Chapter Text
Prologue
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The sun filtered through the canopy in flickering gold, dancing across the surface of the lake. The water was glassy, still and silent, a perfect mirror to the summer sky. A little girl with pink hair stood at the edge, barefoot in the mud, her toes curling with delight as the cool earth squished between them. Her dress, pale yellow and smudged with grass stains, fluttered around her knees in the breeze.
Sakura reached out toward the water, a soft, almost instinctive motion, her fingers yearning for the shimmer just beyond her grasp.
A sudden, sharp voice shattered the stillness.
“Sakura!”
She flinched. A woman came rushing through the trees, her heels crunching over twigs and leaves. Sakura barely had time to turn before her mother seized her by the wrist.
“How many times have I told you not to go near the water?” her mother snapped, eyes wide; not with anger, but something more urgent. “It’s dangerous. It’s dirty. It’s not safe for you.”
Behind her, Sakura’s father emerged more slowly, but his face was tense. He glanced at the lake as if expecting something to rise from its depths. His voice was quieter, but firm.
“Come away, Sakura. That place isn’t meant for us.”
Sakura blinked, confused, her small hand clutched in her mother’s. She looked back at the lake, then up at her parents with furrowed brows.
“But why?” she asked. “Why isn’t it safe?”
Her mother hesitated. Just for a second. But it was enough. The silence between the question and the answer stretched, heavy and brittle.
“Because it’s full of bacteria,” her mother said quickly, kneeling to meet her eyes. “Algae and parasites and things that can make you very sick. You’re not like the other kids. Your body... it’s more sensitive, remember?”
Her father’s gaze lingered on the water, distant and grim. He added, almost under his breath, “And some things in this world are best left alone.”
Sakura didn’t fully understand, but something about the way they looked at the lake, something about the fear in their eyes, made her chest tighten. Her curiosity warred with a budding sense of unease. The lake hadn’t felt dangerous. If anything, it had felt warm and safe, like it had been waiting for her.
But she said nothing more. Just nodded and let herself be led away, her small footprints fading in the mud as the lake vanished behind a curtain of trees.
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The overhead lights buzzed softly, casting a cold, clinical glow over the hospital corridor. Footsteps echoed in quiet rhythm, the scent of antiseptic sharp in the air. Nurses wheeled carts, patients rested behind drawn curtains, and doctors moved briskly through their routines. Among them, Dr. Sakura Haruno stood out, not for her bright pink hair, which was neatly tied back, but for the calm precision she carried in her every movement.
She walked with purpose, white coat pristine, clipboard in hand, eyes focused. Her nameplate gleamed beneath the fluorescent lights: Dr. Sakura Haruno, Surgical Resident . Fourth year. Top of her class. Unshakable under pressure.
In Room 214, a child was recovering from a recent surgery. Sakura entered with a warm smile and greeted the boy’s mother by name. Her voice was soft but steady, her presence reassuring.
“How’s he feeling today?” she asked, already reading the vitals displayed on the monitor.
The mother answered with tired gratitude. The boy offered a faint smile. Sakura adjusted his IV, checked the incisions, made a note on her chart. Her touch was gentle, practiced. She had a way of making people feel safe.
By the time she stepped back into the hallway, the rhythm of her day had already resumed; consults, charting, a brief round of post-op notes, and a quiet discussion with her attending physician before the shift turned over. She kept her head down and her work sharp.
But later, when the ward had gone still and the buzz of activity dulled to a hush, she stood in the locker room, untying her bun as steam from the showers drifted lazily in the air.
She turned on the sink and let the water run hot, flexing her sore fingers beneath the stream.
She glanced toward a poster taped to the wall behind her locker. It advertised a beach clean-up event next weekend. A smiling group of volunteers posed on the sand, the ocean stretching out behind them in sparkling blue.
Sakura’s gaze lingered on the waves.
Her throat tightened.
A memory flickered; trees, mud between her toes, the quiet hush of a still lake, and her mother’s hand yanking her back with trembling urgency.
She blinked it away.
She wasn’t afraid of water. Not really.
Pools, showers, even the rain, those never bothered her. But open water was different. Lakes, oceans, anything without a visible edge or bottom. As a child, her parents had spoken of them in hushed, anxious tones, warning her about the dangers of murky depths and hidden currents. Their fear had seeped into her slowly, disguised as caution, reinforced by every firm hand pulling her back, every story whispered to keep her away.
She had grown up believing open water was something to be wary of, something that wasn’t meant for her.
Even now, she wasn’t sure if the fear was truly her own, or something inherited, worn like a second skin.
She shut off the faucet.
“It’s nothing,” she murmured, drying her hands briskly. “Just tired.”
She gathered her things and left without looking back.
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