Chapter Text
Synergy
Act I: Petals Adrift
—
“How old are you?”
”Eighteen.”
A lone dark eye stares at her in disinterest but Sakura gets the sense that the Copy-Nin is the farthest thing from disinterested. “What’s your name?” muffles past the mask that covers his face. She barely registers the words.
“Haruno Sak—” crap, no. No, idiot! “—o.”
“Haruno Sako,” the silver-haired man repeats, voice hollow and disbelieving.
“Seiko,” Sakura amends, offering a nervous smile. “Sorry, you’re pretty intimidating, Captain Hatake.”
In the half-second that follows Sakura holds her breath, alarmed at how the Copy-Nin manages to exude both crippling judgement and aloof nonchalance. Then his single visible eye closes in what she can only presume is a smile as he answers with a cheerful “Good!” before moving on down the line to the next hopeful recruit.
Sakura does not exhale in relief until he is many heads down.
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( I.1 — A study in firsts )
The Land of Fire is an expanse of dense forests and sprawling valleys. It is said that within each citizen an internal fire roars through their veins. People from Fire Country are passionate and temperamental and strong.
Heat simmers along her shoulder as a blade breaks skin. She grits her teeth, dismissing the pain.
Haruno Sakura is from the Land of Fire; her blood burns and roils with determination. She is from the Land of Fire and she is aflame.
“Quicker, Seiko!” her captain barks from the side-lines, earning a scowl from the young woman engaged in a spar. Even through the mask covering half his face, the order is sharp and unrelenting. There are rumors about why he wears a mask, ranging from a birth deformity to buck teeth. Sakura thinks he does it partly to psyche out his enemies and mostly for the allure.
Green eyes narrow as she watches her opponent step forward. His sandaled foot slides in an arc and she knows his attack before he even executes it. She ducks his predictable swing and, in the split second of his vulnerability, jabs her fist into his gut, sending him skidding a few meters away. A trail of dust rises in his wake and she grins, straightening her stance.
When she is certain her comrade will not challenge her again, she arches a brow at their silver-haired mentor. “Quick enough, Captain Hatake?”
The man chuckles, the sound muffled by his mask. “Aa, good work.”
She beams at his praise before walking to her subdued friend and offering a hand. He glares at it as if it will bite and Sakura scoffs. “Spar’s over, Kiba. You can relax.”
Kiba’s glare remains even after he takes her hand and allows her to pull him up. “It was a lucky shot,” he grumbles.
Around them, other spars are in session. The clang of metal on metal fills the valley.
Their camp—composed of a series of single tents and a large fire pit—is flanked with sloping hills. A larger hut for council meetings is set up near the center of the operations, the Uchiha fan on the entrance.
They are the 47th Division of genin—shinobi-in-training—and the legendary Hatake Kakashi is their jounin commander. She has heard stories, they all have, of the great Copy-Nin’s unmatched record of kills and victories. He is the only non-Uchiha to ever climb the ranks in the regime and secure the title of Captain. She has also heard stories of his rampant laziness. It is difficult to think of the silver-haired man as both, but after nearly two months under his supervision, Sakura has come to see the marriage between his lores.
Despite his reputation (or perhaps because of it) Hatake Kakashi has proven to be a merciless teacher, his drills and tests so baffling and inhumane, Sakura has wondered if all the blood-shedding hasn’t altered his mind to some degree. The past 7 weeks under his tutelage have been fierce and unrelenting—specifically designed to weed out the weak.
There were many times that Sakura had to struggle to keep her place; but every challenge she faced was overcome and she has managed to survive despite everyone’s assumptions. A large part of her dedication lies in her cause, but she would be doing a disservice to the young man who has helped keep her going—
“Eat dirt, jackass!”
—the blond and charismatic loudmouth: Uzumaki Naruto.
Sakura smiles seeing his victory, unable to help herself. The boy’s joy is contagious, and his spirit unbreakable. “Good job, Naruto!” she yells over the din, and he blinks, swivels, and waves with too much enthusiasm.
“Thanks, Seiko! So you made Kiba eat his words, huh?”
