Chapter Text

Chapter 1 : Revival 

The sun had almost set by the time Sakura and Chiyo emerged victorious from their grueling battle with Sasori.

The air was thick with dust and blood, metallic and dry, clinging to her lungs like a second skin. The sky stretched wide and heavy above them, painted in brilliant oranges and soft pinks, as if the world itself was exhaling after a long, brutal breath.

They had managed to retrieve the antidote for the poison that had been planted in Kankuro's body, and they had also managed to defeat Sasori.

Sasori of the Red Sand. A legend. A prodigy. A ghost in his own body.

He had turned himself into a puppet to stop feeling anything. No pain. No fear. No hesitation. He hadn’t even flinched when she shattered his core—just stared at her, expressionless, as if none of it mattered.

All that power. All that brilliance. And in the end, he died like anyone else.

A cautionary tale disguised as a genius, she thought bitterly. Emotionally repressed war criminal with a poison complex and zero social skills.

But their victory tasted like ash. Because just moments ago, Chiyo had done something Sakura would never forget.

The One’s Own Life Reincarnation Jutsu.

She’d never seen it before, but she knew the signs—drained chakra, the unnatural stillness, the light leaving the eyes not from injury, but by design. It had to be a forbidden technique, forbidden for good reason.

Chiyo had offered her own life in exchange for the Kazekage's. Not everyone around them had realized it yet. 

But Sakura knew.

She knelt beside Chiyo’s body, brushing the elder’s hand aside to check her pulse even though the silence around them had already told her everything. No chakra. No warmth. Just empty skin. Her body light, her purpose fulfilled.

The sky had darkened into a deep purple haze, and a breeze moved through the trees, rustling sand and dust like it carried the aftermath of the battle with it.

Naruto and Temari were completely out of it, consumed by worry for the Kazekage.

Naruto was pacing in tight, agitated circles near his friend’s body, muttering to himself under his breath. Temari knelt on the other side, gripping the Kazekage’s hand with both of hers, shoulders shaking silently.

Her eyes were wide, rimmed with red, but her expression held no softness—only raw disbelief.

Team Guy and Kakashi stood nearby, quiet now, and the Suna shinobi Temari had arrived with lingered in the edges of the clearing, all of them looking serious, grim. Every face was etched with the tension of grief barely held back.

Watching Temari and Naruto’s fear made Sakura’s own chest tighten. Her hands were still stained from the fight, and the memory of what Chiyo had done refused to fade.

Then—something shifted.

It started with a tingle at the edge of her senses, a subtle build-up in the air.

Sakura’s head snapped toward the Kazekage’s still form. The space around him shimmered faintly, as though the light itself had changed. She felt a charge pass through her skin—like static before a lightning strike—and then she saw it:

A glow, soft and unnatural, blooming from beneath his skin.

Sakura inhaled sharply as the air crackled around them. It wasn’t just chakra—it was life. Something was pouring into him, fierce and deliberate.

A current that didn’t belong to the Kazekage himself. She didn’t need confirmation. She knew.

Lady Chiyo.

She had given everything. Not just to defeat her grandson—but to bring the Kazekage back.

Gratitude swelled in Sakura’s throat, followed quickly by a sharp sting behind her eyes. She blinked it away and held Chiyo’s body a little closer.

Then, a movement.

Seafoam green eyes fluttered open.

Sakura froze.

The Kazekage blinked slowly, his eyes unfocused at first—then steady, sharp. His breath was shallow but even, and he sat up without urgency, like someone returning from a place far too quiet to rush back from.

The wind died with him, as if nature itself had been holding its breath.

Naruto reached him first.

“Gaara! You’re alive!” he shouted, dropping to his knees, hands on the Kazekage’s shoulders.

Temari’s composure cracked. She let out a sob and threw her arms around her brother, trembling with the relief she hadn’t allowed herself to feel until now. “Thank goodness… thank goodness you’re okay…”

Around them, chaos bloomed. Cheers rose from the usually stuck up Suna shinobi, men and women openly weeping, some falling to their knees, others crying out his title like a prayer.

“The Kazekage-sama lives!”

“It’s a miracle!”

“Our Kazekage!”

Sakura barely registered them. She watched him.

The man who had returned from the dead.

The Kazekage was still. His expression didn’t change, not even in the face of Naruto’s exuberant shouting or Temari’s tears. His eyes, cold and pale, passed over them all like a blade scanning the battlefield. There was no warmth in them. Just calculation. Quiet understanding. And something deeper—buried. Locked away behind years of instinct and control.

He did not return Naruto’s embrace.

He tolerated it.

After all he and Naruto had a deep bond.

And when it ended, he didn’t reach for anyone.

Instead, he sat back, eyes lowered to his hands, as if seeing them for the first time. The silence around him settled again.

“What happened?” he asked quietly.“Where am I?”

Temari, still brushing tears from her cheeks, gave a soft smile. “You were abducted by Akatsuki and they extracted Shukaku from you…” she said. “But you’re safe now.”

The Kazekage said nothing.

His gaze swept the clearing—lingering on the scattered shinobi, the stunned expressions, the cheers that had begun to die down.

His expression didn’t shift. He took in the devastation like a report being filed. Then his eyes narrowed, a barely-there furrow in his nonexistent brows.

His voice was low—sandpaper-soft. “How am I alive?”

The question stilled everything.

Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Sakura inhaled—too loud.

All eyes shifted to her.

Including his.

For the first time, the Kazekage’s gaze found hers.

