Paid In Promises: Chapter 15: The Uchiha Tailor (Patreon)

In the quiet hush of the abandoned Uchiha tailor shop, dust hung in shafts of light slicing through faded shoji screens. The rhythmic sound of the sewing machine echoed in the air like a heartbeat, steady and tireless. Sasuke sat hunched over the fabric, one hand guiding the dark material, the other firmly holding it in place as the needle moved with practiced precision.

The ancient machine groaned under the workload, but it worked. Surprisingly well.

She had wiped the cobwebs off days ago, greased the cogs, replaced the threads, and now it hummed like it had simply been waiting—for her, perhaps. For someone to give it purpose again. Just like her.

Three shadow clones worked alongside her, seated on stools or standing, each with their own task: stitching, cutting, ironing.

“I’m telling you,” one clone muttered, pinning a sleeve down onto a tailored torso section, “he’s going to wear this once and spill soy sauce on it.”

“He will not,” another countered, folding a completed shirt neatly. “Because we’ll kill him if he does.”

Sasuke didn’t bother arguing. She simply reached for another spool of dark thread and fed it into the machine. “Focus.”

“You focus,” the third clone said as she trimmed an excess seam. “You were the one thinking about his abs when you measured him.”

Sasuke’s eye twitched. “That’s not— I was just being thorough.”

The first clone raised an eyebrow. “So you had to run your hands along his rib cage to be thorough?”

“It was for the fitting,” she said tersely, glaring at the clone. “Also, he was in a genjutsu. He didn’t even know.”

“That makes it worse.”

“Still creepy.”

Sasuke stood up, brushing off thread and loose fabric scraps from her lap. “Are you three going to keep talking or actually help me finish these?”

The clones got back to work. Still, she couldn't entirely block out the quiet realization blooming in the back of her mind.

She was changing. Bit by bit. There were… quirks now. Mannerisms. Little gestures she had picked up. Speaking louder than necessary. Rolling her eyes more often. Muttering at inanimate objects when annoyed. She was starting to mimic him.

Naruto’s idiocy was infectious.

But… so was his warmth.

This was the first time in years that she had worked on something with this much care. She hadn’t made anything with her hands that wasn’t a weapon or an illusion since she was a child.

Her fingers were calloused from chakra and swordplay, not tailoring. But these last few days, they moved with new certainty—measuring, stitching, smoothing fabric over wooden mannequins, adjusting cuts with near perfection.

She looked to the side, where the three prototypes were neatly displayed on a rack.

The first had been too loud. The second too plain. The third had struck a balance that even her proud Uchiha heart approved of. Sharp, sleek, understated, with just enough orange to make it unmistakably his.

That was the one.

Now, the goal was ten. Ten shirts. With matching pants. Modified for flexibility. She knew his movements, his style. He could somersault through a burning forest and these wouldn’t tear.

She’d made sure of that.

She pressed the pedal and resumed stitching, muttering softly. “One week…”

One of the clones looked up. “You really want him to like this, don’t you?”

Sasuke didn’t answer. She just focused on her work, expression unreadable.

Because yes. Yes, she wanted him to like it.

And she didn’t want to say why.

But she remembered clearly—how his eyes lit up when someone gave him something with thought behind it. How his smile held that boyish, too-sincere quality. How he always looked surprised, like he didn’t believe someone should be kind to him.

It wasn’t about fashion. Or style. Or even the gift.

It was the intention. The effort.

He noticed those things.

And if she was going to give him something for his eighteenth birthday—his first birthday as a man, not just a shinobi—it had to mean something.

“Don’t overthink it,” one clone muttered, folding another pair of pants. “He’ll love anything if it comes from you.”

“Even a paper frog,” another smirked.

“Especially if it punches him,” the third added.

Sasuke exhaled slowly, eyes on the cloth in her hands. “It’s not just about liking it.”

“Hm?”

“I want him to feel like someone saw him,” she said quietly. “And still thought he was worth the effort.”

That shut them all up for a second.

Then, as one, the clones smiled.

“You’ve got it bad.”

Sasuke rolled her eyes. “Just shut up and iron.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Outside, the sun dipped lower. The shadows stretched across the compound. The house, the swing, the old clan crest engraved in stone—they were silent witnesses to the new rhythm that had taken root here.

Inside the tailor shop, Sasuke kept working, sleeves rolled up, brows furrowed in focus.

Ten shirts. One week.

And a birthday gift worth remembering.

—T~T—

The sun was bright but merciful that morning, golden light slanting through the streets of Konoha as Sasuke walked with deliberate steps, hands tucked into the sleeves of her pale cloak. Her bandaged arm shifted as she turned a corner, long bangs obscuring half her face. She didn’t particularly want to do this—but Naruto had always been sentimental about birthdays.

