The Hokage sat at the mission assignment desk, puffing his pipe and studying task scrolls. Danzou stood behind him. Did Shisui imagine secret satisfaction cracking the Root leader's impassive face?
*Wonder what that sly old rat's plotting this time?* Shisui thought anxiously.
He bowed to the Hokage.
"Hello, Shisui."
Hiruzen spread the unrolled scrolls on the table.
"You have a mission for me, Hokage-sama?"
"Yes. You did excellent work..." He faltered.
The Hokage avoided mentioning Shisui's secret Hokage Anbu stint publicly, but the clipped phrase implied special authority lifted; back to regular duties.
"Trouble at the Mist border again," Danzou spoke up. "Your team handled last time superbly."
And Shisui got it.
Damn schemer. I cramp your style, so you're shipping me off? Shit... Worst timing.
"Shisui, gather the same chunin and jonin. They're in other teams now, but a few days to reassemble and head to the border."
"Yes, sir."
"You know what to do."
The old Hokage rolled one scroll and handed it to Shisui.
"More details here. Review at leisure."
"Hai."
Sarada felt lonely and spent more time with Naruto. As strange as it sounded, little future-Nanadaime Hokage was the only one she could talk to heart-to-heart. Sasuke treated her with mild contempt; Grandma and Grandpa... weren't the ones she wanted to confide in. She'd made up with Izumi, but no desire to open up to her ex-friend now. Uncle was always gone; Shisui, for all their rapport, wasn't a "girlfriend" to burden with nonsense.
Usually, she arranged meets with Naruto in the village ahead. But Sarada had a free morning and didn't want to wait half a day, so she headed to future-Nanadaime's home. She knew where he lived but had never been inside.
She knocked on the door with the Uzumaki Clan plaque. Footsteps echoed in the corridor, the door cracked open, and Nanadaime Hokage's face appeared in the gap. At the sight of Sarada, primal terror awakened in his blue eyes; he instantly slammed the door shut and locked it from the inside.
"So what the hell is this?" Sarada blurted out in bewilderment.
"No entry here, dattebayo!" came a muffled, defiant voice.
"Naruto! Open up, shannaro! Or I'll kick this damn door down!"
Rustling sounds came from behind the door. Naruto was clearly hesitating: better to unlock it and let her in, or barricade it properly? Finally, he made up his mind, and the door cracked open again.
"What's with you, Nanadaime Hokage?"
"Uh, just don't get mad, okay?"
"Yeah, yeah."
He backed into the corridor, and Sarada entered his apartment warily. Naruto retreated along the wall toward the door of the right room and vanished while she was taking off her shoes at the threshold. Sarada padded barefoot across the wooden floor and peeked through the left door.
Kitchen.
"Gods..." flashed through her mind. Sarada opened her mouth to yell again but remembered her promise not to swear and bit her tongue.
The walls of the small kitchen were paneled with wood up to about a meter off the floor, above that plastered—but apparently a very long time ago: grease and soot stains were visible near the stove, and along the top of the wall by the window, it had dampened and grown black mold. Above the stove hung a stuck-on scrap of paper reading: "fire...", but the end wasn't visible—the bottom edge had curled up, hiding the remaining kanji. Under the single hanging cabinet, dirty dishes festered in the sink. They hadn't been washed in weeks, judging by the look. From the half-open drawer under the sink peeked colorful packets of instant ramen.
The dirty refrigerator on the left was also plastered with notes, and on the freezer grinned a big yellow smiley face. The table in the center was buried under empty ramen containers, chopsticks, and other trash. Some of the trash had overflowed from the table and littered the floor.
Sarada just sighed.
What did you expect from a boy growing up without parents?