At her side, the brunet frowns. “It was a lucky shot!” he says at the same time she answers, “You know it!”
Kiba looks at her then, cracking his knuckles. “You wanna go again, pretty boy?”
Pretty boy. It is not the first time she is called as such and Sakura’s brow furrows at the taunt. She is shorter than most, with a slender, lithe frame that is deceivingly strong. As a young woman she wears muscle differently and opts for looser clothing to compensate. Her chest is bound, but she can do nothing about her slim waist and wide hips. She is aware that her face is cherubic in nature, and of course her choppy pastel pink hair does nothing for her ruggedness. All she can do is maintain she is a boy and hope no one ever finds out, for Tsunade’s sake.
She lets the jeer slide, instead wiping some dirt from the bridge of her nose. “Tch, I think I’ve got time for another ass-whooping.”
Before they can begin a bell rings and all fighting ceases. Eyes jump to the captain and he sighs, peeling himself from the wooden pole he spent the day leaning against and stuffs the little orange book he often reads into his front pocket.
“Everyone, line up!” he orders in a tone that suggests he’d rather be doing absolutely anything else. “General’s coming.”
A murmur of awe spreads among the recruits. The general isn’t expected for another week—why is he arriving early? Sakura finds her spot between Naruto and a brunet who seems to challenge their captain in terms of laziness (Shikamaru, she recalls.) and can’t contain her curiosity.
The Uchihas are renowned for their intellect and skill in battle, there is no amount of preamble that could deter the simmering excitement amidst the new warriors. Sakura fidgets, eyes darting to the hills for any sign of an approaching envoy.
What she sees is only one young man—no older than her, it seems—and a small accompaniment of two.
He rides in on a dark horse, so inconspicuous that she wonders if he is even who they are waiting for. He calls his horse to pause before the silver-haired commander and dismounts. The Uchiha fan emblazoned on his back is the only evidence of his identity.
When he speaks, his voice echoes down the line despite the low timber. “Captain Hatake,” he greets, eyeing the jounin with an imperious glance.
Kakashi nods, informal and even a bit bored. “General Uchiha. You’re early.”
The young man looks away, dark eyes scanning the row of faces he must not recognize. “So, you’ve prepared these men,” the general continues, ignoring his subordinate’s welcome. “I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it.”
A chuckle draws Sakura’s attention to a sleet-haired man who rode in with the general. Everything about him is pale: his hair, his skin, his eyes, and even his horse. He dismounts with ease, the motion as fluid as water running over smooth stone. “This bunch of girls is our platoon?” he scoffs, flashing rows of fanged teeth. “They look like shark food to me.”
The general doesn’t seem to hear him, or if he does, he doesn’t care. He marches down the line, and though he is not nearly as tall as the silver-haired captain, he wears his name and status as if he is ten feet tall: shoulders back, chin held high, with an expression that belies years of aristocracy. “I am Uchiha Sasuke. Son of Uchiha Fugaku—”
Whispers come to life among the men, like reeds rustling in a sudden breeze. Son of the infamous General Uchiha Fugaku! If they are accepted into his platoon, they could eventually become the head squadron of Konoha.
“—and I will be the leader of this platoon. My father expects the best. I expect the best, and I will not tolerate anything less.”
As he walks, Sakura allows her gaze to trace him from his sandals to his forehead protector; she notes loose trousers, an obi about his middle, and a loosely tucked shirt that resembles a kimono. Everything save the Uchiha crest is black. His chest is bare, and she wonders if it is from the heat or simply his own ego. What shinobi doesn’t wear mesh armor? The kind who boasts the Sharingan. With the doujutsu not many opponents are able to even get near enough to touch an Uchiha, their speed is nearly incomparable. Strapped to his back is an elegant katana and on his forehead, a hitai-ate with the Konoha insignia.
She has just enough time to think that he is beautiful—intricately carved marble—before he passes her.
“Which is why we will hold a tournament,” General Uchiha goes on. “At the end of three days you will battle, and those I deem worthy will join my platoon.”
Sakura tenses.
