
He swallowed that instinct like a blade.
You're her professor.
You are not seventeen.
He straightened in his chair, picked up his pen.
"Alright," he said, voice clipped. Controlled.
"Prepare the full presentation. You'll rehearse it in front of me tomorrow."
She rose, silent.
Tucked the tablet under her arm.
And just before the door—she turned.
Half her face lit by the late sun through the blinds.
Eyes unreadable.
"If you're going to kiss me like that," she said softly,
"and then grade me like nothing happened…"
A pause.
"…at least pretend better."
He didn't breathe for a second.
Then, slowly—he stood.
Walked around the desk. Not fast. Not rushed.
Just enough to close the space between them, without touching.
"I'm not pretending," he said, voice low.
Measured. Barely above a whisper.
"I like you."
A beat.
"I didn't plan to. I didn't want to. But I do."
He held her gaze now.
No mask. No detour.
"And I hate how much I can't stop thinking about you."
His jaw tightened.
"If you asked me to stop, I would. But I'd lie if I said I'd forget."
Silence.
It filled the room like storm tension.
Then—
She spoke.
"You're not allowed to kiss me again, Hatake-sensei."
Another pause.
"Unless you ask properly next time."
Something flickered in his eyes.
A breath—unsteady.
Then:
"Would you meet me tonight?"
A beat.
"Not a date. Just… a walk."
"No rules. No expectations."
She held his gaze for a breath longer than necessary.
Unreadable. Still. Beautiful in that way only restraint could be.
Then—softly, but sharp as ever:
"Text me coordinates."
And with that, she turned.
Heels silent over the floor.
She left the room without another word.
And this time, he let her go.
But his hand was already reaching for his phone.
—-
POV Itachi Uchiha:
The Rolls-Royce slid through the Tokyo streets like a ghost with tinted windows.
Evening light spilled gold over the skyline. Her fingers moved fast, silent taps against the screen glowing on her lap.
The Akatsuki group chat lit up instantly.
"Itachi: Sensei invited me to a non-date tonight. Said just a walk."
"Konan: Did he confess or you confronted him?"
"Hidan: Bet you threatened him to death."
"Itachi: He acted like nothing happened so I reminded him."
"Izumi: Smart. He can't deny it forever."
"Deidara: What did he say?"
"Itachi: 'I like you. Didn't want to. But I do.'"
"Nagato: I like the honesty."
"Sasori: He should've said it without the reminder… still… I give him a 6 out of 10."
"Kakuzu: I learned to not overestimate him after losing two bets."
"Hidan: Where did he invite you to?"
"Itachi: Bellevue Mall, east entrance."
"Deidara: Does he plan to buy you clothes? Accessories?"
"Konan: The shops will be closed at night."
"Itachi: I think it's gonna be just a walk. The mall has a nice garden."
She stared out the window for a moment.
Her phone vibrated again.
"Deidara: Alright, so next question—when's the next kiss?"
"Izumi: Do we bet again?"
"Sasori: Obviously. That's our real extracurricular."
"Konan: We're monsters."
"Hidan: And yet you'll bet."
"Nagato: I'm in this time."
Itachi blinked.
Typed slowly.
"Itachi: Even you, Nagato?"
"Nagato: I believe in high-risk, slow-burn chaos. And this is textbook."
"Kakuzu: I'm not losing again. Midnight kiss. Rooftop. Classic professor breakdown."
"Sasori: I say he holds out until the walk ends. Lets her leave. Then loses it."
"Deidara: No way. He'll kiss her halfway in. Can't help himself."
"Konan: I say she kisses him. He'll combust before moving first."
"Hidan: I'm betting it happens before 10pm. That's my cap."
"Itachi: You're all insane."
"Deidara: So…?"
"Itachi: I'm not telling you what happens."
"Hidan: That means it's happening."
"Sasori: Godspeed, Miss Uchiha. Represent us well."
Steam curled through the dressing suite as she stepped out of the shower, skin flushed, towel wrapped tight around her hair.
For the first time in her life—
She didn't know what to wear.
She had attended mafia fundraisers, diplomatic dinners, casino inaugurations, international court hearings.
But never this.
Never a walk to meet a man who wasn't trying to close a deal.
Who wasn't connected to the empire by blood or business.
