Naruto arrived fifteen minutes early at Uchiha Corp HQ, a sheer-glass monolith of angles sharp enough to cut. The lobby felt like an upscale mausoleum—black marble columns, floors polished to a cold mirror, and a receptionist whose expression warned she'd shredded better men by nine a.m.
A guard gave him a once-over, then a second look at the sign-in sheet. "Uzumaki. Here for—?"
Naruto straightened his tie. "Ten o'clock board review. Creative lead on the adaptation project."
The guard's eyes flicked to the orange cuff thread, the battered briefcase, then Naruto's whisker-like birthmarks. A faint smirk, and he buzzed him through.
In the mercilessly silent elevator, Naruto's hand trembled, sweat prickling his back as the city shrank below. He ran through his talking points: be concise, be confident, don't let the past fuck up the present.
The doors hissed open onto a boardroom longer than his apartment. Three walls of glass framed the city and the busy offices beneath; the fourth held nothing but legal tomes, financial encyclopedias, and a lone glass-encased bonsai.
At the far end sat Sasuke. Naruto's heart stuttered. His practiced speech evaporated. Sasuke's impassive face—unreadable eyes, controlled mouth, fingers steepled over a flag-flecked portfolio—and a black suit that seemed to swallow light made Naruto's navy ensemble feel flimsy. The dark crescents beneath Sasuke's eyes sent an unwanted pang of concern through his chest.
To Sasuke's immediate right sat a woman whose hair was a living semaphore: glossy and violently red. Her nostrils flared at Naruto's approach, and he fought the urge to check if he'd remembered deodorant. His palms were slick again.
On the left, a man with hair so pale it bordered on translucent tapped a pen against a stack of contracts. His blue eyes flicked over Naruto once, twice. Naruto straightened his shoulders, refusing to shrink under the assessment.
Naruto crossed to the guest chair at the foot of the table, his heart hammering so loudly he was certain everyone could hear it. Each step echoed like a countdown to execution. He placed his portfolio on the glass with fingers that threatened to tremble and forced himself to meet Sasuke's gaze. Two seconds—he counted them silently, his throat tightening—any longer would reveal too much, any shorter would concede defeat before they'd even begun.
Sasuke nodded, once, then looked to the red-haired woman. "Karin. The agenda?"
She clicked her tablet and read, voice crisp enough to slice through bone. "Item one: welcome and project overview. Item two: legal review with Suigetsu. Item three: expectations for creative lead. Item four: resource allocation. Item five: next steps." She paused, her eyes never leaving the screen, then added, "Item six: private review with Mr. Uzumaki." The last two words sent a cold spike down Naruto's spine—there was venom there, and he was certain only he could taste it.
"Thank you, Karin," Sasuke said.
Naruto's mouth went dry. He swallowed hard, then straightened in his chair. "Thank you for having me." His voice emerged steady, stronger than he expected. "I've read the contract, but I've rewritten parts of the adaptation timeline." He pulled out his notes, spreading them deliberately across the glass table. "The original ending doesn't work. The rivals should reconcile, not part ways forever." His fingertips pressed against the paper as if physically reshaping the narrative. "I'm sure we all want this to be a success—one that feels true to what should have happened."
The pale-haired man tapped his shark-shaped pen against the table. "Of course," he said without looking up.
"Wouldn't want another fiasco like the last author," said an executive with an Uchiha pin, his gaze fixed on his laptop.
Naruto caught the trap immediately. They were testing him, seeing if he'd take the bait and ask what happened, marking himself as uninformed. Instead, he let a half-smile play at his lips while mentally cataloging the executive's micro expressions—the slight tension around the eyes, the practiced casualness. The trades had reported the last creative lead disappeared citing "irreconcilable differences," but Naruto had also noticed the man had immediately lanterned at a competitor with better terms. Not a breakdown—a strategic retreat.
Sasuke gestured at Naruto's portfolio. "May I?"
"By all means," Naruto replied, sliding it down the length of the table. He kept his hand steady, even as the weight of old history threatened to drag his arm off course.
Karin intercepted the portfolio before it reached Sasuke, flipping through the top three pages with brisk, surgical motions. She plucked a post-it from the second divider and held it up. "This is not the draft we sent," she said.
Naruto met her eyes directly, refusing to shrink under her scrutiny. He leaned forward, elbows on the glass table. "No. It's the draft you'll wish you'd sent, after you read it." His voice didn't waver, and he held her gaze a beat longer than was comfortable for either of them.
A fractional smirk appeared at the corner of Suigetsu's mouth. "That's new," he murmured, more to himself than the room.
Sasuke's eyes narrowed. He reached for the portfolio, and Karin hesitated for just a beat before surrendering it to him. For the next two minutes, the room was filled with nothing but the click of pages and the distant hum of the city.
At last, Sasuke looked up. His eyes lingered on a particular page. "This is... a departure from the outline."
"Market research supports it," Naruto said, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly as he pulled a folded sheet from his briefcase. He slid it across the table, his fingertips lingering on the paper a moment too long. "But honestly? I rewrote it because the original ending was bullshit." His eyes locked with Sasuke's. "The protagonist deserved better than running away. Sometimes people deserve second chances." He tapped a highlighted section with deliberate precision. "And look—the old plot tested at sixty-two percent engagement. Mine's at eighty-seven."
The executive with the Uchiha pin shifted, glanced at the numbers, but did not speak.
Karin's voice sliced in: "And the main character's romantic arc? That wasn't in the original."
