Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time Sakura had been given a Rule, she was four years old and fresh from the rain. 

Water had soaked her from head to toe, mud clung to the bits of skin unburdened by her sandals, and the bottom of her bright red cheongsam was stained with dark greens of the grass she’d stumbled through with glee only a child could find in something as mundane as a rainstorm. 

Her mother had pulled her into the house by the wrist with a frown and as Sakura stood in the bathroom, skin red and raw from a combination of harsh scrubbing and hot water, Mebuki had sat her down in front of the mirror and told her.

“No more playing in the rain, Sakura. It's unbecoming of a lady to get dirty.”

“What does un-bee-coming mean?”

Mebuki gave a deep and weary sigh and turned Sakura back to the mirror to begin running the brush through her pink hair.

She is never given an answer, but every time it rained, Mebuki would sit on the couch in the living room and watch Sakura with keen eyes as the girl glanced out the window every now and then at the kids on her street splashed in puddles and laughed at the mud that would scatter everywhere with it.  

✿✿✿

Sakura’s Rules grew as she did and she’d made herself a list of what she thought was the most important to remember by the time she was six, 

Rule #1. Do not make eye contact

Rule #2. Speak only when spoken to

Rule #3. You do not exist until it is needed

Sakura’s parents were very busy and didn’t have time to be distracted by her needless questions and it was rude to expect attention when they had other things to worry about. The Rules were the things Sakura should always remember in order to keep them happy.

When she met Yamanaka Ino for the first time, Sakura was in awe. The girl was so loud , she never asked anyone to make eye contact before looking at them, she expected Sakura to start conversations and have opinions . Ino didn’t hide the fact that she had a crush on a boy in her academy class. 

Then Sakura learned Ino was learning to be a kunoichi.  

“What’s a kunoichi?” Sakura asked because Ino expected Sakura to ask questions about things she didn’t know, eyes on the blades of grass in between her fingers.

Ino’s gasp is so loud that Sakura jumps in place, eyes flickering up to look at the blonde next to her, and freezes when her gaze meets Ino’s pupilless ones. Ino’s hands fly to Sakura’s shoulders and she holds her breath as Ino starts to shake her back and forth,

“What’s a kunoichi?!” Sakura blinks a few times when Ino finally stops trying to turn her brain into a soup inside her head, “Sakura-chan! Come on, come on, we have to go to the shinobi training grounds right now .”

Ino is already dragging her up from the grass before she can finish her sentence, and Sakura stumbles behind her as the Yamanaka runs between the legs of strangers in her haste to take Sakura to the training grounds.

When they finally stopped, heaving in gulps of air, Ino releases her hand to point to a small pit of sand where a woman wipes the floor with another shinobi Sakura barely notices, mouth dropping open in silent awe at the image before her.

Long hair tied back, falling out of it's hold and whipping behind her with every dodge and jerk toward her opponent, the kunoichi fights with an excited grin. Stripes of dirt scatter alongside blossoming bruises on her face and arms. Her shirt is torn in places, and Sakura thinks she can see blood from her spot across the field.

Sakura thinks that the disheveled stranger is even prettier than when her mother dresses in the nice gold-trimmed qipao dress she takes out whenever her uncle visits.

“That’s a kunoichi.” Ino says, a breathless smile on her face, pride in her voice, “And I’m going to be the best one.”

Sakura watches with wide eyes for a moment longer, and a seed of want is planted within her heart.

I want to be a kunoichi.

✿✿✿

The next year and a half is spent in and out of the library, reading what she can and setting aside what she can’t to work through patiently.

Sakura learns that a civilian child, a person born to two non-shinobi parents her mind recites, is not allowed to join the academy until they are eight years old. She learns that of the eighty kids in an average class only about thirty-five percent actually become shinobi, and even fewer make it beyond the genin corps.

Learns that of every twenty-eight graduates, less than five are civilians.

She tears through all of the books available to the general public on shinobi that by the time she’s seven, she’s sure she’s read all of them at least four times each .

Two months before her eighth birthday, sitting across from her parents as they eat in silence, Sakura runs through the Rules in her head twenty times. Chewing on the inside of her bottom lip for what feels like hours before she takes a deep breath and looks up from her plate, heart beating hard in her chest.

Rule #1. Do not make eye contact

The first to glance up and meet her eyes is her mother, and Sakura holds her breath at the eyebrow raised in her direction, her father looks up as well when his wife does not continue eating.

“I want to join the academy.”

Rule #2. Speak only when spoken to

Silence.

Her parents exchange glances, and Sakura senses a storm brewing beneath their stoic expressions.

Finally, her mother breaks the silence, her voice laced with disdain. "Joining the academy? Sakura, you should know your place. You're a lady, and ladies don't pursue such careers. It's unbecoming."

Sakura's gaze lowers to her plate, her heart sinking. Her father stays quiet, his indifference slowly carving itself a place next to her ribcage. 

“If… If ladies don’t pursue such careers, then why do kunoichi exist?” Rule #2 flashes behind her eyelids with every blink she makes, with every syllable that leaves her lips.

Mebuki's eyes narrow, and Sakura can sense the anger boiling within her. But Sakura has made her choice, and for once, just this once, she refuses to back down.

"I won't allow it," Mebuki says firmly, her tone final. "You will focus on your studies and become a proper lady. That's the path you will follow."

Sakura's heart sinks further, but a flicker of determination ignites within her. She has seen the strength and power of kunoichi, she has seen the grace behind each step, and she has read of the feats performed by women such as Senju Tsunade and Uzumaki Mito. 

Sakura has never truly wanted anything the way she wants to become a shinobi. Sakura has never wanted anything,  

“Otou-san?”

Kizashi stares Sakura down, his cold, empty gaze familiar, always one to never want her existence. After a few tense moments, he turns back to his meal with a dismissive air, “Your brother can talk to her about it.”

Mebuki’s lips purse, but she nods once, eyes on Sakura’s “Hiroshi-nii should be able to knock this ridiculous notion out of your system.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Rule #2, Rule #2, Rule #2

Her mother sneers, “We’ll see.”

✿✿✿

Sakura never liked her uncle Hiroshi, every visit of his would have her mother in her gold-trimmed qipao with a wine glass in hand, venom on her lips. 

She didn’t think about when her father stayed around long enough to join their meaningless celebrations.

In the two months leading up to her eighth birthday, leading up to the possibility of joining the academy, Sakura thinks of the statistics of civilian vs legacy shinobi. With every bruise and broken bone, she thinks she understands why the graduation rate of civilians is so low.

Sakura knew that her uncle had been a shinobi once, and surely the training he was giving her was standard for legacy children from a much younger age than she was now. And Sakura thinks that she understands how Ino can be so loud, how Ino can ignore her own Rules ( because surely everyone has Rules ) because nothing could be worse than this.

“Is this all you’re good for, Sa-ku-ra ?” Her uncle elongates each syllable of her name in a way that makes unpleasant shivers run up and down her spine. He circles her small figure as she heaves, her forehead to the floor so she doesn’t have to face the red, redredred - “This is what being a ninja is.”

She can’t breathe.

“Look at me, Sacchan.” He whispers, crouching in front of her, “Sakura.”

Her head shakes back and forth, “No, no, no, no, please I can’t, I can’t. ” She trembles, nails scratching against what she thinks was concrete when she clenches her fists in desperation.

Her uncle does not move, “Look at me, Sakura.”

“Please-” Her voice breaks, and it may be the loudest she’s ever spoken, “Please, please don’t make me.”

“ Sakura .” He snaps, jerking her head to look at him, tears have made clear tracks down her blood-coated face, revealing bits of her bruised cheeks, “These are the Rules of a ninja. This is what it means to be a kunoichi.”

Long hair tied back, falling out of its hold and whipping behind her with every dodge and jerk toward her opponent, the kunoichi fights with an excited grin. Stripes of dirt scatter alongside blossoming bruises on her face and arms. Her shirt is torn in places, and Sakura thinks she can see blood from her spot across the field.

Her uncle’s hand cups her filthy cheek gently, “I’m just trying to show you that this isn’t for you, Sacchan.” He whispers, his voice the softest and warmest it’d been all night, “They’ll hurt you, tear you apart. We just want to keep you safe.”

Sakura thinks that the disheveled stranger is even prettier than when her mother dresses in the nice gold-trimmed qipao dress she takes out whenever her uncle visits.

His thumb presses into the black bruise under her cheekbone, drawing more tears, “See, as long as you’re quiet, and follow our Rules.” His thumb lifts, “You’ll be safe. You just have to tell me you don’t want to be a ninja.”

Sakura, nearly 8 years old, covered in bruises, crying, and wishing for nothing but relief, can't bring herself to say the words. Instead, what slips from her lips is,

“I want to be a kunoichi.”

All warmth disappears from her uncle’s expression, “If you want to be a weapon, Sakura.” He jams the kunai back into her hand, forcefully crushing her fingers over the handle, “Then you will be a weapon .”

Being a legacy must be a nightmare.

✿✿✿

One week after her eighth birthday, Sakura is enrolled in the academy, bruises her father had refused to heal hidden under the soft tank top she wears to keep the itchy fabric of the bright red cheongsam from touching her skin. The Rules of the academy are simple to remember, and Sakura allows herself to relax into a comfortable routine of following them as close to a T as she can while following her parents’.

It does not take Sakura long to notice that Ino is not the only one in her academy class to fawn after the boy named Uchiha Sasuke, girls giggle after him and boys attempt to make conversation. Even teachers keep an eye out for him and shower him with praise during sparring, so Sakura makes the safe decision to agree with everyone when they ask what she thinks of the dark-haired boy. If she did not follow the crowd, Sakura would stand out, and standing out means that Sakura is different. To be different, first Sakura has to exist.

So the pink-haired girl allows herself to fall back into the faceless crowd of admirers with ease, making herself small and forgettable. But Sakura does not battle against the others in the crowd to vie for Uchiha Sasuke’s attention, does not try to make herself noticeable only for him, and that itself is enough to endear her to him even slightly compared to the others. 

The first time he sits next to her, Sakura is nine and her Rules have her in a chokehold of obedience and fear. She glances at him from the corner of her eye but does not make any moves to turn his way and allow him to know that she knows he’s there, and Sasuke stares at her for only a moment,

“I don’t like you. But you won’t ask me dumb questions and you’re quiet.” He’d mumbled, turning back to the front of the room to wait for their sensei to begin the lesson, “I don’t think you’ve ever actually spoken to me before.”

Rule #2. Speak only when spoken to.

Sakura doesn’t say anything in response. 

Rule #3. You do not exist until it is needed.

Sakura doesn’t say anything at all.

✿✿✿

Sakura is ten.

Sakura is ten and the top kunoichi in her class, and her classmates don’t think they’ve ever heard her say more than five words in one sitting. Sakura is ten and known for her reluctance of eye contact and lack of initiative to start conversations herself. Some of her classmates forget she’s even in her class, and most of her teachers stumble over her name in role calls because they do not remember what she looks like.

Sakura is ten and knows just how much force it takes to break the ribs of a grown man, how many hits the human skull can take before it cracks open. Sakura knows the inner workings of medical chakra intimately, knows how to set a broken bone and relocate her own shoulder. She has seen what it means to disobey.

None of these are things she learned from the academy training her to be a killer.

The loudest thing about her is her hair. Pale pink and long enough to reach her elbows, it is the only thing about her that her mother compliments, the only thing about her that is pretty .

Sakura wants to be the kind of pretty she read about in kunoichi class, the kind that lures you in, that captivates and mesmerizes just long enough that you do not notice the kunai in your heart until you are already dying. She wants to be the kind of pretty that is fatal.

If Sakura is to be beautiful, she wants it to be for nothing more than to draw in those that underestimate her.

She wants, and wants, and wants, and Sakura craves .

She receives nothing.

Sakura is ten, the top kunoichi in her class, quiet, and known as easily frightened when she is known at all.

It is not enough.

✿✿✿

Uzumaki Naruto is an enigma to Sakura. 

She doesn’t quite understand the vitriol and disdain aimed his way from everyone in the village, he was loud and didn’t think before he spoke most of the time but neither did Inuzuka Kiba. He’s an orphan, but so is Uchiha Sasuke.

He is kind, he’d sat next to Sakura a few times and talk about anything and everything that came to his mind and wasn’t bothered when Sakura didn’t respond to him. He is loud and obnoxious in the way that only twelve year old boys can be, but he is friendly and bright.

So Naruto’s story is odd to Sakura, and the unexplained hatred aimed at him doesn’t make sense to her, but Sakura can do nothing to stop it, no matter how much it irritates her. 

And when Sakura is put on a team that seems to be made to do nothing but fall apart, one made of the three most obvious social fuck ups in their academy class, Sakura wonders if the world has something against Naruto too.

Sasuke and Naruto don’t get along, and Sakura is nothing. So why make them a genin team, something that requires the most teamwork out of the ranks?

Sakura was the only girl in the academy that Sasuke tolerated, and she is one of the only people in the village that didn’t hate Naruto, but they could not possibly expect her to be the bridge between them, right?

Sakura is surprised they remembered to assign her a team at all.

It takes three hours for their sensei to show up, and Sakura truly begins to believe they’re being set up for failure.

Hatake Kakashi makes them introduce themselves by telling each other their likes, dislikes, hobbies, and dreams for the future, giving them nothing in return when asked to give an example.

Sakura can tell that Hatake Kakashi, the man assigned to be their jounin sensei, wants nothing to do with them.

Naruto exclamation about his love of ramen and promises to be the greatest Hokage pulls a twitch of a smile at the corner of her lips. Sasuke’s declaration to kill a ‘certain man’ is not as expected as Naruto’s, but well within her expectations of him based on observation.

Then they turn to her, and Sakura realizes that she too, is expected to fulfill this order.

“My name is Haruno Sakura. I like reading about elemental jutsu and chakra. I don’t like…” there’s blood in her hair, someone is crying, someone is screaming and Sakura thinks it might be her , “…There are a lot of things I don’t like. I don’t have any hobbies. My dream is-“

To be seen, to be heard, to be known, to be loved, to live, to be free, to be deadly, to be strong, to exist—

“My dream is to become a great shinobi.”

A glint enters her sensei’s only visible eye.

Chapter Text

Kakashi told the three of them not to eat before the test, Sakura was not able to follow that order. Sakura was expected to eat breakfast and dinner with her parents every morning and evening at the same time, and even if she had attempted to tell her mother about the requirement the Hatake had given her, Mebuki wouldn’t have accepted it anyway.

The woman would do anything to sabotage Sakura’s chance of becoming an official genin. Becoming a genin means that Sakura becomes an adult in the eyes of Konoha, and means the Rules she must put above any others come from the Hokage.

Becoming a genin meant freedom, even if it was simply an illusion of it, trading one master for another.

Sakura wanted it more than anything.

We’ll become a genin, whispers Inner, ever so quiet, no matter how much it takes.

Breakfast is a quiet affair, it always is, and Sakura waits patiently in her seat for her parents to finish their meals.

“Are you in a rush, Sacchan?” Her mother asks, wiping her mouth delicately, glancing down at Sakura’s hands with poorly hidden disdain, “You’re fidgeting.”

Sakura very deliberately moves her hands away from her lap and on either side of her empty plate on the table, “Apologies.”

The silence stretches, broken only by the faint clanking made each time her father’s chopsticks scraped the surface of his plate.

Her mother stares at her for a moment longer before humming and standing to take the empty dishes to the sink, “You’re excused, Sakura.”

Sakura‘s shoulders do not relax until she arrives at the meeting point for her team.

“Sakura-chan!” Naruto calls out, waving an arm in the air wildly to catch her attention, “Good morning!”

She nods to him and Sasuke, sighing softly with a twitch of a smile at the corner of her mouth at his enthusiasm.

“Hn.”

Hn . Inner repeats in a mocking tone, louder than before, Your eloquence astounds even I, Uchiha Sasuke. 

Naruto seems to agree if the face he makes is any indication, and Sakura ignores the argument that starts up between the two boys expertly.

✿✿✿

Half an hour into waiting for their sensei, Inner starts to grumble.

Two hours in is when Naruto begins to complain, and Sakura can tell that even Sasuke is becoming irritated.

“Maa, alright.” Kakashi says, appearing three hours after Sakura arrived.

Naruto points an accusing finger at him, “You’re late!” 

Sasuke glares at him as well, and Sakura raises her gaze to the space just to the left of the man’s head.

“Well, a black cat crossed my path, you see.” He smiles with his eyes, and Sakura can tell its false even without actually meeting his eyes, “So I had to change my route.”

“Liar!”

Liar, Inner echoes alongside Naruto, calmer than his exclamation, who is three hours late for something like that?

Sasuke ‘hn’s.

Punch him in the face. Inner deadpans, If he continues to be nonverbal he could at least add some variety.

Sakura decidedly does not punch Sasuke in the face.

Kakashi-sensei brings out an alarm clock and sets it on a nearby stump, “It’s set for twelve o’clock.” He tells them as he starts the timer, his other hand reaches into his pocket and pulls out two bells that he dangles in front of them, “Today’s assignment is to take these two bells from me, those who can’t won’t get lunch. They’ll be tied to one of those stumps over there, and watch as I eat my own before your very eyes.” 

“Why are there only two bells?” Naruto asks, and Sakura moves her eyes to stare at them instead of the space next to their sensei’s head, 

“There are only two, so at the very least, one of you will go to the logs. That person will be disqualified,” He jingles the bells, “And be sent back to the academy.”

There is ice in her veins.

“It might be one person, it could be all three of you. You can use your shuriken. You won’t be able to take the bells unless you come with the intent to kill me.” He says casually, swinging the bells into his fist as though he hadn’t pulled the rug out from under them.

As though he hadn’t told Sakura that this could all be for nothing .

“You couldn’t even avoid a chalkboard eraser.” Naruto points out, hands behind his head, 

“In this world,” Kakashi begins again, “Those who aren’t skilled enough tend to complain more. Well, ignore the loser. Begin when I give the ‘ready-go’ signal.”

Naruto rushes him with a Kunai, and Sakura’s eyes flicker from the hand that held the bells to Naruto when he is facing the opposite direction with his own kunai pointed at the back of his neck.

“Don’t be so hasty.” Kakashi tuts, releasing him, “I didn’t say start yet, but at least you came with the intent to kill me.” He chuckles, “How do I say this…”

Sakura’s eyes flicker between everyone in the field,

“I feel like I'm finally starting to like you guys.”

✿✿✿

That person will be disqualified and sent back to the academy.

Inner is silent, and Sakura is expressionless, but the ice remains in her veins, leaking into her insides. If she doesn’t become a genin…

“If you want to be a weapon, Sakura.”

If Sakura doesn’t become a genin now, there’s no way she’d be allowed to return to the academy. No way her mother would allow her to waste more time on the useless dream to become a shinobi .

“Then be a weapon.”

Inner inhales sharply, we will not fail now.

Sakura watches absently as Naruto charges Kakashi, using the trees as cover to move further away from the clearing they began in.

Sakura needed to become a genin, she needed to be something. (she needed to be released from this hell that chained her to a house full of resentment)

“Are you really going to be that selfish, Sacchan?” A voice asks, stepping from behind the trees into her vision to reveal Hiroshi, “Steal an opportunity from two boys who worked much harder than you?”

As though pulled by an invisible string, Sakura’s spine straightens, her shoulders snap back and she clutches her wrists behind her back. Her breath stutters in her lungs and her eyes trail to stare at the trees ahead of her.

Genjutsu, Inner shouts at her, He’s not here.

Her hands snap forwards into the seal, “Kai.”

The image of her uncle dispels in a flurry of leaves, and Sakura heaves in a breath through her mouth quietly. Taijutsu for Naruto, genjutsu for me, even in her own mind, Sakura’s voice is quiet as she recounts, Ninjutsu for Sasuke?

Sakura makes a half-turn in one direction, heading for where she can feel the traces of Sasuke’s chakra. When she emerges from the trees, her head tilts to one side when she finds him neck deep in the ground.

Inner snorts.

Sasuke’s eyes meet hers for a fraction of a second before she snaps hers to the side of his head with a pounding heart, panic edging at the corners of her mind for the near mistake. Dropping to her knees beside him silently, she begins to help dig him out.

It takes a while, but not as long as it would have if he were left on his own, and by the time he’s out, it’s nearly noon.

✿✿✿

Naruto is tied to the center log when the two of them arrive at the meeting place from before, two bentos lying in the grass on either side of him.

“You all fail.” Kakashi begins, “Naruto, you went solo without a thought of working with your teammates. Sakura, you pulled from the fight without attempting to pull Naruto back as well, leaving him to fight an opponent above his level alone. And you, Sasuke, wrote both of them off and went off on your own as well.” Arms crossed over his chest, he turns toward the memorial stone, “These are all the ninjas who are called heroes in the village. This is a memorial, the names of my friends stand in this stone.” 

Silence.

“I’ll give you all one more chance. Those who want to take on the challenge can eat lunch, but don’t let Naruto have any. Its punishment for breaking the rules and trying to eat on your own.” Sakura’s eyes snap to Naruto’s bound figure, “If someone lets him eat, that person will be disqualified on the spot.”

The two of them sit in front of the bentos on either side of Naruto as soon as the silver-haired man is out of sight, but Sakura does not begin to eat as Sasuke does. She can hear Naruto’s stomach grumble from her spot on the grass, and he broke the Rules and the punishment that Kakashi had found suitable is withholding food.

Sakura should not interfere with a punishment.

But Sakura remembers being seven years old, huddled on the corner furthest from the stairs beneath the overhang above the porch behind her house, shivering in the wake of the cold fall rain. Sleeping under the stars for nights without access to food she could not find herself, because Sakura had asked to become a ninja.

She looks at the pre-made bento in front of her, like it will give her answers. She picks up the chopsticks carefully, and after a moment of hesitation, lifts some rice toward Naruto with her eyes resolutely on the grass under her knees. 

We will become genin, no matter how long it takes. Inner reaffirms, voice shaking.

“Sakura-chan?!” Naruto gasps, and she can feel Sasuke’s eyes on her now as well, “But you’ll be sent back to the academy!”

With a sharp inhale, Sakura does not remove her hand from its spot in front of his face, “I know.”

“Then why-“

“I was going to give a bell to one of you anyway.” She lies, thinking back to the words spoken by the genjutsu of her uncle, “You both have more potential than I do anyways, so I was always going to be going back to the academy whether I got a bell or not.” Her hand shakes slightly, but she ignores it.

A pair of chopsticks join hers, “We’ll fail together then. Like a team.”

Her head snaps to the side in surprise, and then she is staring into black eyes. Her mouth drops open, and she pulls herself to stare back at the grass with her heartbeat in her ears.

Naruto takes the offered food from both of them with a bright smile.

“You three!” An explosion of smoke comes from behind them, “You defied the rules, so that means you know what’s coming.” 

“As long as you follow our rules, you’ll be safe.”

“Do you have anything to say?”

“We’re a three-man squad, right?” Sasuke says, and Sakura nods along shakily, hands trembling in wake of the realization that she broke the rules .

You broke the rules, what’s one more? Inner whispers, and Sakura breathes in harshly, “The three of us are one, so…” Her voice is barely louder than the thunder Kakashi called.

“The three of you are one, eh?” Kakashi crouches in front of them, making eye contact with each of them, though Sakura does not reciprocate, and the storm he’d been calling dissipates into nothing, “You pass!”

Naruto articulates his confusion for the three of them,

“You pass.” Sensei repeats, “You three are the first. Before, it was just idiots who’d meekly listen to what I said. A ninja must see through deception. In the ninja world, those who break the rules are scum, but those who abandon their friends are worse than that.”

There is the sound of breaking glass within Sakura’s skull, and her eyes go wide.

“He’s kinda cool.” Naruto whispers, and Sakura can’t help but agree,

“That’s it for the exercise. Everyone passes. Team seven begins their mission tomorrow!” He gives them all a thumbs up.

Chapter Text

Sakura is not surprised when her mother is waiting by the door when she arrives home, but a faint hope in the back of her mind shrivels and dies nonetheless. 

“Okaeri, Sacchan.” Mebuki hums, cool blue eyes glancing over the dirt scuffs near the knees of her cheongsam disdainfully, “How was your… training.” Her mother does not bother trying to hide her lack of interest in actually knowing about it.

Sakura’s voice is only slightly louder than a whisper, “I passed.” 

“Ah…” Her mother sighs deeply, and Sakura suppresses a flinch, “Well, I suppose congratulations are in order." Mebuki's tone is laced with a hint of mockery. "Let's not forget that passing this so-called test doesn't make you a real ninja .” Her lips curl around the words as though she could spit them out like rotten food.

“Yes, Hahaue.”

Mebuki steps in front of Sakura, settling her hands on both of her shoulders with a comforting (suffocating) grip, “I just worry, Sakura… The thought of you heading out into the world in such a dangerous and barbaric field…” She takes a deep breath in, tears glistening in her eyes, “I don’t know what I would do if you were to get hurt.”

For a moment, there is a spark of hope behind her ribcage, and Sakura opens her mouth to say something before Inner pushes and-

Sakura gags, head spinning, tears drip from her eyes numbly. Pain radiates from her shoulder and down her arm as she heaves, and she can barely notice that her mother is standing in front of her. 

“Kaa-san it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.” She sobs, bracing herself on the floor with one hand as her other arm dangles uselessly.

Mebuki glances down at her, a light ‘tsk’ sound escaping her at the sight of the bleeding cut on her head, “Hiro-nii, don’t let her bleed on my carpet.”

Uncle Hiroshi laughs sheepishly, tugging Sakura up by the back of her cheongsam ignoring the wrecked half-scream half-sob that escapes her, “Of course, imouto. We’ll move.”

-Sakura blinks, and the memory is gone, and her mother is once again standing in front of her. This time there is no concussion, there is no dislocated shoulder, and Sakura is not seven turning eight.

(She is still weak.)

“Apologies, Hahaue.” She murmurs, shoulders tense under her touch, “I will try my best to be careful.”

Mebuki stares her down with glassy eyes, lip trembling, “Sacchan, please think about it?” 

When she does not respond, Mebuki sighs in disappointment and wipes the tears away with the pads of her fingers, but Sakura can see the anger lurking in her eyes. 

“Fine. Don’t listen to me, you ungrateful-” She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes as she releases it, “To your room, Sakura.”

“...Yes, Hahaue.”

Sakura does not eat that night.

✿✿✿

D-rank missions stretched out before Sakura like an endless sea of monotony. Each day, she would meet up with Naruto and Sasuke at the designated meeting point, waiting for their sensei, who was never on time. 

Every mission completed, the gap between Sasuke and Naruto would diminish just slightly. The arguments became more routine than actual disagreements, insults more teasing than biting. Sakura watched from the sidelines, silently (Longingly) as the team given broken stilts began to build a new foundation to stand on. 

“Left!” Sasuke barks and Sakura throws herself into a roll, Kakashi-sensei’s kunai slamming into the ground where she had been standing moments before, and she ducks in time for Naruto to throw himself over her body with a kunai of his own in hand.

Sasuke pulls back as Naruto maneuvers their sensei to face just slightly away from where Sakura kneels, and the boys seem to communicate wordlessly as they pull his attention away from her. Sakura takes the opportunity to push herself further toward Kakashi’s left, pulling a seal-covered kunai from her pouch as she does. 

As their sensei moves toward her teammates as they converge together, touching for only a second, is when Sakura pulls herself into a kawarimi, trading out with the two of them and slams her kunai into the ground in front of her. 

Kakashi’s eye widens nearly imperceptibly when she takes advantage of his crouched position to vault herself over his shoulders, activating the smokescreen seal as she does, and Naruto floods the space with henged clones. 

Kakashi eye smiles at them once they regroup in the center of the training ground, and Sakura can’t help but feel like its more genuine than before. 

Inner whispers, It is.

✿✿✿

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into a month filled with D-rank missions. Sakura's life settled into a rhythm of training, missions, and watching blankly as her mother counted through Sakura’s paycheck every day with a satisfied smile. As she stood with Naruto and Sasuke at their meeting spot, she couldn't help but observe the subtle changes within their dynamic.

Naruto's exuberance and determination shone brighter than ever. Sasuke, though still reserved, showed glimpses of a budding trust in his teammate ( teammates, Inner corrects every time. Sakura never changes her wording. ). Together, they formed a bond—a bond that Sakura desperately craved. Their missions varied from simple errands to helping the villagers with menial tasks. Missions that lacked excitement but served well to build teamwork and trust. 

Sakura could work seamlessly between them, could cover their blind spots during training and fix up the places the two of them missed during missions. She knew her place on the team as the member that stays out of sight. 

But Kakashi continued to create new situations that forced her to fight alongside the two of them instead of behind them where she belonged.

And she didn’t know what to do about it, or how to address it.

How to explain that he was putting time and effort into nothing . 

So, she didn’t.

✿✿✿

“Let’s see,” The Hokage mutters to himself as he looks through the missions list, “There’s an errand to the neighboring town, to babysit the chief councilor’s boy, to help with digging potatoes... Eh-”

“No!” Naruto yells, and Sakura tenses, “No! No, thank you! I want to do a more exciting mission! Give us something else!”

Kakashi smacks Naruto over the head hard enough for him to face plant on the wooden floor of the Hokage’s office, “Knock it off.” Sakura’s shoulders loosen just slightly at the light punishment, thankful for Kakashi to step in before the Hokage or his guard.

“Naruto,” The Hokage begins, “It’s important to explain to you what a mission is. Listen to me,” Sakura automatically straightens at those words, “Requests pour into the village every day, they range from babysitting to assassinations. A wide spectrum of requests is recorded and are separated into ranks A through S. In the village, everyone below me is separated into ranks, jounin, chuunin, and genin.” He explains,

Sakura wishes to glance at her teammate to see if he’s listening to the Hokage like he was ordered, but she finds her eyes locked on the largest ( threat ) authority in the room.

The Hokage continues, “We at the highest level distribute the requests as missions to ninjas who have the abilities to fulfill those requests. If it's successful, the client pays.” The Hokage gestures to her team with his pipe, and Sakura’s eyes follow his moving hands with rapt attention, “Nevertheless, you guys have just become genin, D-ranks is about the best you can do.”

Sakura, once she sees that the Hokage’s attention is fully on Naruto, follows his gaze to her teammate. Her heart seizes in her chest at the sight of him crouched on the floor planning his meals instead of listening.

“LISTEN!” The Hokage bellows, Sakura’s attention snaps back to him and her body twitches in an aborted motion to block Naruto from his sight, a newly ingrained instinct to cover her teammates from threats clawing its way to the front of her mind. When it continues to be silent, Sakura fears that her fight or flight chose to discard words, but then the Hokage chuckles and says, “Okay, fine.”

The world rushes in with clarity once again, and Sakura half focuses on the words as she tries to get her heart to stop beating in her ears. It's once she’s finally able to feel more than the throbbing in her head that the man enters. 

“A bunch of snot-nosed little kids?” The old man sighs, taking a swig from his bottle, and Sakura eyes the alcohol with sharp eyes. “I am Tazuna, I will be building a bridge that will change our world. I expect you to return me to my country, and protect me, even if it means giving up your life.”

✿✿✿

About three hours into their walk, they come across a puddle on the side of the road, and it in itself isn’t very odd, but Sakura knows it hasn’t rained in days. She looks to her teammates to see if either of them had noticed, but Naruto is asking Tazuna about Wave, and Sasuke is staring resolutely ahead. She turns to their sensei next, to find him already looking at her, and his hand flickers into the sign for wait .

It's another three hours, puddles on the side of the road every thirty minutes or so with Sakura’s eyes on Kakashi as they move, before anything happens. 

The puddle explodes into two ninja, and Kakashi-sensei shouts at them to form into protective formation around Tazuna even as chains surround him, and Sakura’s pulled two kunai out of her pouch before she can think, slipping from her fingers in two directions and catching each of the strange men in the thigh as they pull the chains taut.

The chains tear into the soft flesh of their sensei, and continue beyond that, and Kakashi-sensei is--

Something snaps, and it takes Sakura a moment to realize that the sound belongs to the broken jaw of the man underneath her, shin aching with the beginnings of a bruise and there is blood in her hair .

Her scalp stings as her head is pulled back to face the image of her uncle standing above her with that dark glint in his eyes, the small glimpses of her pink locks she can catch reveal them to be rusted with blood, and her hands hold tight to his wrist.

“Such pretty hair, Sacchan.” Hiroshi purrs, glaring down at her teary eyes, “Makes a good hand grip, doesn’t it? Can you stand a little hair pulling when an enemy ninja asks about Konoha?” He asks, as he uses the grip on her roots to yank her face forward into the table in front of her. 

Her nails dig into the skin of his wrist as he tightens the hold, pulling tighter on her hair, “What about when they’re faster than you?”

“Can you avoid this pretty hair being your downfall, Sacchan?”

The man gets in close and makes a swipe for her bloodied locks, and Sakura sends her fist into his throat for his efforts, sending him coughing a few steps back as she increases the distance between him and Tazuna herself. In light of the new distance between them, he swings his chain in her direction instead. She grunts, yanking it from the man’s gloves with a vast amount of effort and her mind is screaming nonsense at her,

Danger, danger, danger, danger, Naruto and Sasuke are in danger, we’re in danger, Sensei is-

They cut off abruptly, and a new one pulls itself to the front with fervor,

They hurt us. Her mind growls,  they will not get a second chance.

Whipping the chain around, Sakura grasps the ankle of the man when he lunges in the direction of her teammates and Tazuna, knocking his feet out from under him and bringing him to the ground. Sakura does not waste time and pounces, pushing the man onto his back and wraps the chain around his arms and shoulders, letting the sharp metal dig into his flesh mercilessly and pulls another kunai out of her pouch.

They got sensei, a voice whispers, why should we let him live? Why should we show him mercy, when he was going to kill us?

Sakura’s hand grip tightens, and her hand shakes with the white-knuckle grip she has, eyes staring down at the ninja before her with eyes full of fury. Her bloodied hair flashes in the corner of her vision, and she spins the kunai between her fingers before slamming the hilt into the side of his head with all the strength she possesses. 

Kakashi sensei crouches in front of her, the other man in his arms, and as Sakura heaves with exertion she wonders if she’s hallucinating. But her sensei’s gaze is soft, and his hand comes up slowly to pat her on the head, and he’s solid .

He’s alive.

“Sorry, Sakura-chan.” He tells her, “I didn’t mean to worry you so much.”

Jerk-sensei , Inner spits, but her voice is trembling, Fucking asshole.

Sakura’s vision becomes blurry with tears for a moment, before she pushes them back with expert efficiency. Her hands are bleeding, she realizes, and her cheongsam is torn at the shoulder, “Jerk-sensei.” She whispers out loud, repeating Inner’s new title, her throat trying to close at the sight of blood in her hair and the feeling of bruises forming on her face.

An eye smile ( soft, and brimming with guilt ), and Sakura belatedly realizes that it's the first time she’s made eye contact with her sensei.

She wonders if that’s why she’s shaking.

“You did well.” He praises, and Sakura’s eyes go wide, “Very well.” He turns to her teammates who stand slack jawed in front of Tazuna, “You two as well, guarding the client. You all did well.” More praise, and Sakura can feel her eyes burning once again.

“Now Tazuna-san.” Her sensei’s voice is cold, “Let’s talk about the mission.”

Chapter Text

The boat ride toward Wave is filled with the questions of her sensei against the client, and Sakura watches blankly as the blood dries and stains the ends of her hair dark.

She can see Naruto and Sasuke both giving her looks she can’t discern out of the corner of her eyes.

“It’s alright if you plan to cut the mission when we reach land, I will no doubt be killed long before I can reach my home, and my grandson who is turning eight will only cry his heart out.” Tazuna’s words reach her once more, “And my daughter will, of course, blame the Leaf ninja as she lives the rest of her life in solitude.”

Sakura is unphased by the blatant attempt at manipulation, but she can see Naruto’s lips quiver slightly.

“We have no choice but to continue the mission.” Kakashi sensei sweatdrops.

Tazuna gives a mock surprised look, “Oh, thank you!”

Bastard. Inner grumbles

✿✿✿

Once they reach land they bid the man who gave them a ride a very quick and stout goodbye, and begin their journey on foot to Wave once again, and it does not take long before the rustle of the bushes to their left causes Naruto to let a kunai fly, catching a startled rabbit just and inch above the head. 

The rabbit is completely white in the middle of summer in Fire country, and the three genin share a wide eyed look before their sensei shouts,

“Everyone get down!”

She hits the floor without hesitation, a hand going to the kunai pouch on her hip instinctively as she looks up just in time to see the sword lodge itself into the wood of a tree, a man balancing on the hilt in a flash. 

“If it isn’t the Hidden Mist’s missing nin, Momochi Zabuza.” Kakashi sensei’s calm voice rings out, a hand snapping out to the side to warn them from interfering. “He’s on a totally different level than the others, stay back.”

Even without the warning, Sakura can tell that the man is different than the men they’d fought before by the way the air gets heavy and thick with a new unseen humid energy that wasn’t there before. 

“Sharingan no Kakashi.” Zabuza states, “I’m sorry but, I’ll have you hand over the old man.”

“Manji battle formation.” Kakashi sensei orders, “Protect Tazuna. Don’t involve yourselves in the fight, that's the teamwork in this situation.” He lifts his hitai-ate and the surrounding area fills with mist. 

“I never expected to see the famed sharingan so soon.” 

“I still haven’t mastered the use of my sharingan. “Kakashi sensei admits, his voice unchanging, “Don’t let your guard down, after all if we fail we just die.” He reminds them.

His nonchalance is comforting in a fucked up kind of way, Inner says.

“Eight spots.” Zabuza’s voice echoes in the mist, coming from all directions, “The larynx, the spine, the lungs, the liver, the jugular, the subclavian veins, the kidney, the heart, now then…” He lists, “Which vulnerable spot would be good?”

Threat, threat, threat, threat. Her mind recites, body relaxing in sheer need for potential combat. Hurt him, threat, kill it, dispose of it, this is what it means to be a k-- She cuts the thought off with a clench of her jaw, gripping the hilt of her kunai so tightly that the well-worn leather hilt squeaks.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you with my life.” Kakashi vows, “I will not allow my comrades to die.”

The fight is a blur, both jounin too fast for her eyes to follow, words stolen away with the speed that Sakura can only catch bits and pieces and then, she is meeting the eyes of her sensei within a water prison.

And she can see their mouths moving behind bandages and a mask, but she cannot hear them. It feels like the world is moving at a snail’s pace, like she’s underwater and is trying to swim in molasses all at once.

The mist-covered image of her sensei disappears, as it thickens even more, and Zabuza’s voice rings out again, “Only those who are dangerous enough to be in my bingo book are worthy of being called ninja, ones that have faced life and death multiple times.”

Sakura cannot see her teammates, and something protective curls tighter in her chest and sneers .

“You don’t deserve to be called ninja.”

Naruto hits the ground somewhere to her left, and his hitai-ate slides through the mud before coming to a stop before her feet.

“You three!” Kakashi sensei yells from his prison, “Take Tazuna and run, you have no chance against this guy. He can’t leave me and the water clone jutsu won’t last after a certain distance, run!”

Her fingers twitch, and her eyes are locked on the muddied fabric of Naruto’s hitai-ate.

“Sakura, gather your teammates and run.” Her eyes snap to her sensei, heart in her throat, “That's an order!”

That’s not fair. Inner whispers, because Sakura has never disobeyed an order given since the forming of Team Seven, and he ordered them not to interfere in his fight in the first place, the first Rule of becoming a genin is to follow the orders of your superior officers.

“I will not allow my comrades to die.”

It was an order Kakashi gave them.

“Those who break the rules are scum, but those who abandon their friends are worse than that.”

Kakashi sensei who only hits hard enough to bruise during training, who praises her for good work and pushes her to stand by her teammates as equals in every session despite that she is worth less than them. Kakashi sensei who does not touch them if they flinch, who does not break bones or shout at them when they do something wrong.

Kakashi sensei who is ordering them to abandon him .

Sasuke rushes the clone in front of them, and the moment he is caught in its fist, Sakura strikes out with a kunai, gutting it in one strike and soaking her as it disspells. Green eyes alight with anger, face expressionless, she bends to pick up Naruto’s hitai-ate.

“If you want to be a weapon Sakura.” He jams the kunai back into her hm forcefully crushing her fingers over the handle, “Then you will be a weapon.”

Straightening, Sakura turns to the one trapping her sensei, the one threatening her team that she has been trained to protect for the last month and few weeks, “Maa, Shinobi-san.” She flips her wet, blood-crusted hair out of her face and twirls the kunai in her hand, “You say that a real ninja is someone whose faced life and death numerous times right?” Her chakra crackles under her skin with memories of blood and broken bones, of tears and bruises, of crying until she vomits and being forced to do it all over again until she no longer flinches ( and it is still never enough- ) and she thinks,

You do not scare me, her chakra is white hot and her eyes glow with it, because I do not exist.

“Then let’s test it.”

Her presence disappears, and she backs into the mist he’d created to regroup with her team, handing the hitai-ate back to Naruto.

“This is the plan.”

They do not question her leadership.

Something inside cracks and trembles under the force of that sneering and protective ball within her chest, and Inner purrs,

Bloodthirsty.

Chapter Text

Sakura eyes the water clone Zabuza made to replace the one that she had just dispelled, “Naruto-san, I need fifteen shadow clones and have the transformation jutsu on standby, can you do that?”

“Not a problem.” There’s a firm look in his eyes that Sakura hasn’t ever seen from him before, and she turns to her other teammate,

“Sasuke-san, I’ll need you to prepare to throw Naruto-san.” 

Sasauke nods, and his voice doesn’t tilt up in question when he asks, “How.” But Sakura knows that’s because his tone is always on the angry side no matter what he’s feeling.

