Arranged Disaster

After the chaotic events at the Hokage office earlier that day, Naruto hurried home, feeling the weight of his responsibilities pressing heavily on his shoulders. The sun was setting, casting a warm golden hue across the village, but he hardly noticed. His mind was racing with thoughts of unfinished paperwork and the looming dinner with Shigeru scheduled for the next day. It was going to be a busy evening, and he had a lot to juggle—a perfect storm of obligations that seemed to multiply at every turn.

As he stepped into the Uzumaki household, the door closed behind him with a soft thud, echoing in the otherwise quiet space. He paused for a moment, surveying the empty hallway that welcomed him. A sense of relief washed over him, and he breathed a little easier; it seemed that no one was home. Under normal circumstances, he might have savored the moment of peace, but tonight was different. This was a golden opportunity to slip away unnoticed and grab a spare set of clothes before anyone could detect his presence.

With a quiet determination, Naruto tiptoed up the stairs, carefully avoiding the creaky spots that had betrayed him in the past. The familiarity of the house surrounded him and he couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how much he tried to carry everything on his own, there was one person he couldn’t shield from the chaos surrounding him anymore. Hinata.

As he reached his room, he grabbed a clean shirt and a pair of pants from his drawer, moving quickly to avoid any potential interruptions. The heavens had certainly not shown him mercy today, yet, as he prepared to leave the room, he couldn’t help but feel that perhaps this night wouldn’t be so bad after all. After all the stress and turmoil he’d faced, maybe a moment of solitude would grant him the clarity he desperately needed.

"Big Brother?" 

Or maybe he spoke too soon. With a sharp snap of his neck, Naruto turned to see Hanabi lounging against the door frame, a playful grin spreading across her face. The sight was both amusing and embarrassing—especially with the way he was awkwardly positioned, one leg dangling outside the window like a runaway caught in the act. He coughed nervously, color rising to his cheeks, and quickly adjusted his posture, trying to regain some dignity.

"You know, you could always use the door," Hanabi teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief as Naruto shot her a glare that could only be described as semi-serious. Just then, a sweet voice floated up from downstairs—it was Hinata, inviting them to join her for tea. She had prepared a cozy pot for the three of them, and though Hinata knew Naruto was not a fan of herbal tea, she never pressured him to drink it—except in those rare moments when—

She knows. The realization hit Naruto like a bucket of cold water, draining the color from his face and leaving his throat parched. 

There was no way he could ninja his way out of this one. 

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"Your move," Shikadai breathed slowly, waiting patiently for his father's turn. It was during shogi matches like this where he felt they truly bonded as a duo. Their relationship wasn't complicated; it was just that neither of them wanted to meddle in each other's business all the time.

Shikamaru made his move, pressing his lips to the end of what would be his second cigarette. Shikadai watched intently, knowing he had to time everything perfectly if he wanted their plan to work out. His dad was no fool; one mistake could easily expose the whole facade that he and his friends were planning. They continued the game for a while before Shikadai decided to set his plans in motion.

"I received a hawk from Boruto the other day," he said casually, keeping his eyes focused on the shogi board as he waited for his father's response. He noticed Shikamaru raising his hand for another shot of his cigarette before he spoke.

"That's strange," was all he said before falling silent again. Shikadai waited for more words to come. When nothing else was said, he looked up to meet his father's gaze, which was fixed directly on him. Shikadai gulped internally—if he messed this up, there would definitely be a wedding to attend at the end of the year. "What is?" he asked, shifting his sitting position, suddenly aware that his left calf had started to feel numb.

"No, I mean, we also received his message a few weeks back. According to that, it would definitely take a few more days," Shikamaru replied. His words felt like the script of a play—a play that Shikadai had already rehearsed countless times in his head before asking his father for a shogi match today. "We often share updates, personally, I mean, just to keep in touch. We don’t usually get much time to spend together like in the old days, right?" 

Shikadai laughed. It was true that most of their friends sent personal hawks whenever digital devices couldn't be used. However, for Shikadai, it was all a drag; he would rather talk face to face than bother with sending letters to people. "I found out a few days ago, maybe he didn’t want to bother you again with his travel updates." He added.

"I see. Well, good for him," Shikamaru replied, his tone as nonchalant as ever, before another voice cut through the room. "Boruto's returning? When?" Temari asked, rushing in with a sudden burst of energy, her interest unmistakably piqued.That was strange coming from her, considering she never set foot in this room when Shikadai and his dad played shogi. She didn't hide her disdain for the "boring" activity either—usually opting to stay far away from their matches. Shikadai blinked, genuinely taken aback by her unexpected entrance.

"Eh? Uh—well, he didn’t say exactly when. Most likely by tonight?" Shikadai stammered, still recovering from his mom’s abrupt interest. That is, if Himawari managed to convince Sarada in time. "Or maybe early morning," he added hesitantly. To his utter disbelief, Temari squealed, a rare display of unfiltered excitement. "Great! He’ll get to meet his bride sooner than later. I heard she’s really pretty! Some of our friends saw her walking around the hotel with her father."

By "some," she clearly meant one, and by "friends," she undoubtedly meant Aunty Ino. No one else had the nerve—or free time—to abandon their responsibilities to stalk a 15-year-old rumored to be wed to the Hokage’s son. Shikadai cringed at the word bride. He didn’t want to imagine Boruto’s reaction, but on second thought, maybe it was better not to know. "Naruto would be so delighted to hear about his early return, right, Shika?" Temari giggled, glancing at her husband.

"Yeah, right. He’d be so delighted," Shikamaru replied, his words dragging ever so slightly by the end.

Shikadai didn’t miss the way his dad’s shoulders slumped just a little, or how his brows furrowed subtly, as if he were silently cursing something—or someone. And then it hit him.