In the Fugaku family, discipline was strictly observed by everyone, even little Sasuke. It seemed like Uchihas were born that way—or maybe it wasn't just seeming, since Sarada had inherited her damn horned correctness not from her mother's upbringing. Mom sometimes liked to slack off, lounge around, leave dishes for tomorrow, or toss her sweater on the sofa instead of hanging it in the closet. Sarada would grumble, pick up Mom's clothes, finish the dishes... Just because her pedantry wouldn't let her sit still if everything in the house wasn't in its place.
In the home of the future Nanadaime Hokage, a personal hell awaited Sarada. She rubbed her twitching eyelid to calm the nervous tic and headed to the opposite room, dreading in advance what awaited her in Naruto's bedroom.
The bedroom was in no better shape. Apparently, after trashing the kitchen to the extreme, Naruto had switched to the bedroom: ramen packets littered the floor here too, along with dried-up strands of noodles stuck to it, dirty clothes...
Nanadaime Hokage was hiding in the gap between the window and the bed. Sensing his presence was easy: he had no skill at concealing his chakra.
Sarada sighed again, venting her pent-up indignation.
"Naruto, come out. I know where you are."
Naruto kept lying in the gap. Sarada, stepping fastidiously over the seemingly clean patches of floor, made her way to the window and loomed over him, hands on hips.
"I can see you."
Hearing the voice behind him, Naruto—curled up in a ball—stirred and turned.
"You've already guessed what your plans are for today, right?"
Naruto uncurled and sat on his butt, facing her.
"Ichiraku Ramen?"
"Yeah. After you clean the whole apartment. I never thought the future Nanadaime Hokage lived in a pigsty."
Directing the cleanup in the Seventh's house, Sarada felt satisfaction. With every thrown-out ramen packet, she grew kinder and kinder. Naruto got into it too. Standing on a stool, he washed dishes and pestered Sarada about how the academy exam went. Of course, he was curious—in five years or so, he'd be taking his finals too.
"Michi, dattebayo? That idiot who sat at our table in Shinko-nee-chan's teahouse?"
"Yeah," Sarada muttered glumly, dropping her head onto her hands on the table atop the clean tablecloth. "I think he hates me now."
Nanadaime Hokage scratched the back of his head. Foam dripped from his wet hand onto the clean floor.
"I thought he liked you," Naruto said suddenly.
Stretching on tiptoes, he placed a clean plate on the drying rack in the hanging cabinet.
"Huh?" Sarada drawled.
Naruto turned, batting his eyelashes.
"What?"
"Uh... What do you mean 'liked'?" Sarada stammered.
"He said so himself," Naruto noted reasonably and scrubbed another plate.
Sarada hadn't approached the question from that angle yet.
"No way, the way he looked at me after sparring... With hatred."
"You beat him. And he's a guy—it's embarrassing."
Sarada looked at him in surprise. The clueless, noisy kid turned out perceptive and unexpectedly attuned to others' details and feelings up close. Naruto rinsed and set another plate to dry.
"No, still. It's weird," Sarada objected. "I can believe he hates me. But not that he likes me. He said it just like that, out of habit. There's nothing special about me. All he wanted was to mock and humiliate me. When it didn't work—he hated me."
Nanadaime Hokage drained the dirty water in the sink, washed his hands, and hopped off the stool.
"Nee-chan, you're wrong. You're a very pretty girl, dattebayo."
"W-what..."
Sarada pressed cool, damp palms to her burning cheeks.
The boy with the dandelion fluff hairdo looked at her seriously. Sarada had grown used to seeing Naruto as a kid and lately hardly drew parallels to the man from the future he'd become, but now she did so unconsciously again.
He called me pretty? Boruto's dad?
"If I were him, I'd be mad too," Naruto smacked his fist into his palm and went on enthusiastically. "But not at you, nee-chan—at myself. If a girl can beat me, then in a tough moment, when she's in trouble facing a strong enemy, I won't be able to protect her. What kind of man am I then, dattebayo?"
Hearing such talk from a six-year-old was amusing, but... Sarada looked into his eyes and saw not a first-grader, but the future Hokage. He'd changed over the last year—firmness had entered his character.