Her eyes seem to shine in the mist, “Sasuke, you brought your Demon Wind Shuriken on this mission, right?”

✿✿✿

Sakura takes up position directly in front of Tazuna with a firm stance and steady hands, eyes on Naruto and Sasuke as they prepare. 

Learning about the Mist’s graduation exam makes her stomach churn, and part of her claws itself to the forefront of her thoughts to ask what would we have done to become genin? 

Sakura does not dwell on it.

Sasuke rushes at the clone once more, ducking low and skidding across the wet, mud-slick ground to take a swipe at the legs, Zabuza expects it, but he does not expect fifteen Narutos to attack from above.

They all come skidding back toward Sakura when Zabuza throws them off, dispersing one by one and only the fact that Sakura knows lets her catch the puff of smoke when Naruto swaps.

“Sasuke!” The clone yells, tossing the shadow shuriken.

More water clones emerge from the mist, rushing for Sakura and the bridge builder behind her, and her hands clutch the kunai in them with familiarity that used to make her sick ( one that still causes nausea to crawl its way through her body if she thinks about it too much ). Slicing up through one diagonally beneath the rib cage and across to the opposite shoulder, Sakura is soaked even further when it collapses. 

Two others attempt to twist by her on either side to reach Tazuna and Sakura places the handle of one kunai between her teeth and uses her free hand to brace on the ground, digging her fingers into the wet earth, twirling her legs up to kick the clones in the jaw hard enough that when Sakura’s feet swing down to meet the ground again, they have already dispersed into water.

Zabuza pulls his hand from the water prison, and Sakura’s chakra purrs beneath her skin as the last water clone in front of Sasuke is popped, catching Naruto’s kunai in her muddy grasp as it sails through and pulling her own back out from between her teeth to sit with the others in her hand between breaths.

There’s a trickle of blood dripping from a paper-thin cut just beneath Zabuza’s eye.

“You little brat!” The man growls, twirling the shuriken in his hand and pulling back to throw it at her teammate who is still falling and can’t move fast enough to stop it and Sakura tightens her grip on her kunai and prepares to let them sail--

Kakashi’s arm stops the twirling before he can follow through and Naruto’s head emerges from the water, beaming.

“You’ve grown, the three of you.” Their sensei calls back to them, blood dripping from his hand and into the water below them. Turning his eyes to the nukenin next to him with a cold, hard gaze, and his voice becomes low and threatening, “I’ll tell you now, the same jutsu won’t work on me twice.”

“Stay alert.” Sasuke warns Tazuna as he steps back to guard him with Sakura.

The fight is still a blur, but what Sakura can catch with every minute pause is that Kakashi matches the man move for move, jutsu for jutsu, and word for word. It makes her head spin, and her fingers twitch with each water jutsu performed.

The water builds behind her sensei and surges forwards, taking Zabuza and trees with it, causing ripples and waves that take Naruto sputtering toward shore.

Two senbon thunk into the side of Zabuza’s throat, and he collapses.

Kakashi kneels down to check for a pulse, “He’s definitely dead.” They all follow his gaze to the nin in the trees responsible for it.

“I thank you.” The mysterious nin bows, “I had been waiting for the chance to kill Zabuza.”

“By the looks of that mask, you’re a tracker nin from Kirigakure. A hunter nin.”

“Impressive.” The mask crows, “You’re very knowledgeable.”

Sakura’s eyes track the masked nin, even when her sensei is speaking, even when Naruto demands to know why they could kill Zabuza when he was so strong. They do flicker to her sensei when he places a hand on Naruto’s head in acknowledgement, ruffling his hair lightly, “This too, is reality. There are kids out there younger than you, and stronger than me.” 

“Your battle is over for now.” The hunter-nin says, “I must get rid of this corpse because it contains many secrets. Now then, excuse me.”

Her eyes do not leave the figure until they’ve disappeared with Zabuza’s body, and the cold feeling of wet ice at the base of her spine that had been so present throughout the fight disappears with them.

Kakashi pulls down his hitai-ate over his eye again, “He’s not here anymore.” He tells Naruto, “Things like this happen when you’re a ninja, if you’re frustrated apply it next time.” He turns to the rest of her team, “Our mission isn’t over yet, we must take Tazuna-san home.”

The man laughs, “So sorry everyone! You can rest at my house.”

“Okay, let’s perk up and go.” He turns and freezes, legs shaking, before he suddenly collapses.

“Kakashi-sensei!”

✿✿✿

When they arrive at Tazuna’s home, their sensei is carried by Naruto’s clones into the spare room they’ve been offered for the duration of their stay as the old drunk introduces the genin to his family, and Sakura suddenly becomes incredibly aware that she is soaking wet and covered in mud and in tracking it all over the place in Tsunami-san’s house, oh Sage --

Inhale. Inner’s voice cuts through, stark and steady in place of her spiraling, Exhale.

Sakura closes her eyes briefly and follows the order, when she reopens them she grabs hold of the strap closest to her on Naruto and Sasuke’s backpacks, nodding silently toward the room Kakashi had been set in when they turn to her with questions in their eyes. Her b-- teammates, her teammates -- slip their bags off and allow her to take them as they continue to speak with their hosts.

✿✿✿

Later that night, long after her team had fallen asleep, Sakura sat awake with her back to the wall and knees pulled to her chest.

“Students who had shared the same pot of rice, partners who told one another of their aspirations, formed pairs and tried to kill each other… Neither passed until one was dead.”

Sakura tries to imagine it, pairing up against one of her classmates at the end, killing one of them , to become the kunoichi like the one she saw that day on the training grounds.

And Sakura--

Sakura can see it. Can picture it clearly, the well-worn hilt of the kunai and the scent of blood, the face of the dead classmate changing and changing until it has cycled through each of them.

Even now, Sakura believes that to become a kunoichi, to fulfill that want, to validate what she has forged herself into for this bloodstained dream of a young girl who wants to be seen so badly…

Sakura believes that she could do it, but this time when she cycles through the faces of her academy classmates, the image becomes blurry when she tries to place Naruto or Sasuke on the other side of the blade.

“You are a tool meant to be used.” Her uncle had said to her once, “You do not feel and you. Do. Not. Fail.”

Today, Sakura disobeyed an order that came directly from her superior and now she finds that she cannot kill either of her teammates even if it meant becoming a kunoichi. She put the survival of her jounin sensei above the completion of the mission, and would put the survival of Naruto and Sasuke above what she has bled and cried for ( what she would kill and die for ).

Is that a failure? She asks, remembering the moment that she believed Kakashi to have been torn to pieces by the Demon Brothers, remembering the fear and rage that she didn’t know she still knew how to feel, To want them to live and to care if they die?

There may be no use for a broken tool, for a kunai that fails to cut. Inner replies, But we are a person .

Sakura’s voice seems quieter this time, even in her own head, Are we allowed to be?

This time, Inner doesn’t have an answer.

✿✿✿

Nearly a whole day passes before Kakashi wakes up. 

 “Naruto and Sasuke?” He asks, eye catching her hovering in the door as Tsunami exits.

“Scouting the build site with Tazuna.” She says, kneeling beside his futon, and she clenches her knees in white knuckles grips as she bows her head and her eyes are closed tightly.

His voice almost sounds confused when he asks, “Sakura-chan?”

“I disobeyed a direct order during the fight with Zabuza, and threatened the success of the mission.” She recites, voice monotone if only to keep it from shaking, “I accept the consequences.”

There's a rustling and her shoulders stiffen in preparation for shouting or a strike or--

A hand rests gently on top of her head, and Sakura flinches in surprise, eyes snapping open and her sensei’s visible eye is incredibly serious.

“Sakura, I’m proud of how you handled the fight with Zabuza. Even if your plan to save me was reckless, your strategy was sound. You utilized your comrades well and were able to keep the client safe.” He ruffles her hair lightly and the corner of his eye twitches as though he’s giving her a small smile, “You’re going to be a great ninja one day if this is how you’re starting.”

Sakura is confused, because she broke a Genin Rule--

Those who break the rules are scum, but those who abandon their friends are worse than that. Inner repeats, Kakashi-sensei told us that himself.

Sakura wonders if her team counted as friends.

( She wants it to. )

✿✿✿

It does not surprise Sakura when Kakashi mentions that Zabuza could very well still be alive.

Ninja trust no death unless it is by their village’s---or their own---hands.

Sasuke and Naruto learn to tree walk, something that Sakura had already known how to do. Sakura is instead given instructions on water walking, she masters it in six hours and then she practices water jutsu while maintaining it. Memorizing the way it pulls at her reserves with each jutsu, noting the way the chakra at her feet tries to ebb and flow back toward her core as they deplete.

She doesn’t show Kakashi until after she can stay on top of the water for two hours consecutively without jutsu, and thirty minutes burning through every water jutsu in her---admittedly very limited---arsenal in one go.

✿✿✿

The village of Wave reminds Sakura of home in a terrible way, of cold nights spent under the stars without food for days and bruises blooming underneath soft cotton.

Her eyes linger on malnourished, tired children and angry, cowardly adults. One of the better off looking men smirks and tries to pickpocket her side bag as he passes and Sakura breaks his wrist. Sakura hands out the emergency granola bars in her bag to the child that eyes her warily when she passes instead.

“This is why the bridge is needed.” Tazuna tells her, and Sakura decides that though he tried to manipulate her team into staying for the mission, into taking the mission in the first place, that he is not a bad man.

He is just a man who wants to help the people of his village.

Sakura supposes that she can respect that.

✿✿✿

The day Sakura hears the story of Kaiza, she retreats into the forest to cool down. 

He was a good father, a good man and Gato made killing him into a show. It makes her chakra spark and buzz and fizzle beneath her skin and behind her eyes, making each breath burn on its way in and out of her lungs as she reminds herself to breathe.

“A lady does not act on anger, Sakura. It is unbecoming.”

Sakura is furious, and tries to beat her frustration into the trees around where Naruto and Sasuke learned to tree walk.

With each blow on the surface of the tree, Sakura’s chakra stirs in her veins and burns behind her eyes, luminescent in her anger. 

She can hear crackling on the edges of her limbs with each sharp crack against bark. Dust kicks up and settles repeatedly around her knees with each kick and shift of her feet, each blow starts to balance on a dangerous edge of too much chakra, and she can practically taste the humidity with each ragged breath and it's all too much .

This time, when Sakura’s foot lands sharply on the forest floor there is a sharp crack and a faint rumble beneath her feet, and she is springing backwards, covering her face at the sounds of tearing bark before she can fully process what she’s doing.

When she lands and the dust settles, the tree she had been tearing into in her frustration is skewered straight through by a thick root.

Her chakra rapidly cools from the insistent burning moments ago, almost smug , and her eyes return to their flat emerald green instead of the toxic-like glow she’d had before.

Sakura is almost breathless as she stares with wide eyes at what she’d just done,gazes upon the tree almost distantly. 

She knows of the wood release, she doesn’t think there’s a ninja out there who doesn’t. She also knows that the only person to have ever had mokuton was Senju Hashirama.

Sakura takes a deep breath in through her nose and releases it through her mouth and thinks. If she’d caused it, she can undo it.

Maybe.

Closing her eyes, Sakura imagines the way she had felt moments before and her chakra responds eagerly at her request to replicate what had just happened.

Chakra buzzing beneath her skin once more, finely controlled and giving her the dangerous edge she has craved so desperately. 

Sakura steps up to the tree and brings both palms to touch the center where the root stabbed through and coaxes the wood back into the earth. She places her hands on the outside of the hole left behind and encourages it to close.

Releasing her hold on her chakra gradually, just the slightest bit sad at the loss of the electric feeling, Sakura breathes and opens her eyes again, to find the tree the way it was when she arrived. Her white-hot, finely tuned chakra still blazing behind her irises though she could no longer feel it trying to burst from her skin.

Then it really hits Sakura that she just used mokuton and everything falls apart, because it's a kekkei genkai that she shouldn’t have because she’s a civilian ninja and they’re going to call her a thief and--

Inhale. Inner commands, but even her voice is shaky, Exhale.

Sakura obeys.

We tell no one.

Sakura knows there was never another option.

When Sakura returns to Tazuna’s home, she says nothing of her time in the woods, she doesn’t say anything, period.

But it’s alright.

Nobody expected her too, anyways.

Chapter Text

It's about two weeks into their mission in Wave, sixteen hours after Sakura discovers Mokuton and she begins to hear whispers in the shaking of the leaves. For a moment she doesn’t understand.

Inner asks in awe, Are the trees speaking to us?

Clarity hits her suddenly, and she understands.

Danger, Danger. Soon. Soon. Many.

Something pulls her core towards the bridge. Insistent, warning.

Inner pushes back questioningly, cautiously.  Who? What? Where? When?

Sapling. Danger. Across. Soon.

It doesn’t make any more sense. 

That night, Naruto speaks of a pretty stranger from the woods. The branches outside Tsunami-san’s house creak ominously.

✿✿✿

The next morning, Kakashi-sensei assigns the whole team to watch over the bridge for its final days of construction. Sakura tugs hesitantly on the hem of Naruto’s shirt before they leave, head full of continuous whispers of Danger. Danger.

”Sakura-chan?” He asks with a confused smile on his face.

”…Shadow clones.” She responds, eyes on the bridge of his nose. Naruto tilts his head to one side and Kakashi-sensei turns around to place a hand on his shoulder with an eye-smile in her direction.

”Good idea, Sakura-chan.” He praises, “Naruto, you should leave a few clones here for Tsunami-san and Inari-kun.”

Light fills Naruto’s blue eyes, and he nods. “Right! You’re so smart, Sakura-chan!”

Three shadow clones appear in a puff of smoke and cover Sakura’s blink of surprise at the compliment. Sasuke moves to Sakura’s right, putting her in between the two boys, as Kakashi falls into step with Tazuna beats ahead of them.

It isn’t long before they reach the bridge, and the whispers of the trees give away into murmurs.  Now, now, sapling, danger. 

There is the feeling of cold, wet ice at the base of her spine, and mist descends on the bridge.

A hand snaps out from the mist in reach for her hair, and Sakura lashes out with a kunai in response, slicing cleanly across the offending wrist. Water pours from the wound, and the body collapses in a splash as the clone disperses. 

The mist is thick enough that Sakura has no choice but to rely on her hearing for threats heading her way. She cannot see her team, and her chakra draws itself into a tight white-hot ball within her chest, and Sakura curls into a tense crouch at the railing of the bridge. 

A figure rushes out from the mist in front of her, and an axe comes down in an overhead arc towards her. She rolls to the side, bringing her kunai up to block as the man readjusts his swing in her direction. Her blade cuts into the wood beneath the head of the weapon and she pulls a second kunai from her pouch with her left hand, stabbing into the flesh of his thigh before he has time to adjust his strength as well.

He stumbles and Sakura pulls away into a standing position behind him, bringing her kunai with her. Her enemy clutches at his thigh, and Sakura throws all of her weight into a double kick at his back, knocking him onto the railing. 

She doesn’t think twice before gripping each of his ankles and pushing him up and over the edge, not sticking around to watch him hit the water. The slick feeling of ice on her spine expands, and the mist thins enough that he can see her senses facing off against Zabuza.

Tightly coiled chakra almost restless behind her rib cage, Sakura holds onto it with white knuckles even as she positions herself in front of Tazuna, bloody kunai in hand. Enemies try from each angle to get to the bridge builder behind her, and each is cut down long before they can reach him.

Inner repeats, Larynx, spine, jugular, lungs, liver, subclavian veins, kidney, heart. With each swing and throw, Sakura aims at them indiscriminately.

“ Sasuke !” Naruto’s voice carries out across the bridge, and her eyes snap toward him in time to see Sasuke fall.

He doesn’t get back up.

He doesn’t get back up.

Her chakra explodes outwards from the tight ball she’d held it in and floods her veins with ferocious energy, hot under her skin. Her green eyes glow ominously in the mist, and her lips pull back in a snarl as a growl tears its way out of her throat. The next enemy that tries for Tazuna, there is so much chakra in her throw that her kunai tears straight through his chest and out the other side. Piercing cleanly through his heart. 

A thick miasma of flaming chakra unlike any she’d felt from Naruto before coats the air, and Sakura's chews through it as though it were starving. Her presence disappears into the thin mist, and Sakura fades with it. Allowing instinct and training to take over.

✿✿✿

Naruto hesitates when given the chance, the  request , to exterminate the threat in front of him. So Sakura finished it for him with a kunai to the heart from behind. 

She cannot feel guilty about it, because weapons do not feel, and Sakura does not exist.

✿✿✿

Inhale, Inner whispers as Sakura comes back to herself and down from the adrenaline of battle, Exhale.

The bridge is covered in bodies. Most are the enemies hired by Gato, but she can see some of the workers of Wave strewn alongside them. Her eyes snap to the side to find Sasuke—

Alive.

He’s alive.

A bone-deep relief fills her, knocking her legs out from underneath her. 

Kakashi-sensei catches her before she can hit the ground, giving her an eye smile when she looks up at him. She’s exhausted, but her heart still pounds in fear when she meets his eye for only a moment. 

“Well done.” He praises her, patting her head lightly with one hand, and turns toward Tazuna and the rest of her team. “Let’s head back early, ne? I’m sure Tsunami-san wouldn’t mind.”

That poor woman’s flooring. Inner sighs and Sakura’s lips twitch.

✿✿✿

The remainder of their mission in Wave is anticlimactic in comparison to the battle on the bridge, and three weeks after initially setting off from Konoha, their stay in the small village comes to an end. Trip back much quicker at a genin’s pace than at a civilian’s, and the village is soon in sight.

The Hokage gives them an A-rank’s pay. Sakura stares at the envelope with wide eyes.

That’s enough for an apartment. Inner says, and Sakura stumbles on the road home in surprise. 

She had enough money to leave in the palm of her hand. 

Chewing on the inside of her bottom lip, she opens the envelope carefully and begins counting.

600,000 ryo.

Sakura stares. She has 10 months' rent in her hands.

We can leave. Inner insists We can leave.

With shaking hands, Sakura begins counting again, and before she can lose her nerve shoves the equivalent of a C-rank back into the envelope. She stares at the remaining ryo.

Hide it. Inner urges, Hide the rest .

Where? Sakura asks incredulously. Where could we possibly hide this?

A leaf flutters across her vision, and her eyes follow mindlessly as it falls in front of Konoha’s bank.

✿✿✿

Sakura doesn’t make it to the house until three hours after team seven returned to the village, 500,000 ryo hidden away in a brand new bank account. 

She doesn’t flinch when she hands the envelope of 100,000 to her mother.

Tomorrow. Inner promises, We leave tomorrow.

Hope blossoms within Sakura’s heart.

✿✿✿

There is no training the next morning, but Sakura wakes at 05:00 on the dot, weaves her hair into a tight braid down her back, and has breakfast started by 05:15.

Her mother, in a gold-trimmed qipao dress, sets the table for four.

Sakura’s heart drops, and the hope in her chest withers—

“Nii-san is looking forward to your progress, Sacchan.” Mebuki comments lightly, but her eyes are cold-cut diamonds baring into her, “You won’t disappoint him, will you?”

Her throat is dry when she answers, “No, Hahaue.”

”Good.”

—And dies.

Chapter Text

Sakura is tense all throughout breakfast, her fingers twitch around her chopsticks every time her uncle speaks. There is an infinitesimal smile tugging at the corner of her father’s mouth every time, and Sakura tenses further. 

“Imouto tells me you’ve graduated, Sacchan.” Hiroshi comments as she’s picking up the empty dishes from the table.

Her eyes flicker to Mebuki’s figure, chewing on the inside of her lip as she fills the sink with water, “Yes.” She has to turn around completely to start washing the dishes, and her entire body is screaming at her.

Threat! It cries, danger! Why are you giving them your back?!

“You returned home from a mission yesterday.” He continues, voice light. “Remind me what rank it was again?”

“...It was a C-rank, Oji-sama.” 

“Right, and how old are you?”

“Twelve.”

He hums, “A C-rank two months after graduating at twelve.” He sighs, “How pathetic.”

Sakura’s shoulders are so tense that the base of her neck begins to ache, and she forces herself to focus on making sure the dishes don’t slip from her fingers.

“Nii-san?” Her mother asks softly.

“This village has really let itself go, when I was her age I’d already had three A-ranks under my belt.” He scoffs, “Though I suppose it isn’t all Sacchan’s fault, if that damn Uchiha boy hadn’t ruined the early graduation.”

Kizashi hums, and she can feel eyes on her back, “You think she would have qualified?”

“Mm, perhaps not.” Hiroshi allows, “But still, what a waste. He could have at least had the decency to finish them all off and then himself.”

Sakura chokes on her next inhale, rage flooding her veins as Sasuke’s face crosses her mind. Her teeth dig into her tongue hard enough to draw blood, and hands clenched tightly beneath the soapy water..

“Oh, if grandfather could see them now.” Hiroshi chuckles. 

Mebuki huffs, “Like he’d do anything other than lament how big of a tragedy it is that one killed them all. Uncle Tobi, however.”

“Ha! That man in his prime would rejoice at the state of that clan now, no doubt.”

Sakura doesn’t know who ‘uncle Tobi’ is, but she does not think she’d like him very much if her own uncle is so fond of speaking of him. 

She’s quick to finish the dishes, the sound of idle chatter on the dead clan of her teammate behind her. Three dishes shatter in her palms under the force of her grip, hidden beneath the water.

And if the water was bloody as she drained it, nobody noticed.

They never did.

✿✿✿

Sakura would never consider her room a safe place. It is still within the house, the door cannot be shut between the hours of 05:00 and 23:00 and had the lock removed years ago. But she does consider it a reprieve, if nothing else. It is where her parents would send her when they grew tired, where her uncle would toss her after training. ( A place where her father never steps foot, no matter how many drinks he has .)

So it wasn’t safe, ( Sakura was never safe ) but it was something. Something that normally allowed her to drop some tension from her shoulders, allowed her to put her back to the wall and eyes on the door.

But it just felt empty now.

She was alone. It wasn’t something new, she was used to being alone. Alone meant she wasn’t being hurt.

What’s wrong? Sakura thinks at Inner, Something is wrong.

Her eyes flicker from corner to corner, floor to ceiling, for the cause of the unease.

Something is missing , Inner agrees.

But everything is the same . Sakura pulls at the bottom of her shirt in thought, gaze ever moving. Nothing is missing. Everything is where it should be.

But there is. The feeling insists, Something is missing.

She doesn’t understand.

( The thought persists throughout the day. )

( Something is missing. )

✿✿✿

“Sacchan.” Her uncle begins during dinner that night, and her fingers clutch absently at her thigh ( In search of a weapon that is not there. ) “When does your team begin training again?”

Her nails dig into the thin red cheongsam her mother handed her that morning, “Tomorrow morning.”

He nods, sipping at a glass of scotch that makes her skin itch. “Hm. Then we’ll begin tomorrow evening.” He flashes a smile at Mebuki, “I wouldn’t want to neglect my imouto on my first night home.”

Sakura’s stomach drops, and her throat dries up.

Mebuki laughs, “You spoil me, Nii-san.” The wine leaves a flush on her cheeks, and Sakura so desperately wishes to be excused.

“He spoils your daughter as well.” Kizashi allows, pointing at her with his chopsticks, “A whole day without training is generous for someone of her level, no doubt.”

Her fingers are numb from how tightly she clutches at her legs, and she can feel her nails break skin. 

“Ah, well pickers can’t be choosers and all that.” Hiroshi shrugs, tilting his drink towards her in question, “Would you say I spoil you, Sacchan?”

There is the feeling of dirt beneath her nails and blood on her lips, her shoulders ache and the scars hidden under the blood red of her cheongsam burn .

The way she swallows feels like sandpaper against her throat, but her voice is clear despite it. “Yes, Oji-sama.”

His smile is not kind, “I’d say so, too.”

Sakura feels sick, and Inner growls.

✿✿✿

That night, with her door closed, Sakura lies in a room that feels too empty staring at the ceiling with blank eyes. Chakra bleeding into her ears just enough that she can hear the laughter from downstairs. 

“--It’s true.” Hiroshi is saying through his laughter, “Both of them should have died that night with the rest of them.”

Kizashi hums, and there’s the clink of glasses against each other, “What use is one sharingan to the village anyhow?”

Sakura twitches.

“ Ah, don’t forget Nakamagoroshi no Kakashi . ” Her mother slurs, “ One and a half Sharingan.”

Her uncle guffaws, and Sakura blinks at the ceiling, her chakra blazing beneath her skin. She reigns it into a tight ball, wrestling with the restless anger within it.

“ Nakamagoroshi no Kakashi ”. Friend-killer.

(“This is a memorial, the names of my friends stand in this stone.”

“In the ninja world, those who break the rules are scum, but those who abandon their friends are worse than that.”

“I will not allow my comrades to die.”)

Sakura wonders if Kakashi-sensei was given a Rule once, one that put his mission above his friends. 

The mission comes first , is not an unknown saying for shinobi. It is one that is taught in the academy, pushed and sewn into their minds from a young age like seeds. 

Why is he ridiculed for something the village condoned?

Sakura imagines receiving the order to abandon her team to die in order to finish the mission. Imagines a superior officer ( Not Kakashi-sensei-- he would rather die -- ) telling her to sentence them to death.

( He doesn’t get back up. )

“Those who break the rules are scum, but those who abandon their friends are worse than that.”

Sakura thinks that she’d kill the superior officer instead.

Nakamagoroshi no Kakashi. 

He could have at least had the decency to finish them all off and then himself. 

Would you say I spoil you, Sacchan?

Sakura stares with blank eyes.

Her chakra swarms, and seethes .

✿✿✿

Morning comes quickly, and Sakura fills her pack to the brim with kunai and senbon and bandages. She ties her hair off at the base of her neck in a ponytail and shoves her legs into the single pair of shinobi grade pants she owns. 

She cannot get out of the house fast enough, but as she goes to open up her door, she hesitates.

“When does Sacchan normally head out, Imouto?” She can hear her uncle ask downstairs.

“Mm, in about ten minutes or so.”

She doesn’t want to see them. Sage she doesn't want to see them .

Then don’t. A voice whispers in the back of her head, near silent. Just leave.

Almost absently, her eyes flit to her bedroom window where a thin branch knocks up against it.

Out. It whispers, out. Help Sapling out!

Sakura glances back at the door, hand resting on the handle.

“ --Training grounds in the forest should still be open. I doubt any genin teams have claimed that old thing while I’ve been away. ”

( Dirt under her nails and blood in her hair. She thinks she may have dislocated her shoulder again, or broken her arm. 

Hiroshi continues to swing down on her. )

She lets the handle go.

The branch, no thicker than a pencil, should not be strong enough to hold her weight and yet it wraps itself gently around her waist and carries her to the ground regardless.

Heart pounding, she crouches underneath the tree, bedroom window left wide open above her. The roots of the tree tug at the hems of her pants insistently, but Sakura holds her breath and sits still, waiting for something.

Maybe for her uncle to come storming out after her. Maybe her mother’s shrill voice demanding she earn her keep and start on breakfast, or her father promising to remove her door entirely if she left it closed.

Nothing happens. There is nothing but the sound of wind in the leaves, and the root pulls again.

Go. It whispers, Out. Sapling free. Go.

Sakura’s movements are jerky as she stands, heart loud in her ears and almost panting with the amount of adrenaline pumping through her system.

And then she runs.

She runs and doesn’t stop until she’s crossed over the bridge her team meets at, doesn’t allow herself to breathe until she collapses in front of the memorial stone.

Gasping, less from the distance itself and more from the dwindling adrenaline, Sakura stares at her shaking hands.

Frantically, she thinks We ran away.  

Inner’s response is quick, And nothing happened to us.

What about when we go back? Sakura whispers to Inner.

There is a feeling pushing past the dwindling adrenaline and absolute shock of what she’s just done and burrowing itself deep in her chest, pulling at the strings of her heart.

Inner’s response is even quicker this time, We don’t have to go back.

“We don’t have to go back.” Sakura repeats, aloud.

Her lips twitch, and she opens and closes her hands, grasping at the air like a toddler becoming aware of their body for the first time.

Something changes, something shifts , and Sakura feels the morning dew seeping into the knees of her pants. She feels a breeze brush against her cheeks and fill her lungs. The sun rises over the trees, and she stares.

Everything feels so clear, like a static had finally lifted from the edges of her vision.

A giggle drags itself from her chest to her lips, and soon enough Sakura is laughing harder than she has ever laughed. The force of it has her doubled over with her forehead to the grass. 

And then she’s crying great, heaving sobs that shake her whole body. But when she sits back up, there is a small but breathtaking smile on her tear-streaked face, highlighted by the sunrise.

Chapter Text

It feels like hours before Sakura stands, her pants wet with morning dew and her hair askew from her usual tight braid down her back. But she feels weightless, and a smile twitches at her lips.

The trees seem to hum with energy, their roots shifting beneath the soil with every step Sakura takes, whispers of warm, warm, sapling is warm, never felt warm from sapling . 

Naruto arrives at their meeting point about half an hour after her to find Sakura staring into the endless bounds of Hashirama trees that litter the village.

"Sakura-chan!" His smile is bright, and the sun catches on his hair in a way Sakura has never noticed. She feels like she's seeing him for the first time, "Good morning!"

Sasuke isn't far behind him, eyes bleary with sleep and squinting at the rising sun as though it had personally attacked him. He grunts, greeting, nodding in her direction.

Sakura glances from Sasuke to the bridge of Naruto's nose, "...Good morning, Naruto-san." Her response made his smile even brighter, and Sakura didn't know that was possible. "Good morning to you, too, Sasuke-san."

Sasuke blinks at her groggily, "...Morning."

Naruto spins to look at him and points at him, "So you'll respond to her but not when I greeted you?!"

"Hn." Sakura sees Sasuke's lips twitch, but he turns away from Naruto before the boy can see it, and as the two begin their bickering something in Sakura's chest settles. 

The feeling from the nights before is gone, and Inner breathes out a surprised, Oh .

What ? Sakura asks, wondering what Inner picked up that she didn't.

That's what was missing .

Sakura startles, eyes turning to where her teammates are wrestling on the forest floor to see Sasuke taking a bite at Naruto, who yelps and slips his hand over the black-haired boy's eyes to stop him.

Inner huffs, I can't believe we missed these idiots . 

Sakura continues to stare at them, realizing that she has missed them. Her room has felt so bare because, for the last two weeks, Sakura has been sharing a room with them, falling asleep to the sound of their breaths and knowing they are right there.

"...Oh," Sakura whispers and Naruto and Sasuke cease their squabble to look up at her in question.

"What?" Sasuke asks, removing his teeth from Naruto's orange jumpsuit and swatting at the hand in his hair so they can stand.

Sakura moves her gaze to the trees behind them, confused. "I missed you two."

There's a beat of silence, and when Sakura looks back at them, Naruto is staring at her with wide eyes, and Sasuke's ears are red. 

"What?" She asks, arms crossing over her chest defensively. 

Naruto smiles again, but this time it's softer, "I missed you too, Sakura-chan."

"..Hn." Sasuke looks away, the red leading down the back of his neck, "I didn't miss either of you."

Naruto smacks the back of his head, " Yeah ? Tell that to the blush on your neck, Asshole."

"Don't call me an asshole, Dobe." 

And they're fighting again . Inner deadpans, How riveting.

Sakura smiles. 

✿✿✿

Sakura discovered that her teammates and sensei are the only people she doesn't second-guess breaking the Rules for— rules she doesn't have to follow anymore . However, whenever she looks into their eyes, her throat closes up, and she won't be able to speak unless she looks away from them first.

During the training session, Sakura spoke more than she thought she'd ever spoken in the Academy. 

Just one-word answers or quiet suggestions, and Naruto gives her a smile every time. Sasuke talks to her similarly and never pushes her to speak further than she'd already. 

Kakashi-sensei listens intently to anything she asks because she can ask questions and gently improves on any suggestions she has for team strategies.

She sent in her payment for an empty one-bedroom apartment in the Red Light District that very same day, with appliances that were barely holding together. 

The apartment isn’t much. A cracked window lets in a soft breeze, rattling a set of blinds on their last legs. The wallpaper is peeling in places, revealing the dull gray beneath. But it's hers , free from the suffocation that was her house under her parents' rule.

She glances at the small clock on the wall, surprised at how quickly the day has passed since their morning encounter. Naruto's laugh still rings in her ears, and the heat in Sasuke's neck still makes her smile.

Suddenly, there's a loud knock at her door. She turns, frowning. She hadn't expected visitors—possibly ever. Padding across the creaky floor, she pulls open the door and finds Naruto standing there with a nervous grin, and when he sees her on the other side of the door, the smile becomes excited.

"Sakura-chan! I didn't know you lived here!"

Sakura blinked at her blonde teammate for a moment, now knowing why the landlord had asked if she was sure of her living choice so many times. "I just moved in," she said softly. “I didn't know you lived here, too."

The Uzumaki grins brightly and nods, "Yeah, jiji set up this place for me when the old bat at the orphanage didn't want me anymore." He says it as though it's not a big deal, and Sakura's heart aches that it probably isn't for him, "I've never had neighbors before. It's so cool that you're my first one, dattebayo!" 

She gives him a small smile, "Yeah."

"Hey, do you want to get ramen with me?" Naruto asks as though he'd just had an epiphany. “I was going to ask if you and Sasuke wanted to go after we finished our mission, but we all split up after we saw Jiji, so I never got the chance, and then I forgot to ask after training this morning."

Sakura blinked. She'd never been invited out with someone other than Ino when she was younger, and even then, Sakura had never been allowed to.

But we don't need permission now . Inner reminds her, We can do whatever we want.

The brightest smile Naruto had ever seen Sakura make crawled its way to her face at the reminder, "Sure. I would love to." She locks up her door, "Are we going to ask Sasuke-san too?"

"We could!" The boy looks elated that she agreed, "It could be a ninja team thing! We could even track down Kakashi-sensei!"

He's precious , inner-cooed, and so bright.

Sakura gives him a small, soft smile, "Yeah," her voice is even softer as she repeats, "It could be a ninja team thing."

✿✿✿

As they walk through the streets of the village, Naruto chatters away, talking about anything and everything, filling the silence in a way that makes it less awkward for Sakura. Every now and then, he glances over at her, giving her that wide, toothy grin that seems to make the world just a little bit brighter.

Naruto stops abruptly about twenty minutes into their walk. "Hey! We're close to where Sasuke-teme lives. Let's go get him first!" He's already halfway down another street before Sakura can even respond.

She smiles softly, adjusting the bag on her shoulder as she follows him. When they reach Sasuke's place, Naruto doesn't bother knocking—he just leans over the fence and calls out, "Oi! Sasuke-teme! We're going for ramen! You coming?"

There's a moment of silence, and then the door slides open, and Sasuke steps out, hands in his pockets, looking as stoic as ever. But a glint in his eye suggests he's not entirely uninterested in their impromptu outing.

"Ramen, huh?" Sasuke mutters, raising an eyebrow at Naruto. "Didn't you just have some yesterday?"

Naruto crosses his arms and grins. "Yeah, and? I could eat ramen every day, dattebayo!"

Sasuke rolls his eyes but steps forward anyway, his pace unhurried but steady as he joins them. Sakura feels a slight relief wash over her—having Sasuke along makes everything feel more grounded.

As they walk toward Ichiraku, Sakura listens to the bickering between Naruto and Sasuke, their banter so familiar that it brings a small smile.

They reach Ichiraku Ramen just as the sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting the village in a warm, golden light. The old ramen shop feels welcoming, with the soft clatter of bowls and the smell of broth filling the air.

Naruto rushes to the counter, excitedly calling out his order, while Sasuke slides into the seat beside him with a quiet, "Same as usual."

Sakura hesitates for a moment, watching them. She's not used to this. But as she sits down next to Sasuke and places her own order, she feels something settle in her chest. It's not the same suffocating feeling she had in her parents' house. It's warm.

Kakashi arrives not long after, much to Naruto's delight. He's as casual and aloof as ever, but there's a fondness in how he greets them that doesn't go unnoticed.

She finds she can’t break two rules simultaneously, which frustrates her. She either talks freely or makes eye contact. Every time she tries both, their faces overlap with her father’s, mother’s, or uncle’s , and she can’t breathe.

But then Naruto and Sasuke will start arguing in a way that Sakura knows isn’t antagonistic anymore. Kakashi-sensei will chime in with comments that either turn both of them on him or egg them on in their argument against each other, and she’s back in Ichiraku’s, and she’s safe.

" There you are, Sacchan." A voice interrupts Naruto and Sasuke's heated debate over the best topping for miso ramen, and Sakura's muscles contract and tense so hard that, for a second, she's lightheaded. Dragging her eyes from where her boys-- teammates -- sit across from her to her uncle's face, her eyes jerk to the side of his face before they can meet his cold blue eyes.

"Your mother has been worried sick ." Her mind is filled with Inner's incomprehensible growls and threat threat threat threat - "You disappeared this morning, out the window nonetheless. I told Mebuki that becoming a ninja would do nothing for your streak of tantrums," His tone is a mix of pleading and the disapproving uncle he's trying to play. Still, Sakura can hear the underlying threat of anger in it, "I'm considering speaking to Hokage-sama about taking you off the roster myself. A twelve-year-old civilian born has no place in the field."

Inner's growling becomes more pronounced, and Sakura's hand twitches at her kunai pouch.

"Take Sakura-chan off the— Oi , who the hell are you to say what Sakura can and can't do, huh?!" Naruto snaps back, "Sakura is the best ninja I've seen!"

Her uncle sneers at the Uzumaki, "I'm her family." Inner gives a bitter bark of a laugh in the back of her head, "And Sacchan is a child."

Sasuke sneers back, “ Sakura is a genin of Konoha.”

"Enough of this, Sakura. Stand up. I'm taking you home, and we will speak of this in private ." He grabs her upper arm with bruising force. “ Now ."

"Maa." Kakashi sensei greets, suddenly beside him with his own hand gripped around her uncle's upper arm, "Sakura-chan is under no one's authority but her own now. If she decided to leave, she was under no obligation to tell anyone. This has been Konoha law since before Sandaime-sama was Hokage." Her sensei tightens his grip enough that Sakura can hear the bone give a dangerous creak, "Hokage-sama doesn't need to be bothered by a law he knows inside and out by someone who isn't even a citizen of Konoha any longer."

Hiroshi's eyes take on a calculating glint before his bruising grip tightens and disappears completely. "Hatake- san ." His voice is tight, and he spits the honorific like acid. "I didn't know you knew my niece."

Kakashi's grip drops, and he hums, "I'm her jounin-sensei." He gives him an eye smile that he doesn't even try to make remotely genuine, "Now I believe you were leaving, Senju-san ."

Sakura's brain stalls, and she can see Sasuke's do the same.

Hiroshi gives him a tight nod and an even tighter smile: "Of course, Hatake- san ." His gaze turns to her: "I'll be entrusting Sakura in the care of her team then." His hands move in familiar gestures that, to anyone else, look like an ordinary wave: "Good day."

Sakura recognizes it as the sign he taught her for broken kunai .

"Sensei, who was that?" Naruto asks, his eyes still on the spot her uncle last was before he'd left Ichiraku's,

"Senju Hiroshi," Kakashi's gaze is on her now, a kind of understanding ( and deep seated concern ) she'd never seen before resting in his visible eye, "He was a citizen of Konoha once, years ago, and probably B-rank jounin material, but he never became an official ninja. He left shortly after the Kyuubi attacked Konoha."

Sakura no longer feels safe.

✿✿✿

Kakashi was waiting in front of Sakura’s apartment door when she returned, having opted not to walk Sasuke home with Naruto.

“Sakura,” he said softly, kneeling so that he was at eye level with her. “I’m not going to beat around the bush, and I want you to answer me honestly, alright?”

“You wouldn’t be Jerk-sensei if you did,” she joked, though her voice trembled and the attempt at humor fell flat.

“Were you safe at home?”

Sakura’s eyes widened, her voice catching in her throat for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

***

“I’m so sorry, Ootori-san,” Mebuki says softly to the therapist. “We’d hoped this would help her stop spreading such awful fabrications.” Crocodile tears begin to form in her eyes. “We just want her to be happy, and I only want to understand why she feels the need to lie about what happens at home. I-I never thought she would go so far as to lie to a professional.”

Ootori-san’s expression softens. “I’m sorry for my accusations.” She glances briefly at ten-year-old Sakura before turning back to Mebuki. “I should have known better than to believe her after meeting you and your husband. Especially when she described such recent injuries without any physical evidence to support her claims.”

Kizashi is a medic-nin , Sakura silently pleads. Please believe me. This was supposed to help. Why do you always believe her? Why won’t you tell someone who can actually investigate? Tears fill Sakura’s eyes. “Kizashi is a medic—”

Mebuki interrupts with a sob. “She won’t even call him Dad.” She covers her mouth with her hand. “Ootori-san, I’m so—”

“No, no, Haruno-san, it’s alright,” Ootori-san reassures her before crouching in front of Sakura. “Sakura, this is a safe space. You don’t have to lie.” Her voice is gentle. “Your parents just want to give you attention. You don’t need to get it this way.”

Something inside Sakura shatters.

The next morning, Inner appears.

***

“I—”

Sakura’s throat tightened as Kakashi’s face blurred, shifting between his own and that of her first and last therapist, Ootori Kumiko.

It’s Kakashi-sensei , Inner reminded her. He has to believe us, right? Or at least tell someone? He can investigate himself!

But that’s what Sakura had thought about Ootori, too.

We have nothing to lose , Inner whispered.

“No,” Sakura whispered. “I wasn’t.”

Kakashi gently rested a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you for being honest with me, Sakura-chan.” His gaze hardened with resolve as he stood. “I’ll deal with this. You have nothing to worry about now.” He ruffled her hair, and Sakura is reminded of that day in Wave when he praised her for her strategy against Zabuza. “I promise.”