His father and the Hokage probably didn’t want Boruto back so soon. No, they likely wanted to delay his return as much as possible—next month, at the earliest. They were clearly trying to fix whatever mess had cropped up before Boruto caught wind of it. While Shikadai couldn’t entirely blame them, he also knew his dad would secretly relish the chaos more than feel pressured by it. Still, he had a soft spot for the Hokage and was probably trying to spare him the impending headache.

Shikadai sighed inwardly. Poor Nanadaime. When had the adults ever been able to solve trivial matters on their own? Since the new generation arrived, it was always the kids—Team 7, in particular—who interfered and, more often than not, made things worse. Himawari’s grand plan was no exception. It was way too flamboyant for Shikadai’s taste, and in his defense, he had told her and the others to let the adults handle this on their own. But, as always, no one listened. The boat had already sailed, and Shikadai could do nothing but watch as it drifted further away, heading straight into the storm.

He glanced at his dad, who had resumed his usual calm demeanor but was still lazily moving his shogi pieces. "Want to bet on how fast this blows up in their faces?"

Shikamaru smirked, his lips curling slightly at the corners. "Troublesome, but... I'll take that bet."

Shikadai sighed again. This was going to be a long night.

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Meanwhile, in the Uchiha household, the winds had certainly shifted. Sakura hummed a sweet melody while preparing dinner, her movements precise and serene. Everything was perfectly ordinary—that is, until the door to the house slammed open with an echoing thud.

"Pleaseeee, Saradaaaaaa—" A young, desperate voice dragged across the apartment, followed immediately by the sound of another door shutting with a decisive click.

Sakura glanced toward the noise but quickly dismissed it with a knowing smile. Sarada storming home upset about something Boruto did was as routine as sunrise. The details rarely mattered. She also didn’t bother acknowledging that it was Himawari, not Boruto, trailing after her daughter this time. Instead, she focused on her chores.

Inside Sarada’s room, tension hung in the air. Sarada sat cross-legged on her bed, arms crossed, her glare fixed firmly on the far wall. She ignored Himawari as though she were nothing more than an elephant in the room—a loud, pleading elephant.

“Come on, Sarada!” Himawari whined, her voice laced with frustration.

Sarada didn’t budge. She knew what this was about. The news had spread like wildfire across Konoha—Boruto’s engagement, the buzz of the town. Her mother might have pretended indifference, but Sarada caught the flickers of emotion. That exasperated sigh Sakura let out whenever her “girl gang” gushed about future grandchildren was unmistakable, it was like she considered looking at her own with nothing short of a miracle. The only thing that ticked Sarada off more was the smug, knowing smirk her father wore during those conversations. She wasn't that socially intolerant was he? No way, she had guys lined up for her in the academy and even now, who would do anything to gain her favor.

“I will not agree to this, no matter how much you wail, Himawari!” Sarada snapped, her eyebrows furrowing in pure annoyance.

“But—”

“No buts! That tactic of yours only works on your bro—” Sarada’s voice faltered, her eyes locking onto Himawari’s.

Puppy eyes. Large, glassy, impossibly earnest.

Sarada felt her resolve waver for half a second before she shook her head firmly. Dog. Dog. Dog. Dog. Dog. She repeated the mantra in her mind, willing herself to resist.

“Nope, not happening! I’m not going to be swayed into doing something so…so scandalous!” Sarada shot up from her bed, pacing the room as if movement could shake off the weight of Himawari’s request.

“But Sarada,” Himawari whispered, her voice trembling, “this isn’t just about me. It’s about my brother.”

Sarada stopped mid-step, her arms dropping to her sides. “Oh, please. Boruto can handle himself. He doesn’t need you pulling off some insane stunt to ‘help.’”

“That’s where you’re wrong!” Himawari’s voice cracked, and for the first time, Sarada noticed just how serious she looked. “You think Boruto’s fine? You think he would want this?”

"You don't know what he wants. Besides, he probably doesn't even know anyth-"

"Which is why I'm asking for your help! Because I'm scared he might not refuse!" Sarada was taken aback by the sudden burst out. "Why would you think that?" She asked, nervousness covering her tone.

"What if it's a diplomatic decision?" Himawari continued. " Which might explain why Papa wasn't able to set things up outright. You know my big brother don't you? He's great but also stupid and selfless, he will be ready to throw away his life if it's for the better of the village, in any way shape or form."

Sarada blinked, momentarily stunned by the raw emotion in Himawari’s tone. She had to accept, Himawari was right in that regard. 

“He’s been there for you, hasn’t he?” Himawari pressed on, her voice soft but unrelenting. “Every time you needed someone, he was there. When you cried about your big fight with your dad, when you said you’d never be Hokage after a mission gone wrong, even when you swore off tomatoes because you thought they were making you sick. Boruto was there. He’s always been there, Sarada.”

Sarada clenched her fists. Of course, she remembered. Boruto had always been the one to annoy her, tease her, and somehow—annoyingly—pull her back up when she was falling apart. Although she couldn't quite understand the uneseccary jab at her dislike for tomatoes.

“He’s my brother, Sarada,” Himawari continued, her voice barely above a whisper now. “I can’t let him go through this alone. If you don’t want to do it for me, then do it for him.”

The room fell silent.

Sarada groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “This is such a bad idea…”

Himawari’s face lit up with hope. “You’ll do it?”

“I didn’t say that!” Sarada snapped, but the defeated sigh she let out a moment later said otherwise.

“Thank you, Sarada!” Himawari beamed, throwing her arms around her.

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make me regret this,” Sarada muttered, already feeling the weight of regret settling in her chest.