It was like being dropped into cold water.

Had she ever spoken to him before? Sakura honestly couldn’t remember. Not directly. Not in a way that felt like this. She’d fought him once—survived him, more accurately. And the last time those seafoam eyes had landed on her, they had been wide with madness, hate, and bloodlust for Sasuke. She could still remember the way her back cracked against the tree under the pressure of sand that had wanted to crush the life out of her.

Back then, she doubted Sabaku no Gaara even registered her name. She’d just been another thing in his way.

His stare was unreadable. Sharp. Unblinking. There was no kindness in it, no curiosity—just stillness, and the weight of someone accustomed to reading lies in silence.

Sakura gulped.

COULD YOU GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER?! STOP WHIMPERING AND SPEAK IN FULL GODDAMN SENTENCES. YOU JUST KILLED AN AKATSUKI MEMBER FOR GOD’S SAKE, Inner Sakura barked.

If it wasn’t for Lady Chiyo, none of this would’ve happened, Sakura bit back, half to herself.

TRUE. OLD LADY HAD SOME SICKASS MOVES. KINDA MESSED UP FAMILY DRAMA BUT STILL— BADASS. OKAY, OKAY, FOCUS. YOU’RE STARING AT A CORPSE THAT CAME BACK TO LIFE. CORPSE WITH CHEEKBONES.

Don’t call her that, Sakura warned. And he’s not a corpse.

He was watching her. Still. Silent. Not demanding an answer—just waiting.

As if he already knew and was simply observing how she’d deliver the truth.

Sakura shifted her grip on Lady Chiyo’s body.

“Uhm.” She made a small sound in her throat. The beginning of a sentence.

The Kazekage tilted his head slightly. Not enough to seem curious. Just enough to look vaguely, distantly interested. Like someone judging a wind pattern before a storm.

And still—he said nothing.

SAKURA, EVERYONE IS STARING—COULD YOU PLEASE CONTINUE? YOU CAN’T LOOK LIKE AN IDIOT AFTER JUST KICKING SOME SERIOUS ASS!

Oh, shit. Right. Sakura blinked hard, shifting her focus back to the moment—and back into the Kazekage’s gaze.

“Uhm,” she started again, forcing her throat to clear so her voice wouldn’t crack. “Lady Chiyo… she saved your life.”

The Kazekage’s eyes widened—not dramatically, but enough to fracture that dead calm in his expression. His gaze finally drifted downward, toward the body in Sakura’s lap. His stillness changed—not hesitation, exactly, but an awareness that hadn’t been there before. A subtle shift in gravity.

Her fingers curled gently over Chiyo’s shoulder, the fabric of her robe rough against blood-slicked palms. The silence around them was absolute—punctuated only by the faint breath of wind and the distant creak of the trees.

And it wasn’t just him.

All around the clearing, movement stopped. Even Naruto, who’d been hovering close, fell completely silent as his eyes dropped to Chiyo’s face.

Sakura felt the pressure of their attention—like a hundred pounds of quiet pressing down on her shoulders. She swallowed.

“She used a forbidden technique,” she continued, softer now, “to bring you back. But it cost her her life force. Everything.”

The Kazekage didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

But Sakura saw the flicker.

Not in his face. Not in his breath.

In his hands.

The slightest tension in his fingertips. A shift of muscle through his forearm. Like something trying to move but caught beneath layers of stillness.

“Chiyo…” he said, again. Not as a question this time. Just the name. Bare and hollow.

Temari still knelt close but her eyes were now locked on the body in Sakura’s arms. Her lips trembled, and when she finally looked away, it was only to cover her face with both hands.

Naruto’s voice cracked through the quiet. “She did it because she believed in you.”

His eyes were red. Wet. He didn’t try to hide it.

“She knew what kind of person you were now—what kind of leader you’ve become. That’s why she gave her life. Because she believed you were worth it.”

Still, the Kazekage didn’t speak.

He stared down at the woman who had given her life for his, and his face stayed still—cold, unreadable. As if carved from stone. Only the shadows in his eyes shifted. Only his silence deepened.

Sakura watched him, trying to read something—anything—but the mask never broke. He didn’t cry. He didn’t frown. He didn’t ask why again.

But something in his posture had changed. The way his shoulders drew inward slightly. The way his eyes refused to leave Chiyo’s face.

Like someone tracing the shape of a wound he couldn’t feel.

Naruto sniffed beside him, wiping a sleeve across his face. “She’s a hero,” he said. “You are too, you know. You’re here. That means something.”

The Kazekage finally blinked. Once. Slowly. Then looked at Naruto.

“You weep,” he said.

Naruto gave a weak laugh through his tears. “Of course I do, idiot.”

The Kazekage didn’t respond. But his gaze lingered on Naruto for a second longer than usual. As if trying to decipher something foreign.

Sakura’s grip on Chiyo’s body tightened slightly.

She didn’t know what the Kazekage was feeling. Maybe he didn’t know. But she recognized the look in his eyes. She’d seen it before, in patients who survived when others hadn’t. In children left behind after the their parents had fallen. In shinobi staring at their hands like they couldn’t remember when they last felt clean.

Survivor’s silence.

Grief with nowhere to go.

He looked down at his hands again. Turned them over once, like they might hold an answer. Then lowered them quietly into his lap.

And still—he said nothing.

Around them, the Suna shinobi had begun to gather. Quiet voices murmured prayers in the desert tongue. Some wept openly. Some stared blankly at the earth.