He believes me. He didn’t even question it. He just accepted it as the truth and he’s going to deal with it and—

Before she knew it, Sakura had moved, and she noticed Kakashi tense slightly as she wrapped her arms around his waist in a hug. Her movements were hesitant and stilted—she had never hugged anyone before.

“Thank you, Kakashi-sensei.”

After a brief pause, his hands rested on her head, mirroring her hesitation.

Safe, safe, safe —

Sakura’s instincts had never told her that before.

Chapter Text

The following two weeks after Sakura confirmed her previous home life to Kakashi-sensei were… different. Naruto started walking with her to and from their apartment building when they had training in the mornings, and the two of them would pick up Sasuke and drop him back at his home. Often, training sessions ended with the three of them, and occasionally, Kakashi, when they could convince him, headed to Ichiraku’s for ramen or stopped by the dango stand for something to eat. 

Sakura knows that Kakashi hadn’t told her teammates anything about what she’d revealed to him, but they never left her alone in public in case any of her family were looking for her. Sakura guessed they had come to their own conclusions after the confrontation with her uncle, and she learned new things about them, in turn. Her team was made up of the people who the village failed, Sakura came to realize as she became closer to her team.

Sakura had gone shopping for new clothes with Naruto, but the shop owners either tossed him out or racked the prices up so high that he had no choice but to find somewhere else to go. Sakura learns why he only owns bright orange tracksuits. 

Sasuke’s story was an entirely different ordeal that she didn’t even know how to begin to process. Sakura knows that ANBU were out at all hours around the village, and a single thirteen-year-old should not have been able to massacre an entire clan with them around, no matter how skilled he may have been. He wouldn’t have been able to kill all of them if ANBU had done their job.

And her sensei… Konoha was made so that child soldiers didn’t need to exist, but they had allowed Kakashi and Uchiha Itachi to become genin far too young. Her sensei was an incredible ninja, but for that to have come to pass, Konoha had robbed him of a childhood. They had forged him into a weapon too young and put him on the battlefield too young .

Always too young.

She learns that her team is the most important people in her life.

Sakura’s family had led her to become a Shinobi, even if it had never been their intention. They had wanted an obedient girl who would do anything they asked, and their Rules were stifling. Stifling enough that when she had first seen a Kunoichi, she had wanted nothing more than to feel as alive as the stranger had looked, even after her uncle had tried to scare the want out of her, to bleed it out of her, Sakura had wanted nothing more.

Sakura had become a Shinobi for herself, not for the village, its people, or the Hokage. Sakura had become a Shinobi out of necessity, and though her reason is one outsiders would frown upon, it is a reason nonetheless. It is a path riddled with her blood, but it led her to her team.

Sakura’s knowledge of family was built on blood, pain, and mistrust, but when she looks at her team, at Naruto and Sasuke and Kakashi-sensei, Sakura wonders .

✿✿✿

“Sensei,” Sasuke says one day after training when their team sits at Ichiraku’s after training, “Who is Senju Hiroshi?”

The name makes Sakura tense, even as Inner attempts to soothe her by reminding her that she is surrounded by her team.

Kakashi-sensei looks at her, and Sakura blinks back at him, “Sakura-chan?”

He’s asking us for permission , Inner realizes, To talk about him.

Oh . Sakura’s chest burns with something she doesn’t know the name of, and she nods back at him.

“Senju Hiroshi…” He trails as though trying to come up with an apt way to describe the man, “Let’s see, he was already a teenager by the time I was in the academy. Considered a ninja and as a Senju, he was highly sought after and fairly talented, but he never formally became one.” Kakashi-sensei leans into his arms on the table, “Most importantly, I suppose, is that he’s one of the Shodaime’s great-grandchildren.”

Naruto’s jaw dropped, “You’re related to the Shodaime!?” 

Sakura blinks, “I didn’t know.”

Kakashi-sensei’s head tilts, “A little history lesson then.” He eye-smiles at them, “Senju Hashirama had three kids, though all three of them are dead now, and everyone knows that Tsunade-sama is the Shodaime’s granddaughter. His eldest son was also able to have kids of his own before his death. Senju Hiroshi, Senju Mebuki, and Senju Azumi.” 

Sakura’s eyebrows furrow at the unfamiliar name.

“When Hiroshi was seventeen, Senju Hakura, your grandfather,” He provided, pointing to Sakura, “disowned Hiroshi. It was never explained beyond Clan business, but Hakura had made it clear that by all accounts, Hiroshi was no longer a Senju by Clan standards.”

Sasuke’s eyes widened minutely, and Sakura understood the sentiment; to be disowned not only by your father but your entire clan was more than incredibly dishonorable.

“He was encouraged to stay in the village by the Sandaime and offered the chance to become a ninja officially, but Hiroshi was scorned and dishonored by his former clan. So he left the village. Hakura died months later, and the remaining Senju clan members left or spread into other clans.” Kakashi looks each of them in the eye, and Sakura holds back the instinctive flinch, “It’s not something that Konoha talks about; the loss of the Senju clan is something that stains Konoha’s reputation in the eyes of the other hidden villages, and their Kage. To lose a founding clan of a village is incredibly damaging.”

“Now I believe you were leaving, Senju-san,” Sakura remembers her sensei saying to her uncle before he left. Now that she knows he purposefully mocked him, reminded him of his Disownment, it just makes Sakura even happier that she got Kakashi as her sensei.

Naruto looks at Sakura for a moment, “If that old man is your uncle and he’s the great-grandson of the Shodaime, doesn’t that make you his great-great-granddaughter?” He slurps his ramen and gives her a teasing smile, “Should we start calling you Sakura-hime now?”

Sasuke looks surprised that Naruto knows the address, “You know how to treat founding clan descendants?”

“Well, yeah, I’m not stupid.” Naruto rolls his eyes at him.

Sasuke eyes him, “Debatable.”

“Hey!”

It startles Sakura into a laugh, a bark of one that lights up her eyes in joy and knocks her head back, and loud enough that she covers her mouth to hide the sound even as her shoulders continue to shake with its force.

Naruto and Sasuke still. Her team had heard Sakura laugh before, the occasional snort or short bark of something bitter, but this was joy, pure, unadulterated, and genuine laughter. Kakashi looks away with a small smile, but Sasuke and Naruto stare at her in surprise.

Sakura composed herself, but a smile they’d never seen from her before was left on her face. One that lights up her face and makes her eyes glow with a soft kind of humor, “I don’t think hime suits me very well.” She shakes her head, long pink hair falling over her shoulders with the movement, “But I appreciate the sentiment, Naruto-kun, Sasuke-kun.”

The boys look at each other with smiles, Naruto’s taking up his face and Sasuke’s nothing but a twitch of his lips as she returns to eating her ramen. We did that , they seem to say. We made her smile, and we made her laugh.

Sakura doesn’t think she’s ever been this happy.

✿✿✿

"Chuunin exams?" Sakura repeats, her voice quiet, but her eyes remain locked on her sensei's, and something giddy fills her chest at the accomplishment.

"Yes." Kakashi-sensei confirms, "I've decided to enter the three of you because I believe this team has potential." He makes a face afterward and crosses his arms, "I never want you to make me say that again. But this team deserves recognition; the three of you are strong ninjas, and I believe you could make it to chuunin if you give it your all." He gives them a deadpan look, and his voice becomes monotone, "I'm also quick to get rid of you three."

"We know the truth, Kakashi-sensei." Naruto sings, "You love us."

Sasuke snorts but nods in agreement, and Sakura gives him a small teasing smile of her own, "Of course, Jerk-sensei."

"You're all menaces, and I hate you."

Liar , Inner sings, and Sakura hums in agreement with her and their sensei.

"No, really," He doesn't make it any more convincing, "You three are the bane of my existence."

Sakura's lips twitch into a smile, "Whatever you say, Kakashi-sensei."

His arms uncrossed quickly at his name. "Wait, I didn't mean respect me. Don't do that, it's weird."

Naruto snorts.

✿✿✿

Sakura decides against hanging out with her boys and the Hokage's grandson and goes grocery shopping instead.

The sight of Suna Nin startled her enough that her immediate reaction was to go for the hardest fruit in her basket to use as a projectile. Until Inner reminds her of the chuunin exams. She forces herself to relax her grip, pays for her fruit, and settles the basket on her arm more comfortably.

" Shinobi-sans." She says softly as she gets closer and raises an eyebrow when the blonde and the boy with purple face paint jump. She could have sworn she made sure she made a noise before coming over. "Are you looking for something?"

The blonde composed herself before settling a — in Sakura's experienced opinion — rather pitiful glare in her direction. "The Lotus Inn."

Sakura's eyebrow raises further, "The Lotus?"

" What's it to you?" The painted boy asks, defensive.

"The Lotus is in the red light district." She shrugs, "I didn't think it would be the first stop for foreign nin."

"We are not here to be tourists." The red-haired boy speaks for the first time, "We are here for the chuunin exams. That is all."

She meets his eyes for a fraction of a second, and Inner prickles with interest. Her chakra stirs beneath her skin with the feeling of shifting sand before she looks away again. "I can show you to the Lotus. I'm headed that way already." Chakra buzzing when they follow without complaint, her eyes dart to the red-haired boy once more before settling in front of her.

Inner hums curiously, and Sakura keeps a tight hold on her chakra that tries to poke and prod at the enigma before it as she leads the foreign nin toward the Lotus Inn.

When she drops them off, anticipation builds behind her ribs and leaks into her chakra. 

She was kind of excited for the exams.

Chapter Text

“Sakura-hime!” Naruto’s voice was bright as he called out to her. Sakura allowed a small snort, not looking up from unpacking the bentos she had prepared the night before. Naruto’s grin only widened. “You should’ve come with us yesterday! We met this guy with paint all over his face and some girl—probably his sister, they had the same face shape—and they tried to threaten Konohamaru!”

Sakura paused, one hand still on the lid of a bento box, eyes flicking up briefly. “The Suna nin?” she asked softly.

Sasuke’s eyes narrowed slightly in her direction. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

Returning to her task, Sakura finished unpacking, passed one bento to Sasuke and two to Naruto, and settled down with her own. She glanced at them from beneath her lashes, speaking in a low tone, “I ran into them yesterday while I was shopping.” The corner of her lips lifted slightly. “They’re staying at the Lotus.”

Sasuke’s brow lifted as he popped a cherry tomato into his mouth. “The whore house?”

Naruto rolled his eyes, tossing an apple slice in Sasuke’s direction. “It’s a brothel, bastard. Have some tact.” Sakura tilted her head just enough to avoid the flying fruit, a flicker of amusement passing over her features before vanishing.

Sasuke caught the apple in his mouth, giving Naruto a challenging raise of both brows. “Don’t call me a bastard.”

The second apple slice Naruto threw was caught by Sasuke again, and he smirked at the blonde’s playful cry of outrage. Inner snorted, Children .

Sakura’s voice, soft yet firm, cut through their exchange. “The Lotus isn’t just a brothel. It’s where the Nightingale’s clients choose to do business.” She kept her gaze on her food, ignoring how the statement hung between them.

“You know the name of the whore house?” Sasuke caught another apple, eyes glinting with curiosity.

“Mm,” was her only reply. Her eyes were distant as she absently twirled her chopsticks, her fingers nimble as if handling senbon. The redhead’s chakra, fierce and unrelenting, flared in her mind. Inner whispered, Did they say anything else? Ask. It’s safe.

“Did you catch their names?” Sakura finally asked, the question sliding out more hesitantly than she intended.

“Gaara,” Sasuke supplied, almost finished with his bento.

“And?” Naruto’s teasing tone was playful, poking at Sasuke’s memory. Sasuke’s scowl appeared, softened by familiarity.

“Temari and Kankuro.”

A quiet hum left Sakura’s lips as she resumed eating, the boys’ bickering fading into background noise. Gaara, Temari, Kankuro, Inner repeated, a note of seriousness. Gaara’s chakra is weird— We should probably keep an eye on the others too.

As the last grains of rice disappeared from her bento, Sakura moved into her stretching routine, releasing the steady hum of chakra from her core to the ground beneath her feet, letting it anchor her. Her gaze, distant and contemplative, held a brief glint of green, unnoticed by her teammates.

And when the moment passed, it was as though nothing had changed.

✿✿✿

Sakura walked past the Lotus on her way home from training, her eyes flicking to the painted boy and the blonde—Kankuro and Temari, if she remembered correctly—standing outside, expressions of mild annoyance on their faces. They appeared as though they'd just finished training, evident from the damp sheen of sweat in Temari's hair and the tight tape bruising Kankuro's hands.

"—And do you know how many times I woke up last night because of those thin walls?" Kankuro grimaced, his voice carrying a touch of exasperation. Sakura's lips quirked up slightly, though she kept her expression neutral, eyes downcast.

"Too many," Temari replied dryly, mirroring her brother's look of distaste.

We did try to warn them , Inner murmured, her tone laced with quiet amusement. You shouldn't have rented the doghouse if you didn't want to sleep with the dogs.

Sakura allowed herself a quiet hum, glancing once at the pair before turning onto the street corner that led to her apartment. Sex workers are braver than any shinobi, Inner whispered, the thought tinged with a touch of reverence.

Men , Inner added, with a shudder that Sakura felt deep in her mind. The comment prompted a small, fleeting snort from Sakura, though her expression remained unreadable as she walked on, the faintest hint of amusement lingering in her eyes.

✿✿✿

Sakura observed the two chuunin corralling the crowd with detached interest. She leaned slightly toward her teammates, keeping her voice low and calm. “Sasuke-kun, Naruto-kun,” she gestured subtly toward the stairs, eyes shifting to the sign above the door. “We still need to go up one more floor,” she stated, maintaining her neutral tone.

Naruto’s brow furrowed, a hint of frustration crossing his features. “But the sign says 301, doesn’t it?”

Sasuke’s gaze sharpened, his mouth pressing into a thin line before he muttered, “Genjutsu.” She caught the flicker of annoyance that flared in his eyes—an irritation at himself for not noticing sooner. Inner reminded her gently, It’s not a trap, just him being himself.

Her eyes rolled slightly when Sasuke made a point of displaying his awareness.

“Well, not bad,” one of the chuunin said, a self-assured smirk crossing his face. “But all you’ve done is catch on—”

THREAT .

The warning echoed in Sakura’s mind as the green-clad boy blurred into motion, positioning himself between Sasuke and the chuunin with speed so rapid that Sakura barely registered the shift.

Sasuke’s eyes widened in shock, and Inner let out a short, surprised sound.

Woah, Inner said, mirroring Sakura’s own thoughts.

“Hey, I thought you said you weren’t going to draw attention,” a long-haired Hyuuga muttered, glancing at the green-clad boy. Sakura surmised they were teammates.

“But…” The boy in green stammered, his cheeks tinting with embarrassment. He took a few steps toward Sakura, and Inner’s alertness hummed.

Stay steady, Inner whispered. This doesn’t seem like a trick.

“My name’s Rock Lee,” he said, his voice earnest. “You’re Sakura-san, right?”

She blinked, unsure if she’d heard him correctly. Mutual confusion settled between her and Inner as she glanced at her teammates, noticing how they shifted into cautious stances.

“Yes,” she replied, voice soft and uncertain.

Lee’s eyes lit up, and he gave her a bright, unwavering smile and a thumbs-up. “Please go out with me! I promise to protect you until I die!”

Inner’s voice was tentative, almost questioning. Is… is he serious?

Sakura’s mind stalled, trying to reconcile the sincerity in his voice with the absurdity of the moment. What is happening? She thought at Inner incredulously.

I don’t know, Inner whispered just as disbelieving, adding, But I think he means it.

Before Sakura could find her voice, Naruto and Sasuke stepped forward, blocking Lee from view.

Naruto’s voice cut through the moment, surprisingly steady. “Sakura-hime isn’t taking dating requests right now, Lee-san.” His tone was clear, devoid of the usual teasing lilt. Sasuke nodded, eyes cold and assessing.

Huh, Inner noted, laughter in her voice, I think they’re trying to protect us.

“Again with the hime ,” Sakura muttered, still dazed by the situation. She managed a small, apologetic smile aimed at Lee from between Sasuke and Naruto’s shoulders. “Um, sorry, Lee-san.”

Lee’s determination didn’t falter; instead, he raised a fist, eyes shining with conviction. “I will wait for you, Sakura-hime! I will prove myself with the power of my youth!”

Oh no, now he’s saying it, Inner groaned, though there was a hint of reluctant amusement.

“Identify yourselves,” the Hyuuga demanded, eyes sharp and calculating.

Sasuke’s gaze narrowed. “When asking someone’s name, it’s polite to introduce yourself first.”

“You’re rookies, aren’t you? How old are you?”

Rude, Inner huffed. Sakura squeezed her teammates’ wrists lightly, signaling them to ease back.

“Naruto-kun, Sasuke-kun, let’s go,” she said, voice even and quiet as she pulled them away. The tension in their shoulders eased, and the three walked forward as one.

✿✿✿

Sakura supposed that the room of chuunin exam takers was meant to be intimidating, but all she felt was the excited buzz of her chakra, itching to burst through the floorboards and weave its way through the room. She drew a deep breath, keeping her expression neutral, steadying the simmering energy within her.

“Sasuke-kun, you’re late!” The sound of Ino’s voice cut through the murmur of the crowd, making Sakura’s chakra surge, burning beneath her skin.

***

The night before Sakura and Ino’s friendship shattered, her mother had said something that lingered, a sharp reminder of vulnerability.

Mebuki had tied Sakura’s hair back with the red ribbon Ino had once gifted her, fingers cool and detached. “There is no such thing as comrades, you silly girl. Let alone friends,” she said with a sigh, her eyes focused somewhere beyond Sakura’s reflection in the mirror. “People come and go. But we’re your family—the only ones who stay.”

The next day, the rumor spread like wildfire: Sakura liked Sasuke.

“You knew I liked him!” Ino’s voice cracked, eyes glistening with betrayal. The look pierced through Sakura, heavy and suffocating. Guilt clawed at her, but her throat constricted, words caught like thorns.

“N-No!” Sakura stammered, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t—I don’t like Sasuke! I swear!”

Ino’s eyes narrowed, the hurt hardening into something fierce. “Liar.”

Sakura’s heart seized, each beat sharp and stinging. She forced herself to hold her ground, biting back the burn of tears.

“If you can’t even be honest with me,” Ino’s voice dropped to a near whisper, thick with emotion, “then we’re done. From now on, we’re rivals—nothing more.”

Silence swallowed the space between them. Sakura’s fingers trembled, cold and useless at her sides.

She doesn’t mean it , Inner murmured, raw and disbelieving. She can’t mean it .

Sakura couldn’t bring herself to speak, rooted to the ground as Ino turned and walked away.

When Sakura returned home, the tension was palpable. Her mother greeted her with a distant look, and her father barely acknowledged her.

“What did I tell you, Sacchan?” Mebuki’s voice was as detached as her earlier touch, fingers brushing Sakura’s pink hair absently. “What did I tell you?”

***

Sakura’s gaze sharpened as she watched Sasuke grimace when Ino clung to his arm.

“Please release my teammate, Yamanaka-san.” Sakura’s voice was calm, practiced.

Ino pulled back, her eyes glinting with challenge and something unspoken. “I see you haven’t changed at all, billboard brow.”

Naruto and Sasuke both turned glares on Ino, but it was Naruto’s voice that broke through, sharper than usual. “Shut the fuck up, Yamanaka.”

The unexpected retort stunned Ino into silence, and Sasuke shifted away from her reach.

“What’s going on here?” Shikamaru’s drawl cut through the tension as he and Choji approached. “You’re taking this troublesome test too?”

“Hey, it’s the idiot trio,” Naruto muttered, earning a scowl from Shikamaru.

“Stop calling us that!”

The arrival of Shino, Hinata, and Kiba brought the entire Rookie Nine together. Inner’s voice hummed in the back of Sakura’s mind.

All of us in one place, Inner noted, a cautious undertone threading her voice. Sakura’s lips barely moved as she acknowledged it with a faint hum.

“Hey, quiet down.” A pale, white-haired boy’s voice drew her attention. “You’re all rookies, right? Taking the test at your age?”

Sakura felt her chakra stir, pulsing beneath her skin as she took a deliberate breath, holding her composure.

“Who do you think you are?” Ino’s voice was sharp with irritation.

The boy’s expression didn’t change, unfazed. “I’m Yakushi Kabuto. You should take a good look around. Everyone becomes aggressive during these exams.” He gestured to the clusters of competitors, but Sakura’s eyes stayed on him, her gaze assessing. “I guess rookies like you wouldn’t know left from right.”

Her chakra pricked at her control, surging with defiance. Stay steady, Inner whispered. Don’t attract attention before the exams start.

Sakura watched the info cards Kabuto revealed with quiet interest, her eyes narrowing when he mentioned having data on the participants. After learning about Gaara and Lee, she stepped forward, cutting through the murmur.

“Kabuto-san,” she said, voice cool, controlled. The others startled as though only now remembering her presence. Sasuke and Naruto turned, eyes attentive.

Kabuto raised an eyebrow. “Your name?”

“Haruno Sakura.”

Name : Haruno Sakura

Affiliation : Konohagakure

Team : Team 7 (with Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke, Hatake Kakashi)

Rank : Genin

Known Skills : Basic chakra control, theoretical intelligence

Tactics : Support role; often overshadowed by teammates

Strengths : Book smarts, average chakra control

Weaknesses : Low combat experience, hesitant in critical situations, reliant on teammates

Other Notes : Generally perceived as non-threatening; limited field presence

The card spun, and her eyes glimmered faintly as she read its contents. She nodded once, the movement sharp and final. “Thank you.”

We’ll be underestimated if anyone else sees those cards, Inner hummed, almost gleeful. And that’s fine.

A sudden spike of hostility from a group of sound nin made Sakura’s senses bristle. Her back straightened, hands instinctively moving toward her kunai.

“Alright, settle down, degenerates!” A scarred man appeared at the front of the room, his presence demanding attention. The chakra in the room grew dense, almost suffocating. Sakura didn’t realize she was grinning until she felt her energy coil back, hiding in her core, poised.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the man said, voice gravelly and commanding. “I’m Morino Ibiki, and I’ll be your proctor for the first part of the chuunin exam.”

This is going to be interesting, Inner purred, anticipation sparking in Sakura’s chest.

Chapter Text

Sakura knows for a fact that she’d pass the paper exam with flying colors by academic standards. She could remember the standard laws for shinobi like the back of her hand, even if she didn’t believe in all of them. Just a few months ago, when she was still in the academy and deathly afraid of losing her place in it, Sakura would have answered every question with precise textbook language.

But now, as she stares at the final question, her fingers tighten slightly around her pen.

9. You’ve been surrounded by enemy ninja and your teammate has been captured. You see that there is an opening to complete the mission at the cost of your comrade’s life. Do you take it? Expand on your answer.

Sakura knows what the textbook answer is. Of course, the mission is the thing that matters most. My comrade’s sacrifice will be honored, they’ve made the village proud.

But Sakura, for all that she is worth, cannot imagine leaving a member of team seven behind now. So instead, she writes a “ No .” followed by a simple sentence, and flips her test over to wait.

The following test of resolve, watching as others were weeded out for faltering, was simple for her and her team. None of them moved, none of them even twitched. A small, quiet smile tugs at her lips.

✿✿✿

When the chuunin hopefuls finally filed out, Morino Ibiki  gathered up the stack of completed exams. His sharp gaze skimmed over each answer, his mind analyzing patterns and assessing the mindset of each candidate. He paused, his brow lifting slightly as he reached the tests submitted by Team 7.

Each of Kakashi’s students had begun their responses to the final question with a single word: No.

Below that, in various iterations, they’d each expressed a sentiment that mirrored what Hatake had preached behind closed doors and away from the ears of the villagers who would never truly understand what being a Shinobi entailed.

Ibiki’s lips pressed into a thin line of approval, a rare glint of respect flickering in his eyes. He’d always thought of Kakashi as an exceptional shinobi—enigmatic, and often an asshole, yes, but deeply competent. Yet he hadn’t expected him to convey something so profoundly personal to his students so effectively.

He muttered to himself, the words almost a low rumble. “Perhaps Hatake is a better sensei than I gave him credit for.”

Ibiki’s gaze returned to the test papers, a hint of a smile ghosting across his scarred face. “No. Those who break the rules are scum, but those who abandon their friends are even worse than that.”

✿✿✿

Sakura watches her teammates intently as they enter the dense, shadowed forest. Scroll tucked securely into her clothes, and a Naruto-shadow-clone version of it blatant on Sasuke’s hip. Her senses stretched, honing in on the familiar chakra signatures around them, though the sheer number of foreign ninja clouded the air with unfamiliar energies, fleeing and re-entering her range as they moved through the trees.

“Team Ten is moving up ahead, and there’s a group of foreign ninja to the right,” Sakura murmured, leaping smoothly from branch to branch with Sasuke and Naruto flanking her. “We’ll need to go deeper. Team Three is further ahead, too, moving toward the center of the forest.”

Sasuke gave a slight nod of acknowledgement, while Naruto threw her a silent thumbs-up.

As they reached the forest floor, they gathered quickly. “Chakra,” she warned near silently, feeling the hum of energy close enough to raise the hair on her arms.

Sasuke’s finger twitched in acknowledgement, and Naruto glances around with a dumb smile on his face, though his eyes are calculating, “Can you believe we’re actually taking the chuunin exams?” 

Sasuke suggested a password, a detail that had Naruto looking slightly lost. Sakura stifled a sigh, taking a quick moment to scan the dense foliage surrounding them. “I’ve memorized it already,” she assured, though her voice barely broke the sound of rustling leaves and distant birds.

Naruto, bristling at her comment, looked around defensively to mask his second scan of the area, his posture betraying a wariness she knew wasn’t about the password. “I-I memorized it too! I just thought, you know, maybe we could hear it again… just in case.”

Sasuke scoffed softly, crossing his arms. “Since we’ve established we all know it. We know what to do if anyone forgets it.” He shifted his gaze to Sakura. “I’ll continue carrying the scroll.”

Got them, Inner hissed suddenly, alerting her just as a senbon sliced through the air, grazing Naruto’s cheek. The group dropped low as a sudden gust of wind knocked Sakura back, her feet digging furrows in the dirt as she steadied herself.

“Use the dust as cover!” Sakura hissed, her voice just loud enough to carry over the wind. “Hide!”

When the dust settled, Sasuke appeared from behind a bush. He prompted Sakura for the password, which she recited calmly, her gaze locked on him though she knew that it wasn’t needed, the familiar feeling of his ash-bitten lightning enough for her .  

Then Naruto emerged from the treeline, and his chakra wasn’t right , slimy and rotten and wrong .

Inner growled, Sakura imagined her lips pulled back into a snarl, hackles raised. Imposter.

That is the stranger’s first mistake, assuming that Sakura wasn’t intimately familiar with the feeling of her teammates' chakra signatures. 

Sasuke glances at Sakura as her lips pull back into a sneer not unlike the one she’d imagined Inner to wear at the imposter, and he throws the first kunai without hesitation.

The kunai struck short of the figure, whose eyebrow arched, eyes gleaming with faint amusement as her form morphed into that of a woman. Her presence—cold, slick, and foreign—intensified, pressing down on them with suffocating weight.

Fear surged through Sakura’s veins, yet her hands remained steady as she hurled her own kunai. Her heart hammered, her throat tight, but she stood her ground.

The kunai clipped a strand of the woman’s hair as she tilted her head slightly. She eyed Sakura with a look both curious and unsettling. “Oh?” Her killing intent doubled, heavy as stone.

Sakura’s legs shook under the strain, but she forced herself to stay firm, her kunai raised protectively in front of herself and Sasuke, who had fallen to his knees, retching. She could feel each tremor down to her fingers, but she swallowed, eyes cold despite the fear tightening her throat. “F-F-Fuck off,” she stammered, jaw clenched hard. “We… we don’t w-want your s-scroll.”

The woman’s smile was chilling, her aura sharp and dangerous. “It’s alright,” she said with deceptive calm, stepping closer. “You won’t feel a thing. I’ll make it quick.”

Two kunai flew toward her, but Sasuke lunged forward, deflecting them just before they could strike.

Sakura’s heart pounded, each beat resonating in her ears as the woman closed in, her movements deliberate and unsettlingly calm, like a predator savoring the moment before a strike. Sasuke, standing beside her, was tense but resolute, his gaze fixed on their opponent with a sharp, assessing focus.

The woman’s lips curved into a taunting smile, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “I expected more from you,” she aimed at Sasuke, as if relishing every movement.

Without warning, she flicked her wrist, sending several kunai hurtling toward them with lethal speed. Sakura sidestepped instinctively, deflecting one kunai with her own, the impact vibrating up her arm. Sasuke darted forward, his form a blur, countering with a shuriken aimed directly at the woman’s center.

But she dodged effortlessly, her movements almost serpentine, each evasion calculated and smooth. “You’ll have to do better than that,” she murmured, her voice laced with mockery.

Sakura watched her closely, eyes narrowing as she tried to anticipate the woman’s next move. Her fingers itched to form a jutsu, but the aura emanating from this figure was suffocating, heavy with malice that threatened to overwhelm her senses.

She couldn’t think .

Taking advantage of a momentary pause, Sasuke charged, his gaze unyielding. He struck with a powerful kick, aiming for her head. His foot connected, but the woman barely reacted, standing firm as if he’d struck an immovable object. A hint of amusement flickered in her eyes.

“Not bad,” she whispered, her voice dropping to a chilling tone, “but still far too weak.”

With a sudden burst of movement, the woman vanished from sight, only to reappear perched on a high branch above them, her gaze sharp and predatory. She tilted her head, a sinister smile spreading across her face. “It seems you’ll need a bit more… encouragement.”

Sakura’s stomach twisted as she watched the woman bite her thumb and press the bloodied hand to the ground in one swift, chillingly familiar motion. “Kuchiyose no Jutsu!”

Sakura’s eyes widened, panic flaring in her chest. A summoning?

The snake contract! Inner’s voice was frantic . Only one person has the Snake Summons!

As the summoning smoke cleared, a massive, scaled creature materialized before them, its dark, sleek body coiled tightly, eyes cold and calculating as they zeroed in on her and Sasuke. The snake’s sheer size and presence made the ground tremble, and it emitted a low hiss that seemed to resonate in the marrow of Sakura’s bones.

Sakura felt a chill settle over her as she watched, the weight of recognition pressing down. There’s no way…

It has to be him! Inner’s voice trembled with both fear and disbelief. There’s no one else who could summon like this… it has to be—

The snake’s hiss grew louder, reverberating through the forest, sending shivers down Sakura's spine. Its coils flexed, slithering toward her and Sasuke with a horrifying grace, each movement predatory and precise. She could feel the ground tremble beneath her as the creature closed in, its enormous, hungry eyes narrowing.

And then, in a blur of orange, Naruto appeared, leaping between them and the massive serpent, his hands pressed against the scales as he strained to hold back its relentless advance. His body shook with effort, his muscles taut and trembling as he dug his heels into the ground, forcing the snake to halt.

“Get… away… from them!” Naruto grunted, his voice fierce and raw as he braced himself against the immense force of the creature.

But just as quickly as he appeared, the woman—now standing on the snake’s head, her face twisted into a gleeful smirk—extended her tongue in a swift, unnatural motion. In the blink of an eye, her elongated tongue coiled around Naruto’s waist, tightening like a vice and yanking him off the ground.

Sakura’s heart clenched as she saw Naruto struggle, his arms pinned to his sides, his legs thrashing against the crushing force. She took a step forward, her mouth open to shout, but the words caught in her throat as the woman’s eyes glinted down at Naruto with cruel amusement.

“You really think you’re something, don’t you?” Her voice was mocking, condescending. “Let me show you how weak you really are.”

She pulled him closer with a flick of her tongue, one hand reaching up toward him, and with a smirk, she slapped it onto his stomach, directly over his chakra point. A seal ignited, glowing briefly before fading into Naruto’s skin, his eyes widening as he felt his strength drain.

Sakura watched in horror as Naruto’s struggling ceased, his limbs going limp as though the energy had been sucked out of him. His expression twisted in pain, confusion mingling with a dawning sense of dread as he realized something vital had been taken from him.

“W-What… did you…?” Naruto’s voice was faint, almost a whisper as he struggled to stay conscious.

The woman chuckled darkly, amusement dancing in her eyes. “That’s enough from you, little fox,” she sneered. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed him aside as if he were nothing more than a discarded toy. Naruto’s body flew through the air, tumbling limply before crashing against the base of a nearby tree.

Sakura’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched him hit the ground and lie still, his body unnaturally quiet. The woman’s gaze shifted back to her and Sasuke, a look of deadly intent gleaming in her eyes.

Her chakra burned .

Sakura’s heart pounded like a drum, her chakra raging within her, scorching her insides as she watched Naruto's body hit the ground and lie motionless, his chest rising and falling with a faint, shallow breath. Her fingers shook around the kunai she’d unconsciously gripped, unable to tear her gaze away from him.

Then, the sound of cruel laughter brought her back to reality. She flinched, only now realizing that Inner had been shouting at her too, a furious echo in her mind.

SNAP OUT OF IT! Inner cried, her voice edged with panic. Sasuke’s in danger, can’t you feel it?! Naruto’s chakra is still there, but Sasuke—he could die if you don’t move !

Her head whipped to Sasuke’s direction, and her body moved before her mind caught up, landing in front of him just as the woman’s charred skin peeled away to reveal a pale, snake-like face beneath.

The stranger let out a low, thrilled chuckle. “You’re definitely his brother,” he purred, eyes narrowing with a disturbing gleam. “Your eyes… they hold more potential than even Itachi’s.”

“Who are you?!” Sasuke’s voice was raw with fury, his hands clenching as he struggled to rise, even as fear and anger twisted his face.

“My name is Orochimaru.” His voice was smooth, silken, but Sakura felt the weight of it, her chakra pounding against her veins, pulsing in her ears, her body responding instinctively to the threat before her.

Threat, It hissed, each word biting. Danger, danger, not safe, not safe—

Orochimaru’s neck suddenly extended, lunging toward Sasuke with serpentine speed, and Sakura’s blood boiled . Her chakra surged, and the branches of the trees around them creaked and groaned in response, bending and twisting with a will of their own. Thick, spiked roots shot up from the ground, creating a dense, twisted barrier around Sasuke, shielding him as his eyes widened in shock, the red glow of his Sharingan fading back to black.

The massive trees shuddered, their roots surging forward with single-minded purpose, aiming to capture Orochimaru’s elongated neck. Orochimaru’s head snapped back just as one of the branches lashed out, attempting to sever his neck. His gaze shifted, landing on Sakura with something like intrigue.

He chuckled softly, seeming more amused than threatened, but his eyes were alight with a twisted curiosity. “A Senju, here?” he murmured, his tone low and speculative. “I hadn’t expected this.”

Sakura’s arms remained outstretched, guiding the writhing branches as they surrounded him, coiling and twisting with sharp, vicious intent. In the same breath, she flicked an arm backward, instructing the roots to form a protective cocoon around Naruto’s limp form. Her focus locked back onto Orochimaru, her green eyes gleaming with an eerie, venomous light that cast sharp shadows across her face.

One hand thrust forward, directing a root to strike at Orochimaru, who dodged it with infuriating grace—only to be ensnared by a second and third root that wrapped tightly around his ankles. Sakura clenched her fists, and with a sharp, satisfying crack, the roots tightened, snapping his bones with an audible pop.

Orochimaru’s expression tightened briefly, and though he didn’t cry out, Sakura could sense the flicker of irritation beneath his calm façade.

But before she could press her advantage, another snake lunged at her from behind, forcing her to split her focus. She twisted aside, evading the snake’s fangs, but she could feel her control over the roots slipping.

Orochimaru let out a low, hungry laugh. “A Senju, an Uchiha, and the Kyuubi container,” he mused, watching her with a glint of admiration and something darker. “What a fortunate encounter.” His tongue flicked over his lips, and Sakura shuddered, the implication chilling her to the bone.

She dodged another strike from the snake, trying desperately to hold onto her control of the trees, but her grip faltered for a mere fraction of a second. It was enough. Orochimaru’s snake struck, knocking her sideways and sending her tumbling off the edge of a branch. Her heart dropped, and the trees responded, catching her before she could fall too far, lowering her gently to the ground.

But she looked up just in time to see Orochimaru sink his fangs into Sasuke’s neck.

A piercing scream tore from her throat as Sasuke dropped to his knees, clutching his neck, his face twisted in agony. She could only watch in horror as Orochimaru faded into the earth, his laughter echoing hauntingly around her.

The forest erupted around her, the trees responding to her anguish as they snapped and twisted, lashing out wildly. Branches splintered and crashed, tearing at the ground in their fury. Sakura didn’t even register the damage, her sole focus on Sasuke, who lay slumped against her, his face contorted in pain.

“Sasuke!” Her voice trembled as she pulled him close, her hands hovering over him as if afraid to touch, tears pricking her eyes. “Sasuke, look at me. Please, Sasuke —”

He let out a strangled scream, his body seizing as he gripped her hand in a crushing hold, eyes squeezed shut.

“C’mon, Sasuke,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she wiped the tears from her face, trying to hold herself steady. She felt his grip slacken as he collapsed against her, unconscious.

With her heart pounding, she turned to Naruto, where the wood had formed a protective shell around him. She reached out, calling back the roots, revealing his still form. “Naruto!” Her voice was barely more than a broken sob. “Naruto, please… Sasuke’s—”

But Naruto didn’t stir.

The tears spilled down her cheeks, unbidden and unstoppable. Her shoulders trembled as she looked between her two teammates, each one unconscious and still, and a strangled sob escaped her.

Her father’s voice echoed in her mind, harsh and cold, “You good-for-nothing, worthless little girl!”

Sakura’s body flinched instinctively, shrinking inward as if shielding her teammates from the blows that never came. The words reverberated around her, her family’s disdain filling the empty forest.

“You fucking runt.” Hiroshi’s voice calls out next, echoing closer to her ears on all sides of the empty trees and Sakura wants to cover her ears, but she’s afraid of Sasuke crying out again, “You want to be a ninja? Good for nothing, ungrateful little— you know my sister could have gotten rid of you the moment you asked to go to the academy. She asked me to train you instead, but at the sight of a little blood you’re going to cry about it?!” The wind feels like fingers digging into the flesh of her jaw, “Why can’t you ever do anything right?!”

Her throat closed up, the words bubbling out of her in an angry whisper, “W-Why can’t you ever d-do anything right?”

Another voice joined the torment in her mind, a bitter reminder of all the hurt she had tried to bury. “Failure, worthless, mistake,” the words hissed, clawing at her, digging in deep.

The trees moved on their own, gathering Naruto’s body and setting him beside her and Sasuke as she remained frozen, lost in the taunting whispers.

“Failure, failure, failure…”

Her consciousness flickers, the weight of her teammates’ unconscious bodies pressing in on her as she sank to her knees, the voices echoing in her head until she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t remember who she was beyond their cruelty. The forest around her seemed to resonate with her despair, the once protective roots now twisting into dark shapes, a reflection of the shadows in her heart.

✿✿✿

As dawn breaks, Sakura’s awareness returns, the early light casting long shadows across the hollow where she’s been sheltering with her unconscious teammates. She feels hollowed out, a dull ache resonating in her bones, every muscle protesting movement. There, standing at the entrance, are three Sound-nin, sneering as they spot her.

Sakura is tired.

She is tired and angry, and she doesn’t have time for this .

With a steadying breath, she steps forward, feet planted firmly between her teammates and the intruders. Her chakra stirs, sluggish at first, but then, with her growing determination, it buzzes to life, a volatile spark behind her eyes. Go away, her expression says as her voice drips with quiet disdain. "Maa, Sound-sans," she says, her tone calm but lethal. "Go away, please. I don’t have time for this.”

The three shinobi exchange dark smiles and, without warning, leap at her, descending from above with sinister precision. Sakura’s hand moves on instinct into kawarimi, and she watches, almost detached, as a log takes her place, exploding on impact under the force of their odd sound-based device.

"Clearly you have no talent,” one of them sneers, a mocking gleam in his eye.

Failure .

“Someone like you needs to make more of an effort—”

Her chakra pulses and three thick roots burst from the earth, spearing each of them with ruthless precision. The shinobi don’t even have time to scream. The roots retract as swiftly as they came, leaving the bodies crumpled and cooling on the forest floor.

Sakura stares at them for a moment, eyes dull. There’s no satisfaction, no victory—only numbness. She kneels, expression blank as she rifles through one of the Sound-nin’s pouches, pulling out an earth scroll, its surface splattered with fresh blood.

She turns her gaze back to her team. They lie still and silent, unaware of the violence that’s passed over them.

A faint stir of emotion brushes the edges of her awareness, a sensation so deep, buried beneath layers of exhaustion and habit, that is easy to ignore. 

Weapons do not weep.

Somewhere inside, Sakura feels like crying.

But she’s too tired, too empty. Instead, she returns to her post beside them, her body settling in, her eyes unseeing as she watches over her teammates in silence.

Chapter Text

Four hours after Sakura had settled her teammates between the roots of the ancient trees, and perhaps three hours after she’d killed the Sound-nin, Sasuke wakes. His chakra feels like a clash of ash-bitten lightning and something slick and vile, a residue that makes Sakura’s skin crawl with unease.

Sakura’s breath is shallow, her voice quiet and hoarse after hours of silence, of murmured voices in her mind that didn’t belong to her. “…How are you feeling?” The sound of her own voice grates against her ears, a harsh contrast to the quiet.

Sasuke doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes drift past her, fixed on the entrance of their makeshift shelter and the three lifeless bodies sprawled on the forest floor beyond. “What happened?” His voice is rougher than hers, raw, and it drags her mind back to the memory of his screams--

Sakura does not dwell on that.