“Oi, I thought as long as we did the old man’s training we’d just be in it!” Naruto yells at her side. She turns to him, eyes wide and demanding his silence, but he doesn’t seem to understand. In fact, he doesn’t even seem to realize she’s glaring at him. “What the hell is this tournament stuff for? Kakashi-taichou has already weeded us out!”
Sasuke is at the very end of the line of men and even from there Sakura can feel the intensity of his eyes as they zero in on the blond beside her. With measured steps, he approaches them. He is a few inches taller than Naruto, but his presence is commanding in a way that makes those before him feel very low. “State your name,” he demands, looking down along his nose at the blond.
Naruto chuckles. “Uzumaki Naruto!” he says with a salute that is evidently mocking.
“Uzumaki Naruto,” the general repeats, testing the name on his tongue. Sakura watches his lips form the syllables, as if he is chewing taffy. “Kakashi chose the best of the group,” Sasuke explains. “I choose the best of the best.”
“What, you don’t trust the old man’s word?” Then he looks over at the suddenly contrite Copy-Nin, waving. “Hey! Kaka-taichou! Did you hear this guy? He’s saying you’re shit at—”
Sasuke steps so near that their noses almost touch. When he speaks, his voice is a dangerous growl in his throat. “You will hold your tongue or I will cut it out and put it in your hands myself.”
Sakura watches the exchange, already half certain they will be saying goodbye to the boisterous blond.
And then Naruto glowers—glowers—at their general.
The following events are so ridiculous that Sakura is still unsure exactly what happened. One moment the pair are staring daggers at each other, and the next their mouths are touching. Almost as if one or the other stumbled forward. As quickly as it happens, they spring apart, all gesticulating fists and exaggerated fury. She steps away from the raucous, bumping Shikamaru at her other side (“Hey, Seiko, watch it.”) and silence falls over the camp.
Naruto is gagging.
Sasuke promptly spits and demands a water bottle from the nearest shinobi and washes off his lips.
Silence.
“The hell did you kiss me for, bastard? Is that part of your training?!” Naruto roars, shaking a fist at their general.
And the great and composed Uchiha Sasuke, newly appointed general, shakes a fist right back. “Are you insane? I didn’t kiss you!”
At Naruto’s other side, Sakura can see Kiba trembling as he holds back his laughter. He meets her eyes and smirks, miming a shove with his hand. She can’t help the grin herself and bites her fist, turning away from the mess.
Shikamaru blinks at the display. “This is our leader? Mendokusei.” After a moment, he raises his hand. “Excuse me, Uchiha-sama.” The title catches Sasuke’s attention and he scowls at the blond once more before turning his attention to the brunet with a top knot. Shikamaru sighs. “After this tournament, are we going to the front lines?”
“No. After I deem you worthy of my time I will train you myself.”
More training?
“For now, continue your sparring sessions. I will speak with the captain regarding your…” he glances at the blond with disgust, “...suitability.” He turns and stalks away as if he has a cloak trailing behind him. Sakura can’t help but think it is a cloak of dust. “Dismissed.”
She relaxes after he and the silver-haired jounin disappear into the main tent for debriefing, and then promptly shoves her blond comrade. “Are you an idiot, you don’t talk like that to our general! He’ll kick you off, then what’ll I do?”
Naruto just rolls his eyes, catching his hands behind his head. “Tch, I could take that guy. He thinks he’s so great.”
Sakura shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. Idiot.
“You have your list?”
Kakashi procures a scroll from his flak jacket and slides it across the table.
Sasuke takes it, scanning the contents. A beat. Two. Then, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he grits out, glaring at the names. “Uzumaki Naruto? Is this a joke?”
To his credit, the silver-haired captain doesn’t so much as flinch. He sits in his chair, nonchalant as ever, his visible eye crinkling in amusement. “I understand he can be a handful—”
“A handful? ”
“—but he’s got unbeatable...what’s the word...spirit.”
“I don’t give a shit about his spirit,” Sasuke snaps, setting the scroll down with more force than necessary. “I care about his ability to follow and execute orders.”
“Maybe ‘spirit’ isn’t the right word,” Hatake muses, tapping his chin.
“He’s off the list,” the general says with no room for argument.
Kakashi quirks a brow. “You haven’t even seen him spar.”