Temari laid a hand on her brother’s arm. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t move.

Sakura finally exhaled.

Not from relief.

But from weight.

Chiyo’s body felt lighter in her arms than it had any right to. As if the life she’d poured into the Kazekage had taken everything—flesh, will, memory—and left only skin and cloth behind.

“She gave everything for you,” Temari said softly. “And she didn’t regret it.”

The Kazekage didn’t look up.

But his jaw clenched once—barely visible—and then released.

That was all.

                                      X

Eventually, the fire crackled steady in the center of camp, casting long shadows across the clearing. The Suna shinobi moved with practiced, quiet efficiency—tending to the wounded, setting up basic shelters, laying a pale cloth over Chiyo’s still form. Someone murmured a soft prayer as they covered her face. Sakura stood silently nearby, head bowed, hands still stained red.

She couldn’t sit yet. Not like the others. Her body buzzed with the leftover charge of battle, adrenaline tapering into exhaustion.

And there was the blood.

Still tacky along her fingers. Under her nails. Dried along her wrists where her gloves had slipped.

It was Chiyo’s. Sasori’s. Hers.

Sakura quietly stepped away from the fire and into the shadows, weaving between trees until she reached the narrow stream they'd passed earlier. The moonlight shimmered faintly across the surface, the only sound the gentle rush of water.

She knelt beside it, letting the silence settle over her like a second skin.

Her hands hovered over the stream for a moment before she dipped them in. The water stung against her raw knuckles. Her palms were lined with shallow cuts, torn open from the repeated strikes of her chakra-infused blows.

She scrubbed slowly.

Methodically.

The blood loosened in ribbons, swirling into the current like memory being erased. But it wasn’t. Not really. It clung to her skin even as it washed away. Not visible. Just… there.

Part of her.

She rinsed again.

And again.

The cool water ran pink, then clear.

Sakura sat back on her heels, dripping hands resting in her lap.

YOU DID GOOD, Inner said quietly.

But the praise felt hollow, a mere echo in the cavernous void that was her heart. She glanced down at her hands again. They were clean - cleansed by the water, scrubbed free of any evidence of the violence they had participated in. But she knew better.

She started walking back toward the firelight, the glow of her team—and the rest of the night—waiting for her.

Sakura crossed back into the circle of warmth, the fire crackling gently as voices murmured low around it.

Suddenly, she felt a hand press gently onto the crown of her head.

She looked up.

An exhausted-looking Kakashi stood beside her, his usual slouch still intact, eyes crinkling with something close to real warmth.

“You’ve come a long way, Sakura-chan,” he said softly. “I’m proud of you.”

Sakura blinked, caught off guard by the rare praise. Her cheeks flushed, a rush of warmth moving through her chest like chakra set to a low simmer.

“Thanks, Kakashi-sensei,” she said, tucking damp hair behind her ear.

“But I couldn’t have done any of it without Lady Chiyo.”

Compliments from Kakashi were like comets—rare, beautiful, and gone too soon. Even with his lazy posture and absolute refusal to take anything seriously (except mortal danger and Icha Icha Paradise), he was still one of the strongest shinobi she’d ever known… and a pervert.

And maybe she couldn’t take the compliment fully—not yet. But it landed somewhere deep in her chest. Somewhere that had always been hungry to be seen for more than just her forehead and her crushes.

This kind of acknowledgment? It felt right.

She didn’t want to be admired for her looks. She wanted to be trusted. As a medic. As a ninja. As someone her team—her boys—could rely on.

I’ll have to work even harder, she thought.

YOU WILL. MEANWHILE, PERVERT SHMERVERT—BUT HAVE YOU SEEN THE ASS ON THAT MAN? I MEAN, HONESTLY, IT’S JUST—

Enough! she snapped mentally, cutting Inner off before she could become the official pervert of Team Seven. Unbelievable…

Kakashi leaned in slightly, smirking behind his mask. “But be careful, Sakura. You keep this up, and you might end up with a page in the Bingo Book at this rate.”

Sakura’s face went pale, then red. “Wait—what?”

Right on cue, Naruto leapt into the scene like a badly timed jutsu.

“Whaaaaaat?! Sakura-chan’s getting into the Bingo Book before me?! Kakashi-sensei, are you serious?! I mean—Sakura-chan’s amazing, obviously—but what about me?! I’m gonna have to take down, like, three Akatsuki just to keep up!”

“Mah,” Kakashi said lazily, pulling out his Icha Icha book with one hand, “I don’t think a lot of genin are making it into the Bingo Book these days.”

“AAAAAARGHHHHH!” Naruto wheezed, staggering back like he’d been stabbed. “Don’t say that out loud, sensei! I swear, when I become Hokage, they’re gonna write an entire chapter about me!”

“I don’t know if that’s how that works, Naruto,” Kakashi replied, not looking up from his page.

Sakura sighed, half-annoyed, half-amused. He didn’t want to make a scene about it, and he was literally making a scene about it. Suna shinobi were starting to glance their way—some amused, some tired, one definitely judging.

“Naruto,” she said sharply. “Calm down.”

Of course, he didn’t. He kept rambling, flailing, ranting—

So Sakura punched him lightly on the arm.

Well. Lightly for her.

Naruto yelped and stumbled back with wide eyes. “Oy! Sakura-chan! What was that for?!”

She shook her head. “You’re being ridiculous. Let’s just focus on helping the Kazekage.”

Naruto grumbled under his breath, but he sat down, rubbing his arm.

