Naruto stumbled out of Sasuke's office, his vision tunneling at the edges. Behind him, the heavy door clicked shut with the finality of a coffin lid. The hallway stretched before him like a gauntlet—all cold marble and fluorescent accusation. Was everyone staring? Could they hear his ragged breathing? He imagined security watching through hidden cameras, tracking the shame radiating off him in waves.
He walked with his head down, counting tiles (one-two-three-four), trying to drown out the loop of Sasuke's words playing in his mind. His hands kept balling into fists, then relaxing, over and over. The crescents his nails left in his palms were real. This was real. He wasn't seventeen anymore. As he rounded the corner, a flash of movement—bright red—sent adrenaline spiking through his system.
Karin stood blocking his path with the predatory ease of a cat lying in wait. Her hair was pulled so tight it looked lacquered to her skull, a single loose strand the only rebellion allowed. The frames of her glasses caught the overhead light, reflecting twin squares of surgical steel. Her lips were pressed into a smile that dared him to find the joke. She radiated hostility in a way that felt both personal and mechanical—like she'd been programmed for it.
She didn't speak at first. Just stood there blocking his path, one hip cocked, tapping her blood-red fingernail against the tablet she clutched like a weapon. The click-click-click of her nail punctuated her silent assessment of his rumpled shirt, the loose orange thread at his cuff.
"Mr. Uzumaki," she said, voice scraping like metal on concrete. "Finished wasting his time already?"
Naruto squared his shoulders. "Meeting's over. Sasuke—" He caught himself. "Mr. Uchiha said I could go."
Karin stepped into his personal space without invitation, close enough that he could smell antiseptic mixed with something floral and expensive. Her heels should have clicked on the marble, but she moved with predatory silence.
"Let's get something straight," she said, not bothering to lower her voice though people passed by. "You're nothing but a charity case he's entertaining. Some pathetic reminder of his childhood he hasn't bothered to throw away yet."
He bristled. "Excuse me?"
She rolled her eyes so dramatically her whole head moved. "Oh please. Look at you." Her gaze flicked to his briefcase—the worn leather, the scuffed corners. "You really think you belong here? In his world?" She laughed, a sharp sound like breaking glass. "The Uchihas don't owe you anything, least of all a career."
"I'm just here to do my job," Naruto said, jaw tight. "If you have a problem—"
Her laugh hit like a slap. "If I have a problem, you'll know. Right now, I have an asset that needs protecting." She leaned in until her glasses nearly touched his face.
Naruto didn't step back. Instead, he squared his shoulders and met her gaze. "I'm not trying to—"
Karin's finger shot up between them, red nail gleaming under the fluorescents. "You are here because the contract says you have to be. Nothing more."
"Funny," Naruto said, voice steady despite the heat rising in his chest, "I thought I was here because I wrote the damn book."
Her nostrils flared. "Sasuke is not your friend. Not anymore. And if you try to make him anything else—"
"Is this about the project?" Naruto stepped forward, forcing her to be the one to retreat. "Because last I checked, your job was to coordinate, not interrogate."
She blinked twice, recalibrating. "My job is to ensure Uchiha Corp doesn't suffer any... unnecessary distractions."
Naruto laughed, but the sound cracked at the edges. "And my job is to make sure this project succeeds—with or without your approval. So unless you're planning to break that contract yourself, I suggest we both focus on our actual responsibilities."
Karin's smile returned, wider this time, verging on carnivorous. "Contracts can be rewritten," she whispered, close enough he could feel the heat of her breath on his cheek. "People can be replaced."
She stepped aside with the grace of a matador, a flick of her blazer the only flourish. As Naruto brushed past, she leaned in one last time, lips near his ear.
"You're not the first to think you mattered to him," she said, voice soft, almost pitying. "But you might be the last to learn better."
Something cold slipped between his ribs. His seventeen-year-old self stirred awake, whispering: she knows. The words he wanted to say dissolved like sugar in rain. His throat tightened as memories of Sasuke turning away from him—disgust twisting that beautiful face—flashed through his mind. He kept walking, but his shoulders curved inward, protecting the old wound she'd somehow found and pressed her finger into. The elevator at the end of the corridor seemed miles away, its doors a promise he wasn't sure he deserved anymore.
When he reached it, he jabbed the button with too much force. The number above the doors counted down with glacial slowness: 12...11...10. His chest felt hollow, like someone had scooped something vital out of him. When the doors finally parted, Naruto caught his reflection in the mirrored walls—a stranger with hunched shoulders and eyes that couldn't quite meet themselves.
As the car descended, he pressed his forehead against the cool glass panel. Something hot and wet gathered at the corner of his eye. He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing painfully against the knot in his throat. Below, the city sprawled in orderly grids, every window a reminder of how small he was. Seventeen again. Worthless again. His fingers trembled as he wiped roughly at his face.
Floor 5. His breathing hitched. Floor 4. His jaw clenched. Floor 3. The trembling in his hands stilled.
By floor 2, heat had replaced the hollow in his chest—not the burn of shame but something sharper, brighter. His reflection showed a different man now: teeth bared, color blazing across his cheekbones. Who the hell was she to tell him what he deserved? His hands curled into fists.