She sat in front of the mirror in her underwear, elbows on the vanity, staring at her own reflection like it owed her answers.
Po leapt up beside her.
Tail high. Head tilted slightly, as if judging her indecision.
"Well," she murmured, folding her arms.
"You help me. Pick something that says I'm available, but it's not going to be easy to impress me."
Po blinked once. Licked his paw.
Then jumped down.
Padded across the changing room with purposeful steps.
One circle. Two.
Then his tail flicked.
He lifted a paw and tapped the edge of a hanger—soft pink silk slipping over its shape.
A Prada mini dress.
The bra shaped like a bow.
The back tied in one elegant knot.
Untie it, and the back opened like a gift. Daring. Delicate. Devastating.
Itachi smiled.
"Smart, Po."
She slipped it on.
Then reached for her black Jimmy Choo sandal heels, adorned with rose petal ornaments.
Balance the sweetness with a little danger.
Cartier accessories—thin, glinting, lethal if needed.
Just like her.
A final mist of Gucci Flora—not for him.
For her.
And she was set.
She stepped out of her room slowly, heels clicking softly over the marble.
She tried to quiet them—pointless. Uchiha mansions had a way of amplifying footsteps like secrets.
By now, everyone should've been in their rooms. Lights dimmed. Staff retired. Her timing was precise.
Almost.
She reached the foyer—and froze.
Mikoto.
Her mother stood by the entrance, slipping off her gloves with quiet grace. Likely just returned from one of her friend's salons—the kind that served jasmine tea and traded government gossip like pearls.
Itachi bowed smoothly.
"Mother."
Mikoto's eyes swept over her.
The dress.
Soft pink silk.
The bow at her back.
The black Hermès bag that countered it like a blade in velvet.
She smiled.
"You look like you're about to challenge a man to unwrap your mystery."
Itachi didn't blink.
"I'm just heading to Konan's," she said calmly.
"The girls are organizing a tea party tonight."
Mikoto didn't call her bluff.
She didn't need to.
She stepped past, brushing a curl behind her ear with elegance forged in steel.
"Very well."
A pause.
Then over her shoulder—
"I assume the tea is floral. Based on your perfume."
Itachi said nothing.
Just walked out, calm as ever, and slipped into the waiting Rolls-Royce.
Genma was already behind the wheel.
He didn't ask.
Didn't glance back.
The engine purred to life.
And without a word—he drove.
The Rolls-Royce slowed at the east entrance of Bellevue Mall, its headlights briefly sweeping across closed storefronts and polished glass.
The building loomed in silence.
No foot traffic. No shoppers.
Just emptiness dressed in elegance.
She stepped out, heels echoing softly against stone.
Her dress shifted with the breeze—light pink silk against shadowed marble.
Under the grand arch of the entrance, beside the garden's wrought iron gate, stood Kakashi Hatake.
Dark button-up. Hands in his coat pockets.
Beside him—small, alert, and absolutely unimpressed—stood a dog. Tiny paws planted. Ears perked. Tail flicking with judgment.
Itachi raised a perfectly sculpted brow.
"You brought a dog."
She paused, gaze flicking between them.
"To judge your choice—or is he here as a weapon?"
Kakashi's mouth tugged into a half-smile.
"He's here to bite me if I misbehave."
Pakkun snorted.
Itachi stepped forward—measured and quiet, like approaching a duel.
"Smart dog."
And the mall doors closed behind her with a hush.
She stepped closer.
The breeze caught her perfume—floral, soft, and fleeting.
Pakkun's nose twitched.
"What's his name?" she asked, eyeing the tiny creature inspecting her heels like a fashion critic.
"Pakkun," Kakashi replied.
As if on cue, Pakkun padded over, sniffing the air near her ankle.
One slow circle. Then he sat back and blinked at her, unimpressed but accepting.
Itachi tilted her head.
"If I knew there'd be pets, I would've brought my cat."
Kakashi's brow lifted, amused.
"And let him loose in the trees?"
Her eyes narrowed—just faintly.
"My cat doesn't need a leash to walk beside me."
Kakashi exhaled through a soft laugh.
"Of course not."
A beat.
"Should've known there's nothing ordinary about Uchiha cats."
She smirked.
Slow. Precise. Dangerous.
"He chose my outfit tonight."