They settled around the fire. The wind had softened. The night air held a chill, but the fire gave just enough warmth to keep them close.

Sakura looked over at Kakashi, eyes narrowing.

She gave him a once-over, professional. “Hmm.”

He tilted his head. “Sakura-chan, it’s not appropriate to check out your sensei like that,” he said, voice full of mock scandal.

Her face turned bright red. “I was not—! I mean—for Kami’s sake—I was scanning you for injuries!”

Kakashi chuckled. “I’m fine, Sakura. Just overused my chakra a tiny bit.”

“A tiny bit?” Her brow shot up to her hairline. He looked like he was about to fall over.

As if summoned by a sixth sense, Guy appeared with a hand on Kakashi’s elbow. “Fear not, Sakura-chan! I will take care of him!”

Kakashi opened his mouth to protest but was promptly overridden by Guy’s passionate determination and dragged away toward the fire like a sluggish, eye-smiling doll.

Sakura didn’t stop him.

She watched them go, feeling something like peace settle in her bones.

These people. Her teammates. Her friends.

She felt grateful—for all of it.

                                      X

Sakura clenched both hands tightly in her lap. 

Why wouldn’t they stop shaking?

She took a slow, deep breath and glanced around the camp. No one seemed to have noticed. Good.

The others had settled around the campfire by now, and despite the weight of the day, the mood was surprisingly high. Relief, mostly. Quiet celebration. People were laughing again, even Naruto—loud and bright as ever.

But Sakura still sat a little apart from them, arms wrapped loosely around her knees. Exhaustion draped over her like a heavy cloak. Her eyes stung from more than just smoke.

SAKURA, WE REALLY NEED TO TALK ABOUT THIS.

There is nothing to talk about, she answered instantly.

DID YOU TAKE CARE OF THAT STAB WOUND? AND MORE IMPORTANTLY—WHAT IS THIS WEIRD FEELING?!

Thanks to Lady Chiyo’s antidote, the poison’s mostly flushed out. It’s not life-threatening. Surface healing is done. I’ll be fine.

There was a pause.

Then—

ARE YOU HEARING YOURSELF RIGHT NOW? "MOSTLY FLUSHED OUT"?! YOU SOUND LIKE A WALKING DEATH REPORT!

Sakura closed her eyes and leaned her head against her knees. I said I’ll be fine.

And she would be.

Eventually.

A shadow fell over her.

“Sakura?” Temari’s voice. Low, steady—but with a thread of tension wound tightly beneath it. “Could you… please do a check-up on my brother?”

SAKURA, STOP IT, WE ARE NOT DONE YET!

Sakura ignored inner's voice.

“Yes, of course, Temari,” she said aloud, standing slowly. Her legs ached. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides.

SAKURA!

She pushed Inner away like closing a door.

Sakura brushed the dirt from her lap, trying to make herself look somewhat presentable.

Not that it’ll make a difference. I probably look completely battered.

She sighed softly and followed Temari through the darkened camp. They stopped just outside a modest tent, the Kazekage’s temporary shelter lit faintly from within.

“He’s awaiting you inside,” Temari said.

Then, unexpectedly, she reached out and took Sakura’s hand. Squeezed it.

It took everything Sakura had to keep her fingers from trembling.

“Thank you, Temari.”

“No—please, thank you,” Temari said, voice cracking halfway through. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if… I mean, both of them were so close to…”

She trailed off, her gaze dropping to their joined hands. Her thumb brushed over Sakura’s knuckles as if just now realizing the contact.

Sakura didn’t let her pull away.

She squeezed back. Firm. Grounded.

“I know,” she said gently. “But they’re both alright now. I’ll see to it the Kazekage is taken care of too.”

Her voice lowered, steady and soft.

“Please, Temari—sit down. Drink something. Eat. It’s okay to rest now. You’re allowed to breathe. They’re safe.”

Temari looked up, blinking rapidly.

Sakura gave her a small smile and one last reassuring squeeze.

Temari mirrored it, and Sakura could see the tears welling at the corners of her eyes—held back, but there. A warrior’s grief, quiet and controlled.

“Thank you so much, Sakura,” Temari whispered. “Please… you should rest too. You’ve been through a lot.”

“I will,” Sakura said.

She let go of Temari’s hand.

Her fingers began to shake again the moment the contact was gone.

But Temari didn’t see.

Sakura gave her a quiet nod, turned, and approached the tent. She gave a small nod to the guard posted outside—he returned it without a word—and pulled back the flap.

She stepped inside.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Revival part 2

As Sakura stepped inside the tent, she immediately walked straight into a hard, broad chest.

Startled, she looked up—way up—and found herself face-to-mask with a tall Suna Anbu. 

She recognized him from earlier that day, always shadowing Temari like a second-in-command.

She stepped back quickly. “Sorry about that,” she said, feeling heat crawl up her neck.

“It’s alright,” the Anbu replied. His voice was pleasant—calm and young, probably only a few years older than her. “I’m Hataro. Thank you for your work on Kankuro. And... I heard it was quite the impressive fight with Sasori.”

He bowed. “I feel great gratitude toward you Konoha-nin for retrieving Kazekage-sama and saving Kankuro.”

Sakura blinked, surprised by the genuine warmth in his tone. A quiet pride bloomed in her chest. “Thank you, Hataro-san. Please—call me Sakura. Everything else feels way too formal.”