"Naruto..." Sarada murmured in astonishment.
"How long will you be gone?" Kirei asked anxiously.
Shisui sat on the windowsill with his back to her, legs dangling outside. A warm spring breeze burst through the open window into the room, carrying the faint scent of blooming sakura.
"Minimum a few months, best case. In reality, who knows—maybe half a year."
Kirei didn't reply from behind. Today she wasn't scolding him for barging into her room unannounced. Shisui always did that, and Kirei always protested, though her eyes showed she was glad to see him.
Kirei hated when he left on long missions. She never said it outright, and he owed her nothing. Probably... Though if so, why had he come now to say he was leaving? Because he knew: even though they'd never agreed on anything and he'd never promised her anything, Kirei would wait every evening for him to slip quietly through her window and catch her off-guard again in her stretched-out home t-shirt.
"Alright. I still need to stop by Itachi's. I'm off."
"Wait."
Shisui was about to hop down from the window but stopped. Soft footsteps sounded behind him, and in the next instant, Kirei's arms wrapped around his torso.
She never allowed herself such things, and Shisui frankly doubted if the wall between them would ever vanish. But right now, there was no wall. Kirei had demolished it to the foundation with one bold touch.
Kirei was so close, right there, breathing warmth on his nape and silent. Shisui felt her heart pounding fast against his back. Stubborn, proud Kirei. If she'd dared such a step—betraying her feelings head-on—she must seriously think this meeting could be their last. And truthfully, better to step over yourself and confess while you can than spend life tormenting your soul over what you didn't do. Her grip on his stomach gradually loosened; Kirei's hands released him. The sensation of another heartbeat and warming back-heat vanished.
She said nothing. Shisui turned to etch her beautiful face into memory, dimly lit by the diffused yellow glow of streetlamps: the sharp clan marks on her cheeks, her lush wavy hair... And silently slipped from the windowsill downward.
"I want to speak," Yashiro announced.
Fugaku nodded. His subordinate stood and faced the assembly.
"It's not pleasant for me to say this, but after consulting, we've concluded that," he turned to Grandfather, "we need a new leader."
Silence hung in the temple. Yashiro paused and continued.
"I'm not satisfied with your policies, taichō. And not just me. So I'd like to put the question of your resignation to a vote."
Cold gripped his chest.
They want to oust Grandfather?
One single thought unleashed a cascade of others.
Grandfather stopped a coup. If he's removed—everything starts over. No... no... No!
Sarada looked worriedly at her uncle. Itachi, as always, sat with his head bowed, face hidden by strands of hair slipped from under his forehead protector. Was he prepared for this?
"I can't forbid you," Grandfather replied coldly. "If the Uchiha find me unworthy of leadership, so be it."
He's giving up? But damn it, what can he do if the clan itself doesn't want him as head?..
"Then I put it to a vote," said Yashiro. "Who votes to keep Fugaku-taichō as clan head?"
Hands shot up instantly in the front row—Inabi and Tekka, Yashiro's comrades. Sarada watched with bated breath as hands rose hesitantly here and there in the hall. At first there were few, and hope that Yashiro would lose didn't leave her. But Yashiro evidently knew what he was doing. More and more hands. Too many... No need to count; it was clear—Yashiro had won. The clan votes for Fugaku's resignation.
"Who's against?"
A few hands rose. Sarada remembered Shisui forbidding her to vote last time, but he wasn't here now. He'd vanished somewhere; she hadn't even seen him in the district. Sarada glanced at Itachi—he didn't vote. She didn't raise her hand either. Pointless. It was clear.
"Who abstains?"
Another dozen hands flew up. Uncle stayed still. Sarada too.
"So. By majority vote... Fugaku-taichō, I'm sorry. But you're removed from your post."
Grandfather silently rose from his seat and moved to the front row.
"Now we need to choose a new leader," Yashiro announced.
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: Granulan