Her eyes follow his gaze to the bodies, and her chakra pulses beneath her skin for a brief, sharp second. “They tried to attack while you and Naruto-kun were unconscious.” She pauses, feeling the surge of his chakra, a flare of anger that feels like a bonfire sparking in the dark. She turns, meeting the red swirl of his Sharingan as he stares at the corpses, his expression hard.

“I didn’t let them get close enough to try anything,” she continues, her voice flat, devoid of emotion.

“Good.” His Sharingan fades, the red glow replaced by the deep black of his irises once more. The flare of his chakra tapers off, but the conflict within it remains, a war between the familiar crackle of his lightning and the slippery, wrong sensation that Sakura can’t quite name.

Silence stretches between them, heavy and uncomfortable.

“You… didn’t answer my question.” Her voice is softer this time, a touch gentler.

“Hm?” Sasuke’s gaze flickers back to her, sharper now, more focused.

“How are you feeling?” Sakura asks again, eyes trained on the bridge of his nose, unwilling to look directly into his eyes just yet. “You were unconscious for at least four hours.”

His chakra fluctuates again, a brief, violent pulse, and Sakura’s own chakra thrums in response, itching to lash out, to find the source of the wrongness and rip it out. He hesitates, the words catching in his throat. “I feel…”

“If you say fine, I’ll put a kunai in your shoulder,” she deadpans, her tone blunt. “We fought a Sannin. You’re not fine.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Silence falls between them once more, thick and tense.

“I… saw something,” Sasuke admits finally, his voice stiff, like the words are being pulled from him against his will. He looks away, breaking their gaze. “While I was unconscious. It was like I was reliving the night my clan was murdered, but from a different perspective… an outsider’s view.”

His hands clenched into tight fists, knuckles white against his skin. The wrongness in his chakra intensifies, a suffocating wave that makes it hard for Sakura to breathe. “I saw myself. How weak I was, how useless. I watched that man speak to me as though I were nothing, as though my family were nothing.”

The venom in his voice is thick, poisonous, and Sakura can feel the bitterness of it like a tangible thing in the air between them.

“It reminded me,” he says, voice low and hollow, “of why I became a shinobi. To avenge my clan.” His eyes meet hers, dark and unyielding, the raw hatred simmering beneath the surface, almost feral. “I have to kill him.”

Vengeance is nothing if vengeance is all you have, Inner’s voice is soft, almost a whisper, a gentle presence returning to Sakura after the hollow silence of her own mind for hours.

Sakura hums quietly, a sound of acknowledgement. “I’m not going to pretend I know what it feels like to be betrayed like that,” she starts, her voice steady despite the delicate line she treads. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her, burning. “What happened to you was horrible, Sasuke-kun. You were a child . You were eight . He was a shinobi with years of experience, a prodigy who likely planned it for months. He slipped under the noses of the ANBU, even the Hokage. You couldn’t have known.”

She meets his eyes, unwavering, and she feels the anger in his chakra simmer down, just a fraction. “It’s not your fault. Even if you think it should be, even if you believe it has to fall on your shoulders because Itachi was your brother… it was his choice, his actions, that killed your clan.”

Sasuke’s jaw clenches, the muscles in his face taut, but there’s a flicker of something else in his expression—uncertainty, perhaps. “He said the only way to avenge the clan was to kill him,” Sasuke insists, his voice sharp with conviction. “I have to defeat him. I have to get stronger.”

“Then we’ll do it together, if that’s what you must do,” Sakura says firmly, holding his gaze. It’s difficult, the intensity of his stare almost suffocating, but she doesn’t look away. She feels like she’s standing on the edge of a precipice, trying to catch hold of him before he falls. “Sasuke,” she drops the honorific, letting the familiarity of his name ground her, “The biggest fuck you you could ever give Itachi, after everything he’s done, is to live your life first and kill him second.”

His chakra falters, dispersing all at once, like a wave pulling back from the shore. The intensity in his eyes sharpens, and for a moment, Sakura wonders if he can see right through her, past her skin and bones, into the very core of who she is.

“I…” He hesitates, the troubled look on his face a crack in the armor he’s built around himself. “I don’t understand.”

Sakura shifts, maneuvering herself to sit cross-legged on the forest floor, as though settling down to have a simple conversation rather than the weighty discussion hanging between them. “You’ve made him a priority,” she begins. “Everything you do is about killing Itachi. He knows you’re willing to sacrifice everything, give up everything, for that chance. That kind of focus, that kind of single-mindedness—it’s dangerous.”

Her eyes catch the fading sunlight filtering through the leaves, casting dappled shadows across her face, and they seem to glint with a warm, sunlit glow. “If vengeance is all you have,” she continues, repeating Inner's words out loud in her own soft semi-monotonous voice, “then you have nothing.”

They fall into silence, a heavy quiet that stretches out between them as they sit there, just staring at each other. There’s something vulnerable in the way Sasuke looks at her now, something raw and open that he usually keeps buried beneath layers of anger and cold indifference.

Finally, Sasuke breaks the silence, his voice quieter than before. “I don’t care much for Konoha, if I’m honest,” he admits, the confession slipping from his lips like a secret he’s held onto for too long. “They’ve done nothing for me. Before my clan was killed, I remember the whispers, the insults thrown at us on the streets. The village only cared once I was the last Uchiha left, the last one with the potential to stay loyal, the last one who could give them another Sharingan user.”

He glances over at Naruto’s unconscious form, lying still between the roots of the trees, then looks back at her. There’s something intense, something unyielding in the way he holds her gaze. “But I wouldn’t give up everything .”

The sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting the forest of death in a wash of deep oranges and reds. The fading light catches in Sasuke’s eyes, making them look like burning embers as he continues to stare her down.

“Konoha could burn,” he says, voice low and resolute, “but I wouldn’t let you and Naruto become ash. Not even if it was Itachi setting the village on fire.”

Sakura’s breath hitches, her eyes widening slightly. It strikes her, suddenly and with the force of a gut punch, that this is the first time she’s ever heard Sasuke say his brother’s name out loud.

The syllables fall from his lips like a curse, heavy and laced with venom, yet there’s something fragile underneath it too—an old wound, raw and festering. She realizes in that moment how deep the pain runs, how much of Sasuke’s hatred is built on this unspoken name, a name he’s kept buried beneath layers of anger and silence.

He’s never said it before, Inner murmurs, her voice quiet and soft, tinged with a sadness that matches Sakura’s own.

And as the weight of that realization settles in, she feels the air shift between them, something unspoken passing through the silence—a glimpse of the boy he used to be before everything shattered, before Itachi became a ghost that haunted his every breath.

Sakura knows all too well what it’s like to be haunted by family. To feel their presence linger in every choice she makes, even when they’re no longer there, their voices echoing inside her head. To be beaten by them, and treated like nothing on the best days, but she doesn’t know what it’s like to have once been loved by them. For that love to be her entire world, only for it to turn into the hands that destroyed everything.

She faintly recalls a different Sasuke, one who would smile, his face alight with a rare, unguarded joy as he called out for his Aniki at the end of an academy day, his eyes bright with admiration. It was only for her first two weeks at the academy, but it was enough. Enough for her to remember that small glimmer of happiness that used to live inside him, so different from the hollow, distant gaze that became his default after the massacre.

Sakura remembers more easily the way he came back to the academy one day, devoid of that light, his expression hard and his eyes cold. She remembers seeing him then, and seeing a reflection of herself—two children who had lost everything, though they wore different masks to hide the hurt.

As she looks at him now, hearing the raw promise in his voice—that even if the man who tore his world apart was standing before him, he would choose her and Naruto instead—she’s pulled back to that moment during the Wave mission. The moment she realized she could have killed any of her other classmates, any of the faceless peers she’d known in the academy, if it meant freedom from the prison her home had become (had always been).

But not them. Not Naruto. Not Sasuke.

No matter what her family had done to her, no matter how much she had craved escape, the thought of betraying them felt like a betrayal of something far deeper. She couldn’t have killed them then, and she knows she can’t lose them now.

“Promise?” Her voice is barely a whisper, scared to ask, to have him promise this and then one day take it back and break her completely.

Sasuke’s eyes remain steady on hers, and his ash-bitten-lightning is the strongest it had been since he woke up, “I promise.”

(Sakura has never believed in anything before.)

Sakura believes him.

✿✿✿

With the scroll that Sakura had pilfered from the Sound nin and Naruto still unconscious, they make their way to the tower, the weight of their teammate’s limp form shared between her and Sasuke. They reach it with three days left in the exam, exhaustion clinging to their bones.

Opening the scrolls to reveal Iruka-sensei’s smiling face wasn’t what Sakura expected. The warmth and immediate worry in his eyes when he sees Naruto’s condition is another thing she hadn’t expected, but she adds a mental note next to Iruka’s name in her psyche.

A medic-nin is called over quickly, and after a brief examination, they confirm what Sakura had already deduced: Naruto’s chakra is intact, only suppressed by the unfamiliar seal the woman had placed on him. He’s perfectly healthy otherwise, but still unconscious. Relief mixes with a lingering anxiety in Sakura’s chest, a tightness that refuses to ease until Naruto opens his eyes.

The tower isn’t much to look at—bare walls and simple accommodations—but it’s more than Sakura had anticipated. Each team is assigned a room with three narrow beds and a small attached bathroom stocked with the bare essentials. It’s a luxury after the days spent in the forest, fighting for survival against both the elements and other competitors.

As they claim their beds, Sakura’s gaze drifts to the one she chose, the one closest to the window. For a fleeting moment, she sees a different room, a bedroom with soft pink walls and a small branch brushing against the glass. Remembers the door should never be closed completely, that he could come at any moment to take her away—

There’s nothing to fear here, Inner whispers gently, her voice soothing, wrapping around Sakura like a protective shield. He can’t get us.

Sakura’s eyes shift to Sasuke’s bed, the one closest to the door, his presence a silent sentinel standing between her and the rest of the tower. She chews the inside of her lip, glancing once at Naruto’s still form lying on the bed between them, his face slack with unconsciousness.

Maybe not, Sakura acknowledges as she grabs the provided towels and heads for the bathroom. But there’s nothing stopping the other chuunin hopefuls from trying.

✿✿✿

It's another day before Naruto finally wakes up, blinking against the light filtering through the window. With two days left before the end of the second exam, he looks disoriented, his eyes darting around the room until they land on Sakura and Sasuke. The first words out of his mouth are filled with concern.

“Are you guys okay?” Naruto asks, his voice rough with worry. “Did either of you get hurt fighting that snake guy?”

Sakura sits cross-legged on her bed, brushing a stray leaf from her sleeve as she glances at Sasuke across the room. “Sasuke got bitten, had a fever, and had a vision.” She recites, matter-of-fact, ignoring the way Sasuke sends her a half-hearted glare.

Naruto’s face scrunches up in worry, “Bitten? A vision?” He turns his gaze to Sasuke, but the Uchiha just smirks slightly.

“Sakura can control trees,” Sasuke says instead, as though it’s the most normal thing in the world. “We haven’t talked about that yet.”

Sakura feels her ears go fuzzy, a brief wave of dizziness overtaking her before she regains control. 

Naruto’s eyebrows shoot up, his mouth falling open. “Sakura-hime can what ?” He pauses, then shakes his head, as if trying to process the information. “Wait a second—when did you two stop using honorifics?” His expression turns horrified, and he whispers, “Oh my god, am I the polite one on this team now?”

A snort escapes Sakura before she can stop it, a small crack in the tension that had been wound tight around her since the forest. “You can drop them too, Naruto,” she says with a small smile. “I don’t care much for them.” She shifts to sit up straighter, adjusting herself so she can face both of them directly. “I have Mokuton. It’s the Shodaime’s technique—my great-grandfather’s technique?” She wrinkles her nose, the words still unfamiliar on her tongue. “Senju Hashirama’s wood release.”

Naruto stares at her, wide-eyed, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “What the fuck.” Sasuke snorts, and Naruto throws his hands up. “No, seriously, this team is so—” He waves his arms wildly, trying to find the right word. “—Y’know?”

Please never change, Naruto, Inner hums fondly.

Sasuke’s lips twitch into something almost like a smile. “What was it the snake said?” He frowns, thinking back. “An Uchiha, a Senju, and the Kyuubi container?” He turns to look at Naruto and Sakura follows suit, “What does that mean?”

Naruto suddenly looks a bit nervous. He scratches the back of his head, trying to play it off with a boisterous grin, but they can see through it. After a beat, he sighs, deflating slightly. “I… found out that I have the Nine-Tailed Fox sealed inside me,” he admits, pointing to the seal on his stomach. “It happened after the final test at the Academy.”

Kyuubi container, Inner repeats Orochimaru’s words with a snarl, a bitter edge to her voice. He made it sound like Naruto isn’t even a person.

Sakura feels the sting of those words, the echo of something she knows far too well. Sakura calls for his attention firmly, hyper aware of Naruto’s still muted chakra stirring with faint feelings of please-don’t-go “Naruto,” she says, and the urgency in her voice makes him look at her, a flicker of fear and uncertainty crossing his face. “I don’t care about the Kyuubi. You’re still Naruto.”

“Hn.” Sasuke nods, his sharingan flashing briefly before fading back to black. “Not even a tailed beast could change you, dead last.”

Naruto’s indignant squawk is immediate. “Hey, who’re you calling dead last, you bastard—” But Sakura can see the tears welling up in his eyes, the sheen of unshed emotion, and she tastes the potent relief in his chakra.

✿✿✿

Sakura finds herself wandering the tower on her own the day before the exam ends, unable to sit still with the anticipation crackling in her veins. The entire structure feels supercharged, the air thick with the overlapping chakras of every contender who made it this far. It’s like standing in the eye of a storm, the pressure heavy on her chest, and she can feel her own chakra buzzing in response, itching beneath her skin.

She’s mapping out the victors in her mind as she walks the dimly lit corridors, noting each team she recognizes. The team from Suna, Team Ten, Team Eight, and Team Three. Those are the ones she knows; the ones she can anticipate.

When she pauses by a window overlooking the dense forest outside, she catches sight of something odd—thin roots climbing the side of the tower at a snail’s pace. The sight makes her chest ache with a strange mix of embarrassment and pride. Her Mokuton is still new, still raw, like a muscle she’s only just started flexing, and it responds almost instinctively to her heightened emotions. It’s as though the roots themselves are as eager as she is, slowly but steadily pushing upward.

Inner hums in the back of her mind, Careful, she reminds lightly.

Sakura’s eyes drift away from the window, I don’t think that’s as much me as it is the trees, she thinks.

The chakra signatures surrounding her are vibrant, distinct, like colors painted across her senses. Each one tells a story, a taste, a feeling that she’s slowly learning to recognize. She goes over the ones she isn’t as familiar with, people who weren’t her classmates for four years.

Lee’s chakra stands out first—bright and electrifying. It feels like lightning coursing through her, a sensation that leaves her breathless, like she’s falling and floating all at once, unable to tell which way is up. There’s a purity to it, an earnestness that feels like rushing forward with reckless abandon, trusting his speed to keep him aloft.

The Hyuuga on his team, whose name she can’t remember, feels similar to Hinata but sharper, more defined. His chakra tastes of precision, the kind that comes from years of discipline. Where Hinata’s chakra is soft, full of possibility and blooming paths, her cousin's chakra feels like a single, unyielding thread, moving in a straight line with no room for deviation. It’s the difference between hope and duty, and it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

Tenten’s chakra, on the other hand, feels metallic and sharp, like the edge of a freshly forged kunai. There’s a smell of iron, of sweat and smoke, and it conjures images of blacksmiths hammering steel into shape. Her chakra is steady, unwavering, like the hand of a weapon that never falters. It’s not chaotic; it’s purposeful, like she herself has become a blade honed to perfection.

And then there’s the team from Suna. It’s impossible not to notice Gaara’s chakra, drowning out almost everything else. It’s a suffocating presence, heavy and dark, and it makes the hair on Sakura’s arms stand on end. It feels like the sensation of blood congealing on her skin, the smell of sand soaked in coppery warmth. It’s violent and thick, leaving a bitter, acrid taste in her mouth, and she finds herself shivering before she can help it.

This one is dangerous, Inner whispers, almost awed. He’s like a well of blood that never runs dry.

Sakura nods minutely, even though no one can see. He feels like death, she agrees, her pulse quickening.

But she’s not afraid, not exactly. There’s something else curling in her stomach, something sharp and electric that makes her fingers twitch with anticipation. It’s almost like she wants to reach out and test herself against the force of his chakra, just to see what would happen.

Is this what excitement feels like? Inner wonders, a note of curiosity coloring her voice.

Sakura considers it for a moment, the air thrumming with life all around her, pressing in from every direction. The rush of it, the danger and the thrill—it’s intoxicating, like nothing she’s ever felt before. She mentions it to her teammates and they react with sharp grins.

Maybe, Sakura admits finally, her lips quirking into a small smile of her own. But I think Naruto and Sasuke already know.

Chapter Text

The dawn of the preliminaries brings a palpable tension in the air, thick with the anticipation of the upcoming battles. Chakra surges from every direction, some so powerful that the roots Sakura had been holding back for days begin to grow again, stretching upward until they almost reach her window. She watches them with half-lidded eyes, feeling the pulse of her own chakra sync with the energy around her. It’s as if the entire tower is humming with the excitement of the contenders.

“First of all, congratulations on passing the second exam!” Anko’s voice rings out, sharp and clear. “There were twenty-six teams at the start. Only six have made it through.”

Sakura catches the murmur of conversation from across the room. Ino’s voice is the loudest, her tone carrying an edge of disbelief. “Hmph, Sasuke-kun and his team passed. D’you think he carried Naruto and Billboard Brow?”

Sakura remembers Orochimaru, the fear, holding Sasuke as he screamed, the moment where—for just a second—she believed that Naruto may be dead. She remembers the Sound nin she’d left to rot in the middle of Hashirama trees and her green eyes snap to the side, locking onto Ino with an intensity that leaves faint trails of green light, like the afterimage of flames. For the first time, it feels like Ino truly sees her.

“Yamanaka-san.” Sakura’s voice is soft, almost gentle, but there’s a dangerous edge to it, and she meets Ino’s eyes for possibly the first time in her life. Sakura bares her teeth in a wolfish grin, sharp and threatening. “Respectfully, shut the fuck up.”

The room falls silent for a moment, stunned. Then, there’s the sound of muffled laughter, a few snickers from the other rookies who overheard. When Sakura turns her gaze back to the front of the room, she catches Kakashi’s eye. He gives her an eye smile, and she can see the flicker of approval in it, ignoring whatever the jounin beside him is whispering.

Sakura’s lips curl upward again, this time softer, smaller, less threat and more contentment .

“Doesn’t that jounin look almost exactly like Lee-san?” she mutters to Naruto, nodding subtly toward the green-clad man beside their sensei. Naruto follows her line of sight and quickly covers his mouth to stifle his laughter.

Sasuke doesn’t bother hiding his own amusement, and a smirk tugs at his lips as he glances around at the teams. “Looks like all the Leaf rookies passed,” he observes dryly.

Sakura feels the glares from the other teams like a physical weight on her skin, but it only makes her smile grow sharper again, more feral . They’re standing together now, her, Naruto, and Sasuke—all three of them, back to back like a pack that’s ready for a fight.

“Hokage-sama will now explain the third exam. Listen up!” Anko’s voice cuts through the tension again, redirecting everyone’s attention to the front.

Sakura listens, standing beside her teammates as the Hokage addresses the room, the weight of his words pressing down on the assembled genin like a suffocating blanket.

“The strength of a nation is the strength of its village,” the Hokage intones, voice steady and commanding. “The strength of the village is the strength of its shinobi. Shinobi are what represent the village and their nation, a good shinobi is a tool of the nation they serve.”

Sakura’s lips thin into a line, the acid rising behind her eyes like the burn of unshed tears. A tool of the nation? Inner hisses, her voice sharp as broken glass. If this nation requires nothing but children to fight its battles, then this nation is pitiful.

Sakura feels a low simmer of rage boiling under her skin, hot and dark, a sensation she’s become all too familiar with. It’s the same anger she felt when Zabuza had spoken on that bridge, eyes gleaming with the madness of a man who had lived his entire life on the edge of a blade.

“ A real ninja ,” Zabuza had said, voice low and gravelly, “ is someone who has hovered between life and death numerous times. ”

“ This is what it means to be a kunoichi ,” her uncle had whispered, a sharp, cold lesson delivered through gritted teeth.

Sakura had listened then, dutiful and eager to please. But now she’s standing in a room full of future killers and would-be martyrs, listening to the Hokage, another old man preaching about what it means to be a shinobi.

She’s so tired of it.

Tired of old men with eyes too full of ideals, trying to shape the world with hands that have never bled the way hers have. Tired of old men who know nothing about her trying to teach a lesson she had long learned through efforts not entirely her own. Tired of a man who haunts her nightmares trying to forge her into a weapon of a village she did not believe in . Tired of being told what makes her worthy, what gives her value.

Sakura stands a little straighter, feeling the pulse of her own chakra, warm and alive beneath her skin, defying the cold, sterile words of those who would make her into nothing more than a weapon. She thinks of Naruto, of Sasuke, the way they’ve each chosen her, and she thinks— I will choose them too.

No matter what they say, no matter what this exam is supposed to prove, she is not a tool. She is not here to represent some faceless nation that does not care if she lives or dies. She is here for her teammates, for her sensei. And if that makes her a bad shinobi, then so be it.

She doesn’t need to be a good shinobi.

She needs to survive.

✿✿✿

Sakura watches the room closely as Kabuto and Tsurugi Misumi step back from the lineup, leaving the final count at sixteen. The tension in the air is palpable, each remaining genin aware that they’re one step closer to whatever hell the third exam has in store for them.

“The first battle shall be Akado Yoroi versus Uchiha Sasuke,” Hayate announces, his voice hoarse yet steady.

Sakura instinctively lays a hand on Sasuke’s shoulder, feeling the familiar prickle of his chakra, and the new darker something beneath it—volatile, wild. She glances pointedly at the spot on his neck where Orochimaru had bitten him, the memory of it still fresh, a phantom ache in her own skin.

“His chakra is volatile, Sasuke,” she warns, her voice low and soft but filled with an undercurrent of worry. “I’m not going to tell you to drop the fight, but if that thing puts you in danger and you don’t—”

Her voice wavers, just a fraction, but her grip tightens on his shoulder as though she could ground him through sheer force of will alone.

Sasuke’s hand covers hers, and for a brief moment, it’s like they’re the only two in the room. His dark eyes meet hers, steady and sure. “If it does anything weird, I’ll forfeit,” he promises, his voice quiet but resolute. “Promise, Sakura.”

She nods, taking a deep breath, releasing the tension in her chest as she steps back. Sasuke gives her a barely-there smile, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a way that reminds her of a time before all of this, when his smiles were more frequent and less guarded.

Everyone moves to the viewing area above, and Sakura makes sure to position herself and Naruto far away from the sound nin. Her senses are heightened, every nerve on alert as she watches the fight below. But her eyes keep darting back to the sound team’s sensei, a man whose presence feels wrong in a way she can’t shake.

We killed the remaining sound contestants, Inner hums, her tone suspicious. Their sensei should have no reason to stay and watch the exams.

Normally, it wouldn’t be something I’d worry about, Sakura thinks. Entire genin teams die in the exams all the time. Not every sensei leaves immediately—some stay to witness the results, to honor their fallen students. But this feels different.

Below, Sasuke lets out a strangled cry, and Sakura’s head snaps back to him on the ground, his chakra dangerously low. Akado Yoroi leaps at him again, his hand covered in a shimmering blue glow as he grabs Sasuke by the head.

He’s sapping his chakra, Inner cries, voice sharp with panic. He’ll die if this keeps up! The mark—

Sakura’s eyes widen, her chakra sense picking up a dark, pulsing energy from Sasuke’s neck. The mark seems to stir, reacting to his depleted chakra reserves like a predator sensing blood in the water.

No, Inner hisses, a shudder of fear threading through her voice. He won’t die, but I don’t know what that thing will do if it’s unleashed.

Before Sakura can react, Sasuke kicks Akado back with a brutal force, sending the man flying across the floor. The impact echoes through the room, and a tense silence falls.

There’s a spike of chakra to her left, sharp and smug, one that Sakura recognizes with a jolt of terror. Her gaze flicks to the sound shinobi, but instead of looking down at the fight like she’d expected, his eyes are trained on her. Slit pupils, like a snake’s, gleam with a dark amusement.

Oh my go— Inner begins, but her thought is cut off as a shadow falls over them.

Sakura looks up just in time to see Sasuke and Akado clashing mid-air, their bodies crashing back down to the ground with a thundering impact. The dust settles, and Sasuke stands over his opponent, breathing hard but victorious.

“The winner is Uchiha Sasuke,” Hayate declares, his voice echoing through the room.

But Sakura isn’t looking at Sasuke anymore. Her heart pounds in her chest, her pulse loud in her ears as she turns back to where the sound sensei had been standing.

Orochimaru is gone.

The pit in her stomach drops deeper, a cold, gnawing fear settling in. She swallows hard, forcing herself to keep calm as Hayate calls the next match.

“The next match will be between Aburame Shino and Nara Shikamaru.”

Sakura’s eyes follow Sasuke as he makes his way back up the stairs, breathing hard but with a flicker of victory lighting up his dark gaze. She sees the faint pulse of the curse mark on his neck, the malevolent chakra simmering just beneath the surface, and it makes her stomach twist with unease. She can’t bring herself to mirror his smirk, the realization of who had been watching them weighing heavy on her.

“We need to talk,” she says quietly when he reaches her, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Sasuke wipes the blood from his lip, giving her a sharp nod, his gaze unyielding. He doesn’t ask questions; he knows better than that.

She tugs him toward the far corner of the arena where she and Naruto had positioned themselves earlier. They lean over the railing, heads bowed close together, creating a small, protective circle. Naruto falls in on her other side, and she can feel the anxious energy humming off him, his attention snapping between her and Sasuke.

Sakura takes a deep breath, letting her chakra settle just enough that her voice remains steady. “The snake was here,” she mutters under her breath, the words slipping out between clenched teeth.

Naruto’s entire body goes tense beside her, his blue eyes narrowing as his head whips around. “What do you mean, he was here ?” he hisses, trying and failing to keep the volume down. “Like, watching us?”

“Yes,” Sakura confirms, her voice a strained whisper. “He was standing with the sound shinobi that didn’t make the preliminaries. He was watching Sasuke’s fight, but it's like he knew I could feel him. He—” Her hands clench the railing, knuckles going white. “He was smiling.”

Sasuke’s chakra flickers with a burst of ash-bitten lightning, crackling like the first spark of a wildfire. “Where is he now?” he asks, his tone as cold as ice, his eyes burning with a feral intensity.

“I don’t know,” she admits, hating the words, hating the helplessness in them. “Disappeared right before the fight ended. I don’t know where he went, And his chakra isn’t close enough for me to feel.”

Naruto’s face twists in anger, the whisker marks on his cheeks darkening as his own chakra flares, what she now knows to be the Kyuubi’s presence pressing against her senses like a wildfire threatening to break free. “If he shows up again, I’ll—”

“ No ,” Sakura cuts him off sharply, her voice low but carrying a steely edge. “If he shows up again, we get away. We’re not ready to fight him, Naruto.”

Naruto opens his mouth to argue, but one look at her face has him clamping it shut. The worry in her eyes isn’t something he’s seen often—if ever. It sobers him, makes him bite back whatever hot-headed response he had ready.

Sasuke’s gaze, however, remains on her, sharp and searching. “You’re not scared of him,” he observes, but there’s a question hidden beneath the statement.

Sakura’s lips twitch, almost into a bitter smile. “No, Sasuke,” she murmurs, her voice like the whisper of a blade unsheathing. “I’m terrified. But I’m not going to let him take either of you.”

Naruto’s hand closes into a fist, slamming against the railing. “Like hell he’s taking anyone!” he snaps, voice rough, but Sakura can taste the fear buried underneath his bravado. It’s an unfamiliar flavor, and she hates it.

“We need to be careful,” she says, voice firm and unyielding. “If he’s here, it’s for a reason, and it’s not just to watch the fights. He’s after something.”

Sasuke’s hand twitches at his side, fingers curling like he’s fighting the urge to reach for the mark on his neck. “He’s after power,” Sasuke mutters, almost to himself. His eyes narrow, turning distant for a moment before they snap back to hers. “He wants something from me.”

Sakura doesn’t say it out loud, but the unspoken agreement hangs heavy in the air between them. They all know what Orochimaru wants—he’s made it clear. And he won’t stop until he gets it.

“He won’t get it,” she vows, the words slipping out before she can think better of it. Her chakra flares, a surge of raw energy that has her remembering the roots outside the tower, inching up the stone walls toward her window.

Sasuke’s lips quirk up into a small, humorless smile, and for a fleeting moment, she sees a flicker of something softer in his eyes—trust, maybe, or the fragile remnants of hope. “I believe you,” he says simply.

Naruto’s scowl softens just a fraction, the tension easing from his shoulders as he looks between them. He gives a sharp nod, the determination in his eyes almost blinding. “Yeah, what she said,” he adds, flashing a grin that’s all teeth, feral and fierce. “We’ll kick his ass if he shows his face again.”

Sakura lets out a small laugh, a brief, airy sound that cuts through the thick tension hanging between them. “I’d like to see that,” she says, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like it did in the early days—the three of them against the world, with nothing more than determination and a shared sense of camaraderie to carry them through.

She glances up toward the jounin senseis gathered on the balcony, her eyes locking onto Kakashi’s almost immediately. He’s already watching them, and there’s a subtle, imperceptible shake of his head. His fingers flick in a quick, silent signal: Enemy known.

Well, Inner notes dryly, at least we don’t have to go find Jerk-sensei to tell him what we saw.

Sakura’s lips twitch.

Shikamaru wins his match. The painted nin from Suna, Kankuro, goes against Choji next.

Sakura watches Choji be carried away on a stretcher with seemingly empty eyes, looking back at the screen for who the next match is and finds her own name staring back at her.

Haruno Sakura VS Yamanaka Ino

Inner snorts without humor, Well, she says, If nothing else it’ll probably be somewhat therapeutic. A grim smile befalls Sakura’s lips as she descends the staircase. 

“Even Sasuke-kun collapsed,” Ino says, and gives her a mocking smile, “Maybe you should just give up, it’d be better for the village to weed you out now”

Like you gave up on me when I needed you most over a measly rumor? Something whispers in the back of her mind, and Inner growls through clenched teeth, We owe nothing to anybody in this village.

“Sakura-hime! Good luck! Don’t lose!” Naruto calls from the stands, and it makes Sakura’s lips lift into a small smile, shoulders relaxing. She takes a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth once, before settling into an even stance, eyes ablaze. 

“Begin.”

Ino comes at her, but her hits are easy enough to dodge that Sakura knows she’s not going all out. Is she underestimating us?! Inner yells, and Sakura dodges another kick for her head swiftly as she responds, No.

Ino smacks her with an open hand.

She can’t bring herself to try harder.

Sakura cannot afford the same sentiment. She was raised to be anything but human when it comes to fighting, and even after joining team seven and learning to exist, she wasn’t able to keep Orochimaru from Sasuke because she hesitated. She never wants to fail her friend like that again.

Sakura drops low and kicks Ino’s feet out from under her while she’s distracted, and moves to slam her foot into her stomach when the blonde rolls out of the way. Seeming to find her resolve when she realizes that, no, Sakura will not be pulling her punches just because she was her first friend.

Our first abandonment.

Sakura ignores the thought with ease brought only through practice and performs a clone jutsu instead. Moving fast enough that Ino can’t tell which is which and landing a solid hit on her, sending the blonde skidding across the floor. Ino tries to trip her up when she gets close, but Sakura hops over her feet and brings her shin up in a kick that’s blocked by her forearm.

The pinkette hops away when Ino moves into a crouch.

A growl, “Fine. I’ll end this quickly.” Ino’s hands run through a series of familiar hand signs, “Mind Transfer Jutsu!”

Sakura’s eyes widen before it all goes black.

✿✿✿

Pain blossoms behind her eyes, sharp and disorienting, and when Sakura blinks, the arena dissolves away, replaced by a dark, empty expanse. It’s eerily silent, the kind of quiet that presses against her ears and makes her own heartbeat sound like thunder.

She turns, and there’s Ino, standing just a few feet away, her expression twisted with confusion and fear.

“ Maa, unlucky. ” A familiar voice drawls, and Sakura feels an arm drape casually over her shoulders. She startles, looking to her side to find Inner standing there, solid and yet almost not. She’s just on the edge of translucent, her form flickering like the reflection of moonlight on water. The resemblance is uncanny—Inner could easily be mistaken for Sakura at first glance. But the blood staining her hair, the tree-like scars trailing up her arms, and the faint, perpetual glow in her eyes give her away.

“What?” Ino stutters, her gaze darting wildly between the two of them. “What the hell is this?!”

Inner raises an unimpressed eyebrow, and Sakura mirrors her without thinking, both of their expressions synchronized. “ Welcome to the nuthouse, Ino- chan,” Inner says, her tone laced with a self-deprecating humor that makes Sakura want to laugh despite the situation. “ Thank you for visiting, really. But this isn’t an open house for nosy Yamanakas. ”

The space around them seems to constrict, the darkness folding in like the walls of a cage. Roots explode from the ground, wrapping around Ino’s arms and legs, pinning her in place. Sakura watches as Ino struggles against them, her chakra flaring and then faltering, unable to break free.

Inner steps away from Sakura, crouching down in front of Ino with a predatory grace. “ Things are gonna get real hard for you if you don’t leave, Ino-chan, ” she says quietly, almost gently, but there’s a sharp edge beneath her words, a warning that cuts like a knife.

Ino’s face twists with a mix of fear and fury, but she’s quick—she seeps into the ground, her presence vanishing like water draining through a crack.

And then it’s just Sakura and Inner again, alone in the dark.

“ You can’t stay long, ” Inner hums, straightening up as the roots retreat back into the earth, and the walls of the space seem to expand back to their original, endless void. “ You still have to beat Ino-chan after all. ”

Inner’s smile is small, fractured, like a broken mirror trying to piece itself back together. Sakura looks at her, really looks at her, and for the first time, she thinks she understands what others see when they look at her.

“Hm.” Sakura hums in response, giving a small, nearly identical smile. “Thanks, Inner.”

Inner’s gaze softens, her form flickering with a warmth that almost feels like sunlight filtering through leaves. “ Of course, Sakura- hime,” she says, the title not mocking this time, but a quiet, gentle reassurance.

✿✿✿

And then, with a blink, Sakura snaps back into the world, her vision swimming as she comes to on her knees. Pain pulses behind her eyes, a splitting headache that feels like a hammer striking the inside of her skull. She feels the sharp sting of blood before she sees it—her nails have dug crescent-shaped indents into her palms, crimson rivulets dripping onto the arena floor.

“Two spirits?” Ino’s voice is ragged, disbelieving. She’s panting heavily, eyes wide with a mix of shock and something close to fear. “What are you?”

The question stings, a sharp jab to the core of something she hasn’t yet defined for herself. But Sakura doesn’t allow it to show; she swallows the hurt down like a bitter pill, grits her teeth, and wipes her bloodied hands on her pants. Without a word, she disappears from Ino’s line of sight.

In an instant, she reappears behind her, swift and silent, and strikes. Her fist connects solidly with the back of Ino’s head, and the blonde crumples to the ground, unconscious before she even registers what happened.

“Winner: Haruno Sakura,” the proctor announces, voice echoing across the stunned silence of the room.

Sakura straightens, her breath heavy but controlled, and as she looks up at the crowd, her eyes briefly flicker with that same toxic green glow. For just a moment, the look in her gaze is wild, untamed—before it settles back into something hard and unyielding.

She turns away without another glance, walking back to her teammates, her bloodied hands swinging at her sides like she’s forgotten they’re there.

Chapter Text

The remaining matches are interesting enough, giving Sakura a chance to gauge her fellow Konoha shinobi and note the growth of her former classmates—if there’s been any at all. She watches with a keen, analytical eye, her gaze lingering on Temari’s large fan as it sweeps through the air, her wind prowess carving deep gouges into the arena floor. For a moment, it even looks like Tenten might have her on the ropes, the weapon specialist’s barrage of steel nearly overwhelming the Suna kunoichi. But in the end, Temari’s control of the battlefield is just too precise.

Naruto’s bout against Kiba is another story. While the spectators around them murmur in shock at the unexpected outcome, Sakura doesn’t even flinch. Neither does Sasuke. They exchange a knowing glance, a silent understanding passing between them. After all, they’ve spent the last three and a half months training alongside Naruto. They know exactly what he’s capable of when he stops holding back.

No offense to Kiba or Akamaru, Inner hums thoughtfully, but this isn’t like facing Zabuza on the bridge or surviving the Forest against Orochimaru.

Sakura agrees. Watching Naruto maneuver around Kiba’s attacks, she can tell he’s toying with him, testing his reflexes but never fully committing to the offensive. It’s obvious to her that he could end the fight much sooner if he wanted to. He’s holding back , she realizes, because he doesn’t see Kiba as a true threat —not after everything they’ve faced together. Not after Naruto had stood against the pressure of a Sannin’s summon and lived to tell the tale.

He doesn’t want to hurt him, Inner notes quietly, almost fondly. Not when he’s loyal to Konoha.

And that’s just like him, Sakura thinks, a faint smile tugging at her lips. For all his bluster, Naruto’s heart is in the right place. He’ll fight tooth and nail against anyone who threatens what he holds dear, but he’s not one to inflict unnecessary pain—not on those who stand beside him, who share the same headband, the same village. It’s not a sentiment she shares, but Sakura would follow it for him if he’d asked.

When Naruto wins, standing victorious and beaming up at the crowd, Sakura’s smile widens just a fraction. She can see his joy, the relief in his posture, but she knows it’s not the win that matters to him. It’s the proof that he belongs here, that he’s earned his place among them. And to her, there’s never been any doubt of that. Sakura knows that he’s strong.

The fight between Hinata and Hyuuga Neji is something Sakura hadn’t anticipated—a clash of Byakugan against Byakugan, Gentle Fist against Gentle Fist. The audience is silent, almost reverent, as the two Hyuuga face each other in the arena, their stances mirrored like two sides of the same coin.

Family against family.

Neji moves with a brutal efficiency, each strike precise and calculated, aiming to cripple. His chakra lashes out like a blade, unrelenting and sharp, as though he’s trying to carve his message into the very bones of his opponent. Every blow feels personal, filled with a bitterness that seems to overflow from him in waves.

Hinata, by contrast, is softer. Her movements are fluid, more defensive, as though she’s trying to deflect rather than retaliate. Even as she fights back, there’s a gentleness to her strikes, a hesitation that Sakura can feel from where she’s standing. It’s as though Hinata isn’t trying to defeat Neji—she’s trying to reach him.

She’s holding back, Inner observes quietly, something like sympathy threading her voice. She doesn’t want to hurt him, even though he’s trying to break her.

Sakura watches, her hands curling into fists at her sides as Hinata takes another hit to the chest, her body stumbling back from the force of the blow. Blood drips from her lips, but she stands tall, meeting Neji’s eyes with a gaze that’s surprisingly steady.

“You’re weak, Hinata-sama,” Neji spits, his voice dripping with disdain. “You should know your place.”

Hinata’s response is quiet, almost inaudible, but Sakura catches the slight quiver of her lips. “Neji-nii-san.”

There’s something heartbreaking about the way she says it. Hinata is fighting with everything she has, but it’s not just a physical battle—it’s a battle of wills, a struggle to prove herself to someone who’s already made up his mind.

Neji’s expression twists into a scowl, and he lunges forward, delivering a series of rapid strikes that make the audience gasp. Hinata falters, but she doesn’t fall. Instead, she brings her hands up, countering with a series of Gentle Fist strikes that lack the same ferocity but are no less skilled.

Sakura hears the railing creak under the force of a grip, and her gaze shifts to Naruto, standing tense and rigid beside her, his jaw clenched so tight it looks painful. He’s seething, chakra flaring around him like a wildfire barely held back. She can feel his frustration, his helplessness, as he watches Hinata struggle against her own cousin.

“You got this, Hinata-chan!” Naruto shouts, voice breaking the silence, filled with raw, unfiltered emotion. “Don’t let him beat you down!”

Hinata’s eyes flicker briefly to Naruto, and there’s a moment, just a moment, where something like resolve passes over her face. She turns back to Neji, her Byakugan shining with a newfound intensity, and she steps forward, her stance stronger, more assured.

Neji’s smirk fades slightly as he watches her, something like irritation flashing in his eyes. He lunges again, his strikes even faster, harsher, as if trying to punish her for daring to fight back. And yet, Hinata holds her ground, blocking, dodging, countering with a grace that’s almost serene.

But then Neji lands a particularly harsh blow to her abdomen, and Sakura sees the way her breath hitches, her body trembling as she struggles to stay upright. The look on Neji’s face is cold, almost detached, as if he’s already decided she’s not worth his time.

When the match finally ends, with Hinata crumpling to the ground, blood staining her clothes, Neji’s expression is one of triumph—but there’s something hollow about it. He turns away from her without a second glance, but Sakura’s eyes are locked on Hinata’s face.

Even in defeat, there’s a quiet, unyielding strength in her gaze as she looks up at the sky, as though she’s searching for something only she can see.

Sakura swallows hard, glancing over at Naruto, whose eyes are blazing with fury and something else, something raw and protective.

“He didn’t have to do that,” he grits out, voice shaking. “He didn’t have to go that far.”

“No,” Sakura agrees softly, her voice laced with a bitterness she can’t hide. “He didn’t.”