When the elevator reached the lobby, Naruto's spine had straightened, his chin lifted. He stepped into the cool, indifferent light of the Uchiha Corp atrium, each footfall a declaration. Fuck Karin. Fuck Sasuke. Fuck all of them.
The marble echoed under his steady stride, his nails digging crescents into his palms not from hurt, but from fury.
By the time Naruto reached Jiraiya's office, the bite of winter had cooled his skin but not his resolve. He'd walked the fifteen blocks, ignoring cabs that splashed slush at his ankles, each step hardening something inside him. The publishing company's lobby hit him with its familiar chaos—paper and ink and burnt coffee thick in the air, phones ringing over the clatter of keyboards and creative profanity.
Where the Uchiha tower had been all sterile silence, Jiraiya's realm pulsed with life. Naruto straightened his shoulders as he strode past desks that sprouted in corridors like determined weeds, their surfaces buried under manuscripts and coffee-ringed proofs. He remembered his first week here, stumbling over galleys, apologizing. Now he moved with purpose, chin lifted, the noise and color of the place not just comforting him but fueling him.
He cut through the bullpen with efficient steps, sidestepping an intern on roller skates without breaking stride. When Sai waved from the design table, dark-rimmed eyes curious above his concept art, Naruto nodded back with a tight smile that said: Watch what happens next.
When he reached the glass-walled conference room, his team was already assembled: Kakashi Hatake with his feet on the table and a pen lodged behind each ear, Shizune perched at the far end, highlighter uncapped and poised for action. The rest of the room was filled with a familiar cross-section of creative types—freelancers in various states of sleep deprivation, in-house editors, and a pair of video producers pecking at their phones.
Naruto took a moment to steady himself, then stepped in and shut the door. Instantly, the din dropped to a manageable murmur. He dropped his bag and set his battered laptop on the table, flipping it open with a practiced flick. Heads swiveled toward him, eyes bright with anticipation, caffeine, and the promise of new gossip.
He drew a deep breath, willing his voice into stability. "All right, everyone. Thanks for coming on short notice." He clicked open his slides and gestured to the whiteboard behind him, where he'd already scrawled the new project milestones in his spiky block print. "We're officially in adaptation mode. Uchiha Corp wants weekly deliverables and direct feedback from our side, starting this Friday. That means full production schedule, with script, storyboard, and final art locked a month from today."
A groan rippled through the room, but it was the good kind—the "challenge accepted" sound of a team that thrived on impossible deadlines.
Kakashi leaned forward, spinning his pen in one hand. "So, are we talking full creative control, or are the Uchihas gonna micromanage us to death?"
"Full control on paper," Naruto replied, "but they want eyes on every major decision." He tried to keep the edge out of his voice. "We'll have to walk the line, but Jiraiya says we can manage it."
TenTen tapped her highlighter against her notepad. "What about author approvals? Didn't the last project tank because Legal went nuclear on revisions?"
Naruto shook his head. "We get to keep the heart of the story. Uchiha's main guy—Suigetsu—handles legal, but so far he's just flagged the usual stuff. No red tape, unless we get weird with merchandising."
Someone at the back snorted. "So, no body pillows this time?"
A chorus of laughter circled the table. Naruto allowed himself a tight smile. "No body pillows. Not unless you want to make your own prototype." He clicked to the next slide. "We'll need art assets from Sai's team by Monday, and if you haven't seen the new character sheets, there's a folder in the shared drive. Draft script due end of week, so if anyone's got a hot take, now's the time."
The meeting hummed to life: voices overlapping, fingers tapping at laptops, someone already arguing over the best way to adapt the villain's arc. TenTen barked a question about voice casting that derailed half the table into an anime reference contest. Kakashi rolled his eyes but kept the meeting on track, flagging deadlines and summarizing next steps with the ruthless efficiency of someone who'd been running this circus longer than Naruto.
He felt the last of his tension bleed out as he answered their questions, sketched out a revised production calendar, and even allowed himself a moment to fantasize about a finished pilot episode with his name in the credits. Here, in this room, he knew exactly what he was doing. Here, the only wars were fought with red pens and rhetorical flourishes, and even the worst disasters could be fixed with a midnight pizza run and an emergency coffee IV.
After forty minutes, the meeting wound down. People started trickling out, voices lowering as they packed up their things. Kakashi tossed a half-empty can of Red Bull into the recycling, thumped Naruto on the back with a fist, and winked. "Go get 'em, champ," he said, already texting one-handed as he left.
TenTen lingered, her gaze softer now that the crowd was gone. "You okay?" she asked quietly, eyes sharp behind the pink fringe of her hair. "You seem... off."
Naruto smiled, small and private. "Just a lot of meetings," he lied. "But we're good."
She hesitated, then patted his arm with a conspiratorial warmth. "You don't have to do it all alone, you know." She pointed at the whiteboard, where his to-do list had already spilled into the margins. "We got your back."
He nodded, grateful for the lifeline. "Thanks, TenTen. I mean it."
She smiled, then slipped out, closing the glass door behind her.