“Of course, Sakura-san,” he said with a nod. “I’m on Kazekage-sama’s personal detail. I’m required to inform you—during your examination, please limit yourself strictly to the Kazekage’s physical condition. Specifically, do not inquire about the loss of the Ichibi. It is classified and will be handled upon his return to Suna.”

Sakura nodded, keeping her voice steady. “I understand.”

“Thank you, Sakura-san.” Hataro stepped aside, exiting through the flap and leaving her alone with her own nerves.

She lingered at the entrance a moment, letting the heavy canvas fall shut behind her.

The interior was dim, lit only by the warm flicker of a lantern set low to the ground. The tent was surprisingly elegant—earthy tones, plush rugs, dark wood furniture, and a small shelf of well-used scrolls and books. Functional, but personal. Grounded.

And in the center, seated on a neatly arranged mat, was the Kazekage.

He hadn’t moved since she entered.

Eyes closed, breathing slow and even. He wore black shinobi pants and a deep red long-sleeved top, open at the front. Black circular patterns lined the cuffs and collar, a sash at his waist. Beneath it, a mesh shirt revealed lean muscle and a body built for endurance.

His red hair caught the orange glow of the lantern—but the rest of him remained still. Silent.

He looked like a statue.

A dangerous one.

Sakura stood there for a breath too long.

She studied him. He was around her age, maybe, but there was something ancient in the quiet around him. A boy turned weapon. A leader forged in blood. Killed. And brought back by Chiyo-baasama’s final act.

She remembered the first time she saw him. He had terrified her.

Cold.

Merciless.

Bloodthirsty.

But now...

Now he was the Kazekage. A survivor. And somehow, still here.

They wouldn’t have let me in if they thought he might snap… right?

And Naruto—Naruto had fought for him. Had cried for him.

If Naruto cares this much, then I do too. I won’t let him carry that kind of grief again. He’s the best of us. Even when he’s being an idiot—he’s our idiot.

And then there was the fact that this young man in front of her— or young prick, as Tsunade-shishō would so nicely put it—was the Kazekage of Sunagakure.

His presence filled the space, even in stillness.

No turning back now.

Sakura exhaled slowly, grounding herself. She’d worked with trauma patients for years—and annoyed Tsunade enough to get the trauma program overhauled. Medics were better trained now. She was better trained now.

Time to prove it.

“Kazekage-sama?” Her voice was low as she stepped forward.

The Kazekage’s eyes opened. Sharp. Piercing. Teal. They landed on her like a cold wind—quiet, assessing.

“I’m here to check on your condition and make sure your recovery is progressing properly,” she said.

He showed no tension in his brow, no curiosity. He looked at her the way one might observe a passing storm—detached, patient.

“Thank you, Haruno-san,” he said quietly.

Even his voice was composed. Controlled.

Sakura gave a small nod and crossed the tent to sit beside him. “I’ll begin with a full-body scan,” she said, tone professional. “To assess chakra flow, internal injuries, and any lingering traces of poison.”

He gave a brief nod, but something in his posture shifted—barely, but enough for her to notice.

She’d worked with trauma patients before. She knew the signs: the way his shoulders held tension, the subtle stiffness in his hands.

She’d also dealt with her fair share of emotionally locked-down men— so, so many —and had developed a sixth sense for those unaccustomed to touch.

Given how his sand usually shielded him from physical contact, it wasn’t surprising.

She remembered how he’d frozen earlier when Naruto and Temari had hugged him. Not hostile. Just... unsure.

She hesitated for half a second, then offered gently, “Kazekage-sama, I can perform this scan without physical contact, if that’s more comfortable for you.”

That made him look at her. Their eyes met—his gaze unreadable, but sharp.

Busted.

Sakura gave a soft, reassuring smile and raised her hands a few inches above his chest.

“I’ll be using chakra to check your vitals and injury sites. You may feel a tingling or warm sensation. It might be strange, but it won’t hurt. Most patients say they feel lighter afterward.”

He nodded, and Sakura began.

It did feel strange. Unfamiliar. Warm in a way that unsettled him. Tingling, she had called it—but the word felt too gentle. The sensation crawled under his skin, winding into bone. Foreign. Intrusive.

I don’t like this.

He kept his eyes closed. Focused on his breath. On the impulse to summon his sand—to armor himself, push her back. His fingers twitched, but he held them still.

This is Naruto’s friend, he reminded himself. She’s here to help. That made her... not safe. But tolerable.

Her chakra moved through him, steady and precise. He could feel her concentration, hear the calm in her breath. She was practiced. Professional.

Whatever discomfort he felt, she had done this many times before.

Sakura was thankful her hands had stopped shaking. She was in her element. Her healing chakra followed a map through him—checking each vital point, each fracture, each bruise. She carefully skirted a massive, dormant cluster of chakra deep in his core. She didn’t touch it.

Gaara felt something shift.

His wounds were healing.

Wounds, huh.

Not many had made him bleed. The Uchiha. Naruto. A few, maybe, strong or determined enough to reach him. To get through.

To infiltrate.

The word came sharp, and with it, a flicker of irritation. His brow tensed.

He needed to stay calm.

Too much was happening beneath the surface. Too much left unspoken. Shukaku’s absence echoed through him, a silence that rattled his sense of self.

But that, too, would have to wait. Until Suna.

He exhaled slowly, steadying his thoughts.

This healing—this closeness—was already too much.

He opened his eyes, studying the kunoichi beside him.