And as the medics rush forward to carry Hinata away, Sakura feels a pang of something deep in her chest—a flicker of kinship, of understanding. But she shoves it deep down and smothers it, unwilling to let herself feel the pain that comes with recognizing the strength it takes to stand up against the people who are supposed to love you.

However, it’s the fight between Rock Lee and Gaara that has Sakura’s blood pumping, her chakra thrumming beneath her skin like a war drum. It’s the kind of battle that makes her veins itch, her instincts sharpen, and for a moment she forgets to breathe as she watches.

Lee is incredible—his speed is blinding, every movement precise and purposeful, like he’s dancing on the edge of a blade. Sakura can’t help but lean forward, her fingers gripping the railing tightly as he disappears in bursts of speed, striking at Gaara with a force that reverberates through the arena.

He’s like lightning, Inner murmurs, awestruck.

Gaara’s sand, on the other hand, is a marvel. It moves with an eerie, fluid grace, shielding him from every attack with a calm, almost lazy defiance. Watching it rise up to protect him, Sakura is reminded of the forest, when the trees had surged up to catch her as she fell, responding to her desperation with a will of their own.

Sakura’s heart clenches as Lee pushes himself beyond his limits, opening the Gates, his body glowing with raw, unfiltered power. It’s a breathtaking display of sheer determination, a testament to his resolve, and Sakura feels something like admiration for the boy who has trained himself to the brink of self-destruction just to prove that hard work can rival natural talent.

But even with all that, it isn’t enough.

Gaara’s sand crushes him in the end, twisting around Lee’s leg with a sickening snap that echoes through the arena, not unlike the branches that had snapped Orochimaru’s. Sakura feels her own breath hitch, her chakra surging to the surface as though it wants to reach out and help, even though she knows she can’t.

Lee falls, and the stadium falls silent with him. The air is heavy, a collective breath held in anticipation, but it’s already over. Gaara’s expression is blank, unfeeling, as he turns away, the sand retreating like a wave back to its shore.

Sakura recognizes that expression.

She’s worn that expression—cold, detached, a mask to cover the hollowness inside. It’s the look of someone who’s learned to shut everything out, to silence the noise and numb the pain. It’s the look of someone who’s been broken and has chosen to become the blade they’ve been forced to become, rather than the wound left behind.

Like recognizes like, Inner laughs, a sharp, bitter sound that cuts through the silence in her mind.

Sakura clenches her fists, her knuckles turning white as she watches Gaara leave the arena. Her mind is a tangle of memories, of crooked branches and the slick feel of blood in her hair, the coppery scent heavy in the air. Tendrils of sand curl through her thoughts, interweaving with the image of tree roots that once surged up to save her.

Lee and Gaara’s fight is the last of the preliminaries, and there are eight chuunin hopefuls left.

“We will now be seeing the matchups for the finals!” Anko announces, her voice cutting through the murmurs of the remaining participants—those who are not currently laid up in the infirmary. Sakura runs her tongue lightly over her top teeth, gaze fixed on the screen as the first names begin to appear.

“First round will be… Nara Shikamaru vs. Temari of Suna!” Anko calls out, and from across the room, Sakura hears Shikamaru let out a loud, put-upon sigh. “Troublesome,” he mutters, already resigned.

“Uchiha Sasuke vs. Kankuro of Suna!” Anko continues. Sasuke’s eyes flick toward Kankuro, taking him in with a quick, assessing glance before he returns his attention to the board, face a mask of cool indifference.

The names shift again, and Sakura feels Naruto tense beside her as the next matchup appears. “Hyuga Neji vs. Uzumaki Naruto!” Anko announces. Naruto’s glare locks onto Neji, fierce and unwavering, and Sakura’s heart warms at the intensity of his gaze. He’s still fuming from the match against Hinata, his anger simmering beneath the surface. He cares so deeply it hurts to watch.

Wait, Inner whispers, realization dawning. That leaves—

“Haruno Sakura vs. Gaara of Suna!”

Sakura feels her chakra surge behind her eyes, crackling like live electricity. The room erupts into a low murmur, whispers swirling around her like a storm cloud.

“Poor girl won’t stand a chance.”
“She’ll be torn apart.”

But Sakura pays no attention to the voices. Her focus narrows, her blood thrumming with anticipation. Anko’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp and gleeful. “The finals will take place in one month! Good luck, maggots. You’ll need it.”

A sharp, almost feral grin stretches across Sakura’s face.

✿✿✿

The first thing Sakura does when she arrives back at her apartment is collapse into bed, sleeping for a solid fifteen hours straight. She wakes at 4 AM the next day, an hour before her scheduled meeting with her team. By the time she arrives at the training grounds at 5:30, it’s still hours before Kakashi will show up.

“Sakura!” Naruto calls out, waving at her as she approaches. He’s already mid-stretch, his voice carrying easily in the early morning air. “How are you feeling?”

Sakura tilts her head, dropping into a stretch of her own, pressing her palms flat against the ground. “Hm?”

“He means about fighting Gaara,” Sasuke clarifies, switching into a different stretch with effortless grace. Sakura nods in understanding.

“Mmh, well,” she hums, leaning her head into the crook of her arm to stifle a yawn. She settles into a lazy butterfly stretch, the outer sides of her legs flat against the ground. “I think I’m excited.”

Naruto spreads his legs wide and leans toward one side, the crack of his back loud enough that even Sakura can hear it from her spot. “He does look like an interesting fight, dattebayo.”

“Lucky,” Sasuke mutters as he stretches his arms above his head before flopping onto his back with a small groan. Sakura’s lips twitch at the faint pout in his voice. “I’m stuck with the lame painted puppeteer.”

“Painted puppeteer,” Naruto snickers, switching to stretch his other leg. “At least you two get to go against people from outside the village.”

“What’s your plan for Hyuuga, Naruto?” Sakura asks as she stands and leans into a backbend, feeling her spine crack satisfyingly. Sasuke hisses in impressed approval at the sound.

Naruto hums thoughtfully. “I’m not really a strategist; I’m more of an improviser.” He tosses a rock at Sasuke when he hears the boy snort in response. “But I know I’m gonna beat the crap out of him for Hinata-chan.”

Defend her honor, Naruto, Inner jokes, and Sakura snorts, lifting her feet into a brief handstand before setting them back down. She ends up with her palms flat on the ground in front of her again, stretching deeper into the pose.

“Show off,” Sasuke grumbles, his eyes still closed as he lounges on the grass.

Sakura rolls her eyes, walking over to nudge him in the side with her foot. “You can do the same thing,” she reminds him. “And your eyes are closed.”

Sasuke cracks one eye open, the faint red of his Sharingan swirling lazily. “I see all,” he declares in a mock-serious tone, staring blankly up at the sky.

Naruto bursts into laughter so hard he loses his balance, toppling out of the handstand he’d just managed behind her.

Sakura barks out a laugh, nudging Sasuke with her foot again, harder this time. “Okay, Hyuuga Sasuke, whatever you say.”

His offended huff is so genuine that she can’t help but laugh harder, the sound echoing in the early morning light, blending seamlessly with Naruto’s wheezing laughter beside her. For a moment, it’s just the three of them—easy, light, and untouchable.

✿✿✿

“Maa, Jerk-sensei,” Sakura greets when Kakashi finally arrives at 8 AM, three hours late as usual. She tilts her head, giving him a dry look. “You should really fix that habit of yours.”

Kakashi waves her off like he didn’t hear a thing. “Alright, first things first—congratulations on making it to the finals, the three of you.” He pats each of them on the head in turn, ruffling Naruto’s hair a bit. “This next month is going to be tough, but I’m confident you’ll be ready to face your opponents. Naruto, I heard you’ve already found yourself a suitable sensei?”

Naruto nods enthusiastically, giving him a thumbs up. “Yup! Ero-Sennin agreed to help me train!”

“Ero-Sennin?” Sasuke echoes, eyebrow raised, but Naruto just laughs it off.

Kakashi turns to Sasuke next. “You’ll be training with me, Sasuke. We need to work on your control over your Sharingan.”

The Uchiha nods, as if he expected this. His expression is serious, but there’s a flicker of excitement in his eyes.

Kakashi then looks at Sakura, and for the first time, there’s something almost apologetic in his visible eye. “Sakura,” he begins slowly, “your opponent will no doubt be the hardest to fight in the finals. Because of this, I’d like to apologize in advance for who you’ll be training with this month.”

Sakura’s eyebrows shoot up, a suspicious look crossing her face. “What did you do?”

“My Eternal Rival!” Gai’s booming voice announces his arrival in a blur of green spandex and sparkling teeth. He strikes a pose, giving her a thumbs up. “I have arrived to help train the Youthful Cherry Blossom of Konoha!”

Kakashi gives her a genuine eye smile, clearly pleased with himself. “Sakura, you’ll be training with Gai. Good luck.”

Sakura sighs in an exaggerated imitation of Shikamaru, “Maa, troublesome.” But then she turns to Gai, offering him a respectful bow. “I’ll be in your care, Gai-sensei.”

“To begin, we shall do 100 laps around Konoha!” Gai declares, his energy seemingly endless.

Sakura takes a deep breath, feeling Inner laughing uproariously in the back of her mind. She releases it in a slow exhale, her lips curling into a small, polite smile. “Of course, Gai-sensei.”

✿✿✿

It’s been two weeks since Sakura began training with Gai, and muscles she didn’t even know she had are aching in ways she’s never experienced before. Gai’s regimen is relentless—brutal, even—but his enthusiasm is so infectious that Sakura finds it hard to be annoyed. If anything, she feels exhilarated, pushed to her limits and back, but without the familiar, creeping fear of consequences if she couldn’t make it.

In the beginning, though, she’d been worried. Watching how Lee practically worshiped his sensei had stirred a shadow of doubt in her mind, a whispering voice that sounded far too much like the past she’d been running from. What if he’s like Hiroshi? the voice had murmured. What if he’s just another manipulator? What if he’s only looking for a new weapon now that Lee’s in the hospital? What if Lee’s praise is born of fear, not respect?

Sakura had felt something similar about Kakashi when she first joined Team 7. He’d seemed distant, a little too detached, and she’d wondered if he was waiting for the right moment to twist the knife. But he’d turned out alright—a walking bundle of trauma and questionable coping mechanisms, sure, but alright.

Gai, though… Gai was different. He was possibly the most genuine man Sakura had ever met, and she doubted she’d meet anyone like him again. He pushed her harder than anyone ever had, set impossible goals that she sometimes fell short of. But when she didn’t reach them, he didn’t berate her or look at her with disappointment. Instead, he’d simply nod with that dazzling smile of his and say, “It seems we have found another obstacle to overcome, Young Cherry Blossom! Fear not—we shall crush it with the power of our Youth!”

Inner adored the man, too, and that alone told Sakura everything she needed to know. The only others who’d earned Inner’s approval were her team. If Inner liked Gai, then he’d passed the deepest, most ingrained tests of her heart. By the end of week one, Sakura was able to speak to him while looking at his face .

“Young Cherry Blossom!” Gai appears before her in a flash of green, the wind from his sudden stop sending her ponytail flying back. His eyes sparkle with that same unwavering, blinding enthusiasm. “Are you ready for another day of youthful training?!”

Sakura can’t help but smile, her own energy rising to meet his, something warm and genuine spreading through her chest. “Of course, Gai-sensei!”

She’s exhausted. She’s aching. But more than that, she’s happy.

✿✿✿

The day before the finals, Sakura makes a quiet stop by Lee’s hospital room, a bouquet of bright flowers in hand. She greets him with a cheerful smile, settling into a chair beside his bed as she regales him with stories of her training under Gai. Lee listens with rapt attention, eyes wide, cheeks flushing pink whenever she mentions how hard Gai had pushed her, how much she’d learned. He beams at her, and when she stands to leave, he thanks her so earnestly that it tugs at her heart.

As she walks out, Inner snickers softly. You just made his whole year, she teases, a fondness threading her words.

“Sakura!” Naruto’s voice calls out as she heads down the hallway. He’s walking with Shikamaru, the Nara looking as exasperated as ever beside her teammate. “Why are you here? You’re not hurt, are you?” Naruto’s expression is one of genuine worry, eyes scanning her for any signs of injury.

Sakura smiles, shaking her head. “No, don’t worry. I was just visiting Lee-san.” Her gaze shifts to Shikamaru, and she gives him a small grin. “Hello, Shikamaru-san. What brings you two here?”

Shikamaru huffs, his hands shoved into his pockets. “I was dropping off some medical supplies for a mission, but then Naruto dragged me along to visit Lee.”

Sakura’s eyes soften as she looks at Naruto. “I’m sure Lee will appreciate it. I won’t keep you any longer. Have fun, you two.”

“See you later, Sakura-hime!” Naruto dodges the half-hearted swipe she aims at the back of his head, laughing as he jogs past her. Shikamaru gives her a lazy nod of goodbye, muttering something about troublesome teammates before following.

Sakura watches them go, a small smile playing on her lips as she turns the corner, heading toward the hospital’s exit. She’s almost at the front doors when the ground seems to drop out from beneath her.

“Sakura.”

Her limbs lock up, freezing her in place. Her heart lurches painfully, and for a split second, it feels like she can’t breathe at all. Slowly, she turns, and there he is—Haruno Kizashi, looking almost the same as he did the last time she saw him.

She swallows, her mouth dry, unable to speak as her eyes drift down to the small boy clutching his hand.

“Who’s that, Daddy?” The boy’s voice is clear and bright, filled with a curiosity she hasn’t heard directed at her in years. He can’t be older than seven, and he’s staring up at her with wide, green eyes—eyes that look achingly familiar.

“Why don’t you go to your mother, Ichiro,” Kizashi says gently, giving the boy’s shoulder a little pat. “I just need a moment.”

Sakura’s gaze follows the child as he runs over to a brunette woman seated nearby, a magazine in her lap. She smiles warmly at the boy, ruffling his hair, and something about the scene feels like a punch to the gut.

Kizashi turns back to her, and the words that follow sound almost casual, like he’s commenting on the weather. “Your mother couldn’t have any more children after you.”

It’s said so matter-of-factly, as if that should explain everything, and maybe to him, it does.

“How old is he?” Sakura croaks, voice barely above a whisper, her eyes still fixed on the boy and his mother. She feels like she’s watching something from far away, something she shouldn’t be seeing.

“He’ll be six next month.” The answer comes easily, without hesitation. When she finally forces herself to look at Kizashi she realizes what made him seem different, he’s wearing an expression she’s never seen before—one of fondness, care, a softness she didn’t know he was capable of. “I always wanted a son.”

The words land like a stone in her chest, heavy and cold. Her breath hitches, and she realizes, belatedly, that he’s never looked at her like that. Not once. He’s never looked at her like she was something to cherish, something to protect. He’d never seen her as fragile or precious, never even a fleeting moment of softness in his gaze when he looked at her.

He’d stood by as she bled all over their carpeted floors, as though the sight didn’t warrant a reaction at all. It’s not pain she feels, not exactly—it’s a hollow, disbelieving ache that numbs the edges of her mind, like she’s floating outside herself, detached and unfeeling, watching from a distance.

The only time he’d truly look at her was after too many drinks, when his eyes turned glassy and dull, and the smell of cheap liquor clung to him like a second skin. Too many drinks, and a door she couldn’t close. That was when he’d beat her existence into her skin, the same way her uncle had tried to beat it out of her.

“Are you happy?” she asks, the words slipping out before she can think better of it. It’s quiet, almost timid, and she hates herself a little for asking.

She knows she’s not supposed to ask questions.

Kizashi blinks, like he’s surprised she even cares to ask. But then he nods, a small, satisfied smile curving his lips. “Of course,” he says, and there’s no hesitation, no doubt. “Happier than I’ve ever been.”

Sakura feels like she’s standing on the edge of something she can’t see, her heart thudding dully in her chest. “Of course,” she repeats, her voice flat, distant. The corner of her mouth twitches up, but it’s not a smile. It’s something bitter and small, something she doesn’t have a name for. “Of course.”

Ichiro was born when she was almost seven. It’s a simple calculation, one her mind does without her permission. The realization makes her laugh, or maybe it’s a sob—it sounds the same, feels the same as she wipes at the stray tears slipping down her cheeks with shaking hands.

She looks up at Kizashi one last time, and there’s a cold, brittle calm in her eyes now, something that feels like the final snap of a breaking thread. “I hope they leave you,” she says, voice steady, almost serene.

She turns on her heel and walks out of the hospital, not waiting to see his reaction, not wanting to know if he even heard her.

✿✿✿

“Your mother couldn’t have any more children after you.”

Sakura pictures a world where she could. A world where the cutting words and stray hands don’t land on her. Where it’s aimed at someone else—someone younger, a sibling she’d never had the chance to protect. She imagines it, and there’s a flash of something like bitter satisfaction when she sets that world aflame in her mind, watching it burn to ash.

Good. Let the fire consume it. Let it erase any possibility of a brother or sister who might’ve taken her place, who might’ve had to carry this same awful weight. It’s a vicious thought, but it feels like justice.

Sakura will always be the only child to Haruno Mebuki. 

And it is an awful, bitter existence . She thinks viciously, wiping at the still-falling tears as she heads to Team Seven’s training ground.

“I’d always wanted a son.”

Her fists clench and unclench repeatedly, and Sakura can almost feel the roots of trees humming in the earth beneath her feet, as if they were straining to reach up and hold her steady. By the time she reaches the clearing, she barely registers the tall, green figure of Gai there.

“Sakura-chan?” His voice is unusually gentle, and she realizes, with a distant sort of surprise, that Gai has never called her by her name before—always some ridiculous nickname, a proclamation of her youth. Now, it’s just Sakura , spoken with soft concern.

She scrubs the tears from her face harshly, as if wiping them away could erase the ache beneath. “When did you get here?”

Gai steps closer, kneeling on one knee so that they’re face to face. “Sakura?” he asks again, the quietest she’s ever heard him.

Her tears fall faster than she can swipe them away, stinging hot trails down her cheeks. Gai gently takes her hands in his own, stopping her from digging her nails into her palms until they bled. “I ran into my father at the hospital,” she says, voice choked with something between laughter and a sob. “He has a son that he loves and a whole new family.” Her body shakes, uncontrollable tremors racking her frame. “He’s six.”

Gai’s expression softens, a rare tenderness replacing his usual enthusiasm. He holds her bleeding palms carefully, like something fragile that might break.

“I mean, it’s not like it matters,” she forces out, hating how her voice wavers, how it feels like she’s breaking apart under her own words. “Who cares that I had a muzzle when I was his age, right? T-That doesn’t matter.” Her lip trembles, and she bites down hard to try and stop it.

Without a word, Gai pulls her into a loose hug, the calmest she’s ever seen him, his presence solid and unyielding. The dam shatters. Her arms wrap around his neck, and her bloodied hands grip the back of his green jumpsuit with white-knuckled desperation as she buries her face in his chest, sobs tearing their way out of her throat.

“I tried so hard, Gai-sensei,” she cries, voice raw and broken. “I did everything they asked and more, and it was never enough. I hate him for making him happy when I couldn’t even make him smile. I hate that he loves him.” Her knees buckle, and Gai holds her weight effortlessly, like she’s light as a feather. “I don’t want to hate a child, Gai-sensei. I don’t want to be like them.”

“You’ll never be like them, Cherry Blossom,” he whispers firmly, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of her grief. “It’s okay to be angry. It’s alright to cry.”

“I hate them,” she sobs, her hands clenching tighter, sending jolts of pain up her arms. “I hate them. I hate them so much .”

Gai just holds her, saying nothing more as she cries into his chest, her sobs echoing through the training ground, the wind carrying away her pain like leaves in the breeze.

Chapter Text

The morning of the finals, Sakura wakes to Inner’s voice, louder than it’s been since her fight with Ino.

We need to acknowledge two things before we fight Gaara, Inner says softly, her tone uncharacteristically serious. We need to be on top of everything, or else we will die.

Mm, Sakura thinks, brushing her hair into a high ponytail. I don’t like where this is going.

First, Inner starts, you need to accept that you’ve been avoiding truly thinking about the fight. You’ve been pushing back your feelings about it, and I don’t want to become the second coming of Jerk-sensei.

Sakura grimaces as she grabs a pair of forest green shinobi-grade pants and a black shirt. Okay, fair enough.

Second, Inner’s voice takes on a gentler tone, Ichiro—

Sakura pauses mid-motion, the fabric of her shirt halfway over her head. I really don’t like where this is going.

What Kizashi does with his time is none of our business. Inner’s tone is bland, almost dismissive. The boy may have been born when we were seven, may have been born from an affair, and may have better parents than we ever will, she continues, her voice softening. But that is not his fault.

Sakura bites the inside of her lip, releasing a sigh through her nose. I know. Her tone is bitter, even to her own ears, and her shoulders droop slightly. I know, she repeats, quieter this time.

Inner seems to give a nod in her mind. Finally—

I thought you said two things. Sakura cuts her off with a dry thought, strapping a kunai to her belt. I can only take so much self-reflection at a time.

I lied, Inner deadpans. Finally, Mokuton.

Sakura hums, pulling on her mesh overshirt over her sleeveless black shirt. What about it?

Gaara’s sand, Inner points out as Sakura stashes kunai and senbon within her clothes, seems to work quite similarly. We don’t have the speed Lee had, and while our taijutsu has improved under Gai-sensei’s training this month, Mokuton may be the only way to match him.

Sakura lets out a long-suffering sigh, eyes closing for a moment as she tightens the strap of her weapons pouch. I’ll deal with it when it happens.

You say that now, Inner hums before retreating into the recesses of Sakura’s mind, leaving her to the silence of her own thoughts.

Sakura stands in front of the mirror, taking in her reflection—the determined set of her jaw, the resolve in her green eyes. The morning sun filters through the window, casting her face in light and shadow. Today isn’t just another test. Today, she faces a boy who wears the same hollow expression she once wore. Today, she faces her past and her future, all at once.

Let’s go, she thinks, and for once, Inner doesn’t respond.

✿✿✿

Sakura walks beside Naruto, her eyes flicking to the civilians they pass with mild interest.

“Think you’ll win?” Naruto asks a few blocks from the arena, voice tinged with excitement. “Against Gaara, I mean.”

“I’d like to say yes,” she admits quietly, “but I’d be lying.” She turns, offering him a small smile.

“You’re strong, Sakura-hime!” Naruto declares, throwing a fist in the air. “I believe you can kick his ass, dattebayo!”

Her smile widens just a fraction. “Thanks, Naruto. I think you’ll beat the Hyuuga too.”

“You better believe it!”

But her smile falters as they approach the arena. The air is charged with chakra, a buzzing, electric sensation prickling under her skin, leaving her veins feeling like they’re filled with something slimy and wrong. She remembers the glimpse of Orochimaru during the preliminaries, the sight of his teeth sinking into Sasuke’s neck. Chewing the inside of her lip, she wonders if speaking to Iruka-sensei about it after the forest was enough.

“Thank you all for coming to the final stage of the Chuunin Exams,” the Hokage announces, and Sakura’s attention snaps up to where he stands. “We will begin shortly.”

Naruto nudges her, glancing at the empty space where Sasuke should be. “Sasuke isn’t here yet. What happens if he doesn’t show?”

The proctor shoots them a deadpan look. “If an opponent doesn’t show up in time, they automatically lose.” He continues, ignoring the tension in Naruto’s face. “The rules remain the same as the preliminaries—there are no rules. The matches continue until one shinobi dies, admits defeat, or I declare the match over. No arguments will be tolerated.”

Sakura’s veins feel electric, a buzzing sensation crawling beneath her skin. Her eyes flick momentarily to the Kage’s box before she can stop herself, an instinctive unease twisting her gut.

“The first match will be between Uzumaki Naruto and Hyuuga Neji. Only those two remain; everyone else, head to the waiting room.”

Sakura squeezes Naruto’s shoulder as she passes, and he shoots her a confident smile in return. She follows the others up the stairs, positioning herself away from the rest of the competitors. Her eyes stay locked on the arena below, but her senses are going haywire.

I don’t like this, Inner growls. Sakura nods minutely, gritting her teeth as Neji lands a hit on Naruto’s chest. Something feels… angry.

Naruto creates four shadow clones and charges Neji head-on. Inner trails off, momentarily distracted by the fight, and Sakura grips the railing in front of her as she watches clone after clone get dispelled. Neji’s words reach her, filled with disdain and a speech about destiny that grates on her nerves.

The clones vanish one by one as Neji blocks Naruto’s tenketsu, and she can feel the roots beneath the earth hum with her distress. Finally, the last ‘Naruto’ disappears in a puff of smoke, and her teammate is sent flying back by an unseen force.

This boy is starting to irritate me, Inner growls as Neji takes a familiar stance, ready to drive Naruto into the ground.

The proctor steps closer, assessing the fight, while Neji continues his condescending monologue. Sakura’s grip tightens, but Naruto rises despite the impossible odds, pushing himself to stand.

As Neji’s tirade about fate and destiny reaches its peak, Sakura’s knuckles whiten on the railing, but it’s not just anger coursing through her. It’s something deeper, something she almost hates to acknowledge.

Understanding .

When Neji pulls back his headband, revealing the cursed seal burned into his forehead, a collective gasp ripples through the audience. The mark is stark and unforgiving, a cruel reminder of the control placed over him by his own family. Sakura feels a rush of cold recognition, like a gust of wind slamming into her chest.

This is more than a grudge, she realizes. This is pain.

Inner hums, not with her usual bitterness, but with something like quiet, solemn acknowledgment. He’s been turned into something by the very people who were meant to protect him. He’s become this because he needed to survive.

And Sakura knows what that feels like. Knows it intimately . The harsh lessons, the cruel words, the beatings disguised as 'discipline.' How it feels to grow up being told that your worth is nothing, that you exist to be controlled, that every bit of fight and spirit in you needs to be crushed before you can even understand why you’re being punished.

People become things they never meant to be, Inner murmurs, almost gently, when they’re forced to protect themselves from the ones who were supposed to keep them safe.

Sakura watches the fury in Neji’s eyes, the way his fists tremble even as he delivers his philosophy on destiny and fate, and she sees it for what it really is—a shield. He’s trying to make sense of the senseless, trying to build something out of the wreckage of betrayal, of a childhood spent under the heel of those who should have loved him.

The memory of her own home, the harsh lessons of obedience, flickers in her mind—her father’s voice laced with venom, the cruel indifference in her mother’s gaze. Sakura can almost feel the bite of the muzzle again, can almost hear Hiroshi’s voice echoing in her ears, telling her she’d never be strong enough, never be good enough. She sees herself in Neji for just a moment, a child trying to take the fragments of what was left and turn them into armor.

It’s not his fault, Inner whispers, and Sakura agrees, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. He’s just doing what he had to in order to survive.

Naruto shouts something, loud and full of raw emotion, snapping Sakura back to the present. She watches as her teammate stands up, defying Neji’s speech, defying his fate, with that same unbreakable spirit that she’s come to rely on.

For a brief second, Neji’s expression falters, and in that moment, Sakura catches a glimpse of something almost vulnerable—a flicker of the boy he might have been if the world had been kinder to him.

Sakura breathes in deeply, her grip loosening on the railing. We’re all just trying to survive, she thinks, and for the first time, she doesn’t feel hatred toward the Hyuuga boy. Only a deep, profound sadness.

People become things they never meant to be, she thinks again, the words almost a silent prayer. But that doesn’t mean they have to stay that way.

The slithering sensation in her veins intensifies, and she shivers, pulling her gaze away from the fight to scan the stands.

Naruto, Inner mumbles, her tone uneasy. Sakura’s eyes snap back to the arena, but he’s still on his feet, still fighting. No, it’s the anger, Inner clarifies. It feels like Naruto on the bridge.

“An Uchiha, the Kyuubi container, and a Senju.”

The oppressive anger grows heavier, and she hears Naruto’s voice ring out as he taps into the Kyuubi’s power.

This doesn’t make sense, Inner whispers. He only started using it now—where is the other source of this rage?

Her eyes flick to Gaara, standing on the balcony. The sand in his container shifts restlessly, and a shiver runs down her spine. Before she can make sense of it, an explosion of dust and chakra erupts in the arena. Naruto, against all expectations, digs his way out of the ground, defying the odds once again.

“The next match will be between Gaara of the Sand and Haruno Sakura.”

The suffocating anger diminishes slightly, but Sakura feels the weight of blue-green eyes boring into her from across the waiting area. She meets Gaara’s gaze, the tension coiling in her gut like a spring ready to snap.

Somewhere deep down, she feels a sense of foreboding—a sick twist in her stomach. But instead of the fear she’s carried for weeks, it only draws a sharp, feral grin to her lips as she drops down to the arena floor, ready to face her opponent head-on.

✿✿✿

Sakura’s heart thrums in her chest as she walks to the center of the arena, the roar of the crowd fading into a dull buzz in the back of her mind. She can feel the ground beneath her feet, every root and stone, the hum of the earth calling to her in a way it hadn’t before. She wonders, briefly, if it’s her adrenaline sharpening her senses or something else entirely.

Across from her, Gaara steps forward with a slow, almost deliberate pace, his sand swirling lazily around his feet like an extension of his own body. His eyes are a cold, vacant blue-green, and as they lock onto hers, Sakura feels that hollow emptiness from their preliminary match flare into something sharper. There’s no humanity in his gaze—just the void of someone who’s learned to be a weapon and nothing more.

As Sakura faces Gaara, the burning sensation in her veins replaces the earlier slithering unease. The chakra she senses tastes of bloodied sand and the dust of crumbling buildings, potent and raw. Beneath her feet, the roots of Konoha’s ancient trees pulse, as if echoing her heartbeat, calling out to her. Her fight against Orochimaru had awakened something dormant, and now, standing here, she can feel the roots yearning for the rush of her Mokuton once more. They are desperate— hungry , like a beast stirred from a centuries-long slumber.

Across from her, Gaara stands impassively, his gaze as cold and detached as the desert night. The proctor’s hand falls between them, signaling the start of the match.

“Begin.”

The sand pours forth from the gourd on Gaara’s back, floating like an extension of his own body. “This match will be uninteresting,” he mutters, voice quiet and emotionless. “I had hoped to kill the Uchiha first.” The sand inches toward her, slowly at first, like a serpent testing its prey. “But you’ll have to do until he arrives.”

The sand lunges at her with a speed her eyes can barely track, but Sakura is no stranger to dodging what she cannot see. She slips out of the way, narrowly avoiding the chakra-infused tendrils that slam into the ground where she’d stood moments before. The impact sends cracks splintering across the arena floor. Gaara’s expression remains unchanged, as though he’s simply testing her, gauging her reaction.

He’s not like Lee, Inner observes, He’s not interested in a challenge. He just wants destruction.

The voices of the crowd blur together, drowned out by the pounding of her own heartbeat. Her senses are aflame, heightened to a point of painful clarity. There’s an itch under her skin, a hum in her bones, and the roots beneath her feet are begging— pleading —to be let loose. The vibrations of the old wood shake her from the inside out, synchronizing with the pulse of her chakra.

A tendril of sand slices across her cheek, leaving a thin line of blood in its wake. Gaara’s gaze sharpens at the sight, and for the first time, there’s something like life in his dead, vacant eyes. The sand quickens, moving faster, sharper. Each strike feels more precise, aimed not just to incapacitate but to destroy.

Threat, threat, threat, her instincts vibrate with alarm.

Sakura ducks low, a few strands of her pink hair sheared off by a razor-like tendril. She can feel the air thrum with malice, the overwhelming anger radiating from her opponent like a physical force. Her eyes meet his, and she sees it—a storm of madness and fury churning beneath the surface, barely contained.

She won’t survive this by dodging alone.

Without hesitation, Sakura slams her hands into the ground, giving in to the pleading call of the roots beneath her. The earth shudders and cracks, and with a sound like splintering bone, thick branches burst from the ground. They tower over the arena, jagged and gnarled, forming a dense, impenetrable barrier around Gaara. The bark creaks as it absorbs the impact of his sand, repairing itself almost instantly, pushing back with a strength that rivals his own.

Sakura takes a moment to catch her breath, the roar of the crowd a distant echo beneath the thundering of her pulse. But she can feel it—the elation humming in Naruto’s chakra, the arrival of Sasuke’s familiar lightning-tinged energy in the stands along with Kakashi-sensei’s. She can feel the bewilderment and shock in her sensei’s chakra and it kind of makes her want to laugh.

A wild, almost feral grin spreads across her face, the thrill of the fight igniting something reckless within her. It’s a dangerous kind of joy, but it’s her own, and she revels in it.

Gaara’s sand falters, moving sluggishly against the Mokuton. He trembles, his expression twisting into something almost human—fear, confusion. He starts to mutter, words too quiet to hear, but the shift in his chakra is undeniable. The malicious, seething energy wavers, fluctuating wildly, as though something within him is struggling for control.

Sakura doesn’t waste the opportunity. With a swift, precise motion, she sends a branch slicing across his cheek, mirroring the cut he’d left on her own. The branch breaks through his sand defense, drawing blood.

For a heartbeat, everything stops. Gaara’s sand drops lifelessly to the ground, and he brings a shaking hand to his face, touching the blood with a look of wide-eyed shock, as though he’s never seen it before.

The air around them shifts, the oppressive anger spiking into a blazing inferno. Sakura’s chakra coils sear with the intensity of it, her own energy reacting, burning beneath her skin. Her eyes glow with the toxic green hue they’d taken against Orochimaru, the edges of her vision tinged with a deadly clarity.

THREAT, Inner hisses, her voice almost drowned out by the roar of chakra.

And then, like a soft rain, feathers begin to drift down from the sky, brushing against her skin as they fall.

Chapter Text

The moment the feathers drift down, Sakura senses the shift in the air—a familiar, cloying sensation of genjutsu. It presses against her mind, whispering false calm and sweet promises of sleep. Without missing a beat, she snaps her hands into the release sign and flares her chakra, shattering the illusion with a crackle of energy.

The Mokuton dome she had created to block Gaara’s sand trembles, sensing the shift in her focus. The bark recedes into the ground and appears around her instead just as Gaara’s sand explodes outwards, sharp and wild with a piercing scream. She can’t see through the thick branches, but she feels the tremors beneath her feet—the pulse of chakra signatures moving closer, rapid and unfamiliar. One by one, the civilians in the stands fall limp, genjutsu-induced sleep taking them. It only makes it easier to pinpoint the foreign chakras that taste nothing like the forest of Konoha.

Gaara’s overwhelming chakra signature is abruptly pulled from her senses, replaced by the sharp, slicing feel of wind chakra and the scatter of wood shavings. The clarity of Sasuke and Naruto’s energy flares back to life, vibrant and unyielding. With a swift, decisive motion, Sakura tears her hands down, and the wooden dome cracks and crumbles, retreating back into the earth.

Standing in the cleared space before her is the sensei of the Sand siblings, a smirk tugging at his lips. The proctor appears in a blur, positioning himself protectively between them. “Is Orochimaru behind this?” he asks, voice sharp.

The man scoffs, his grin widening. “Who cares?” His visible eye gleams with a feral excitement. “Let’s get started.”

Naruto and Sasuke drop down beside her, landing in perfect sync. “Kakashi-sensei and the other jounin are already on alert,” Sasuke mutters, voice low but steady. Sakura gives a curt nod, eyes scanning the battlefield.

The proctor looks between them, a flicker of approval crossing his face. “Sorry, kiddos,” he says, the senbon in his mouth shifting. “The chuunin exams are officially on hold. I’m issuing an A-rank mission. Protect as many civilians as you can from Gaara and his associates. Stop the intruders—save lives.”

They exchange swift, determined nods. In an instant, they’re off, sprinting toward the high wall of the village. Just as they reach the edge, a wave of Sound and Sand nin drop down from above, blocking their path.

“Sasuke!” Naruto shouts. The Uchiha immediately flips mid-air, allowing Naruto to spring off him like a launching pad. Shuriken fly, swift and precise, the clones Naruto sent ahead dispelling in puffs of smoke. The infiltrators falter, surprised, their vision obscured just long enough for the real shuriken to strike true.

They don’t stop to check if the bodies are dead or alive—they just move, pressing forward.

“Team 7,” Shino calls out, appearing beside them with Shikamaru on his heels. “Kakashi-sensei sent us as backup.”

Sakura acknowledges him with a nod, the familiar buzz of his kikaichu grounding her for a moment. The roots beneath her feet rumble, vibrating with an intensity that threatens to throw her off balance. They tug at her ankles, desperate, urging her to turn back toward the village instead of chasing the chakra trail into the forest.

Another thick branch bursts from the soil, curling tightly around her calf. The trees plead, Protect, protect, protect. The village is in danger. Help us, help us, help them.

Sasuke and Naruto skid to a halt, eyes darting to the branch restraining her leg. Worry and frustration flash across their faces.

“Sakura—” Sasuke starts, but Shino and Shikamaru realize almost simultaneously why she’s stopped.

The roots whisper, Senju. Village of Senju Hashirama, friend of the trees. Friend of us. Protect.

Sakura lets out a low, guttural growl, shaking her head. “Go without me. I have to stay here—protect the civilians I can.” She grits her teeth, voice edged with frustration. “The trees won’t let me leave.”

“Dammit,” Sasuke spits, his tone thick with anger. Naruto looks stony beside him, fists clenched. Sasuke’s voice drops, softer but no less intense. “Sakura, remember what I said in the Forest of Death?”

She nods, the memory clear despite the chaos. “Konoha could burn, but I wouldn’t let you and Naruto become ash. Not even if it was Itachi setting the village on fire.”

“I know,” she replies, forcing a shaky breath. Her eyes flicker to the forest, where she can feel Gaara’s chakra, a dark and volatile storm. “But we don’t have time to argue. His chakra feels dangerous—volatile. Follow the sand trail into the forest. I’ll meet you as soon as I can.”

She grabs their shoulders, pulling them close, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Don’t die on me. Either of you.”

They look back at her, eyes filled with a fierce resolve that almost makes her smile. “Of course, Sakura-hime,” they chorus, the nickname carrying a warmth that steadies her.

She gives them a final squeeze before letting go, watching as they turn away and head toward the forest. With one last look, Sakura turns in the opposite direction and the trees release her, sprinting toward the heart of Konoha, where the screams of civilians echo and the roots beneath her feet pulse with the urgency of the trees.

Sakura moves with calculated ferocity, slipping through the chaos of Konoha’s streets like a wraith. The shinobi already engaged in combat leave her free to focus on those targeting civilians—she seeks out the ones whose chakra feels like the scorching blaze of the desert sun, whose presence reeks of sand and blood. She hunts down the ones who carry the taste of rot, whose chakra slithers with the unmistakable taint of snake scales.

Sweat clings to her, strands of hair escaping her ponytail and sticking to her neck and face. Her skin, normally pale, is streaked with dirt, bruises already blooming in shades of yellow-green across her arms and legs. Blood stains her hands, some her own and some not, painting her pink hair a dark, rusty red as it dries. Despite the physical toll, her eyes shine with an eerie, storm-cloud green, chakra flaring like lightning behind them. Her teeth flash in not-so-silent snarls, a guttural sound ripping from her throat as she barrels through enemies like a force of nature—relentless and rabid.

What an image she must make. Ivory skin marred by grime and bruises, hair the color of dried blood, eyes glowing like the heart of a forest fire. There’s an unearthly quality to her, the light in her eyes vacant, locked away behind the iron door of her mind where Inner stands guard, holding the flood of emotion at bay. Even as her body aches and the familiar burn of blood-soaked scars flare up, she presses on, guided only by the mission and the roots of Konoha beneath her feet.

The village is soaked in blood.

Sakura moves through the streets like a wraith, the crimson-stained earth squelching beneath her sandals as she dashes forward. Her breath comes in sharp, ragged gasps, her chakra buzzing at the edge of her senses like a warning bell. The scent of iron is thick in the air, mingled with the smoke of burning buildings. The screams have dulled to a low, distant hum, like the final notes of a song being swallowed by the wind.

Massive branches—thicker than the summoned snakes rampaging at the east gate—erupt from the earth, forming makeshift barricades to shield fleeing civilians. The old trees respond to her chakra with a hunger that’s almost palpable, an eagerness born of decades of neglect. It’s like they’ve been starved, aching for the touch of a natural Mokuton user, and now they finally drink deeply from the well of her power.

Protect, protect. The trees seem to hum, their voices a soft purr in the back of her mind. A thick branch splinters off, pulling away from the larger cluster with a sharp crack. It moves like a striking serpent, disemboweling an Oto-nin who had been sprinting for her unguarded back. There’s a wet sound, and the enemy is sent flying, lifeless, through the air.

He’s dead before he hits the ground.

A child’s scream pierces the air, and Sakura doesn’t hesitate. She flickers into existence before the boy, taking the kunai meant for him into her shoulder with a sharp intake of breath. The Oto-nin barely has time to react before they’re impaled by a jagged branch, skewered through the throat much like the enemies she left behind in the Forest of Death.

Sakura’s eyes flick over the head of the child, her expression softening for just a moment as she shields him from the sight. With a small nod, she scoops him up, cradling him against her chest as she rushes toward the nearest Konoha shinobi. She deposits the boy into their waiting arms with the efficiency of someone who’s done this a hundred times over. Her gaze is blank, her mind already moving on to the next threat as she nods at her comrade and turns back into the fray without another word.

The battle isn’t over, and there’s still work to be done.

She doesn’t notice the way the boy’s eyes linger on her, wide with awe. Ichiro’s gaze is locked on the bloodied kunoichi who saved him, following her with something akin to reverence even as he’s carried away, clutching tightly to the ninja who holds him.

✿✿✿

It ends as abruptly as it began.

Sakura pivots, ready to strike again, only to find herself standing alone in the street, the enemy shinobi who once crowded it now gone, scattered into retreat. Dust and smoke hang in the air, and the sounds of battle recede like a distant tide. For a moment, she’s frozen, chest heaving, her senses still tuned for the next attack.