And this was his eighteenth. A milestone.

She couldn’t just…let it pass.

So here she was. On a mission. Not one that involved shuriken or infiltration—but arguably far more irritating: socializing.

First stop: Konoha General Hospital.

She walked into the antiseptic white halls, her presence drawing more than a few stares. Some medical staff bowed politely. Others whispered. She ignored it.

Sakura was at the reception desk, flipping through a chart.

“Haruno,” Sasuke greeted bluntly.

Sakura looked up, blinked, then smiled cautiously. “Sasuke. What brings you here? You're not hurt, are you?”

“No. Naruto’s birthday is coming up. I’m organizing something.”

Sakura’s eyebrows rose. “A party?”

Sasuke’s eye twitched. “...Yes.”

“Well, I’m surprised,” Sakura grinned, placing the chart aside. “Sure, count me in.”

“Don’t be late.”

As Sasuke turned, Sakura called, “Are you really throwing him a party? Or is this just a genjutsu I fell into?”

Sasuke didn’t reply, just raised her hand in a slight wave.

Next stop: Yamanaka Flower Shop.

The bells above the door jingled as she stepped in.

Ino looked up from the counter, her eyes narrowing slightly before she forced a smile. “Well, if it isn’t Lady Death herself.”

“I’m here for business,” Sasuke said flatly.

“Oh?” Ino leaned forward. “Let me guess. You need flowers to cover up another murder?”

Sasuke inhaled slowly. “Naruto’s birthday. I’m inviting people.”

Ino blinked, then slowly smiled for real. “You’re throwing a party? Wow. I knew he’d change you, but this is beyond.”

“I’m not changing.”

“Sure. I’ll come. Need flowers too?”

“No.”

Unfortunately, as she turned to leave, a familiar dead-eyed figure appeared behind a rack of sunflowers.

“Ah, Sasuke,” Sai said, unnervingly cheerful. “Why didn’t you greet me?”

“I didn’t see you,” she muttered.

“I heard you’re inviting people. I’ll come too.”

“I wasn’t—”

“So considerate of you. Is it a romantic party? Will there be kissing games?”

She turned, slowly. “No.”

“Too bad. I was hoping to finally confirm whether Naruto really—”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“You were going to ask about his dick again.”

“…Perhaps.”

Sasuke narrowed her eyes. “You’re on thin ice,  Extra.”

Sai just smiled.

She found Kiba and Shino lounging near a training field.

“Dog-boy. Bug-boy.”

Kiba raised an eyebrow. “That’s rude. Even for you.”

“I’m inviting you. Naruto’s birthday.”

Kiba blinked, then grinned. “You? Hosting a party? Is the world ending?”

Shino nodded. “We’ll attend. Thank you for the invitation.”

“Have you seen that Hyuuga girl?” Sasuke asked.

“Hinata?” Kiba replied. “Nah, she’s on a mission.”

“Hn.” She didn’t care. One less guest.

She found Team Gai next.

“YOUTHFUL SASUKE!” Lee shouted the moment he spotted her. “TO BE INVITED BY YOU IS A SIGN OF TRUE PROGRESS!”

Gai had actual tears in his eyes. “This is proof! Flames of redemption burn bright in your heart!”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she muttered.

TenTen nodded quickly. “I’ll be there. Don’t worry, I’ll keep these two from setting anything on fire.”

“Please do.”

Teuchi from Ichiraku was easy to find. He seemed genuinely happy to be invited.

“Of course! That kid’s practically my son too.”

He even offered to bring the ramen.

Tsunade was… less cheerful.

They met near the medical tower, and Sasuke approached cautiously.

“Tsunade.”

Tsunade eyed her. “You have guts talking to me, after what you pulled.”

“I’m inviting you. Naruto’s birthday.”

Tsunade folded her arms. “Why should I come?”

“He respects you.”

That made the old woman pause. Then, grudgingly: “Fine. I’ll be there. But don’t expect a hug.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Kakashi was buried in scrolls and complaints when she arrived at the Hokage office.

“You look like hell,” Sasuke said as she entered.

“I am hell,” Kakashi sighed. “Let me guess. You’re here to ask for a mission to escape Naruto’s antics.”

“Worse. I’m inviting you.”

Kakashi blinked. “To what?”

“Birthday party.”

He blinked again. “...A party? You’re hosting?”

“I’m making the food too.”

He stared at her, then broke into quiet chuckles. “I have to see this. Count me in.”

Shizune walked in just in time, holding more paperwork.