Temari had told him she’d fought Sasori—and won. He hadn’t asked for details. He had been more concerned with the state of Suna. Surely, Chiyo had helped her. She hadn’t seemed that skilled. He vaguely remembered her from the Chūnin Exams—on the Uchiha’s team. And Naruto’s.

Still, her medical ninjutsu was far superior to most of Suna’s healers. She hadn’t even touched him—and yet his body responded.

He made a mental note to investigate the Suna medical training once he returned home.

Temari had told him to rest. Promised to share the full story on their journey back to Suna tomorrow. He didn’t usually tolerate being coddled—but after seeing the raw emotion on her face, he’d let it go. Just for the night.

Beside him, Sakura remained focused, still in medic mode. She worked carefully around the area where the Ichibi had once been sealed. She couldn’t give him a proper check-up with that entire section left untouched—but protocol was protocol. And the psychological part… that would be Suna’s responsibility.

She healed the small wounds instead. The surface-level damage. The visible things.

And yet, as she worked, she couldn’t help but feel a little awkward.

She had never spoken with the Kazekage like this before—and his unreadable expression made it hard to gauge anything. She cracked one eye open and glanced at him.

He hadn’t noticed.

With his eyes closed and posture somewhat relaxed, he almost looked like a normal young man.

Almost.

Not that she was surrounded by normal people. Kakashi, Naruto, Sasuke—they all needed extensive trauma therapy, in her professional opinion. None of them talked about their pasts. None of them shared much of anything, really.

She made a mental note to push harder on that front.

Eventually, Sakura drew back her chakra and opened her eyes. “Alright, Kazekage-sama. I’m done with the check-up. You can open your eyes now.”

Gaara hadn’t realized they were closed. He opened them slowly.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

He looked down, flexed his fingers, stretched his arms. She observed the change in his skin tone, the strength returning to his movement.

Then he looked up at her.

“Healed,” he said simply.

WELL, LOOK AT THAT. QUITE THE TALKER, HUH?! WHO DOES HE REMIND YOU OF?

Stop it. They’re completely different, Sakura snapped internally.

AH, YEAH. SURE THEY ARE… YOU’VE SPEND THREE YEARS WITH AN EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED AVENGER…

Hush!

LET’S ADD THIS ONE TO THE COLLECTION. “SAND PRINCE EDITION.”

Sakura shoved Inner back where she belonged and refocused.

“Do you have any lingering physical pain?” she asked, voice calm again.

“No, you seem to have healed it all,” Gaara answered. “My body feels better.”

“Uhm… okay, that sounds like a successful healing session then,” Sakura said, a touch of humor in her voice.

He didn’t get it.

WHAT A SHOCKER!

Shut it.

“This was just a minor check-up, Kazekage-sama. I believe you’ll go through a more thorough examination once you’re back in Suna.”

“Thank you,” Gaara said.

The words caught Sakura off guard. “Oh—uhm. Of course,” she replied.

To her further surprise, he added, “Your medical skills seem to surpass most shinobi your age.”

Was that… a compliment? He said it without a trace of expression.

“Ah, yes. I am the student of the Godaime Hokage, Kazekage-sama,” she replied, a little more confidently.

For the first time, she got any kind of visible reaction. His nonexistent brows lifted slightly.

“You’re Tsunade’s apprentice?”

Oh, she would smack him into the next forest for the disrespect, Sakura thought, amused.

“Yes. That is indeed me.”

That seemed to make him actually look at her for the first time.

“I see. Then I’m grateful to the Hokage for having her apprentice heal me so efficiently,” he said.

Sakura bowed politely in response.

“Well, that will be all, Kazekage-sama. I’ll let you rest for the night.”

She rose, brushing off nonexistent dirt from her lap, and turned toward the exit. Just before stepping out, she glanced back.

“Sleep well, Kazekage-sama. I’m glad you’re back with us.”

That surprised him. He blinked, then gave a short nod.

Sakura turned toward the exit, ready to retreat for the night—but stopped cold.

The entrance was covered in something.

Something dark and thick.

Blood?!

She gasped and stepped back. Her eyes darted right. Huge crimson stains covered the beige canvas of the tent. All of it. Her breath hitched. A high ringing began in her ears. Her hand moved on instinct to press against the partially healed stab wound beneath her clothes.

Then came a clicking sound.

Sakura looked down. The plush brown carpet was gone—replaced by a dark pool of blood soaking up to her ankles. The coppery scent filled her nose, overwhelming and suffocating.

No. No no no—

“Haruno-san?”

She whipped around, eyes wide with horror.

The Kazekage had risen from his mat. He stood a few feet away, his cold eyes watching her.

“Uhm…” Her heart pounded. What was this? Was he doing it?

She shut her eyes tight. When she opened them again, he was closer.

No expression. No emotion. Just cold eyes.

And then he stepped closer.

No sound. No hesitation.

One step, then two.

Now he was  only an arm’s length away and Sakura froze, staring directly into his eyes.

His cool seafoam gaze met hers—and held it. Steady. Unwavering.

She forgot how to breathe.

Time stretched.

The clicking faded.

The ringing dulled.

And finally— finally —her lungs remembered their job. Air slipped shakily past her lips.

She blinked, breaking the stare, and looked around the room.

The blood was gone.

The walls were clean again, bright beige and quiet. The soft rugs returned beneath her feet, no longer soaked in anything. The iron scent had vanished. The entrance—just a canvas flap, unmoving.

Whatever she had seen… it was over.

A hallucination. A chakra flashback, maybe. Her hand was still pressed to her side. The stab wound from earlier throbbed faintly beneath her palm.