Naruto's spine straightened almost imperceptibly. He leaned forward, one elbow on the glass table, and met her gaze directly. Something flickered in his eyes—not just defiance, but opportunity.
"It tested well with focus groups." He tapped the report with his index finger, not breaking eye contact. "But honestly? I rewrote it because the original ending was wrong. The rivals should have ended up together."
Karin's lips pressed into a flat line. "And the rival-mentor dynamic?"
Naruto's mouth quirked up at one corner. His fingers drummed against the glass, not nervously but deliberately, like he was writing something into existence. "I changed it. They're equals now. The tension is still there, but it's not about power anymore—it's about two people who were meant for each other but took the long way around."
Sasuke's fingers froze mid-page-turn. For a fraction of a second, his mask slipped. Then he set the portfolio down with careful precision. "We'll revisit the plot points in detail. For now, let's move to legal." He nodded to Suigetsu, who uncapped his pen and started reading from a document with all the enthusiasm of a man reciting execution orders.
"Standard boilerplate," Suigetsu said. "But a few unique clauses." He slid a copy across to Naruto, his fingers lingering for just a heartbeat on the paper. "First, all creative decisions are subject to Uchiha executive review. Second, weekly status updates with myself and Ms. Karin." His blue eyes sparkled with mirth.
Suigetsu's shark-like grin widened. "Third, and this is where it gets interesting, a strict prohibition against inner company relationships. HR added this clause after what they delicately call 'recent complications.'"
A ripple of restrained laughter circled the table. Karin did not smile. Naruto caught the almost imperceptible tightening at the corners of Sasuke's mouth, the slight flare of his nostrils that most would miss but that Naruto had cataloged years ago as suppressed irritation.
Naruto flipped to the highlighted clause, then looked up. "Define 'inner company relationships,'" he said, deadpan.
"Any non-professional contact outside work hours," Suigetsu replied instantly.
Naruto bit his tongue to keep from grinning. "So if I see any of you at a bar, I have to run away?"
"Just avoid karaoke," Suigetsu said said with a wink. "It's company policy."
Sasuke's knuckles whitened against the portfolio. Naruto watched the slow, deliberate way he inhaled through his nose—the same way he used to breathe before high school tests, when he was trying not to show how much he cared.
"Enough," Sasuke said, voice controlled but with an undercurrent Naruto recognized as barely contained frustration.
Karin shot a glare at Suigetsu, then adjusted her glasses with a sharp upward push at the bridge. She turned to Naruto. "Do you have any questions regarding your obligations?"
Naruto considered, watching how Sasuke's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, the same tension he used to get before math tests. "No. The creative expectations are clear. I'm ready to get started."
Sasuke nodded, eyes fixed on the table. His right index finger tapped once—just once—against the glass. Naruto recognized the gesture from childhood, when Sasuke was holding something back. "I'll want your feedback on the pilot script by Friday."
"Of course," Naruto said, noticing how Sasuke's shoulders remained a fraction too square, too controlled.
A silence hovered, all eyes on Sasuke.
He looked up at last, his gaze glancing off Naruto like a stone skipping water, but not before Naruto caught the flash of something raw beneath the professional veneer. "That will be all. Thank you for your time."
The boardroom emptied with mechanical efficiency. The executives filed out first, then Karin, who lingered in the doorway long enough to make sure Naruto saw the warning in her glare. Suigetsu waited until the last moment, then leaned in as Naruto was gathering his papers.
"Word of advice," Suigetsu whispered, his voice so low it barely moved the air. "Keep your head down and your claws sharp. The last guy—he thought he was smarter than the room. You're not. But you're cutier." He winked, then swept out after the others, whistling a shark theme under his breath.
Naruto found himself alone with Sasuke.
The glass door closed with a hush. The air between them seemed to solidify, making it hard to breathe. Naruto drummed his fingers against the portfolio, then stopped when the sound echoed too loudly. He shifted his weight, loosened his tie a fraction. Sasuke remained statue-still, his face unreadable.
Naruto cleared his throat. "Was that as fun for you as it was for me?" he asked, forcing a crooked smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Sasuke didn't respond at first. His hands arranged the papers in perfect alignment, squared them, then set them aside. Only then did he look up, dark eyes flaring with something Naruto couldn't place.
"You never reached out," Sasuke said quietly.
Naruto's throat closed. The boardroom suddenly felt airless. Christmas. The hotel room. Sheets tangled around his ankles as he'd collected his scattered clothes in the gray dawn. "What?"
"After Christmas," Sasuke said, voice even softer now.
Naruto's fingers went numb against the portfolio. A cold sweat broke across his shoulders. Did Sasuke remember everything? The drinks, the stumbling walk to the elevator, the way Sasuke had pressed him against the wall and—no. Impossible. Sasuke had been just as drunk. Hadn't he? "What do you mean?"
Sasuke's eyes lingered on Naruto's face, searching, before he shook his head and gathered his documents. "Come to my office at noon. We'll discuss the outline in detail."
Naruto's heart hammered against his ribs as he gathered his own things, refusing to look away. "Fine. Noon."
"Don't be late," Sasuke said, the words carrying a weight Naruto couldn't decipher.
The air snapped between them. Naruto watched Sasuke's retreating back, the perfect line of his shoulders beneath Italian wool. Was he reading too much into this? That slight catch in Sasuke's voice could have been nothing—just professional courtesy from someone who'd once known him. Maybe the tension in the boardroom was entirely his own creation, old wounds reopening at the slightest touch.