Kakashi's smile faltered—just slightly—as his eyes flicked over the curve of the bow-shaped dress, the soft silk draping her skin like temptation wrapped in confidence.
Pakkun looked between them, then yawned. Loudly.
Their steps echoed softly on the tiled path, the sounds fading into the stillness of the night.
The mall garden stretched ahead—wide stone walkways, flower beds asleep under moonlight, and trees lit from beneath by soft golden lights. Wind shifted gently through sculpted leaves. The world felt paused.
Pakkun trotted ahead, leash slack, ears flicking with interest.
Kakashi walked beside her, hands tucked in his coat pockets.
"I like this place," he said, voice low. "I walk here sometimes. With him. It's quiet. Clean. Easy to think."
She glanced at him, not stopping.
"Why this garden?"
He looked ahead, eyes skimming over the neatly arranged paths, the curved stone benches, the symmetry hidden in wild design.
"It's balanced," he said. "Wild and structured at the same time. Like someone tried to make chaos look deliberate."
A pause.
"It works."
Itachi smirked.
"Good."
She turned her head, eyes glinting.
"I'll pass that to my cousin. He'll be thrilled to hear your review."
Kakashi huffed a short laugh.
"Of course," he said.
"Should've known the garden was Uchiha."
She stopped for half a beat. Let the silence sit.
Then:
"It was Shisui's first mall project," she said, voice calm.
"He spent more time on this garden than on the main retail layout."
She didn't say it for credit.
She said it like legacy.
Kakashi's gaze moved with quiet appreciation.
"I also like the food court's location," he said, eyes tracking a line of closed café windows at the edge of the garden.
"Easy access to coffee—either before or after the walk."
Itachi gave him a sideways glance.
"So you walk here in the daytime too."
He nodded.
"I do."
A pause.
Then—quietly:
"I like observing people."
She didn't respond, not yet.
He kept going.
"Watching lives happen. People's movements. The way they order coffee. How they wait in lines. How they fake calls to avoid awkward conversations."
A small breath.
"You can learn a lot about someone in five minutes if you really pay attention."
She tilted her head.
"And what have you observed about me, Sensei?"
That came smoother than silk, with just the barest smile teasing her mouth.
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked forward—eyes unreadable, the corners of his mouth barely lifted.
Kakashi glanced at her—not a full turn, just enough for his eyes to catch hers in the dark.
"At first?" he said, voice low.
"You looked like every other rich kid who thinks the world was made to orbit them."
A pause.
"Just with better sarcasm."
Itachi didn't interrupt. Didn't smile.
He went on.
"After five hours, I understood why you get away with everything."
"Because you know how to move. How to talk. How to cut people without raising your voice."
His tone sharpened slightly—like admiration hidden behind analysis.
"You don't need to win arguments. You let people lose them."
Another breath.
Then:
"After five days…"
He hesitated.
"I realized you're nothing like I thought."
A pause—this one heavier.
"You don't just carry power. You hate how much it's shaped you."
"You walk like your silence is armor. Like you're waiting to be disappointed before you ever hope for anything."
The words hung in the air between them. Soft. Sincere.
Then—gently:
"And I haven't stopped observing since."
She didn't stop walking.
Didn't thank him.
Didn't compliment his analysis.
Just let the words linger like perfume in the evening air.
Then—
"So you observe people?"
She turned her head, lashes lowered slightly.
"What do you think I've observed about you?"
Kakashi smiled—slow and quiet.
Not cocky. Not soft.
Just certain.
"That I'm disciplined," he said, voice calm.
"Dangerous, but restrained. Charismatic enough to be inconvenient."
A beat.
"And that you've kissed me back. Twice."
She didn't flinch.
Didn't stop.
But her silence said more than most people's confessions.
Kakashi let it hang there.
"Which means," he added smoothly,
"you don't feel nothing."
He said it like it cost him nothing.
She didn't stop walking.
But something in her chest did.
He wasn't smug. Wasn't playing.
He just knew.
And worse—he was right.
She let the silence stretch, heels tapping against stone, her gaze flicking toward him.
Silver hair, barely tousled by the wind.
He looked like someone pulled from a noir film—except real, and standing beside her like a sin she hadn't decided to commit yet.
He didn't falter when he spoke.
Didn't glance away.
Even now, he carried that same quiet confidence he wore in class.