Then the shouts of victory reach her ears—Konoha has won. It’s over.

Her shoulders sag, the tension bleeding out of her limbs like a punctured balloon. The iron door in her mind creaks open, the one she’d slammed shut hours ago, and the full weight of her injuries crashes down on her all at once. The sting of cuts she hadn’t noticed, the bruises throbbing beneath her skin, the deep, searing pain of the kunai lodged in her shoulder—all of it surges forward like a tidal wave. Her vision blurs, tears slipping down her grime-streaked cheeks, but she doesn’t make a sound. To cry out would be showing weakness, and weakness invites pain, invites punishment, invites—

Nothing, Inner’s voice slices through the panic, gentle but unyielding. It brings nothing. You are not at their mercy anymore. You are not the girl from before. We decide our own fate now. We are a shinobi of Konoha.

Right. Sakura exhales a shuddering breath, swiping at her tears with the back of her hand. This isn’t a punishment from her uncle’s cruel hands; this is a mission. A mission she chose to undertake, assigned by a jounin of her own village. She isn’t that scared child anymore.

But the last of her adrenaline seeps away, leaving her hollow and too heavy to carry. The world tilts beneath her feet, the ground rising up to meet her as her legs give out.

Sakura collapses, and the earth responds before she can hit the dirt. Roots burst from the soil beneath her, thick and ancient, curling up to cradle her as she falls. Her eyelids flutter, struggling to stay open, but it’s a losing battle.

Sapling, the trees whisper, voices like the rustling of leaves in a summer breeze. Sapling, safe. Protected.

The roots of an old, old Hashirama tree cocoon around her, forming a makeshift bed as they pull her close. For the first time, Sakura lets herself relax, lets herself be held.

Sapling will not be cut down, they murmur as she drifts into unconsciousness.

And then, darkness.

✿✿✿

Sakura wakes to the sharp scent of antiseptic and the unyielding white of the hospital room ceiling. It takes her a moment to orient herself, the lingering fog of unconsciousness clinging to her thoughts like smoke. Her entire body aches, a deep, bone-deep exhaustion pulling at her muscles. She flexes her fingers, feeling the tug of an IV line taped to the back of her hand.

She turns her head slowly, blinking against the harsh lights, and the nurse standing beside her bed gives a small start, as if she hadn’t expected Sakura to wake just yet.

“Haruno-san,” the nurse says gently, stepping closer. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Sakura’s mouth is dry, her throat raw when she tries to speak. “What happened?” she manages, her voice hoarse.

The nurse’s smile falters, and she looks down at the clipboard in her hands before meeting Sakura’s eyes. “You collapsed from acute chakra exhaustion,” she explains. “You’ve been unconscious for four days.”

Four days. The realization settles heavily in her chest. The last thing she remembers is the battle—the chaos in the streets, the feel of roots wrapping around her as she fell, drained of everything she had. Her heartbeat spikes, the monitor beside her bed beeping faster in response.

“Easy,” the nurse murmurs, placing a hand on Sakura’s shoulder. “Take a deep breath.”

Sakura inhales shakily, closing her eyes for a moment as she does. Her body feels like it’s made of lead, every muscle heavy with fatigue. “My team?” she asks, forcing herself to push through the haze of exhaustion.

The nurse’s expression softens, but there’s a tightness around her eyes that makes Sakura’s stomach twist. “Your sensei, Hatake Kakashi, and your teammate, Uchiha Sasuke, were both injured. They’re stable, but still recovering.”

Sakura swallows hard, her throat burning with the effort. “And Naruto?”

“He left the village shortly after the invasion ended,” the nurse says. “He’s on a mission—something urgent that required his immediate departure.”

Sakura’s brow furrows, trying to piece together the fragments of information. Naruto, gone. Kakashi and Sasuke, both injured. The implications hit her like a cold wave, but there’s no time to process it because the nurse continues.

“And… there’s one more thing,” she adds, her voice lower, hesitant.

Sakura meets her gaze, something like dread creeping up her spine. “What?”

The nurse takes a deep breath, like she’s steeling herself. “The Sandaime Hokage,” she says quietly. “He… he didn’t survive the invasion.”

Sakura blinks, the words not quite registering at first. “He’s dead?”

The nurse nods, her expression somber. “He was killed in battle. Orochimaru was behind the attack—he engaged the Hokage in direct combat.”

Sakura processes this, but it feels distant, like a piece of information she’s reading off a report rather than something that’s happened in her own village. She feels no swell of grief, no heartbreak—just a hollow, blank shock. The Sandaime was the Hokage, a figurehead of Konoha, but not someone she had any real attachment to. He was just another old man who stood by while her life fell apart behind closed doors.

“Right,” she says slowly, almost to herself. “Of course.”

The nurse seems to take her detached response as a sign of shock, patting her hand gently. “I’m sure it’s a lot to process,” she says, her tone pitying. “If you need anything, just press the call button. You should rest, Haruno-san.”

Sakura barely registers the nurse leaving, the door clicking shut behind her. She turns her head, staring blankly out the window. The sun is setting, casting long shadows across the room. Her mind feels strangely empty, like she’s standing in the aftermath of a storm, trying to make sense of what’s left behind.

The Sandaime is dead. Kakashi injured. Sasuke injured. Naruto gone. The list loops in her head, disjointed and strange, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t quite fit together.

I think I should be feeling something, she thinks. But the only thing she feels is a numb, lingering disbelief, like she’s just heard about the death of a distant and unknown figure, rather than the leader of the village she has lived in her whole life.

He’s dead. And I’m supposed to care. Inner’s voice murmurs in the back of her mind, dry and sardonic. Funny how they expect us to mourn the ones who never lifted a finger for us.

Sakura’s lips twitch in the ghost of a humorless smile. Right. She thinks of the Sandaime’s passive gaze, the treatment of Naruto throughout the years despite Naruto calling him Jiji, thinks back on the Uchiha Massacre and how no matter how talented a thirteen year old should not have been able to decimate an entire clan in one night within Village walls. Though, I think NAruto will be sad.

She exhales slowly, the tension in her body draining away as she lets herself sag against the pillow. Her limbs feel like they’re made of stone, and she’s so tired—tired in a way that sleep alone won’t fix.

But there’s something else beneath the exhaustion. A flicker of something small and sharp, like a blade being drawn. This isn’t over yet. The invasion may be finished, but the aftermath is only beginning. There’s still work to be done. Her team is fractured for the time being, Kakashi and Sasuke out of commission, and NAruto out of the village. Sakura is the only one who can watch for them while they are unable to.

And she will not be caught off guard again.

Sakura closes her eyes, letting the numbness give way to the simmering spark of resolve. For now, she needs to rest. But when she wakes, she’ll be ready.

Because she’s not the scared child she used to be. She’s a shinobi, and she still has a role to play.

She forces herself to take a deep breath, grounding her with the sensation of the scratchy hospital sheets against her skin. Her eyes drift to the small vase of flowers on the side table, bright and out of place in the sterile room. Next to it sits a simple “get well soon” card, its cover scribbled in a child’s handwriting. Sakura picks it up carefully, as though it might shatter in her hands.

A stick figure with long pink hair stands next to a much smaller one with short brown hair. Inside the card reads: Thank you for saving me, Kunoichi-san! You were so cool, I hope to be a Shinobi like you one day. From, Haruno Ichiro.

Sakura stares at the name, unblinking. Her eyes dart back to the stick figures on the front, their drawn hands linked together. The image blurs, and for a moment, she’s sure she’s going to pass out again. But she blinks, and the blurriness is gone, replaced by tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

A soft knock on the door startles Sakura out of her daze, and she quickly wipes at her face, smoothing down the remnants of tears before looking up. The nurse stands in the doorway, offering a kind, understanding smile.

“You have visitors.”

Visitors? Her mind spins, trying to make sense of the word. Her first instinct is to say no, to tell the nurse she’s not ready, but before she can respond, a woman steps inside. Short brown hair, a gentle but slightly nervous smile, holding the hand of a small boy with wide, familiar green eyes. The sight of them is like a bucket of cold water to her system.

“Thank you,” the woman says to the nurse, who nods and slips back out of the room, leaving the three of them alone. The woman turns to Sakura, her expression warm but laced with uncertainty. “I’m sorry for the intrusion.”

Sakura’s breath hitches. It’s the woman from the hospital that day. The day she ran into him . Kizashi’s girlfriend, the one with the son. Ichiro.

Her chest feels tight, like she’s been thrust into an entirely different world without any preparation. The air is suddenly too thin, and she can’t seem to find her footing. She’s supposed to say something, isn’t she? Greet them? Be polite? What do people do in situations like this?

What do we do? Sakura thinks frantically at Inner, and she can feel Inner's own shock reverberate through their shared mindspace, the usually composed voice tinged with a rare note of panic.

I don’t know. Inner’s response is almost hysterical, and Sakura bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself grounded.

“I-” she starts, her voice cracking, and she clears her throat. “Hello.”

It’s a pathetic response, she knows, but it’s all she can manage. Her eyes flit between the woman and the boy, and she’s acutely aware of how out of place she must look—bandaged, bruised, hair matted and stained with blood that isn’t all her own.

The woman’s smile softens, and she steps closer, giving a small, polite bow. “My name is Kubo Yuki,” she introduces herself, voice quiet and gentle. “I’m sorry for showing up unannounced. I just… I wanted to thank you.”

Sakura blinks, confused. “Thank me?”

Yuki nods, squeezing Ichiro’s hand lightly. “Yes. During the invasion, you saved my son.” She looks down at the boy, her eyes soft with a mother’s love. “He told me about it. He couldn’t stop talking about the pink-haired kunoichi who protected him.”

Ichiro peeks up at her from behind his mother’s leg, his green eyes shining with something like admiration, and Sakura feels a pang in her chest she can’t quite name.

“You’re…” Sakura’s voice falters, and she swallows thickly. “You’re welcome.”

The words sound hollow to her ears, but Yuki doesn’t seem to notice. She’s still looking at Sakura with that gentle, almost reverent expression. “I know it’s not much, but we wanted to visit you, to thank you properly.”

Sakura wants to say that it’s unnecessary, that she was just doing her job, but the words stick in her throat. She looks at Ichiro instead, who’s staring up at her with wide, innocent eyes, like she’s something incredible, something worth looking up to. She wonders if she’d ever looked at her parents that way—

Don’t think about it, Inner snaps, and Sakura forces herself to take a slow, steadying breath.

“Ichiro,” Yuki prompts gently, nudging the boy forward a little.

He steps closer, glancing down at the card in her hands. His eyes light up with recognition, a wide smile breaking across his face. “I made you that card!” he exclaims proudly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Because you were really cool. Like a hero.”

Sakura blinks, caught off guard by the child’s earnestness. She looks at him properly for the first time, taking in the familiar slope of his jaw, the shade of green in his eyes, the way freckles cluster more densely on one cheek than the other. He looks so much like— No, don’t go there, she tells herself, forcing her mind back to the present.

“A-Ah,” she stammers, shaking her head slightly to clear it. “I was just… doing my job.” Her voice wavers, but she manages a small, awkward smile. “There’s no need to thank me.”

Ichiro’s smile doesn’t falter; if anything, it widens. “But I wanted to,” he insists. He points at the stick figures on the card. “See? That’s you, and that’s me. We’re holding hands.”

Sakura’s heart lurches painfully at the sight, and she has to swallow hard against the sudden lump in her throat. She looks down at the card again, seeing it through his eyes, and something inside her softens despite herself.

“I see,” she says quietly, her voice almost a whisper. “Thank you, Ichiro-san. I… I like it.”

Ichiro’s face lights up at her words, and he tugs eagerly at the edge of her bed, bouncing on his toes. “Kunoichi-san, is being a ninja hard? How did you move so fast? Can you teach me to move trees too? What’s your name? Do you like dango? How about dogs?”

“Breathe, Ichiro,” Yuki chides gently, placing a calming hand on his head. “Introduce yourself first, and then ask one question at a time.”

The boy takes a deep, exaggerated breath, then gives a hasty bow that almost topples him over. “I’m Haruno Ichiro. What’s your name?”

Her chest tightens as she glances at Yuki, who watches her son with such gentle, unguarded affection. The questions surge in her mind, sharp and relentless: Does she know? If she doesn’t, will she hate him if she learns the truth? Will she hate me if she finds out who his father is? The thought of shattering this fragile moment with the weight of that knowledge is unbearable.

For just a heartbeat, the fear almost chokes her. But then she looks down at Ichiro—at his wide, innocent green eyes, so much like her own, filled with nothing but curiosity and hope. The ache in her chest softens into something warmer, something almost like protectiveness.

He’s just a child, she realizes. An innocent child, caught in the tangled web of mistakes made by adults. Whatever Kizashi did, whatever Yuki does or does not know, Ichiro didn’t ask for any of it.

“...My name is Sakura,” she says at last, her voice quieter, gentler than she intended. “I’m a ninja of Konoha.”

The tension she hadn’t realized she was holding in her shoulders releases just a bit. She doesn’t want to know the answers to those questions right now. She doesn’t want to break this small, fragile peace. Not today.

✿✿✿

Ichiro and Yuki visit again the next day. And the day after that. It becomes a routine—every afternoon, the sound of small footsteps and a bright, excited voice fills the stark white of Sakura’s hospital room, like sunlight filtering through a dusty window. Each visit seems to chase away the sterile, cold feeling of the place, replacing it with a warmth she hadn’t realized she’d been missing.

Ichiro never seems to run out of questions. He bounces around the room like a small, excitable puppy, eyes wide with wonder as he fires off inquiries faster than Sakura can keep up with. He asks about her training, her favorite foods, her thoughts on different animals. He asks if she’s ever been scared, if she’s fought monsters, if she has a favorite jutsu. His curiosity is boundless, and Sakura finds herself doing her best to answer every single one. Sometimes her responses are clipped and simple, her tone matter-of-fact and detached. But there are moments when she catches herself, realizes she’s been elaborating far more than she intended, swept up in the brightness of his eyes and the way he listens so intently, as if every word she says is a treasure he wants to keep forever.

She will not let him think he cannot ask questions. She won’t be like the people who shut her down, who told her to stay silent, to keep her thoughts and feelings locked away. So she listens, she answers, she lets him talk until his words run out and he falls asleep, curled up on the hospital bed beside her like he belongs there.

Yuki is quieter, but her presence is just as soothing. She sits at the foot of the bed or by the window, sometimes reading a book, sometimes just watching her son with a fond, wistful smile. At first, Sakura watches her warily, waiting for the cracks to show. Waiting for the moment Yuki’s kindness turns sharp, the way her mother’s always did, the way her uncle’s soothing words would slip into something venomous. But it doesn’t happen.

Yuki’s gaze is soft, filled with a gentle affection that Sakura can’t quite comprehend. She catches it in the way Yuki looks at Ichiro, her eyes warm and bright as he talks animatedly, his little hands waving in the air as he describes some new idea. Sakura watches the way Yuki’s hand comes up to smooth down his hair, the way she leans in to listen to him like every word matters, like he’s the most important person in the world.

It’s a startling contrast to what she knows, and it throws her off balance every time she witnesses it. The way Yuki talks to her is even more disarming. She doesn’t speak down to Sakura, doesn’t treat her like a broken thing that needs fixing. She asks how Sakura is feeling with genuine concern, not just out of obligation, and she doesn’t pry when Sakura’s answers are short or evasive. She just nods, offers a small smile, and moves on.

The first time Yuki brings a book for them to read together, she hesitates at the door, holding it out like she’s afraid of overstepping. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want this,” she says, her voice soft and tentative. “But Ichiro loves this one, and I thought… maybe we could read it together?”

Sakura stares at the book for a moment, caught off guard by the simple offer. It’s such a normal, mundane thing, so far removed from the harsh, cold reality she’s always known. Slowly, she reaches out and takes it, her fingers brushing against Yuki’s for just a second. The touch is warm, grounding, and she finds herself nodding before she’s even really thought about it.

They read together that afternoon, Ichiro nestled between them, chiming in with excited comments and pointing out his favorite parts. Yuki’s voice is gentle as she reads, and Sakura finds herself relaxing into the sound, letting it wash over her like a balm.

It’s the first time she realizes that Yuki might not be like Kizashi at all. The thought is almost jarring, like a sudden light in the darkness she’s grown accustomed to. She watches Yuki out of the corner of her eye, studying the way her smile reaches her eyes, the way she looks at Sakura like she’s someone worth knowing, not just a broken child to be pitied.

Maybe , Sakura thinks, Yuki is something different. Maybe she’s something good.

The realization feels fragile, like a sapling just breaking through the soil, but it takes root all the same. And when Yuki reaches over and gently brushes a strand of hair out of Sakura’s face, the touch so light and kind it almost makes her flinch, Inner whispers in her mind:

Is this what a mother’s touch should feel like?

Sakura’s breath catches in her throat, her chest aching with a fierce, unfamiliar warmth. She doesn’t have the words for it, can’t quite grasp what this feeling is, but she knows she wants to hold onto it. She knows she wants more of this, more of Yuki’s soft smiles and Ichiro’s endless questions, more of the small, fleeting moments where she feels like she belongs.

She wants it to last.

✿✿✿

Ichiro hops around the hospital room, his energy seemingly boundless. “Is being a ninja hard?” he asks, green eyes wide with curiosity that feels like sunlight in the dim room.

Sakura watches him bounce on the balls of his feet, her chest tightening with something she can’t quite name. “I’d say so,” she replies, her voice steady, though it cracks a bit at the end. There’s a softness in her tone that wasn’t there before, a gentleness she’s trying to hold onto.

“How did you move so fast?” Ichiro spins in place, darting from one side of the room to the other like a little whirlwind.

Sakura feels her throat close up for a second, the sight of his unfiltered joy almost too much to bear. She swallows hard and clears her throat. “I trained very hard,” she answers quietly, but there’s something softer in her eyes when she looks at him, like she’s seeing more than just an excitable child—she’s seeing someone worth protecting.

He tilts his head, an innocent smile spreading across his face. “Can you teach me to move trees like you did?” he asks, eyes sparkling like the morning sun reflecting off fresh dew.

The question hits her harder than she expects, and she takes a deep, shaky breath before responding. “I don’t think so,” she manages, her voice quieter now, almost wistful. “That one’s very hard to teach.” But she can’t help the way her hand lifts, hesitantly reaching out to smooth a stray lock of hair away from his forehead, a gesture she doesn’t quite think through.

Ichiro beams at her, leaning closer without hesitation. “Do you like dogs, Sakura-san?” he asks, his curiosity bubbling over like water spilling from a too-full glass.

Sakura’s heart clenches at the way he looks at her, so open and trusting, like she’s someone good, someone safe. She inhales shakily, then nods. “Yes,” she says, and this time her voice is steady, almost tender. “I like dogs.”

His smile is so bright it nearly blinds her, and for a moment, she forgets they’re in a hospital room, forgets the pain and the weight of everything that happened. “Me too!” he exclaims, bouncing on his toes. “Do you like dango? If you say no, I don’t think we can be friends.”

Despite everything—despite the heaviness in her chest, the ache in her bones—a small, genuine smile tugs at her lips. “Yes,” she says, the words coming out like a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “I like dango.”

He beams at her, then looks up at his mother, who’s been standing quietly nearby with a nervous smile. “Ichiro-chan,” Yuki says gently, “why don’t you ask the nice nurse at the front desk if we’re allowed to bring dango next time we visit?”

Ichiro doesn’t hesitate. “Great idea, mom!” He turns back to Sakura, suddenly serious. “I’ll be right back, Sakura-san!” And with that, he dashes out of the room.

Yuki gently takes a hold of Sakura’s hand, “I want to apologize for not having this conversation earlier, Sakura-chan.” She begins, and Sakura’s heart stutters in her chest in worry, “But I wanted to ask you about how you feel, about Kizashi and I.”

Sakura’s veins feel like they’re filled with ice, “W-What?”

Yuki runs a hand through her brown hair, “I’ve been wanting to meet you for so long, and meet your mother. But Kizashi said you didn’t want to meet me, and I didn’t want to push.” A soft smile forms on her face and she looks at Sakura, “But you are so good , with Ichiro. And he really, really likes you. And I just, I just didn’t want there to be any resentment between us. I didn’t want you to feel like I was intruding on something you still wanted with Kizashi.”

What? Inner asks, Kizashi said that we didn’t want--She thinks we knew? Inner’s voice grows worried, Oh Kami she thinks we knew.

“And Mebuki… knows?” Sakura’s voice cracks, as she begins to realize what’s happening here.

Yuki blinks. “Ah, Kizashi said he’d spoken to you and your mother before Ichiro was born.”

A cold dread pools in Sakura’s stomach. “How… long before?” she forces herself to ask.

Yuki’s brows knit together as she thinks. “Well, before we started dating seriously,” she explains slowly. “He told me he was a married man at first. We were just friends for a while, but then he said he was looking to separate from his wife.”

What the hell is this? Inner mutters, her confusion echoing Sakura’s own. But Yuki continues, oblivious to the storm brewing behind Sakura’s blank expression.

“Kizashi said he’d been trying to file for divorce but couldn’t, for political reasons. I didn’t think that he would have kept that from you.” Yuki’s eyes are filled with a visceral concern and her hand tightens around Sakura’s, “Sakura-chan, did Kizashi not tell you that he and your mother aren’t together?”

Political reasons, Inner echoes, her voice dripping with disbelief. Did Kizashi spin an entire web of lies, or is the council filled with absolute idiots?

Sakura swallows hard, forcing her emotions into a box deep inside herself, just as she would before a mission. “Could you… explain the political reasons?” she asks carefully. “And what Kizashi told you about our home life?”

Yuki and nods. “He told me that because of Mebuki’s status as a Senju, the council prioritized her staying in the village. He said a divorce could jeopardize that, so they stayed married for legal reasons. I don’t know much about clan politics, but Kizashi said the arrangement was for him to live with her and raise you, but that Mebuki-san had agreed that they would see other people.”

Raise us? Inner scoffs. That’s rich. Either Kizashi’s a master manipulator, or the council has no idea what’s actually happening behind closed doors.

“Of course,” Yuki continues, oblivious to the turmoil beneath Sakura’s composed exterior. “Kizashi introduced himself as a divorcee after that, saying that although he was legally married, it was a mutual decision for him to be in Ichiro’s life as well as yours.” She falters, hesitating as she takes in Sakura’s blank, expressionless face. “Could you… tell me what your home life was like, Sakura? Kizashi never mentioned much about living with Mebuki.”

Sakura’s breath hitches, her mind a cacophony of conflicting thoughts. Does she dare tell the truth? Could she damn Ichiro to a fate like her own if Yuki reacts badly? If she breaks this illusion, will Yuki turn on the boy as Mebuki had turned on her? The memory of blood on her hands, her uncle’s harsh laughter echoing in her ears, rises unbidden. The urge to protect, to shield Ichiro from a similar darkness, wells up in her chest.

But Yuki’s eyes are pleading, filled with a raw, open sincerity that Sakura hadn’t seen in years. The guilt and regret etched into the woman’s face are painfully genuine.

She decides in that moment. If Yuki gives even the smallest hint of turning her back on Ichiro, of blaming him for the sins of his father, Sakura will end it before it can fester. Chakra exhaustion be damned. She locks away her own fear, pushing it behind a door in her mind with the ruthless precision of a kunoichi preparing for battle.

“It’s not—” Sakura begins, her voice devoid of inflection, as if she’s giving a mission debrief. “It’s not a pleasant story.”

Yuki leans forward, her hands clasped tightly together, knuckles white. “Sakura-san,” she says gently, looking just past Sakura’s eyes, focusing on the bridge of her nose. There’s a softness in her expression, an understanding that Sakura hadn’t expected. “You don’t have to tell me,” Yuki continues, her voice steady but laced with sorrow. “But I will listen, if you wish to.”

Sakura swallows hard, the offer hanging in the air between them like a lifeline she doesn’t know if she can trust. For a moment, she almost turns away, almost decides to keep the door sealed shut, to lock her past away where it can’t be dragged into the light. But then she sees Yuki’s expression—open, earnest, not pitying but filled with a kind of quiet, waiting patience.

And for once, someone is giving her the choice. For once, someone is willing to hear her story, not because they demand it, but because they want to understand.

Sakura takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of the truth pressing against her ribs, sharp and biting. She nods slowly, and it feels like stepping off a cliff.

The words spill out in a monotone, steady and detached, like she’s recounting events that happened to someone else entirely.

Sakura starts at the beginning, laying out the details like pieces on a shogi board. She speaks of a home that was just another battlefield, a place where silence pressed down like a shroud, where the only sounds were the sharp snap of her uncle’s voice or the crack of his hand. She talks about him, the way he filled the house with an air of fear and expectation, how every mistake, every perceived disobedience, was met with a punishment that left bruises blossoming on her skin like ink stains. Bruises that she learned to cover before she even knew what it meant to be careful.

The missions came next. She doesn’t look at Yuki as she recounts this part, her eyes fixed somewhere distant. “He trained me,” she says, her tone almost conversational, like she’s discussing the weather. Training that demanded small, quick hands, that required silence above all else. Training where the muzzle around her mouth became a familiar comfort, a small mercy compared to the alternative. She tells Yuki about the cold, dark rooms she was locked in, the nights spent sitting in silence, the door always left ajar, a mocking reminder that she could scream but it would do her no good.

When she speaks of her father, her voice drops, the words coming slower now, each one forced out like it’s physically painful to say. He treated her like she was invisible, like she was nothing more than a shadow slipping through the corners of their house. “Except when he was drunk,” she says quietly. “Then he’d look at me, and it was like he was seeing a ghost. He’d say I was a failure. A mistake.” Her lips curl into a bitter, almost dreamy smile. “He always hated that I was a girl, when he remembered I was there.”

Her voice cracks, just once, a tiny fracture in the otherwise steady stream of words. But she presses on, determined, the story tumbling out like she’s giving a report that must be delivered in full.

She moves on to Mebuki, and her expression hardens. Sakura describes her mother’s affection, how it was wrapped in barbed wire and laced with venom. Praise, on the rare occasion it was offered, felt more like a knife sliding between her ribs. The clothes she was forced into were chosen for appearances, not comfort, and any complaint was met with a cold, sharp reminder.

Sakura can almost feel the scratch of the lace collar against her neck, the way her mother’s nails dug into her arm, dragging her hand away when she dared to tug at the uncomfortable fabric. “ Stop fidgeting, ” Mebuki would say, her voice low and clipped. “ You look disgraceful. ”

The memories come like waves crashing against a cliff, each one scraping a little more of her away. But she keeps going, because this isn’t about her anymore. It’s about giving voice to everything she’s kept buried for so long.

Finally, she lists the Rules, the ones that had been drilled into her head, the ones she had lived by without question. She speaks them aloud as though reciting an oath:

Rule #1. Do not make eye contact.
Rule #2. Speak only when spoken to.
Rule #3. You do not exist until you are needed.

There’s a pause, a silence that stretches between them, heavy and thick like the air before a storm.

Sakura finishes, her voice trailing off into nothing. Her throat feels raw, the words like shards of glass that have left her bleeding inside. But she’s done now. The story has been told. 

Ichiro bursts back into the room before Yuki can say anything, his face bright with excitement. “The desk lady said yes! It took a really long time to find her though there was this bug on one of the windows and--” he announces proudly, then notices his mother’s tear-streaked face. “Kaa-chan, why are you crying? Are you okay?” 

Yuki smiles at him, brushing her tears away with trembling fingers. “I’m alright, sweetheart.” 

Ichiro’s brow furrows, clearly unsatisfied with her answer. He turns back to Sakura, his eyes wide and earnest. “Are you okay, Sakura-san?” he asks, concern threading his voice in a way that feels too adult for his small frame. 

Sakura blinks, the question knocking her off-balance. She forces a smile, thin and fragile. “I’m okay, Ichiro-san,” she says, her voice softer than she intends. “I’m just… tired.” 

Ichiro studies her for a moment, then nods as if he’s decided to accept her answer. He steps closer, reaching out with a small hand and placing it gently over hers. “Don’t be sad,” he says, his voice a whisper, like he’s sharing a secret meant only for them. “You’re a hero, right? You can fight anything!.” 

The words hit harder than they should, something tender and raw in his innocent declaration. Sakura feels a lump form in her throat, and she has to swallow hard to push it down. “Right,” she manages to say, squeezing his hand. 

Yuki leans forward, waiting until Sakura meets her eyes, and whispers, “I am so sorry they treated you like that.” Her voice is raw, as though the words are being dragged from the depths of her soul. Sakura blinks, confused. 

“You didn’t know,” she says plainly. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

"And Sakura-chan, it wasn't yours either." Yuki telegraphs her movement, giving Sakura time to pull away, before she moves strands of hair out of the kunoichi's face with a trembling hand, "Nothing you have ever done, could have made you deserve that. "

Sakura’s breath catches, the lump in her throat swelling until it feels like she can’t breathe. Yuki’s words hit her harder than any blow she’s taken in battle, harder than her uncle’s strikes, sharper than her mother’s cruel words. The simple, raw kindness in Yuki’s voice feels foreign, like a language she’s never learned to understand.

She doesn’t deserve this. The thought flares up almost instinctively, and she fights the urge to pull away, to put distance between herself and the gentleness she’s never known.

But Yuki doesn’t move back. Her hand lingers in Sakura’s hair, her touch feather-light, as if she’s afraid she might break her. “I know it’s hard to believe,” Yuki whispers, her voice trembling but steady, “but none of it was your fault. You were a child, Sakura-chan. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

Inner goes silent, like she’s holding her breath, and for a moment, Sakura feels like the world has stilled around her, hanging on this one moment of delicate, fragile truth.

A sob bubbles up in her chest, raw and painful, and she can’t hold it back this time. It bursts out of her, ripping through the silence of the room. The sound is almost foreign to her own ears; she’s cried before, but not like this. Not with someone there to bear witness.

Yuki doesn’t flinch. She gathers Sakura’s hands in her own, squeezing them tightly. “It’s alright,” she says, her voice low and soothing, like the gentle hush of waves on the shore. “It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to feel it, Sakura-chan. You’re not alone anymore.”

The words break something inside her, something she hadn’t realized was holding her together. Sakura crumples forward, her forehead pressing into Yuki’s shoulder as the sobs wrack through her body. Yuki’s arms come up around her, hesitant at first, then firmer as she feels Sakura lean into her.

“I’ve got you,” Yuki murmurs, cradling her like she’s something precious. “I’ve got you.”

Ichiro launches himself onto her hospital bed, and throws himself into Sakura’s arms as well, “It’s okay, Sakura-san!” The boy doesn’t know why she’s crying, but he tries to comfort her anyway, “Whatever makes you sad I’ll fight off for you.”

He gasps, and Sakura looks down at his face, his eyes alight with a determined glint, “I can be your hero this time!”

The declaration takes her breath away. For a moment, Sakura can only stare at him, tears still spilling down her cheeks. She blinks, and the image of Ichiro’s small, determined face blurs through her tears, the fierce protectiveness in his eyes so raw and earnest it almost hurts to look at.

He doesn’t understand why she’s crying. He doesn’t know about the wounds she’s spent a lifetime hiding, doesn’t know about the scars that run so much deeper than her skin. But it doesn’t matter. To him, she’s not broken. To him, she’s a hero who deserves to be protected, even if it’s by someone as small as he is.

Sakura feels something crack open in her chest, a warmth unfurling that she hasn’t felt in years, maybe ever. It’s not the fierce, bone-deep protectiveness she feels for her team, nor the sharp-edged loyalty she’s cultivated for her village. It’s something softer, something tender and unfamiliar, like the first bloom of a flower pushing through the frost.

“Thanks, Ichiro-san,” she whispers, her voice hoarse from crying. She pulls him into her arms, holding him close, her fingers threading through his hair. It's stilted and unpracticed, but Ichiro gives a happy hum, so Sakura thinks she must be doing it right.

Ichiro wraps his small arms around her neck, squeezing tight enough that it almost hurts, but Sakura doesn’t mind. His tiny, fierce hug feels like an anchor, something grounding her to the present moment. “I’ll fight off all the bad things for you,” he vows, his voice muffled against her shoulder. “I promise.”

Sakura’s laugh comes out wet and broken, more sob than anything else.

Yuki’s hand finds its way back to Sakura’s hair, smoothing it down with a gentleness that makes the tears start anew. “We’ve got you,” she says again, her voice a soft, soothing mantra. “We’ve got you, Sakura-chan.”

Inner’s voice is quiet, but full of a viciousness Sakura had only heard once or twice before, If Kizashi tries to hurt them--  

Sakura’s eyes flash over Yuki’s shoulder and her thought whispers back, I’ll fucking kill him with my bare hands.

Chapter Text

Kubo Yuki was not a violent woman. 

She was the type who shied away from confrontation, the type who swallowed her discomfort rather than voice it, even when it settled in her gut like a stone. Arguments, especially loud ones, left her with a pounding headache and trembling hands, and she’d learned early on that it was easier to keep the peace than to make waves. Anxiety had always been her shadow, lurking behind her with whispers of what if, twisting innocent phrases into tangled knots that she’d unravel in her head for hours, trying to make sense of things that didn’t quite add up.

It made her a good listener, a quiet observer. But it also made her easy to manipulate.

When she met Haruno Kizashi, she thought she’d found something different. His words were warm, dripping with charm, and he made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t felt in years. He painted a picture of a man trapped by circumstances beyond his control, a good man caught in a loveless marriage. He told her he’d been trying to divorce Mebuki for years, but couldn’t because of political entanglements—the council, the clan politics, the rules that governed Konoha’s high-status families. He spoke of an agreement, an understanding with his wife that they would stay legally married for the sake of appearances but live separate lives. Yuki, who’d never been anything more than a civilian, whose whole life in Konoha taught her that you never know everything about Clan business, believed him.

She requested to meet his daughter on their one year anniversary. He refused.

Things changed when Ichiro was born.

A fierce protectiveness Yuki had never imagined herself capable of ignited the very first time she held her son. It was a love so pure, so overwhelming, that it brought her to tears. In her arms, Ichiro was so small, so fragile, and yet he filled every empty space in her heart she hadn’t known existed. When Kizashi came around more often, promising to raise his son and be a constant presence in his life, Yuki thought she’d finally found everything she’d ever wanted.

It was almost perfect. Almost.

But Yuki wasn’t naive enough to think she could exist in a bubble with Ichiro and Kizashi alone. She wanted to connect with Kizashi’s other ties, to find a place in the broader world he was a part of. She wanted to meet Mebuki, to speak with her as one mother to another, to share in the trials and triumphs of raising children. She wanted to know that there were no lingering hostilities, no festering resentment. And more than anything, Yuki wanted to meet Sakura—Kizashi’s daughter.

Yuki wanted to be a positive influence in Sakura’s life, to show her that she had no intentions of replacing her mother or stealing her father away. She wanted to offer a hand of friendship, of understanding, to show the girl that she was welcome, that they could be a family of sorts, even if it wasn’t conventional. But every time she brought it up, Kizashi brushed her off with a slew of reasons.

“Sakura is too young,” he’d say with a smile, ruffling Ichiro’s hair. “She wouldn’t understand yet.”

“Mebuki’s brother is visiting,” he’d explain another time, shaking his head like it was out of his hands. “It’s not a good time.”

“She needs to focus on schooling,” he’d insist, as though it were obvious. “It’s for her own good.”

The excuses piled up, one after another, until finally, he looked Yuki in the eye and said, “Sakura doesn’t want to meet you.”

The words stung, more than she cared to admit. Yuki could still remember the moment she’d nodded, forcing a smile, telling herself that it made sense, that she couldn’t force herself into the girl’s life if she wasn’t ready. She’d made the mistake of trusting Kizashi’s word, of believing him when he told her that he knew best.

She’d believed he would never lie to her.

She hadn’t realized then just how wrong she was.

✿✿✿

When Yuki meets Sakura for the first time, it isn’t anything like she had imagined.

There’s no warm introduction orchestrated by Kizashi, no carefully planned family gathering where they could ease into each other’s company, where Yuki could offer her hand and smile gently, trying to bridge the gap. There’s no shy greeting, no chance for Yuki to speak softly to the girl she had heard so much about but never met. Instead, the meeting comes because of something far more urgent, far more raw.

It happens because Sakura saved Ichiro’s life.

Sakura saved Ichiro’s life, and Yuki’s son loves freely. He talks about her constantly, with a wonder that Yuki hasn’t seen in him before, as though Sakura had hung the stars in the sky herself. After every visit, Ichiro walks out of the hospital room with a smile so bright it feels like he’s watched her place each star in its perfect place, right before his eyes.

So Yuki keeps bringing him back. Yuki finally gets to know the daughter of the man she’d loved for six years, and she is so good .

Sakura is kind, patient, answering Ichiro’s questions with a gentleness that leaves Yuki breathless. Sakura takes the time to listen, really listen, to a little boy who wants nothing more than to know every story she has to tell.

And then, finally, Yuki asks the question she’s been avoiding. She asks because she needs to know, not for herself but for her son, who looks at Sakura like she’s the whole world. Yuki wants Ichiro to have her in his life, if nothing else. So she takes a deep breath, her heart in her throat, and asks Sakura how she feels about her, about Kizashi.

The answer comes slowly, haltingly, as though Sakura is peeling back old wounds she hasn’t touched in years. She speaks tonelessly, like she’s giving a report instead of reliving memories, and it’s so much worse than Yuki could have imagined.

Sakura tells her about a home full of nothing but pain. She talks about nights spent hungry and cold on the back porch of a warm house she was never allowed to enter. She tells Yuki about a monster who called himself her uncle, a man whose hands were as cruel as his words, and a mother whose every touch was laced with disdain. The stories spill out, raw and unvarnished, painting a picture of a childhood filled with shadows and silence.

And then she tells Yuki about Kizashi.

The man Yuki had loved for six years becomes something monstrous in Sakura’s words. He’s not the warm, gentle father Yuki had believed him to be. He’s a man who walked past his daughter like she was a ghost, who only saw her when he was drunk enough to care, when the bitterness spilled out of him like poison. Sakura tells her about the nights he came home smelling of alcohol, the slurred insults, the muttered laments that she wasn’t the son he’d wanted.

Yuki believes her. There was never a chance of not.

Every excuse Kizashi had ever made, every flimsy reason he’d offered for not introducing her to his family, clicks into place with sickening clarity. Yuki feels the ground beneath her shift as the truth settles in, heavy and cold. She realizes now that she’d been complicit in her own ignorance, that she’d chosen to believe in the man she loved because it was easier than looking deeper, easier than questioning the gaps in his stories. She hadn’t even attempted to learn the laws that governed the clans, hadn’t considered that there might be something sinister lurking beneath the surface.

Yuki does the only thing she can—she holds Sakura as she cries, cradles her like something fragile and precious, like she’s trying to shield her from a world that’s already hurt her far too much. Ichiro clambers up onto the bed, throwing his tiny arms around Sakura, swearing that he’ll fight off anything that’s made her sad. He doesn’t understand what’s happened, doesn’t know the depths of the pain she carries, but he tries to comfort her anyway, whispering promises of protection with all the sincerity of a child who believes he can chase away the monsters with a single word.

Yuki smooths down Sakura’s hair, whispering soft assurances even as her own tears blur her vision. And in that moment, something deep inside her shifts, twists into something sharp and unyielding. Yuki is not a violent woman, but as she holds this broken girl, a girl with glass skin and eyes filled with a sorrow that no child should know, she feels the stirrings of a fury she’s never known before.

She thinks of Kizashi’s honey-glazed words, the lies that had dripped so sweetly from his lips, and the hands that had left their mark not in love, but in violence. She thinks of the man she trusted, the man she let into her life, who had painted himself as kind and patient while his fingers were dipped in the blood of his own child .

And Yuki craves .

It’s a foreign, burning need that coils in her chest, a desire she’s never felt before—a desire for justice, for retribution. Yuki craves the chance to make it right, to tear down the lies and the man who told them. She craves the chance to protect the children who deserve so much more than the monsters they were born to.

She doesn’t say it out loud, but as she holds Sakura close, as she rocks her gently and murmurs that she’s safe now, that she’s not alone, Yuki makes a silent promise.

This is the last time Sakura will cry for them. This is the last time Kizashi’s lies will go unanswered.

Because Yuki may not be a violent woman, but for Ichiro, for Sakura , she’s willing to become whatever she needs to be.

Chapter Text

Two weeks.

That’s how long Sakura has been confined to the hospital, recovering from acute chakra exhaustion. That’s how long she has known Ichiro and Yuki. That’s how long it’s been since she’s seen her team.

The thing about acute chakra exhaustion, Sakura has found, is that it sucks. Every breath feels heavier, every step like she’s wading through molasses. Her body, still young and not fully developed, wasn’t built to handle the sheer amount of chakra she had burned during the invasion. She knows it, and so do the nurses who insist she needs to stop pushing herself to get out of bed.

What hasn’t been helping her recovery is the way every step she takes causes the roots of the Hashirama trees that spread throughout the village to stir and call out to her. They plead for more chakra, more movement, more, more, more . The trees are starving, and they know Sakura is the only one who can feed them.

Sakura is the first natural Mokuton user since Hashirama himself, and she feels it in her very bones. The roots whisper to her when she’s still. When she stands, they tug lightly on her chakra coils, like children begging for attention. When she walks, they reach out as though they can feel her moving above them, pleading for her touch.

The hunger of the forest isn’t malicious—it’s desperate. The old trees had been dormant for so long, their voices muted until her chakra awoke them. And now, they’re ravenous for the power that feels so achingly familiar yet so tantalizingly different.

Sakura presses a hand against the window in her hospital room, her green eyes scanning the horizon where the trees of Konoha form a protective embrace around the village. They call to her even now, faint whispers threading through her tired mind.