“He’s. Off. The. List.”
Suigetsu wheezes in his chair. “That kid. That kid is hilarious. I’d pay to have him in your platoon.”
Sasuke fixes him with a threatening glare.
“Aw, lighten up would ya? Even if he’s oozing with spirit—” lavender eyes slide to the Copy-Nin before settling back onto the Uchiha “—you could challenge them all yourself and then make your decisions like that. Gives you an excuse to kick his ass, while you’re at it.”
“Would make them respect you,” the Uchiha’s jounin escort adds. He is sitting in a chair beside Kakashi, knees braced on the edge of the table so his seat is balanced on its two back legs. A senbon is perched leisurely between his lips, bouncing as he talks. “Couldn’t hurt.”
Sasuke doesn’t respond, letting the matter rest for the time being as he continues down the list. “There’s not many people on here,” he says at last.
Kakashi shrugs. “And yet you want to take one off.”
The Uchiha scoffs. “We’ll see how they do.”
Moments later find Sasuke wandering the training grounds studying the recruits. None are particularly impressive and he sweeps by countless spars, pausing briefly to commit to memory every issue he has with their skill sets. A part of him is frustrated with Kakashi for allowing so many unimpressive genin to remain in the training thus far, but he supposes it was the best Konoha could produce. With an impending war against Sound, they really can’t be as discerning as he wants.
A particular battle catches his attention and he watches a smaller shinobi with pink hair (Absurd, he thinks.) facing off against someone twice his size and manages to hold his own. His opponent is strong but the shorter boy is calculating in his counters.
“What’s his name?” Sasuke asks, eyes trained on the pastel-haired genin.
“Haruno Seiko,” Kakashi answers.
Sasuke isn’t sure what it is about that one. Haruno isn’t a surname he recognizes, and it isn’t as though the boy displays any particular talents, but Uchiha Sasuke finds it difficult to tear his eyes from him.
As he watches from a distance, he realizes what it is:
It’s the way Haruno moves.
His steps are sure, practiced, and graceful. Certainly not something gleaned from the Copy-Nin who is efficient and perfunctory in his movement. The pink-haired recruit exhibits a litheness that speaks volumes of a different kind of training...but what?
“What do you know about him?”
“His village was destroyed by Sound. Orphaned in the attack, he’s been wandering Fire Country ever since. Wanted a chance to exact revenge,” Kakashi recites. “But you see it, too, don’t you?” he adds, lone eye fixed on the pastel genin. “His technique.”
“Technique?” Sasuke repeats, glancing at his second-in-command.
Kakashi nods, tilting his head as if in wonder. “Mm. There’s no way he picked up those kinds of moves on his own.”
“Hn.” Sasuke decides to keep a special eye on Haruno Seiko.
If he is impressed by her spar, she can’t say. Sakura wipes the blood from her lip on the back of her hand and flashes the general a slanted smile. His expression remains stoic before he moves to the next battle. Her grin falters, settling into a frown. She catches Kakashi’s eye and his closes in silent approbation. Distantly, she is aware of her opponent calling for her help to get up, but she is much too tired to properly hear it.
The bell rings, signaling a shift in partners, and Sakura shakes off her limbs, bouncing on her toes to prepare for the next fight.
When she finally turns in for the night, her muscles are crying for rest. Her body screams in protest with every bone weary step she takes and when she finally reaches her bed roll she all but collapses.
Sakura sports a series of cuts and bruises on her skin and she hisses as she turns her body to lie on her uninjured side. She fought a total of six spars that day for the illustrious general to not even pay attention to her. The thought makes her scoff and she scowls into her pillow. Why did she even exert so much effort, expend nearly every ounce of her chakra, that day? To impress Uchiha Sasuke, with his pretentious walk and his autocratic stare?
It’s for Tsunade-sama, she reminds herself, curled fingers relaxing at the thought of her blonde mentor. Everything I’m doing—it’s for her. And if Sakura doesn’t get into the regime, they will be that much more behind helping the woman who took her under her wing all those years ago.
Sakura allows her eyes to close.
Just hold on a little longer, Shishou.
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