Before, she thought he was avoiding her because he was afraid.
Now she realized—he wasn't afraid. He was just waiting.
And that made him dangerous in a way she hadn't prepared for.
She tilted her head slightly, just enough to glance up at him.
"Do you always keep score?" she asked, voice light, silk with a thread of steel.
"Or is it just with me?"
Kakashi looked at her—slow, measured.
Then smirked.
Just slightly.
Like he knew exactly how much to give her.
And no more.
"Maybe I am keeping score."
Then—softer, like something secret:
"But I haven't decided what winning looks like yet."
She felt her breath catch—not visibly. Not enough to give him the satisfaction.
But the rhythm of her heartbeat shifted.
Just slightly.
He wasn't chasing her.
He was circling. Calm. Patient. Knowing exactly how close to stand without touching.
And that made her infinitely more intrigued.
They turned the corner of the garden path.
The stone opened into a moonlit courtyard, quiet and perfect.
And there—at the center—
A piano.
Grand. Black. Waiting.
Her steps slowed.
Her eyes flicked to him. He didn't look surprised.
Of course he didn't.
He walked toward it.
And sat down.
She remained where she stood—heels clicking to a stop on the moonlit stones, lips parted slightly in thought.
Not surprised he could play.
Of course Kakashi Hatake could play piano.
Brooding types always did.
Smart. Studied. Reserved. The kind of man who recited economic theory like scripture and wore suits like they came with armor.
No.
It wasn't the piano that stunned her.
It was the melody.
Soft.
Melancholy.
Romantic.
Her breath caught as the notes unfolded into a song she knew—deeply knew.
"Million Alykh Ros."
A Russian song.
A story of a poor artist who sells everything—his home, his paintings, even his future—just to plant a field of a million red roses outside the window of the woman he loves.
A love that is never returned.
The melody wasn't loud.
Didn't demand attention.
It simply…bloomed.
Note by note, beneath the stars.
And Kakashi—sitting there, under the silver moonlight—looked nothing like the cold professor who handed out failing grades and confiscated phones.
He looked—
Devastating.
Sleeves rolled. Collar open. Fingers gliding across ivory like he wasn't just playing music—he was saying something.
Her gaze lingered on the line of his jaw.
The faint crease between his brows.
The way he never once looked up.
He didn't need to.
The song said it all.
She didn't even realize she was moving.
Not at first.
The music wrapped around her like silk drawn through candlelight—soft, slow, impossible to resist. Her heels clicked once, then stopped as her legs carried her forward.
By the time the second verse began, she was already there.
Sitting atop the piano.
One leg crossed over the other, posture elegant—but her eyes weren't on him.
They were on the sky.
On the way the moonlight brushed the tops of the trees.
On the way the night stayed quiet, as if it, too, was listening.
And then—
She began to sing.
Soft.
Clear.
In perfect Russian.
She didn't look at him. Didn't need to.
The words came like breath, like silk unraveling:
"A million of scarlet roses—
From the window you can see
The one, who is seriously in love,
transforms his life into flowers for you"
Kakashi didn't falter.
Didn't look up.
Just kept playing—hands moving fluidly, as if the keys already knew what her voice would say next.
And in that moment—
She wasn't Uchiha.
He wasn't Hatake.
There was no professor. No mafia empire. No Akatsuki, no bets, no chaos.
Just the music.
And the way it made her feel.
Like floating.
Like being seen.
Like wanting more.
Her voice carried through the garden—
Delicate, slow, unfaltering.
And then, somewhere in the second verse, her gaze dropped.
She looked down.
And he was already looking at her.
Their eyes locked—his hands still moving effortlessly across the keys, her voice still threading through the melody.
Neither of them broke the moment.
Neither of them looked away.
It was like watching two magnets pulled together in absolute silence.
Like some unspoken part of the universe had already decided.
The final chord lingered.
Hung in the air like breath caught in the chest.
Then faded.
She exhaled.
He rested his hands on the keys—gentle, still.
"Your Russian is perfect," Kakashi said quietly, voice lower now.
She looked at him, eyes unreadable but soft.
"Спасибо, мне нравится твой выбор песни."
(Thank you. I like your song choice.)
The words curled in the air between them.
Simple.
Sincere.
And just like the song—it meant so much more than what was said.