Sapling. Feed us. Mend us.

Her shoulders sag, and she lets out a long, slow breath. She wants to help, she truly does. But her body won’t let her yet. Her limbs tremble with the effort of just walking across the room, her chakra flickering weakly in her core.

“You’ll have to wait,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. The trees don’t answer in words, but their silence feels almost mournful.

Sakura bites the inside of her cheek, the sharp sting grounding her in the here and now, even as guilt gnaws at her insides. The whispers of the trees are always there, tugging at her, reminding her of her failure. She hates feeling weak, hates the helplessness that clings to her like a suffocating shroud.

But she can’t just sit still. She’s never been good at being idle. So, she’s made herself a routine to pass the time. It’s all she can do, really—wander the hospital halls and find small tasks to keep herself moving, to distract from the weight pressing on her chest.

Her first stop is always Kakashi-sensei’s room. She steps inside quietly, as though she might disturb him even though she knows he won’t wake up anytime soon. The flowers on the stand by his bed are always on the verge of wilting, their once-vibrant petals drooping pitifully. Sakura replaces the water in the vase without a word, her hands moving automatically. It feels like something she should do, even if she isn’t sure why. Maybe it’s because she knows no one else will.

Her next stop is Sasuke’s room. The difference between the two couldn’t be starker. Kakashi-sensei’s room is quiet, almost forgotten, but Sasuke’s room is overflowing with bouquets. Flowers of every color, every variety, clutter the space, their vibrant hues clashing against the sterile white of the hospital walls. Cards are attached to nearly every arrangement, scribbled with words of admiration and longing.

Sakura stares at them as she carefully changes the water in yet another vase, her hands steady even as her heart twinges painfully. None of the names on the cards are familiar. None of them belong to people who know Sasuke as more than a title, an ideal. They’re just strangers fawning over the Last Loyal Uchiha.

She remembers his voice, cold and unyielding, from the Forest of Death. “Konoha could burn.”

Sasuke hadn’t said it out of spite, hadn’t even sounded angry when the words left his lips. He’d stated it like a simple truth, one that didn’t need embellishment. And in that moment, Sakura had understood him more clearly than she ever had before. To Sasuke, Konoha was just another battlefield, a place that had taken and taken and taken from him. Loyalty to the village meant nothing to him. How could it, when Konoha had done nothing to earn it?

Her gaze drifts over the mass of flowers again, and her chest tightens. The people who had sent these didn’t care for Sasuke—not really. They didn’t see him. They didn’t understand him. All they saw was the Uchiha name, the weight of his clan’s legacy, the tragic story they had built around him.

The thought makes her stomach churn. Konoha wasn’t loyal to Sasuke, so why should he be loyal to Konoha? Why should any of them?

Naruto’s face flashes in her mind, bright and determined, full of boundless energy even in the worst of situations. The only loyal shinobi in her team is Naruto, she thinks bitterly. Maybe Kakashi-sensei, depending on the day.

Sakura clenches her fists, her nails pressing into the soft flesh of her palms until it stings. She knows this well. She knows it in her bones. Loyalty to Konoha is fragile, a delicate thread stretched so thin it’s nearly invisible. Hers is threadbare at best, frayed and worn down to nothing but habit and duty.

She had held no love for the Sandaime Hokage, even less for the villagers who walked these streets with smiles on their faces, blissfully ignorant of the suffering that festered in the shadows. Because Sakura grew within these walls, but she grew isolated.

She remembers walking through the market as a child, trailing behind Mebuki with her head down and her hands clasped in front of her, avoiding eye contact with everyone. She remembers the whispers, the sidelong glances . She remembers hands in bloodied hair, nights spent in the cold and neighbors who did nothing .

Even now, she doesn’t belong here—not really. The villagers don’t see her, not truly. To them, she’s just another kunoichi, another cog in the machine of Konoha, a disposable piece in the grand game of survival. Her existence is peripheral, her worth measured only by her utility.

Konoha wasn’t home. It was the walls that confined her, the streets that echoed with footsteps she could never follow, the faces that turned away when she needed them most. It wasn’t a village—it was a prison.

The roots call to us, not the people, Inner murmurs, her voice a soft whisper in the back of Sakura’s mind. They will never see us the way the trees do. They will never understand us.

Sakura swallows hard, her jaw tightening as she looks at the flowers surrounding Sasuke’s bed, vibrant and alive in a way she doesn’t feel. It’s ironic, really. The Last Loyal Uchiha, surrounded by symbols of admiration and respect he doesn’t want, while she—the nothing of Team 7—is surrounded by silence.

The thought makes her laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. It’s hollow, bitter, and she presses a hand to her mouth to stifle it before it can spill out further. Her nails bite into her skin again, grounding her in the sharp, stinging reality of the moment.

She doesn’t hate Konoha—not yet. But the embers are there, smoldering quietly in the depths of her soul, waiting for the right spark. And Sakura knows, deep down, that it won’t take much for them to catch fire.

✿✿✿

The beginning of the third week of her stay in the hospital starts well enough. For the first time since the invasion, Sakura can feel her chakra again. It’s sluggish, like trying to move through thick mud, but it’s there. The familiar hum of energy settles beneath her skin, a sign that her reserves are beginning to recover. It’s progress, slow and fragile, but progress nonetheless.

The time-frame for Naruto’s mission is nearing its end. He’s out searching for a woman who abandoned the village years ago, and though Sakura doesn’t doubt Naruto’s determination, she doesn’t know if he’ll succeed. More importantly, she doesn’t know if she wants him to succeed.

She doesn’t really want to think about what happens if he does.

Because Tsunade is a Senju, which means, in some distant, tangled way, Tsunade is related to her.

Sakura doesn’t want to think about that either. Doesn’t want to peel back the layers of what it means to share blood with someone like Tsunade. Because if Naruto finds her, if she agrees to come back, there will be questions. Questions Sakura doesn’t know if she’s ready to ask, let alone hear the answers to.

Does she know I exist? Sakura wonders, her thoughts spiraling into places she doesn’t want them to go. Did she know about Hiroshi? Did she know what he did?

The idea feels too big, too heavy to hold. Because if Tsunade knew, if she’d known even a fraction of what had happened, that would mean she’d left Sakura behind. Left her to fend for herself against the wolves that circled her from birth.

Left her before Sakura even knew they shared the same den.

A bitter taste fills her mouth, and Sakura forces herself to swallow it down. She doesn’t know what she’s hoping for. If Tsunade comes back, maybe she’ll have answers. Maybe she’ll have insight into why Sakura’s life turned out the way it did. Maybe she’ll even have… something. Comfort. Belonging. Family .

Or maybe she won’t. Maybe Tsunade will just be another stranger, someone who shares a name but not a bond. Maybe she’ll look at Sakura and see nothing worth acknowledging.

Sakura snorts, brushing a stray petal from the bedside table by Kakashi’s hospital bed. The wilted flowers there seem to mock her, their faded beauty a reminder of the fleeting, fragile nature of things.

“Family,” she mutters under her breath, her lips twisting into a sardonic smile. The word feels foreign on her tongue, heavy and hollow all at once.

What a joke.

Family had never been a sanctuary for her. It had been a battlefield, a collection of sharp edges and empty spaces where love was supposed to reside. The idea of blood tying people together, of family being synonymous with safety or warmth, had always felt like a cruel lie told to children who didn’t know any better.

The flowers on Kakashi’s table are dying, their once-vibrant petals now dull and curling at the edges. Forgotten by whoever left them there, they’re a sad reminder of how easily things are abandoned.

Sakura replaces the water like she does every day, her movements careful and deliberate. She doesn’t do it because she expects anyone to notice or care, but because it’s routine. A small act of care in a world where care often felt absent.

Her fingers linger on the vase for a moment, and her thoughts drift, unbidden, to the people she can count on one hand.

Her team.

Her team was safety. Her team was family.

The word feels less hollow when she thinks of Naruto’s determined grin, Sasuke’s quiet presence, or even Kakashi’s infuriatingly late arrivals. They weren’t perfect—not by any stretch—but they were hers, and that made all the difference.

She steps back from the bedside table, brushing a stray petal off her fingers as she does. It flutters to the ground, and she watches it land without really seeing it.

Only moments after arriving back in her assigned room, the door slams open with such force that it bounces off the wall behind it. The sharp sound reverberates through the space, jolting Sakura into a fighting stance. Her chakra, still sluggish and weak from exhaustion, flares painfully in her coils, like trying to funnel water through a dam on the verge of collapse.

Her body protests the movement, her muscles trembling from the strain, but she forces herself to hold her ground. She doesn’t know who’s coming, but the instinct to fight—to defend—takes over, overriding the screaming exhaustion that claws at her limbs.

The room feels suffocating in its silence as her mind runs through every possibility, every threat. But when her eyes lock onto the figure in the doorway, the air seems to drain from her lungs all at once.

Haruno Kizashi.

THREAT. THREAT. THREAT.

Her instincts scream louder than her thoughts, and she steps back instinctively, putting the bed between them. Her heart pounds in her ears as her body freezes, muscles locking in place as memories flood her senses.

Sakura forces a shallow breath into her lungs, then another. But it feels like her throat is closing in, choking her. Her chest heaves as she struggles to exhale, to focus, to move.

Kizashi stands in the doorway, his face twisted with fury. His presence fills the room like a suffocating fog, his killing intent radiating off him in oppressive waves. Every detail—the set of his shoulders, the clench of his fists, the shade of his face—screams anger, and Sakura knows this posture, this aura, all too well.

Her legs tremble, her feet rooted to the ground despite every instinct screaming to run. Don't move, don’t move, wait, listen, instructions, don’t make it worse—

“You worthless child,” he spits, his voice venomous as he steps further into the room. The sound of the door slamming shut behind him feels like the end of something. “Ungrateful little brat . Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

He moves closer, the space between them shrinking with every step. Sakura retreats another step, her trembling hand gripping the bed frame as if it could anchor her to reality. Her legs feel weak, her body ready to collapse under the weight of the moment.

“You ruined everything I’ve worked for,” Kizashi snarls, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone that crawls under her skin and settles there like poison.

Sakura’s mind fractures under the oppressive weight of his presence. Memories flood her senses with blinding intensity—his hands, his voice, the muzzle, the bruises. The cold detachment of his words when she cried. The sharp pain of his punishments for every perceived slight. The endless, suffocating silence that followed. She feels herself slipping, falling back into that powerless child she thought she’d left behind.

Ungrateful…? Inner’s voice echoes through her mind, a sharp, breaking sound like glass fracturing under pressure. There’s disbelief in her tone, but it’s laced with something sharper—something darker.

The word ungrateful rings in Sakura’s ears, louder than Kizashi’s voice, louder than her own shallow breaths. It loops, over and over, like a chant that grows more twisted with every repetition. Ungrateful… ungrateful… ungrateful…

And then, something inside her snaps .

It’s not a gentle break, not a gradual cracking under pressure—it’s violent, sharp, and absolute.

It feels like her head is splitting in two, a jagged, searing pain that spreads like wildfire through her mind. Her veins ignite, a surge of liquid fire rushing through her body, burning away the trembling fear that had rooted her in place. The flames don’t consume her—they sharpen her, hollow her out, and fill the void with something unyielding.

The room seems to shrink, the edges of her vision darkening as the sound of her own breathing fills her ears. Every memory, every bruise, every whispered word of venom from Kizashi crashes over her like a tidal wave. But instead of drowning, she surfaces with something new—something raw, primal, and feral.

Her laughter breaks through the tension like shattering glass.

It starts low and uneven, a sound that trembles in her throat before spilling out into the room. But it builds, gaining momentum, turning into a full-bodied, hysterical cacophony. It’s laughter, but not the kind born of joy—it’s jagged, broken, and unhinged, like the sound of a heart breaking into a thousand pieces and finding no other way to express its rage.

Her body shakes with the force of it, her hands gripping the edge of the bed as if to anchor herself against the storm she’s unleashed. Her green eyes blaze with an intensity that’s almost inhuman, a brilliant, toxic light that frames her face like the remnants of a distant forest fire.

“Ungrateful?” she repeats, her tone caught between disbelief and venom. “You think I should be grateful to you?”

Her breath shakes as she steps forward, her trembling legs barely holding her upright. “Grateful for what? Grateful to the monster who broke my arms for speaking out of turn? To the thing who muzzled me like a dog because I dared to ask for something?”

The words rip from her throat like shards of glass, her voice cracking under the weight of them. Her hands clench into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms until the skin threatens to break.

“You think I should be grateful to you ?” she spits, her green eyes blazing. “You, who never even saw me as a person? You, who made sure I knew exactly how little I mattered to you? You, who—”

“Enough!” Kizashi roars, cutting her off mid-sentence.

In a blur of movement, he crosses the remaining distance between them. Before Sakura can react, his hand grips the collar of her hospital gown, yanking her forward.

“You’ll regret this, you little brat,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous as he lifts her off the ground.

For a moment, Sakura’s body goes rigid, the weight of his grip choking the breath from her lungs. And then—

“Tou-chan?”

The small, hesitant voice cuts through the tension like a knife.

Both of them freeze, and Kizashi’s grip slackens just enough for Sakura to catch her breath. Her head snaps toward the doorway, where Ichiro stands clutching a small bouquet of pink tulips in one hand and a stick of dango in the other.

His wide, green eyes flit between them, confusion and fear etched into his small face. “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice trembling.

Kizashi drops her. Sakura crumples to the ground in a heap, clutching her throat as she gasps for air.

“Ichiro—” Kizashi starts, his voice softening as he kneels to the boy’s eye level.

But Ichiro doesn’t let him finish.

The flowers and dango fall to the floor as Ichiro runs forward, planting himself between Sakura and Kizashi. He spreads his arms wide, his small frame trembling but defiant as he glares up at his father.

“Don’t hurt her!” he cries, his voice cracking with emotion. “She doesn’t deserve it! Go away! I won’t let you hurt her anymore!”

Sakura’s trembling hand finds Ichiro’s pant leg, her fingers tugging weakly as she tries to pull him behind her. Her breath rattles in her throat, every gasp a struggle against the pain radiating through her chest. You can’t be in the line of fire, he’ll hurt you, Ichiro—move, move, please.

But Ichiro doesn’t budge.

Instead, he plants his feet more firmly on the ground, his small hands balling into fists at his sides as he glares up at Kizashi with a defiance that makes Sakura’s chest ache. “I said go away!” he shouts, his voice trembling but fierce. “You’re not allowed to hurt her anymore! No one is!”

“Ichiro,” Kizashi says, his voice uneven, reaching out toward his son. “Listen to me—”

“No!” Ichiro yells, swatting his father’s hand away before it can reach him. “You don’t get to talk to me! You don’t get to talk to Sakura-san like that! You’re supposed to be good !”

The words hit like a hammer, the weight of them cracking through the thick tension in the room. Kizashi flinches, his hand hovering in the air before slowly retreating.

Before either of them can move again, a new voice cuts through the air, sharp and cold.

“Take another step, Kizashi, and I will not hesitate to have you dragged out of here in chains.”

Sakura’s gaze flicks toward the doorway, where Yuki stands, her eyes blazing with fury. Her normally gentle face is hard, her lips pressed into a tight line. Behind her, two hospital staff members hover, wide-eyed and uncertain, but ready to act at her command.

“Yuki,” Kizashi starts, his tone faltering, but she doesn’t let him continue.

“You’re done,” Yuki snaps, her voice trembling with controlled rage. “You don’t get to hurt her. Not ever again.”

Kizashi takes a step back, his face pale, but Yuki doesn’t stop. She moves past him and kneels beside Sakura and Ichiro, placing a protective hand on each of them.

“Are you okay?” she asks Sakura softly, her voice a stark contrast to the venom she’d just directed at Kizashi.

Sakura’s vision blurs, and she can’t move her head or open her mouth to reassure the woman that everything is fine, or maybe to warn her that she should go because Kizashi is right there and Yuki is leaving her back unguarded .

“Ichiro, sweetheart,” Yuki says gently, her hand brushing through his hair. “Go get the nice nurse you talked to earlier, okay? Tell them we need help right now.”

Ichiro hesitates, his small body trembling with the effort to stay rooted in place. He glances back at Sakura, his green eyes wide and watery.

“I’ll stay with her,” Yuki reassures him. “I promise.”

At last, Ichiro nods, tears slipping down his cheeks as he turns and sprints out of the room.

The silence that follows is deafening. Kizashi opens his mouth, but Yuki’s glare stops him cold.

“Do not ,” she says, her voice low and trembling with rage. “You’re done, Haruno. Do you hear me? Done .”

Kizashi’s face twists in anger, but before he can lash out again, two shinobi enter the room. Their presence is calm but commanding, their hands gripping Kizashi’s arms firmly. He struggles for a moment, his voice rising in a growl, but it’s futile. The shinobi drag him back, their grip unrelenting, their expressions neutral but watchful.

The last thing she sees before her vision fades completely is Yuki kneeling in front of her, a hand gently brushing stray strands of hair from her face, and Ichiro rushing forward to clutch her hand with tears in his wide green eyes.

And then, nothing.

Chapter Text

Sakura wakes to darkness and silence. Cold bites at her skin, and she realizes she’s shivering, her limbs trembling with the chill. Her hands are wet and clammy, and she raises one to brush her hair from her face. The motion feels sluggish, like moving through molasses.

The breath catches in her throat as something thick and sticky slides down her arm with the change in gravity. She freezes. Her eyes strain to adjust to the pitch-black void around her, but even without seeing, she knows. Scarlet blood trails from her palm to her elbow, glistening faintly in the dim, nonexistent light.

Her other hand, braced against the ground to steady herself, is lifted hesitantly, trembling in the cold air. The same dark liquid slips across her skin, staining her fingers and smearing down her wrist in crisscrossing lines. It drips faintly, painting the silence with the soft pat, pat of falling droplets.

She blinks, distantly surprised. The thought rises sluggishly to the forefront of her mind, unbidden and cold:

Who did I hurt?

The thought doesn’t bring fear or guilt. It’s just there, heavy and numbing.

A low growl echoes from somewhere beyond the limits of her sight, cutting through the eerie silence. Her gaze snaps up, and she feels herself go still as ice floods her veins. The ground beneath her shifts faintly, and the black expanse that stretches endlessly around her gleams like shallow water—only now, there’s a crimson tide rolling toward her, slow and deliberate. It seeps closer, spilling over the void like paint on uneven glass.

The sound of splashing footsteps reverberates in the stillness. The ripples of the blood-tinged water reach her knees, dark tendrils creeping outward with each faint wave.

A shape emerges from the dark. It’s massive, easily four feet tall at the shoulder. A russet wolf.

It prowls closer, each step sending soft ripples across the bloodied floor, and its lips curl back to reveal teeth that glisten like freshly forged steel. A deep rumbling growl fills the air, vibrating through the stillness, low and threatening. The beast’s stocky frame is built for pure strength, its thick, furred muscles shifting with every slow, measured step forward. Its glowing gray eyes, the only light in this endless void, seem to pierce straight through her.

Sakura swallows hard, her breath coming in shaky gasps. She doesn’t dare move, not with the predatory way the beast lowers itself closer to the ground, its growl deepening. The blood beneath it swirls with its movement, flowing toward her like an inevitability she cannot escape.

For a fleeting moment, she wonders if the wolf is the source of all the blood. If this overwhelming presence, this creature born from shadow and rage, is to blame for the dark crimson stains on her skin. The thought lingers like a desperate hope.

But the blood under her nails tells a different story.

The wolf steps closer, and the growl shifts in tone, rising and falling in a way that almost feels… weighted. Heavy. Grieving.

Sakura’s breath hitches, and her thoughts grind to a halt. She doesn’t know why that word fits, why it’s the only one that feels right, but it hits her like a hammer to the chest.

The wolf is grieving.

And then, the scene shifts.

Sakura doesn’t understand how it happens, or why, but the darkness and crimson dissolve into something else—somewhere else. Towering trees surround her, their ancient trunks rising high into the sky, their roots sprawling across the ground like the veins of the earth itself. She knows this place. She’s seen it before. These were the trees that had surged forth against Orochimaru, their power primal and unrelenting, their intent clear: destroy .

But now, there is blood.

It’s everywhere .

It stains the forest floor, soaks into the roots of the ancient trees, and clings to the air like a suffocating mist. Sakura— no, not Sakura —stands at the center of it all. Her blue haori is drenched, the fabric clinging to her slumped frame. Blood drips from her chin, coats her teeth and tongue, and clings to her pale skin like a second layer.

Even without the pain tearing through her body, she would know she’s dying. It’s written in the way her legs tremble beneath her, in the way her vision blurs, in the wet, choking gasps that escape her lips.

She— Who is she ?—raises a trembling hand, sticky with blood, and presses it to the ground beside her. “Kuchiyose no Jutsu,” she rasps, her voice barely a whisper.

There’s a puff of smoke, and from it emerges the wolf.

Takeo .

The name blooms in Sakura’s mind, unbidden yet familiar, as if she’s always known it. He is massive, even larger than before, his russet fur thick and wild. His glowing gray eyes widen as he takes in the sight of her— Who is she —broken figure, and he yelps, rushing to her side.

“Stay with me, pup,” he pleads, his voice rough with desperation as he nudges his head under her arm, trying to lift her to her feet. “Come on, we’ve gotta get going. Masumi-baa would never forgive me if I let you die.”

Sakura’s head spins, the pain and confusion mingling into something unbearable. She opens her mouth to ask what is happening, but the words that come out aren’t hers.

“Ne, Takeo,” the girl whispers, her voice weak but steady with a determination that doesn’t match her failing body. Her skin is far too pale for a descendant of Hashirama, and her brown— But her eyes are green —eyes glisten with unshed tears. “’ve got a mi’sion for you.”

Takeo whines, his massive frame trembling as he presses against her. “You can give me a mission tomorrow, Azumi.”

It's like Sakura’s an observer in her own body.

With all the strength she can muster, she raises her bloodied hand and pats his head gently. “Mmm. G’tta give it now,” she says, her words slurring together, “don’t have the chakra to s’mmon ‘nybody else.” Her eyes are filled with regret, heavy and unbearable. “You are to go to Senju Masumi and Senju Hakura with this mes-s-age: Senju Hiroshi is to be cha-rged with the… with murder of his youngest sister and the a-attempted theft of the Wolf Summoning contract.”

Takeo growls low in his throat, his grief and fury evident in the trembling of his body. He lowers himself to meet her gaze, his gray eyes locking onto hers. “Azumi-chan.”

The girl— Azumi —smiles softly, her tear-streaked face streaked with blood. “It’s okay, Takeo,” she whispers, her voice impossibly gentle. She rubs her hand along his fur, her touch light and trembling. “It’s alright.”

And then Sakura is there, beside her, watching the scene unfold as though it’s happening to someone else. She’s standing in the blood-soaked clearing, her feet submerged in crimson as Azumi, her, not her, strokes Takeo’s fur with the last of her strength.

Takeo doesn’t move from her side. He stays with her, his massive form pressed close to her small, fragile body, until her hand falls from his head and her chest stills.

The blood stops spreading. The forest falls silent.

A mournful howl splits the stillness, ringing through the ancient trees as Takeo raises his head to the heavens and grieves.

And fourteen-year-old Senju Azumi breathes her final breath.

Sakura gasps, her green eyes wide and glimmering with unshed tears as the wolf—Takeo, she recalls—sits calmly before her. His stormy gray eyes, which had been filled with grief and malice moments before, now hold a calm indifference. He huffs softly, lowering his massive head onto his paws, his tail swishing against the ground in slow, deliberate movements.

She glances down and realizes the scene around her has shifted again. The blood that had coated her hands and soaked into the ground is gone, replaced by an expanse of smooth, black nothingness. The silence is broken only by her labored breaths and the rhythmic swish of Takeo’s tail.

Her hands tremble as she raises one to her face, brushing her fingertips over the tracks of tears she hadn’t realized she was shedding. They come away clean, untainted by the blood that had stained her so vividly before. Relief floods her, but it’s short-lived. The weight of what she’s just experienced presses down on her, threatening to suffocate her.

With a roll of his sharp gray eyes, Takeo stands and nudges his head under her trembling hand, encouraging her to pet him. She hesitates, but her fingers move almost unconsciously, sinking into the thick fur streaked with silver. The action is grounding, soothing, as though the world is a little less chaotic when she’s touching him.

“You Senju were always an emotional lot,” the wolf rumbles, his voice low and gravelly, vibrating through her fingertips.

“I-I’m… not a Senju,” Sakura whispers, her voice shaky as she withdraws her hand. “Not really.”

Takeo raises a metaphorical eyebrow, his expression one of unimpressed disbelief. “Kid, you’re the last direct descendant of Senju Hashirama,” he states matter-of-factly. “Sure, you’ve got some Uzumaki from Mikoto-sama, and more Kagerou from Masumi-baa than most. And then there’s that Haruno boy as your… well, sperm donor. But your bloodline is predominantly Senju.”

“Kage…rou?” Sakura asks, her confusion deepening.

“Did no one teach you anything, girl?” Takeo snorts, but he doesn’t wait for her to answer. “The Kagerou clan is where your grandmother comes from. Kagerou Masumi. She married into the Senju and had… that man, Mebuki, and Azumi.”

Sakura shakes her head, her hands curling into fists. “Mebuki never spoke about her life before I ruined it,” she says. “I didn’t even know she was a Senju until a few months ago.”

Takeo’s tail stills, and his gaze sharpens as he straightens, towering over her. “Ruined it?” he echoes, a low growl rumbling deep in his throat. “Pups cannot ruin a life until they’ve matured. You’re barely of teething age, your fangs haven’t even grown. You could not possibly ruin her life as a mere babe.”

Sakura blinks, his words washing over her like a cold tide. She swallows hard, shaking her head. “What was that?” she asks, her voice trembling. “The blood and the forest and the… knowing ?”

Takeo huffs, his tail resuming its slow, deliberate swish. “So many questions,” he mutters. “What you saw was the right of succession. Kagerou’s descendants experience it when their Shadow Seal breaks.”

Her brows knit together. “Shadow Seal?” she echoes. “What’s that? What does it mean? And where are we?”

Takeo snaps his jaws lightly at her hand, startling her into silence. “Kid, give me a moment,” he says with an exaggerated sigh. His sharp posture softens into a slouch, his nose twitching as he considers her questions. “We’re in your unconscious mind. Your physical body is still in the hospital. A Shadow Seal,” he explains, “is a protection passed down through the Kagerou clan. About three in every ten Kagerou children are born with one.”

He pauses, his eyes flickering with a sadness that cuts through his gruff demeanor. “The Shadow Seal has four stages: Inactive, Semi-Dormant, Active, and Broken. Most seals remain inactive for a bearer’s entire life. Semi-Dormant activates in moments of near death—or the belief of it.”

Dirt under her nails and blood in her hair. She thinks she may have dislocated her shoulder again, or broken her arm. 

Hiroshi continues to swing down on her.

Takeo lowers his head closer to hers. “Active,” he continues, “is triggered by the complete death of trust and innocence. It’s when a person’s survival instincts demand they create someone, something, to rely on. It brings forth the shadow of the self—the fractured, broken pieces molded into a singular force.”

Something inside Sakura shatters.

The next morning, Inner appears.

“A-and broken?” she stammers, her voice shaking.

Takeo’s tail slows to a stop as he rests his chin on her lap. “A Shadow Seal breaks under conditions eerily similar to the trauma that created the shadow self in the first place. It is a moment of unimaginable strain, where the bearer is confronted with something so harrowing, so deeply rooted in their pain, that it threatens to shatter what remains of their fragile identity. But instead of breaking your psyche further into pieces, the Shadow Seal allows the inner shadow to merge back into the bearer’s psyche.” He closes his eyes briefly, the weight of his next words pressing on them both. “The last to complete all four stages was Senju Azumi, and she received the Wolf Summoning Contract from Masumi-baa.”

Sakura’s breath catches as the enormity of his words settles over her. “And I… I did that?” she asks, barely above a whisper. “I completed all four stages?”

Takeo nods, his gray eyes meeting hers steadily. “Yes.”

Her voice cracks as she hesitates, the question clawing its way out of her throat. “Does this mean that… Inner’s gone?”

“The shadow,” Takeo says, “or Inner , as you’ve come to call her, has re-merged with yourself.”

Sakura’s breath hitches, her fingers gripping the fur of the wolf in her lap. She doesn’t know whether to cry, scream, or simply sit in silence. She feels whole—and yet, more fragmented than ever.

Sakura sits in the void of her mind, her fingers still tangling in Takeo's fur. The warmth of his presence lingers, even as he fades into the darkness beyond her vision. The weight of his words presses down on her, heavy and unyielding, but there’s a quiet sense of clarity blooming somewhere deep inside her chest.

“Oh…” she murmurs, her voice soft and trembling. The stillness around her feels deafening, the kind of silence that fills the air after a storm has passed. Her heart aches, as though it’s tearing itself apart and knitting itself back together all at once.

She feels… strange. Whole, but empty. Fixed, but fractured. Like one of those porcelain bowls she’d read about, the ones repaired with gold to highlight the places where they had once been broken.

Sakura wonders if this is what grief feels like.

“The right of succession?” she asks after a long silence, her voice breaking the quiet like a ripple across still water.

Takeo’s reply is a low, rumbling huff, vibrating like a distant thunderstorm. “It is what happens when the next eligible Kagerou Wolf Summoner breaks the seal, provided they are not in contact with the current contract holder.”

Sakura opens her mouth to ask another question, but Takeo answers it before the words can form. “The last contract holder was your grandmother. Azumi, before her death, was meant to succeed Masumi-baa, inheriting the contract after her passing.”

The words hang heavy in the air, unspoken but understood. She never made it that far.

Sakura swallows hard. “So I am to receive the contract when Grandmother dies?” she asks, her voice small. “I… I didn’t know she was alive. I thought she left after Mebuki’s father died.”

“She did,” Takeo confirms. His tone is quieter now, almost reverent. “Masumi-baa lived a long and fulfilling life outside the village after Hakura’s death. She left the title of clan head to her niece, Tsunade. Hiroshi was cast out of the Senju clan, and Mebuki had already married into the Haruno family by then.”

Sakura lets out a shaky breath, her fingers tangling in the wolf’s fur again. It grounds her, the steady vibration of his voice humming against her palm as he continues.

“But Masumi-baa passed away last year,” he says, and there’s a thread of sadness in his gravelly tone. “Honestly, I—and many other wolves—believed it would be generations before another Kagerou broke their seal. I thought we would become another lost contract, buried in the pages of history.”

Sakura’s voice is barely a whisper. “And then I broke my seal.”

Takeo nods, pressing his head lightly against her hand. “And then you broke your seal,” he says, his voice carrying a strange mix of relief and reverence.

He rises to his feet, his towering form now eye-to-eye with her as she sits. His stormy gaze is steady, calm in a way that sets something inside her at ease. “So, Senju Sakura, I leave you with this,” he begins, his tone shifting into something more formal. “If you wish to sign our contract, come to the waterfall where the lands of Hot Water and the Leaf meet. Beyond that is the hidden home of Kagerou Masumi. Under the third stair in the second hallway, you will find a sealed box that will only open to a Kagerou descendant.”

He steps back, his silver-streaked tail swishing once as he turns to retreat into the shadows. “We’ll be waiting.”

Sakura watches as he disappears into the darkness, his presence fading until she is left completely, utterly alone in her mind. For the first time in years, the quiet is absolute. No Inner. No Takeo. Just her.

And then, with a sharp inhale, Sakura wakes up.

Chapter Text

The first thing Sakura notes is that distinct ache in her throat that comes in the aftermath of being strangled, of which she’s afraid she’s already rather intimately familiar with. Her skin still burns with phantom fingers, and her fingers twitch with the instinctive urge to claw at the source, to dig away until the sting bleeds out of her.

( Mebuki hates when she gets blood on her cheongsam. )

The second is that when she opens her eyes, she isn’t alone.

“Sakura-san!”

Green meets green. Ichiro’s face is blotchy and wide-eyed, peeking over her hospital bed as he stands on a chair beside it, gripping the blanket near her shoulder like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

“You’re awake—you’re really awake! I didn’t think—I mean, Kaa-san said you just needed rest but then she yelled and the room smelled funny and you weren’t moving and your mouth was open and I thought maybe you forgot how to breathe and I didn’t know what to do but I didn’t touch you even though your hand was cold and I wanted to see if you were still soft and I sat here and I was so quiet and Kaa-san told me to go to sleep but I didn’t, not really, I just closed my eyes a little, and I was super brave, okay?”

He sniffles but straightens like he’s made of something sturdier than six-year-olds usually are.

“You were shaking for a while and your face got all sweaty and Kaa-san got scared but she didn’t say she was and I didn’t cry either ‘cause I thought maybe if you heard me you’d think you had to stay asleep and I didn’t want that ‘cause I missed you. I missed you so much.”

His voice breaks on the last word, and he wipes his nose on his sleeve before blurting:

“Do you want water? Or soup? Or a book? I can find one. Or I can get Kaa-san! Should I go get her now? Or should I stay? I can stay! If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. I don’t have to go.”

Sakura doesn’t register she’s moved until her hand is already cupping the side of Ichiro’s face. Her palm is warm against his cheek, his skin slightly sticky with dried tears and the salt of lingering fear. She stares at her own hand, startled to find it there.

Ichiro blinks at her. “Sakura-san?”

Her throat is dry and every breath scrapes the walls of her chest raw, but she manages, “...Are you hurt?”

She sees it then—the flicker in his eyes, the slight widening, the tremble that starts at his chin and travels up until it pinches his brows together. He shakes his head once, twice, too fast.

“I’m okay,” he says, voice wobbling. “I-I’m okay. He didn’t touch me. Kaa-san said not to move. I didn’t move.”

His hands ball into fists at his sides. He’s trying to be brave. He’s trying so hard .

“But… but I think…” His voice catches. His lower lip trembles and his eyes fill again, even though he blinks and blinks and tilts his chin up to keep them in.

“Has Tou-san… has Tou-san always been a bad guy?”

The question punches through the air between them—small and sharp and breaking. And still, Ichiro doesn’t cry. Not really. Just one tear sneaks down his cheek. He lets it fall.

Sakura…

Sakura doesn’t know how to respond to that.

The Haruno Kizashi of her childhood is a man of indifferent eyes and harsh hands. A man who did not ( does not ) care for a daughter, a man who does not love, does not care for much of anything at all. Haruno Kizashi is a medic-nin with no passion for his work, but efficient all the same. A man who can fade bruises and temper breaks just enough that the injury cannot be seen, but remains to be felt.

She does not want to admit that to Ichiro. But she does not want to lie to him, either.

Sakura wonders what advice Inner would have for her in this moment. Her…Shadow self had always been the part of her that knew what to say, how to respond, how to react to things like this.

Sakura opens her mouth. Closes it again. The words aren’t there. Not the right ones. Not the gentle lie, or the hard truth.

Her fingers curl slightly against Ichiro’s cheek, and he leans into the touch like he doesn’t know he’s doing it. She thinks of how Inner would’ve handled this—sharp-tongued and unflinching, but always knowing exactly what needed to be said, even if Sakura didn’t want to hear it. But Inner is gone now. Folded back into her.

The silence stretches, too long, too heavy.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” she finally says, voice raw, barely above a whisper. “I don’t know your Tou-san very well.”

Ichiro’s lower lip quivers again. “I think he was gonna hurt Kaa-san. And he hurt you.”

Sakura hums softly, the sound cutting halfway. It catches on something in her throat—pain, maybe. Or memory. Or guilt. Maybe all three.

“I know,” she says finally. “He did.”

Ichiro presses his face into her shoulder like he wants to disappear into it. His voice is smaller than before, brittle. “Why?”

She doesn’t have an answer for that either.

“I don’t know,” Sakura says, and she hates how often she’s had to say those words lately. “Sometimes people hurt others because they want control. Or because they don’t like feeling powerless. Or because someone once did the same thing to them, and they never learned how not to.”

“...That’s stupid,” Ichiro says, after a long pause. It isn’t bitter. Just tired.

She chokes on an exhausted laugh, “It is,” Sakura agrees.

They sit in silence again. Her hand cards gently through his hair—absent, soft. She isn’t sure if she’s comforting him or herself. Maybe both. Maybe neither. But he lets her.

Then, very quietly:

“Are you gonna go away now, too?”

Sakura stills. Her hand stills. For a moment, she forgets how to breathe.

“No,” she says eventually. “Not unless you want me to.”

Ichiro doesn’t say anything. But he shifts closer, small fingers curling into the short sleeve of her hospital gown.

Sakura exhales.

Maybe that’s enough of an answer.

✿✿✿

Around ten minutes of sitting, Sakura’s hand carding gently ( cautiously—Kami, he’s so small ) through Ichiro’s hair as he rests his forehead against her collarbone, he falls asleep. She stares down at him like he’s a live explosive.

What do you do with a sleeping child?

She doesn’t know.

Is she supposed to… move him? Transfer him somewhere? That’s something people do with babies, right? But Ichiro isn’t a baby. He’s not small enough. …Or maybe he is? He feels small. He looks small. But he talks in complete sentences, has opinions, and climbs furniture. Isn’t that too advanced for a baby?

What classifies as a baby?

She has no idea. Why would she know that?

Sakura resists the urge to audibly groan and instead exhales slowly through her nose. Her free hand hovers awkwardly over his back, then retracts like it might set off some invisible alarm. She looks to the ceiling as if it might offer divine guidance.

She doesn’t receive any.

After another moment, she gives up on solving the mystery of Child Sleep Logistics and leans a little further into her pillows, adjusting as little as possible to keep from waking him. His forehead is still pressed lightly to her collarbone, breath puffing softly against her skin, and it makes something in her chest curl inwards, unsure and aching.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing.

There’s movement in the doorway, and her arm curls protectively around Ichiro’s back, pressing him against her side in preparation to move.

Yuki steps through, eyes on Sakura’s neck with a look she can’t identify, before her gaze shifts to her sleeping son and softens.

“...Do I move him?” Sakura asks, voice quiet, “I’ve read it’s bad to co-sleep.”

Yuki’s eyes softened further, though Sakura couldn’t say why, a small smile pulling at the edge of her lips. “That’s for infants, Sakura-chan.”

Yuki steps further into the room, her voice gentling to match the quiet air, “He’ll be fine where he is.”

Sakura doesn’t relax exactly, but her shoulders lower by a fraction, the tension in her spine loosening just enough for the ache to settle in. She glances down again, uncertain. Ichiro’s face is slack with sleep, his lashes still damp from earlier tears.

“I wasn’t sure,” she murmurs, more to herself than anything.

Yuki walks over slowly, movements careful, deliberate, like she’s approaching a wounded animal. Her gaze flickers again to Sakura’s throat—then to her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Yuki says quietly. It’s not just an apology—it’s heavy, tangled with regret and something like helpless rage. “For everything.”

Sakura blinks. “...Okay.”

It’s not that she doesn’t believe her. It’s not that it doesn’t matter. It’s that she doesn’t know what to do with it.

She isn’t even sure what, exactly, Yuki is apologizing for.

Yuki reaches out, then pauses just before touching Sakura’s arm. “May I…?”

Sakura hesitates, then shifts slightly, enough for Yuki to reach forward and brush her fingers through Ichiro’s hair. It strikes Sakura as strange—that she asked permission at all. He’s her son.

“He’s always been a good sleeper,” Yuki murmurs, her voice low, her touch featherlight. “Even as a baby. But only when he feels safe.”

There’s a silence after that—soft, heavy, but not uncomfortable. Just full.

“Do you need anything?” Yuki asks after a moment. “Water? More pillows?”

Sakura shakes her head. “I’m okay.”

Yuki hesitates, then adds, “If you want… I can stay. Until he wakes.”

Sakura is quiet for a long breath, then—almost too softly to hear—“That would be… nice.”

Yuki settles into the chair beside the bed, and the three of them remain like that: the boy curled between them, silence folding around their little corner of the world. It’s a quiet made not of absence, but of presence—stitched together by something fragile and tentative, something that might one day become trust.

Ichiro sleeps for a while—an hour, maybe two. The silence is broken only by the soft rise and fall of his breath, or the occasional quiet conversation Yuki starts and lets fade, never pushing when Sakura doesn’t respond.

When Ichiro finally stirs, it’s slow and disoriented—the way only a child can wake after crying themselves to sleep. He blinks up at Sakura first, then shifts to look at his mother, who offers him a small, reassuring smile as she brushes his hair back from his forehead.

“Time to go home, sweetheart,” Yuki murmurs, rising from the chair with a quiet stretch.

Ichiro looks back at Sakura, lip wobbling again, but this time he doesn’t cry. “Will you be okay?” he asks, voice hushed.

Sakura manages a slight nod. “I’ll be okay.”

He leans forward and hugs her tightly, arms looped awkwardly around her shoulders, careful not to bump into her neck. “We’ll come back,” he promises. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Yuki echoes softly, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Sakura-chan. Rest.”

They leave together, Yuki’s arm curled around Ichiro’s shoulders, and the room feels colder in their absence.

Sakura stares at the ceiling for a while, then slowly lies back down. Sleep comes more easily than she expects. Her body, still weakened, doesn’t give her much choice.

✿✿✿

The next time she wakes, the light in the room has shifted, and someone is standing at the end of her bed.

A nurse.

She looks young, maybe a few years older than Sakura herself, though clearly seasoned. Her clipboard is tucked to her side as she steps forward, voice soft but firm.

“Haruno-san,” she begins gently, “I wanted to update you… We’re holding off on any advanced treatment for your throat and bruising until your chakra stabilizes. Right now, your levels are too low to handle regenerative jutsu safely.”

Sakura nods faintly, her throat aching with the movement.

The nurse hesitates, eyes scanning her chart again before speaking. “It’s a little odd, actually. Your chakra was recovering normally—well, slowly, but steadily—a few days ago. But then it just… stalled. For almost thirty-six hours.”