But his eyes hadn’t moved.

She blinked once and stepped back.

“I… I’m very sorry for the inconvenience, Kazekage-sama,” she said, bowing deeply. “It must be chakra depletion. I… wasn’t aware.”

He didn’t respond right away.

Just observed.

Measured.

When he finally spoke, it was low —like something decided.

“You should rest.”

“Y—you’re completely right,” Sakura said, still bowed. “I will do exactly that. I hope you get some rest as well.”

She kept her eyes on the ground, turned, and left the tent without a sound.

What the hell was that?

I DON’T KNOW. ARE YOU OKAY?!

Inner’s voice had none of her usual sharpness. Just raw, startled concern.

Sakura didn’t answer.

                                      X

Back at the campfire, Sakura forced a smile and gave Temari a reassuring nod.

Temari returned it—grateful, though clearly exhausted.

Sakura laid out her mat, her hands still trembling slightly, and slipped into her sleeping bag like she was tucking herself into armor.

The others were still awake, the fire flickering warmly. Laughter and conversation buzzed around her, distant and oddly comforting.

Guy and Kakashi were at it again, locked in one of their eternal debates.

“Well, well, well, my eternal rival!” Guy boomed. “It seems you’re still unable to match my youthful energy!”

Kakashi sighed audibly. “Youth is wasted on the young, Guy. You should know that by now.”

Naruto barked a laugh. “Hey, sensei—do you think Gaara’s gonna be okay?”

Kakashi’s reply was quiet, serious. “I believe so, Naruto. Sakura is an excellent medic. With her help, I’m sure Gaara will recover quickly.”

Sakura closed her eyes, letting the sound of voices wash over her like a tide.

Temari glanced at her sleeping form, her expression softening with gratitude. Thank you, Sakura.

As the night wore on and the fire began to crackle low, the team settled into their mats one by one. Even after everything—Akatsuki, the battle, the Kazekage's revival—Sakura found herself drifting toward sleep.

A tiny smile curled on her lips.

Crickets chirped in the distance.

Then came a monstrous snore, followed by a loud THUMP and a curse.

“OY! Lee! Stop snoring—people are actually trying to get some sleep here!” Naruto shouted.

How ironic, Sakura thought, drifting off.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Arrival  

Sakura woke to a strange grunting sound.

She cracked one eye open, blinking against the bright sunlight filtering through the trees above. A gentle breeze stirred the air, bringing with it the crisp scent of early morning—dry grass, faint campfire smoke, and something savory. Shafts of light pierced through the canopy overhead, warming her cheeks as birds chirped lazily from the branches.

The clearing buzzed with quiet activity. Shinobi were already moving around, packing up bedrolls and equipment, murmuring to one another as they prepared for the long journey back to Suna. Leaves crunched under boots. Metal clinked as gear was strapped down. The crackle of dying embers drifted from the remains of the campfire.

How long was I asleep?

Sakura opened her other eye and slowly sat up, wincing as her back protested. Her sleeping bag had been rolled out over uneven ground, and the imprint of a rock still pressed into her shoulder. A soft breeze teased her hair, which was definitely a disaster, and her lips felt chapped from the dry night air.

“Good morning, Snoozie Pants,” Kakashi called from above.

She tilted her head and spotted him sitting on a low-hanging tree branch, one knee bent, Icha Icha Tactics propped casually in one hand.

“Ugh... morning, Sensei,” Sakura muttered, stretching her arms until her joints cracked. “What time is it? Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Because you needed the rest,” he replied easily, not even glancing down from the page.

Sakura groaned as she continued stretching, rolling her shoulders and wiggling her toes back into circulation. “Okay, fair. But what’s with the weird grunting?”

“That weird grunting just now? That was you,” Kakashi said without missing a beat.

Sakura blinked, then glared up at him. “Charming.”

He shrugged.

“The other, much louder grunting? That would be Guy and Lee. They’ve been up since before sunrise. Morning push-up contest. Hour three, I believe.”

Sakura turned toward the edge of the clearing where two very loud voices echoed through the forest. Sure enough, Guy and Lee were fully engaged in what appeared to be a shouting match about youth —between their push-ups, of course.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered.

“Oh, and Naruto saved you some food. He’s with the Kazekage.”

She blinked. “He is?”

“Mmhmm. You should wash up and eat. We’ll be leaving soon.”

“Will do, Sensei.”

Sakura slowly climbed out of her sleeping bag, the morning air cool against her skin. She packed her gear quickly, fingers moving on autopilot as she listened to the rustle of leaves and the distant rhythm of push-ups and declarations of eternal spirit. Her limbs still ached faintly, but it was a good ache—proof that she hadn’t broken under the pressure of the last few days.

Once her bag was rolled and secured, she stepped away from the others and crouched near a small creek at the clearing’s edge. The water was icy, and she gasped when it touched her skin—but it helped.

She splashed her face, scrubbed the grit from beneath her eyes, and smoothed down her unruly hair with wet fingers. The cold shocked her system just enough to jolt her fully awake.

Back at the fire pit, the last coals still glowed faintly beneath a layer of ash. A wrapped bento sat neatly on a flat rock near her gear—clearly left by Naruto. She sat down cross-legged in the dirt and unwrapped it gratefully.

Warm rice, dried fish, and what looked like half a hard-boiled egg. It wasn’t fancy, but it smelled like heaven.