Sasuke sighed. “You’re invited too.”

Shizune blinked. “Uh, thank you?”

“Kotetsu and Izumo as well.”

“Noted,” Kakashi said, waving her off with a lazy hand.

Last stop: Shikamaru.

She found him lazily cloud-watching with Temari beside him.

“I’m inviting you,” Sasuke said curtly.

Shikamaru sat up. “To what?”

“Birthday party. For Naruto.”

Temari crossed her arms. “I wasn’t planning to attend anything involving you.”

Sasuke stared at her. “I wasn’t inviting you.”

Shikamaru looked between them, sighed. “Troublesome.”

Temari huffed. “I’ll go. Just to supervise.”

Shikamaru smirked slightly. “Of course.”

By the end of the day, she returned home, cloak slightly askew and hair damp with sweat.

She’d done it.

Naruto’s precious people—all warned, notified, and invited.

It had drained her more than any battle. But for him…

It was worth it.

—T~T—

The old Uchiha Meeting Hall had once held strategy councils, clan rites, and voices raised in fierce pride. Now, its floor was dust-caked, the high wooden beams cobwebbed, and silence reigned like a ghost’s breath. But it was large. Secluded. Familiar.

Perfect.

Sasuke stood in the center, surveying the space like a general before a battle. Her cloak swayed faintly with each step as she paced the tatami. A moment later, she made the seal.

Poof!

Five identical clones materialized around her, all in knee-length robes, bangs falling over one eye, bandaged arms matching hers.

"Alright," she said. "Let’s clean."

“You summoned five for this?” one clone raised an eyebrow. “A bit dramatic.”

“Just shut up and start dusting,” another replied, grabbing a broom. “We have a party to prep.”

“I’ll sweep the back hall,” one called out.

“I’ll do the windows—gods, they’re filthy.”

“And I’ll organize the chairs,” another added.

Sasuke didn’t know when she started working like this—with herself, bickering, delegating. Somewhere along the way, her clone usage had gone from tactical to borderline Naruto-style survival strategy.

“I’ve been spending too much time with him,” she muttered.

“You think?” a clone deadpanned as she wiped the ceiling fans.

“I’m starting to argue with myself.”

“We always did, just never out loud.”

“Are we... lonely?” another asked, voice quieter.

Sasuke paused. She didn’t answer.

They worked for over an hour. Dust swept, grime scraped, chairs arranged in neat rows, windows letting in shafts of clear sunlight instead of gloom. At the end, they stood in the middle and admired their work.

One clone leaned on her broom. “Now we just need streamers and ridiculous hats.”

“I will stab you,” Sasuke replied.

“Party’s still gonna need color,” another chimed in. “Or it’ll just look like a funeral with cake.”

“I’ll buy the decorations tomorrow,” she said, brushing stray leaves off the engawa. “Try not to sound so festive.”

Finally, she dispersed the clones in small clouds of smoke.

She stepped out into the orange blush of evening. The old doors creaked behind her as they shut, echoing faintly down the empty lane. Outside, perched like silent statues, the Weasel and Hawk-masked ANBU straightened as she passed.

They had been there all day. Neither of them moved as she walked past—but her sharp ears caught it.

Grroowwwl.

A deep, almost apologetic rumble from one of their stomachs.

She halted mid-step, sighed softly, and glanced back.

“They’ve been watching me since sunrise,” she murmured.

The old her would’ve ignored it. Or mocked them. Or worse.

Now…

She rubbed her temple. “Fine. Come eat.”

The ANBU didn’t respond, but they followed silently, steps almost sheepish.

When Naruto returned that afternoon, humming to himself with grass in his hair and chakra still tingling on his skin, the last thing he expected was unmasked ANBU sitting at the dining table, chopsticks in hand, eating miso soup and rice like it was just another Tuesday.

He froze in the hallway.

“Uhhhhhh…”

The Hawk-mask turned slightly. “Uzumaki-san.”

Weasel gave him a curt nod.

Naruto’s eyes darted around. Were they prisoners? Were they dead and just didn’t know it yet?

He leaned into the kitchen doorway and whispered loudly: “Sasuke?”

She didn’t look up from her pan. “They were hungry.”

Naruto blinked. “You’re feeding the ANBU now?”

“They’re assigned to monitor me. I respect efficiency.”

He walked in cautiously, lowering his voice even more. “You didn’t, like… poison them or anything, right?”

“I’m not that unhinged,” she replied flatly.

Kurama stirred in his mind with a low chuckle. She’s changing, brat. For the better. You’re rubbing off on her.

“Is that good or bad?” Naruto whispered internally.

Kurama yawned. Guess we’ll find out on your birthday.