She flips a page on the clipboard, frowning thoughtfully. “We don’t know why. There wasn’t an infection or any new trauma recorded. Your vitals were stable, just... static.”

Sakura doesn’t respond. She doesn’t need to. She knows exactly what happened during those thirty-six hours.

She remembers the shadowed mindspace. The blood. The howl. The wolf.

She remembers Azumi’s death.

And she remembers Takeo.

They think her chakra stalled. But it didn’t. It burned—burned through her like wildfire as her seal shattered from the inside out, reworking the architecture of her chakra coils, breaking apart the dam she’d been funneling herself through since she was a child.

The reason it had taken so long to recover before that… well. That was simpler.

Konoha was hungry.

The trees, Hashirama’s trees, reaching their roots deep through the earth and curling like fingers around the foundation of the village—they were starving. And she was their first true source in nearly a century.

They’d been siphoning from her in her weakest state, and she had let them. Unconsciously. She’s not yet sure how not to.

“Anyway,” the nurse continues, oblivious to the undercurrents roaring beneath Sakura’s silence. “Your chakra levels jumped this morning, so we’ll keep monitoring. No jutsu just yet—we don’t want to risk destabilizing you again.”

Sakura nods once. The movement hurts.

“Do you need anything before I go?” the nurse asks gently.

Sakura’s fingers twitch around the edge of the blanket, but she shakes her head.

“No,” she croaks softly. “Thank you.”

The nurse offers another quiet smile before slipping from the room, door clicking shut behind her.

Sakura closes her eyes.

The trees are quieter now.

But they are still listening.

✿✿✿

Sakura wakes to the soft shuffle of movement and the hum of quiet voices in the hallway beyond her door. Her throat aches—no, burns—and her limbs feel weighed down, like she’s been stitched into the bed. Again.

She blinks against the dull light of morning filtering through the curtains.

“Sakura! Thank god you’re awake.”

The voice barrels into the room like a gust of wind, and before her vision fully sharpens, Naruto is at her bedside, crouched and wide-eyed and vibrating with tension.

Though his tone is relieved, his whole frame hums with unease—shoulders stiff, hands clenched too tightly at his sides. He looks like he hasn’t slept.

“Tsunade-baa sent me out so she could work on Sasuke and Kakashi-sensei, and I overheard from one of the nurses that you’ve been unconscious for a day!” he blurts out in a rush. “Nobody will tell me what happened!”

His mouth pulls down, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “What the hell, Sakura? You—you didn’t look that bad before I left! What happened?!”

Sakura blinks slowly, adjusting to both the brightness of the room and the force of his presence. It takes a few seconds for her thoughts to align. Her mouth opens and closes a few times futilely.

“Hi, Naruto.”

His breath hitches at how raw she sounds, the bravado slipping from his face like a mask coming loose.

“Hi,” he says again, softer this time. His eyes dart to the bruising still shadowing her throat, and the healing scabs near her collarbone. “...Who did this?”

And just like that, the weight of the room shifts.

Before Sakura can speak, the door slams open with such force that it cracks against the wall.

In the doorway stands Sasuke—still clad in a hospital gown, Sharingan spinning wildly, chakra surging with panic and pain. His eyes scan the room, frantic, until they land on her—and on Naruto, alive and unscathed.

The panic in his chakra collapses all at once.

His Sharingan fades, and Sakura feels it—his chakra draining so fast it leaves a pressure drop in the air. He sways.

“Sasuke!” she cries, surging out of bed.

She and Naruto catch him just in time as his legs give out beneath him. “On the bed,” she says quickly, already guiding him. “Naruto, help me get him up.”

Together, they lift him—half-drag, half-carry—into the hospital bed she had only just vacated. He slumps against the frame, chest heaving, eyes dazed.

“What the hell was that about, teme?!” Naruto barks, hands still braced on Sasuke’s shoulders. “Tsunade-baa said you weren’t cleared for chakra use for two days !”

Sasuke’s gaze is distant, glazed. Sakura notices—his hands are shaking. She reaches for them, wrapping her fingers around his.

“Sasuke?” she whispers gently.

His eyes flicker to hers, focus sharpening just enough.

“Sasuke, what did he do?” she asks, because there’s only one ‘he’ that would cause this.

His voice is a whisper, hoarse and venomous. “The massacre.”

He looks haunted—but underneath the grief, there’s something sharper. Rage.

“I’ve seen it so many times that it started to lose impact. Genjutsu over and over, the same images, the same deaths. But this time—” His voice breaks into a snarl, “ This time, the two of you were there. I watched him kill you. Over and over. Ninety-four different ways.”

His chakra bristles like static. His Sharingan doesn’t return, but for a moment, Sakura swears there’s a red haze to his eyes.

“When the nurse said you were unconscious right after waking…” He exhales hard, grounding himself. “I thought… maybe I was too late.”

Silence settles over them—heavy and pulsing. Three children, survivors, breathing in the aftermath of war, haunted by what has been done to them and what they’ve done to survive.

Sakura squeezes his hands once and looks to Naruto, who gives Sasuke’s shoulder a squeeze of his own, “We’re alright. Itachi didn’t touch us. He’s not in the village anymore.”

He’s watching her closely, worry plain on his face. When he speaks, it’s softer than usual—no less earnest, but tempered with something steadier.

“We’re alright,” he says, echoing her earlier words in an attempt to cement the facts in Sasuke’s brain. “Itachi didn’t touch us. He’s not in the village anymore.”

Sasuke exhales shakily. A muscle twitches in his jaw. He nods, slow and deliberate.

But Naruto’s eyes shift back to her, and his voice changes.

“But somebody did hurt Sakura.”

The temperature in the room drops. Sakura feels it immediately, the shift in pressure, in chakra. The hair on her arms prickles.

“I asked around,” Naruto continues, quieter now, “but nobody would tell me specifics. Only that it was bad. And that it was someone from here.”

Sakura swallows thickly. She feels the weight of both their gazes, heavy and waiting. She imagines Inner—her Inner—might have asked, Do you trust them?

But there’s no need for questions anymore.

Sakura breathes in slowly. Out, slower.

“Yes,” she says. “Someone hurt me.”

There is no hesitation in her voice. No flinching.

And then, she tells them. Not just about the day before—about the hospital room and the slammed door and the bruises she still can’t heal—but everything. Her past. Her home. The way chakra could be used to hide damage instead of cure it. The muzzle. The silence. The loneliness.

The whole thing comes out steady, matter-of-fact, like a report. But telling Sasuke and Naruto is different.

When she told Yuki, there was an apology. With Kakashi-sensei, the little she’d confirmed, quiet acceptance. But her boys—her boys get angry .

Naruto, who she’s always associated with sunlight and warmth, has a glacial stare fixed on the far wall. Sasuke, whom she’d thought she understood in rage, in grief, is so still she wonders if he’s breathing at all.

The malicious, volatile chakra chokes all of the air from the room, drowns her in feelings of how dare they touch what’s ours—ours to protect—our teammate, our Sakura, our hime, ours ours ours .

Blood drips onto the hospital sheets—Naruto’s palms split open where his nails have dug through skin. Sasuke’s hands tremble violently in her own, a vibration of fury thrumming through her bones. The killing intent in the room is heavier than any she felt during the invasion. Denser. Personal.

Sakura blinks at them, confused—again. Like she had been when Yuki apologized for not knowing .

“You’re… angry,” she says slowly, more observation than question. Their eyes snap to hers in unison.

“Why?”

Naruto’s hands twitch. Sasuke’s jaw tenses.

“Sakura,” Sasuke says, voice chillingly calm— too calm. That familiar monotone of tightly coiled fury. “Naruto and I. We’re your teammates, right?”

“Yes.” She replies cautiously. She doesn’t see where he’s going. But Naruto seems to.

“If one of the villagers insulted or hit Naruto in front of you,” Sasuke continues, “what would you do?”

Her answer slips out before she thinks. “Kill them.”

Naruto’s eyes widen—just barely. Sasuke nods. As if that’s the answer he had expected.

“And if you were there,” Sasuke continues, “when Itachi attacked me?”

“Kill him,” she says instantly. No hesitation. Like the answer should be obvious.

Naruto’s head dips slightly in agreement this time, a shadow crossing his face at the thought of Itachi. “How would that make you feel?” he asks.

Sakura pauses. Her mouth parts.

Livid. Livid.

“…Oh,” she whispers. It settles into her, slow and cold. A recognition. Her chakra stutters in her coils as she realizes what they’ve done— they’ve made her understand .

Her boys ease the pressure of their chakra. They understand something, too, now. They understand that Sakura’s detachment isn’t born of apathy—it’s survival. It’s a childhood that didn’t allow for rage, only silence. Emotions kept her unsafe. And now, she doesn’t always know what to do with them.

They sit in silence for a while. Then Naruto, quiet, asks:

“Would you really kill someone who hurt me? Even if they were from Konoha?”

Sasuke snaps his gaze to him. And almost as one, both he and Sakura reach out, each grabbing one of Naruto’s hands.

“Of course,” Sakura answers flatly, in unison with their darker-haired teammate.

“I don’t care who it is,” she says. “If anyone tries to hurt either of you, it’s their head on the line. Even a Kage would have to get through me first.”

She falters, just a second. “Anyone who thinks they can hurt wh—” She cuts off the what’s mine that wants to escape, corrects herself, “—one of you without consequence.”

Sasuke’s eyes narrow. “Konoha could burn,” he says, “and there would be no love lost. It’s done no favors for any of us. Not for her childhood,” he nods toward Sakura. “Not for mine, or my clan before they died. Not for how you’ve been treated, Naruto. It keeps failing.”

He takes a breath. “I— we —care for the village because you care for the village.”

Sakura nods. 

“Oh.” And for a second, it looks like Naruto might argue—might rise to defend the village he loves so much, defend the place that orphaned and ostracized him for something out of his control. But then his eyes flicker, lingering on the bruises wrapped around Sakura’s throat.

“Then if Konoha burns…” he says, voice quiet, dangerous.

His chakra flares, caught between the sun-bright gold of his usual self and the sharp red edge of something older , something wilder .

“… We let it. ”

Chapter Text

They sit until the anger thins.

Until the killing intent eases off their skin and the room stops feeling like the inside of a held breath. Until Naruto’s hands stop bleeding and Sasuke’s hands go from trembling to merely cold in Sakura’s grip. Until the chakra in the room feels less like it’s trying to wrap around her and sear the feelings of righteous indignation and protective fury into her very own coils.

When they finally loosen their grips on one another's hands, it’s not because anything is fixed. It’s because visiting hours end and a nurse with tired eyes clears her throat at the door. Naruto mutters something about bringing breakfast in the morning. Sasuke, still pale, tells them they’ll eat in his room tomorrow before he’s discharged. They go.

Sakura is left alone with the quiet.

It is a different quiet than before. There is no soft brush against her skull, no sarcastic comment or quiet, leaking hiss of tightly coiled anger chained tightly behind her ribcage that would often leak into Inner’s commentary. 

It's quiet with edges. It’s echoey. If she speaks inside it, she hears herself.

That’s the part that startles her—how loud her own thinking is without the second voice to braid through it. Without the quick, dry correction. Without the sharp nudge when she’s pretending not to notice something she should.

She turns onto her side and stares at the thin line of shadow beneath the door until the hall light winks out. If she reaches for Inner, there’s no catch. No hand meets hers from the other side. She breathes in. Out.

Fine , she tells the ceiling, as if it had asked. Then teach me.

✿✿✿

Her mind doesn’t fall all the way into dream; it skims the edges, sliding over seams that don’t want to be opened.

Tree-shadows. Late light through leaves. The ache in her body is heavy, heat pooled in some places, cold in others, her breath catching in her chest as she drags herself along the dirt path toward the civilian district. Her knees feel wet. She doesn’t look down.

She knows this section of forest—too well. Hidden beneath the canopy, past old-forgotten graves that must have meant something to someone once, lies Training Ground Forty-Six.

(Hiroshi had practically christened it with her blood.)

A shape between the trees. Too still. Then another, behind it. They shouldn’t be there—she knows this in the same way she knows when she’s being watched during training.

Masks. White, blank.

For a moment they are sharp enough to touch.

One taller, still as stone—chakra sharp, humming like steel drawn across ice. (Steel-ice-sharp, she called them, because they’d never given her a name.) The other shorter, but heavier somehow, his watching weight settling deeper than the first—ink-cool chakra, steady as a drawn line. (Ink-cool-steady, nameless, too.)

Then—blink—the edges smear. She’s not sure if the masks had faces at all.

Her mouth is dry, but the question comes anyway: “Who are you?”

Steel-ice-sharp tilts their head, a fractional movement that says they’ve heard. Their voice is low, even—like stating the weather. “You shouldn’t be walking alone like this.”

The words shiver apart.

White between the leaves, half-seen, half-remembered: her crawl home after every session between her tenth and eleventh birthday. The two presences always bleeding into one another—ink into ice, ice into ink. One meant the other was close.

And then she’s somewhere else—maybe a clearing, maybe only the memory of one. It’s half-familiar, but it won’t hold still long enough to name.

Ink-cool-steady stands there without his partner. Shadows cling tighter to the edges of a mask she can’t see. His eyes are unreadable. His voice comes out like something that hurts to speak.

“ He’s gone .”

She doesn’t ask who. She already knows—like knowing the instant before you lose your footing.

The air tastes like ink.

(There is no ice.)

And then she’s alone.

Morning is a pale square on the floor and the grit in her throat. Her neck is a ring of dull heat that flares if she swallows too fast. Someone has left a paper cup on the tray; the water tastes like pipe and chlorine. She drinks anyway.

The quiet in her head has learned to breathe with her.

The hall carries low arguments and slippered footsteps. Somewhere, someone laughs too loudly and cuts the sound off with a hiss, as if it hurts to do so. Sakura swings her legs over the side of the bed and waits a second for the room to stop tilting sideways. Then she stands.

Her feet remember the route before she does. Three doors left, two right, the second window with the view of the cracked stucco and a stubborn fern in a clay pot that a nurse keeps forgetting to take home. Kakashi’s room is just beyond the fern. Sakura pauses at the plant’s rim to touch a brittle frond—brown halfway down. She turns the pot a quarter turn to the light.

Old habit. She eases the door open just enough to slip inside.

“Jerk-sensei.” Her voice is flat, almost bored, as she steps into the hospital room—pointedly ignoring the blonde woman across from him, whom she recognizes as the new Hokage, and caring just as little. “Back in bed, old man. I can smell the chakra exhaustion from here.”

It’s not wrong, exactly. Just bare. Inner used to lean over her shoulder at moments like this, shifting the weight of a word, tilting the sharpness of her tone— not too loud, not too soft. Keep your head down here. Lift your chin here. Be meek here. Do not show weakness here. Now there’s only the echo of that touch, a phantom adjustment that never lands.

The silver-haired man freezes mid-excuse, caught halfway through convincing the Godaime that, despite having one leg out the window, he cared very much for his health and was absolutely planning to stay until he’d recovered.

“Maa, Sakura-chan, is that any way to speak to your beloved sensei?”

She lifts one unimpressed eyebrow. “It is when he goes around picking fights with missing-nin every time I turn my back.” The phrasing feels like it should roll off cleaner than it does. The edge is still hers—always has been—but without that quiet nudge to smooth it, it lands harder, heavier.

Kakashi’s eyes curve in that way that means he’s hiding a smile. “I am a jounin, you know, my cute little genin. I can take care of myself.” The leg still settled on the floor inside the room stiffens, his chakra feeling more like static electricity than the sharp lightning she’s used too, and he’s forced to draw the other leg back in unless he wants to risk landing on something he wants to keep in tact.

“You.” She points at him, then at the bed. “In bed. Now.”

The command falls flat in the air between them, stripped down to its bones. It’s odd—how she has to think about her own inflection again, like relearning a movement her body used to make without thought. The instincts that shaped her are still there, but the second set of hands guiding them is gone.

His gaze flicks between his student and the Hokage. Whatever he sees in her face makes him think better of arguing. He sits.

She holds his eyes a moment longer, then turns and leaves without so much as a glance in Tsunade’s direction.

Sasuke’s room isn’t far from their sensei’s — back through the same hallway, second door on the right.

Naruto is already there when she arrives, perched on Sasuke’s hospital bed. The two of them sit shoulder to shoulder, a rolling table pulled close and loaded with the choice of breakfast.

The obvious culprits are easy to spot: a to-go container from Ichiraku’s, probably holding a miso, a tonkotsu, and a shoyu ramen in neat rows, and a paper bag from the dango stand they never seem to pass without stopping. Sakura has told them more than once that ramen and dango are not breakfast foods — but the spread isn’t all bad. There’s also bowls of white rice, a small plate of rakkyōzuke, and neatly divided portions of grilled fish.

She decides she can let it slide this time.

Not that she’d turn down the ramen and dango anyway. After a month of hospital cafeteria food, she’d eat just about anything.

Kami, she can’t wait for her chakra to behave again.

“Did you start without me?” she asks, closing the door behind her. Pulling one of the padded chairs from along the wall, she sits across from them. The rolling table is too high for their usual preference of sitting cross-legged on the floor when they eat together, so the chair will have to do.

Naruto flicks a piece of rakkyōzuke at her with a scrunched nose. “Of course not.”

Sakura catches it neatly between her now-separated chopsticks, tossing it into her mouth. The vinegary bite lingers on her tongue.

“How could we ever start to eat without the Hime herself present?”

Sasuke hums in agreement, his mouth too full of dango to speak, but he lifts his chopsticks and gestures them vaguely at her, like that somehow makes Naruto’s point.

Sakura scrunches her nose and knits her brows in response — just a small, unconscious twist of her expression. Every time she does it, though, Naruto and Sasuke look at her like she’s just parted the sky.

( They look at her like that a lot. )

“Sasuke-teme is being released today, after being unconscious for a month, and you’re still gonna be stuck here?” Naruto says, cutting straight to the point. It’s not really a question — more the opening move in the conversation breakfast was always going to circle toward. This is the first time they’ve all been together since the invasion, and the first time they’ve been able to talk about it without someone hovering.

Sakura hums, nodding as she sandwiches a piece of rakkyōzuke between two bites of grilled fish.

Sasuke steals a grain of rice from Naruto’s bowl without looking, his other hand flicking out to block Naruto’s retaliation before the chopsticks even get close. 

“It is a little weird,” he concedes. “I mean, for all intents and purposes, Kakashi-sensei and I have been tortured for the last month. His chakra’s still scraping the bottom, mine’s barely recovering.” His eyes cut toward her, sharp under the lashes. “You’ve been here the same month, recovering from chakra exhaustion. Normally that’s… what? A week at the longest?”

Sakura shrugs. “Trees.”

“…Trees,” Naruto repeats, hands pausing mid-air. The chopsticks in his grip dip. “Sakura, what does that mean?”

She glances at Sasuke for help, but finds him watching her with the same careful blankness Naruto’s wearing. The edges of their chakra tell a different story — concern curling under the surface, pressing against the curiosity. And she knows, by the absence of the teasing “ hime ” in Naruto’s voice, which of those is gaining ground.

“Sakura,” Sasuke says, and she doesn’t like the way it sounds in his mouth either — not these days. The hazy confusion has already tightened into something sharper, a clean line of focus she can feel like a blade across her skin. “Explain.”

“Okay, don’t be weird,” she warns, aiming for reassurance. It does the opposite — their chakra flares, quick and tight.

“So maybe the trees are hungry.”

“Sakura.” Naruto exhales like he’s bracing himself.

“And maybe they can communicate.”

Sasuke drags both hands over his face. “What.”

“I mean not in words, exactly,” she says, unbothered. “It’s more like… when feelings bleed through chakra, but sharper. Focused. Enough that you can read intent—sometimes even the impression of words.”

“I—” Naruto’s mouth opens, closes. “I don’t even know what to say to that. Sakura, what do you mean the trees talk to you?”

“Let it be clear,” she says, chopsticks rising to point at him for emphasis, “the words ‘the trees can talk to me’ never came out of my mouth.”

Sasuke groans into his hands.

“What are they intending now, then?” Naruto asks. “Is that why you haven’t left yet?”

Sapling. Sapling. Protect. Small.

Sakura hums. “I mean, they were hard-pressed the first week or so, but I was still recovering. All that’s really coming through now is things like protect .” She shrugs, snagging another piece of fish before it cools. “The only reason I haven’t been discharged yet is because I apparently had a seal in my head that broke.”

Sasuke’s head shot up, and Naruto dropped his chopsticks to focus completely on her. The air was full of concern now, curiosity choked out completely, fear leaking into the edges.

“Okay, Sakura.” Sasuke leans forward, “I’m going to need you to present the latter half of what you just told us as though you were giving a report, okay?”

Sakura furrows her eyebrows in confusion, but complies nonetheless and straightens in her chair, setting her chopsticks down like she’s about to brief a superior officer.

“Around three weeks after the invasion I was visited in my hospital room by Haruno Kizashi—my biological father. The conversation escalated to physical assault. At some point during the altercation, he attempted strangulation. While this was happening, I experienced a… significant psychic and physical event. Subjectively, it felt like something inside my head snapped. Objectively, my chakra network registered a surge well above normal operating levels—hospital monitors confirmed the spike before I lost consciousness.”

Her eyes flick between them, gauging their attention before continuing. “Upon regaining awareness, I found myself in a mental-space environment—later identified as my own unconscious mind—where I encountered Takeo, a summon from the Kagerou clan. He informed me that what broke during the assault was something called a ‘Shadow Seal.’ It’s a hereditary protection mechanism, appearing in roughly thirty percent of Kagerou children, with four known stages: Inactive, Semi-Dormant, Active, and Broken.”

She pauses, leaning back slightly. “The stages are triggered by extreme events. Semi-Dormant in moments of near-death. Active after the complete loss of trust and innocence—this was when I first manifested who I had referred to as Inner. Broken occurs under conditions that replicate the trauma which created the shadow self in the first place, but instead of fracturing further, the self and shadow merge back into one psyche. According to Takeo, the last known person to complete all four stages was Senju Azumi.”

Her voice drops just a fraction. “He also confirmed that, with the seal broken, Inner is… gone. Or, more accurately, re-integrated. Which means anything she would have thought, known, or felt is now mine to remember—if I can.”

She looks down at her hands for a moment, then back up. “This information has not been reported to the hospital staff, superior officers, or anyone else until this conversation.”

Sasuke takes a slow breath in, measured, and Naruto gives a single, sharp nod—then another, slower one.

“Okay,” Naruto says finally. “Okay. So… what do we do now?” He scratches at the back of his head, thinking aloud. “Surely this counts as a kekkei genkai or something, right?”

Sakura blinks. “I mean, it doesn’t have many battle applications. All it did was—allegedly—keep me from going insane when I was a kid.”

Sasuke shakes his head, letting his breath out in a quiet sigh. “No. Naruto’s right. To the council, this will count as a kekkei genkai. Normally it wouldn’t even be much of a blip on their radar—you’d just fill out some paperwork saying it shows up in one out of however many in the bloodline, and that would be the end of it.”

He looks between them, holding each gaze deliberately. “But combined with the fact that you are now known to possess natural Mokuton—and can use it—it’s different. Add the highly, highly likely chance that you share the sensing abilities of the Nidaime…” His tone hardens. “We cannot let anyone we do not trust with our bodies after death find out about this.”

Sakura blinks again. “I don’t have the Nidaime’s senses.”

“He was known to never be able to turn it off,” Sasuke says flatly. “And normal people do not feel emotions through chakra, Sakura.”

Naruto raises a hand. “I can.”

Without breaking eye contact with her, Sasuke points at him. “Which further proves my point that normal people cannot do it.”

Sakura nods—Naruto has always been able to do things no one else could, courtesy of being a Jinchuriki.

“Okay rude.” Naruto mutters without heat, “So, we keep it between us?”

Sasuke nods once. “We tell no one Sakura doesn’t tell herself.”

“Okay,” Sakura agrees, reaching for another piece of fish. “And I’m going to eat all the rakkyōzuke if you two keep staring at me instead of eating.”

The rest of breakfast passes as it always has—quiet bickering, shared food, the comfort of familiar company.

✿✿✿

Since breaking her seal, sleep came in bursts—blood-slick and jagged—or not at all.

Without Inner to stand guard, the tight box she’d built over years was left unattended, its seams leaking into her dreams. Nightmares bled into memories she couldn’t remember living. Sometimes she woke unsure which was which.

Faces swam up and vanished. Ichiro’s. Yuki’s. Her team dying because she hesitated. Her father’s hands on her throat. The lines blurred until the only thing that felt certain was the taste of fear when she opened her eyes.

It would drive anyone else mad. Maybe it would drive her mad too—if she hadn’t already learned, since childhood, the thousand small ways to keep herself steady. The tone pitched just right, the glance held or averted, the weight of a word placed where it would do the least harm. Those choices had always come as easily as breathing, guided by a voice just under her own. Now, the voice was gone, and every decision felt a fraction heavier in her hands.

But even the training cracked in those moments between dream and waking, when the thought sank in like a knife: someone might have died trying to fix a problem that was never theirs to fix.

Sakura is a shinobi. Shinobi do not break. Shinobi do not falter.

They do not do not do not .

Sakura is twelve .

✿✿✿

She’s moving before she knows where she is—bare ground underfoot, summer heat pressing heavy, the smell of iron sitting sharp in her nose. 

Hiroshi’s voice threads through the air, calm and exact, telling her to lower her stance, breathe through her teeth.

And she knows, as she’s always known, that they are watching.

Not a hunch. Not paranoia. Fact—solid as the dirt under her sandals, the ache in her calves. She can feel them, though it's faint, only just a twinge of something hidden in the feelings of the wind and bark surrounding her, hidden further behind Hiroshi’s sharp-wind-edged and blood-tinged chakra.

The white comes first, from the corner of her vision: the curve of something smooth where a face should be. A mask, maybe, though she has never seen one in full. When she turns her head, the shape smears, like chalk dissolving under water.

Steel-ice-sharp is there. So is ink-cool-steady. Always together. Always just far enough away that she can’t quite meet their eyes.

Hiroshi never mentions them. She never asks.

Back then, Inner had been the one to nudge her attention back to the placement of her feet, to tighten the warning in her spine when the watchers drifted closer. 

( Hiroshi had always been harsher if she messed up when they were around, she recalls now. )

The ache in her calves sharpens—

No, not her calves. Hands. Her hands, clamped hard around the column of a man’s throat, the pulse hammering against her fingers until it stutters and stills.

The heat on her back thickens—

No, warmth. Blood soaking into the crease of her palm where a woman’s ankle is caught in wire, the skin opening in clean, straight lines.

The sound of Hiroshi’s voice—

No, someone else’s, breathing wrong. Wet. Rattling. Because she’s broken something inside them.

Hiroshi calls it necessary practice. Sometimes there’s a reason. Sometimes there isn’t.

She never calls them anything.

Inner had taken these things and locked them away, lids sealed tight, no edges sticking out. But here, in the dream, the lids shift. The contents leak. She sees more, not less.

Blood in her hair—

Blood in water—

Wave. Her hands move without hesitation, killing as neatly as peeling fruit.

The salt smell thickens—

No, not salt. Smoke. From the invasion, curling around her as she moves again and again, her body steady before the thought of killing even forms.

And then the silence—

The faint hum of hospital equipment. 

She remembers the weight in her limbs, the bone-deep drain of chakra, the bodies already cooling by the time she thought to count them the first time she woke after the invasion. No guilt. No sorrow. Not even surprise. Just the fact of it: shinobi hurt, and are hurt in turn. That is the work.

Yuki’s apology had been strange. Naruto’s anger, Sasuke’s too.

What else did they think a kunoichi was for?

The killing had always been part of the shape of life.

She thinks—almost hears—that Inner would have said something here. Something about wrongness. About how the way she’d been raised wasn’t normal, wasn’t safe. But even in her own head, the words don’t land. They dissolve before they can take shape, like water sinking into sand.

If she pushes at the thought, it wavers.

If it was wrong… why did it happen?

Her neighbors had eyes. She remembers meeting them—starless nights on the back porch, rain threading through her hair and down her sleeves, the ache of an empty stomach curling under her ribs. They looked right at her. They didn’t say a word.

Hiroshi had told her she was being trained.

Can training be wrong? Can it be too harsh, when the thing you are training to be is a killer?

Hiroshi beat her—yes.

But shinobi are beaten, again and again, until they can’t be moved.

Hiroshi told her to kill, and she did. Told her to hurt, and she did. Sometimes because he scared her. Sometimes because she didn’t want to be hurt herself. But isn’t following orders just another skill? Another muscle to build?

Becoming a kunoichi is the only thing she has ever let herself want. The only thing she’s taken with both hands and held on to. She’s careful not to leave claw marks in it, because claw marks mean you think it can be taken away. And it will not be taken from her.

Sakura hates Hiroshi. Hates Kizashi and Mebuki.

This she knows, has known for a long, long time. 

But she isn’t entirely sure why.

She would like to think that Inner would have a reason. But wasn’t Inner also her? Takeo had said they’d merged—remerged—so shouldn’t she know what Inner knew? Shouldn’t she be able to put the pieces together?

Shouldn’t she be able to tell what she’s feeling?

The hum of the equipment thickens in her ears. Becomes breathing.

Not hers.

Close.

She blinks—but the white curve of a mask slips away before she can turn her head, leaving only the weight of its gaze behind.

( Why doesn’t Sakura know anything about herself? )

✿✿✿

She wakes to the hum of hospital equipment, and she doesn’t have long to parse through the fading memory of her dream before her head is snapping to the side in fear, adrenaline locking her spine and filling her veins.

There is chakra smothered in the taste of rot, and slithering with the unmistakable taint of snake scales moving slowly toward Konoha’s walls.

And just under it, pushed back and choking underneath the rot and slime, is Sasuke.

Chapter Text

Sakura doesn’t think—her body just moves.

The hospital window yawns open, and she’s already out of it, pajama shirt thin as paper clinging damp against her back, bare feet hitting the shingles hard enough to sting. The sensation barely registers. There isn’t time.

The rot-slick chakra pulls her forward, thick and coiling. Underneath it—smothered, strained, flickering like a lantern drowning in smoke—Sasuke’s. Too faint for anyone else to catch. But she feels it as clearly as the ground under her soles.

She cuts through Konoha’s streets in a dead sprint. Cobblestones bite into her heels. Vendors shout. Someone curses as she shoulders past. The air smells like frying oil, incense, wet stone. None of it matters. Her pulse is already tuned to the rhythm of that chakra thread.

She cuts through the red-light district and it breaks around her like a tide. Drunks slouch against walls. Laughter too sharp. A hand grabs for her hair, and she twists without looking, never slowing. Another lurches into her path and she vaults over him, pain sparking in her knees when she lands. Always forward. Always closer.

The rot thickens—closer now. She doesn’t need to see him to know. The smothered pulse flares in answer, stubborn, ragged. The thought of someone with ill-intent so close to her teammate where she cannot see makes her skin crawl.

And then—Sasuke.

Clothes torn by kunai, a snarl carved into his mouth showing his bloodied teeth. The mark at his neck ripples, black against pale skin, as if waiting for him to give in. He doesn’t. He refuses.

Opposite him, an Oto-nin grins wide enough to show every tooth. Their chakra is slick, unclean. Sakura doesn’t bother memorizing features. She doesn’t worry about finding something to identify them if she runs into them later in life. 

They won’t live long enough for it to matter.

She skids to a stop in the mud in front of him. Pajama legs already streaked with dirt and water. Feet raw and bleeding. Hair wild, eyes glowing too bright—chakra spilling out in thin cracks of green-white lightning until her pupils all but vanish.

The ground answers her before she finishes thinking it. Roots surge up and coil fast, splitting through stone and soil alike. The Oto-nin jerks once, twice, before the tearing drowns everything out. No time for a scream. Blood sprays hot across her back.

She doesn’t watch. She doesn’t care. Her focus is already on the boy staggering in front of her, one hand pressed hard against his side to keep it from spilling further.

For one raw second, she wonders if he’ll see her as the monster she might be. But when his gaze lifts, there’s no judgment. Just relief. Just recognition.

His mouth tugs into the smallest, tired smile. “Took you long enough, Sakura.”

Then he falls into her arms, heavy and unconscious.

✿✿✿

Sakura stands in the Hokage’s office for the first time since Team Seven’s report after the Wave mission. The room hasn’t changed. Same desk. Same portraits of past Hokage staring down from the walls. The only difference is the woman sitting in the chair.

Senju Tsunade watches her from behind the desk, and Sakura—still in bloodied, paper-thin hospital pajamas—stands at attention like it’s her first time being seen at all. The memory of the encounter in Kakashi’s room feels distant now, half-imagined under fluorescent lights.

The woman’s gaze drags over her, clinical and heavy. For a flicker of a moment, Sakura catches something in those eyes—something that reminds her of Mebuki, faint and far-off, like the echo of a bloodline she never asked to share. The resemblance is distant, but it’s there. And it makes her skin crawl.

Tsunade leans back in her chair, expression unreadable. “So let me get this straight. You killed a Sound nin at dawn—” her tone carries the dry rhythm of disbelief “—because you felt your teammate’s chakra distress signal from across the village.”

Sakura blinks. “Yes.”

The Hokage stares. The seconds stretch long enough for Sakura to start counting the pattern of light shifting across the desk.

Then Tsunade exhales, low and tired. “Elaborate.”

Sakura obeys automatically—because when a superior asks for clarification, you give it. “I woke in my hospital room and felt a foreign chakra. It matched what I’d felt during the invasion. Sasuke’s chakra was beneath it, flaring in a distress signal. Because of Orochimaru’s prior interest in my teammate and the active distress, I deemed it necessary to respond immediately. I didn’t believe there would be time to alert anyone else.”

Tsunade’s brows rise a fraction. “And when you found them?”

“They were fighting,” Sakura answers, tone flat but steady.

“So you killed him.” It’s not a question.

“Yes.”

A pause. Then, quieter: “How?”

“Mokuton.” Sakura does not hesitate in her answer, she’d already been seen using it during the exams and in the invasion. There was no point in attempting to keep an open secret.

Tsunade’s expression tightens, a flicker of something moving under the surface—Sakura cannot tell what it is. She reaches into a drawer, pulls out a bottle of sake, and tips back a long swallow before setting it down with a soft thud. “Alright, pinky. Start from the top. When did you first manifest Mokuton? And list everything you can do with it.”

Sakura blinks. “Everything?”

“Everything,” Tsunade says, reaching for the bottle again. “And don’t leave out the parts that sound strange. I’ve heard worse.”

✿✿✿

Hours pass. The light shifts in the office, going from gold to gray. Sakura’s throat burns from talking, but she doesn’t stop. She explains how she’d first discovered the Mokuton during her mission to Wave, the way the trees respond faster now, how they sometimes move before she does.

She doesn’t tell Tsunade that they whisper. That when she’s half-awake, she can hear them murmur sapling, protect, small. That sometimes their roots twitch toward her when she passes, like living things waiting for orders. Or that during the invasion the voices buried in the rustle, telling her to keep the village safe. She doesn’t tell her that sometimes it feels like Sakura doesn’t control the trees at all, but more like she is simply a conduit for them.

By the time she finishes, Tsunade’s second bottle is empty.

The woman drops heavily into her chair and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Okay,” she says finally, voice sandpaper-dry. “Any history of human experimentation in your past that you know of?”

Sakura blinks. “No, Hokage-sama.”

A mark of pen on paper.

“Any contact with Orochimaru that resulted in a seal, curse mark, or experimental procedure?”

“No.”

Another mark.

“Any relation to Senju Hashirama?”

“Yes.”

Tsunade stills mid-stroke. Slowly, her eyes lift. “…What?”

“Senju Hashirama is my great-grandfather,” Sakura answers plainly.

The silence that follows is heavy enough to press against her lungs.

Without breaking eye contact, Tsunade opens a drawer and pulls out a folder already half-filled with papers. She flips through quickly before looking down to read them. “Surely sensei would have—” she mutters, then stops. “...You’re Mebuki’s daughter.”

Sakura says nothing.

The Hokage’s chakra sharpens in the room like a drawn blade. She digs through another drawer and pulls out a thinner folder—this one stamped with Sakura’s name. The weight of the silence is almost unbearable as Tsunade reads. Sakura can feel her pulse in her fingertips, in the soft tremor under her skin that she can’t quite suppress.

Something sparks.

Chakra flares in the room, sudden and sharp, like a storm snapping against glass. The betrayal in it is almost physical. Sakura’s throat closes as her hand twitches toward the floorboards—the reflex to call roots immediate, unthinking. The anguish that surges with it is hers and not hers, spilling over until it burns out.

Then Tsunade moves—quick, deliberate—pushing away from the desk to kneel in front of her. A file in hand. “Tell me if any of this is false,” she says, voice roughened but low, handing the folder out.

Sakura stares. Then takes it.

The first page is harmless. Birth date. Height. Weight. Chakra capacity. She turns it.

Then she reads:

April 8th, Year 82 A.F.
HATAKE KAKASHI came to Sandaime Hokage, SARUTOBI HIRUZEN, with the request to investigate the house of HARUNO SAKURA under suspicion of abuse; DENIED.

April 10th, Year 82 A.F.
HATAKE KAKASHI came to Sandaime Hokage, SARUTOBI HIRUZEN, with the request to investigate the house of HARUNO SAKURA under suspicion of abuse; DENIED.

DENIED.
DENIED.
DENIED.
DENIED.
DENIED.
DENIED.
DENIED.
DENIED.

June 7th, Year 82 A.F.
MAITO GAI came to Sandaime Hokage, SARUTOBI HIRUZEN, with the request to investigate the house of HARUNO SAKURA under suspicion of abuse; DENIED.

DENIED.
DENIED.
DENIED.
DENIED.

Sakura stares at the ink. Traces the names with her fingertips. Kakashi. Gai.

They tried, she thinks, distant. They tried, and the Hokage wouldn’t let them.

When she finally speaks, her voice is barely there. “No,” she says, still touching the letters like they might vanish if she lets go. “None of it is false.”

Tsunade’s expression flattens into something unreadable, the storm behind her eyes quieting into iron. “I see.” She stands, takes the file back carefully, and sets it aside. “Dismissed.”

Sakura bows low, because that’s what a shinobi does before their Hokage, even when their legs feel hollow.

(Even when the loyalty is not there)

“Haruno Sakura,” Tsunade says as she turns to leave.

Sakura looks back.

“These denials,” Tsunade says, voice firm as bedrock, “no longer stand under me.”

The world wavers, soft and strange. She gives another small bow. “Good day, Hokage-sama.”

And with that, she leaves the office—the air still humming faintly behind her, like a seal breaking all over again.

She doesn’t believe her.

✿✿✿

Sakura does not return to the hospital—at least not immediately.
She settles herself atop the Shodaime’s carved head, bare feet sticking absently to the stone, the rock still warm from the day’s sun.

Naruto’s chakra is a steady beacon even from across the village, a familiar thrum she can feel without trying. Sasuke’s is there too, a sharp crackle dulled to soft static by unconsciousness. Somewhere near the hospital, there’s a whisper of lightning-tinged metal moving too quickly to be subtle, and Sakura almost rolls her eyes.

Almost.

The memory of stark ink rises instead.
Ten neat entries.
DENIED.
DENIED.
DENIED.

The urge dissolves, like water poured over oil.

She tries to think the way Inner would have. Tries to supply herself with the quiet commentary, the nudges that used to arrive without effort. Ask the right question. Follow it through. Don’t stop where it’s comfortable.

Why would the Hokage deny it?
Why would it matter?
Why, why, why—

Sakura doesn’t know.

It could have been political, she supposes. The explanation slots itself into place easily, too easily. It’s not something Konoha talks about; the loss of the Senju clan stains the village’s reputation in the eyes of the other hidden villages and their Kage. She remembers her sensei saying it months ago, tone carefully neutral. To lose a founding clan is damaging.

Inner would have pointed out—dry, sharp—that discovering the remaining descendants of that same founding clan were abusing children inside the village their grandfather built to keep children off the battlefield would be worse.

Sakura exhales slowly.

She isn’t sure what to do with that thought. Everything circles back to the same uncomfortable place: that what happened to her was wrong. That it wasn’t just harsh training, wasn’t just the price of becoming a shinobi. That if the Hokage had known—really known—he might have been obligated to help her.

The idea doesn’t settle right.

Training was supposed to hurt. Shinobi were supposed to endure. She had endured. She had survived. She had become useful, strong, dangerous—everything she was meant to be. If it had worked, then how could it have been wrong?

The village sprawls beneath her, lights beginning to flicker on one by one. Somewhere below, people are eating dinner. Laughing. Pretending the ground they stand on isn’t layered with bones and compromises and quiet refusals stamped in ink.

She thinks of an old man she’s never met—written down as a legend who walked. It’s easier to accept that she shares an ability with him than it is to accept they share blood.

It isn’t unknown history. Senju Hashirama and Senju Tobirama, when they founded the village alongside Uchiha Madara—the Academy could redact his name as much as it liked after the Massacre; Sakura isn’t stupid—had wanted one thing above all else.

To keep children from war.

Sakura knows better. Konoha’s greatest threats were already on the battlefield before they were ten.

She thinks of Mebuki’s honeyed praise when she was younger—promises made gently, carefully, and never kept. Of Hiroshi’s assurances that things would get easier, that it wouldn’t always hurt.

She thinks of two brothers she will never know beyond village propaganda and borrowed reverence, praised by people who share her blood and bear her hatred—who promised that Konoha would be a village born without child soldiers.

She thinks of Senju Tsunade, standing behind a Hokage’s desk, telling her that those denials no longer stand beneath her wearing the hat.

And she supposes there is one thing the Senju line passes down without fail.

Sakura is an excellent liar.