Her stomach growled as she took the first bite. The rice was slightly overcooked and the fish dry—but it was food. Real food. She chewed slowly, savoring the salt and warmth, then shoveled in another bite.

By the time she finished, her mood had lifted. The sun had risen higher, painting the leaves gold and catching on the tips of the Kazekage’s red hair across the clearing. He stood near Naruto, their conversation quiet and mostly one-sided—but peaceful.

Sakura cleaned up her bento, brushed rice crumbs from her lap, and stood, brushing dirt from her pants.

The team had already begun to form up for departure. Temari led at the front with two Suna shinobi. Naruto walked alongside Gaara, occasionally gesturing with animated hands. Sakura fell into step at the back with Lee, while Guy, Kakashi, Neji, Tenten, and several other shinobi made up the center ranks. Suna’s ANBU patrolled the perimeter, their silent silhouettes ghosting through the trees.

Despite the heavy days behind them, the mood was surprisingly light.

Shinobi chatted quietly. Temari looked focused but at ease. Even Neji had allowed himself a rare moment of relaxation.

Well... except for Kakashi.

His chakra still hadn’t recovered, which meant he was slung across Guy’s back like a sack of potatoes—face buried in one arm, likely trying to disassociate from reality.

As Sakura passed them, she couldn’t help herself.

She smirked. “Rough morning?”

“Don’t,” Kakashi muttered without lifting his head. “Just… don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything,” she replied sweetly. “Yet.”

—--------------------------------

Recap

Guy: “Kakashi, my eternal rival! It appears your chakra has been depleted! Fear not—for I, Maito Guy, shall carry you piggyback style to safety!”

Kakashi: “I appreciate the enthusiasm, Guy, but I’m not a damsel in distress. I can walk.”

Guy: “Nonsense! A true ninja knows when to accept help from his comrades! Besides, this is a perfect opportunity to strengthen our bond as brothers-in-arms!”

Kakashi (deadpan): “I don’t think I need that kind of bonding, Guy.”

Guy (grinning): “Come now! It'll be just like the old days—remember when we used to race each other through the woods on piggyback?”

Kakashi (frowning behind the mask): “I don't remember that. At all.”

Guy: “Then it’s never too late to make new memories! Hop on!”

Kakashi (sighing): “Fine. But if anyone sees us like this, I’m never hearing the end of it.”

Guy: “Ha! Let them talk! Our youthful bond is unshakable!”

Kakashi: “Just don’t drop me, Guy.”

Guy (striking a dramatic pose): “I would sooner cut off my own leg than let you fall, Kakashi! Now—let’s go!”

End of recap 

—--------------------------

Lee was running next to Sakura, and it seemed his morning training had done more than raise his energy—it had also dialed his flirt settings to maximum, much to the visible amusement of Neji and Tenten trailing behind.

“Sakura, my beautiful blossom!” Lee declared as they bounded from branch to branch, sunlight flickering across their path. “As we journey together, I can’t help but feel my heart racing like the wind in our hair!”

Sakura blinked. “Uh… thanks, Lee. But we’re just traveling together as teammates.”

“Ah, but a true ninja knows that the journey is just as important as the destination! And spending time with you, Sakura, has made this journey all the more enjoyable ,” Lee said, eyes sparkling with sincerity so intense it almost glowed.

Sakura glanced around. Yes. Everyone could hear this.

“That’s very sweet, Lee,” she said, cheeks starting to heat. “But you don’t have to go out of your way to say things like that.”

“Nonsense!” Lee cried, hands balling into youthful fists. “A gentleman must always express his feelings to the lady who has captured his heart! And my heart—” he clutched his chest with dramatic flair, “—is a raging inferno when I’m near you!”

Now fully blushing, Sakura groaned under her breath. “Lee, you’re making me blush. Don’t you think we should focus on the mission?”

“Of course, Sakura!” Lee said immediately, straightening up with heroic dignity. “Duty and honor always come first. But that does not mean we cannot enjoy each other’s company along the way. And who knows? Perhaps, once this mission is complete... we may gaze upon the stars together and let fate guide our hearts.”

Sakura stared at him for a long moment. “Lee… you’re really something else.”

Behind them, Neji pinched the bridge of his nose while Tenten openly snickered.

And then, just to make sure everyone was involved:

“OI, Bushy Brows!” Naruto shouted over his shoulder. “Stop flirting with my Sakura-chan!”

Now every single head in their traveling formation turned toward her.

Sakura sighed internally. Could this get more humiliating?

                                  X 

After nearly three hours of travel, they finally reached the edge of the desert.

Sakura squinted at the landscape stretching before them—endless dunes undulating like waves beneath the burning sky.

“Wow,” she murmured, awed by the sheer vastness. “No matter how many times I see it, it always manages to amaze me.”

Temari smiled. “I’m glad you think so. Suna might not have Konoha’s forests, but the desert has its own kind of beauty.”

As they pressed forward, the sun bore down on them mercilessly, and the wind picked up grit that stung their eyes and faces.

Sakura lifted her hand to shield her eyes, blinking against the sand. Despite the heat, her thoughts kept drifting—back to the Kazekage, and that strange, sudden vision of blood.

What had that been? A panic attack? A hallucination? Genjutsu? Whatever it was, she'd made a fool of herself right in front of him. And of course, he hadn’t shown a single hint of surprise—just stood there.

Pretty sure he thinks I’m unwell. Mentally, emotionally, possibly spiritually.

Sakura pushed the thought away and focused on her footing. The sand shifted beneath each step, making the trek exhausting. She distracted herself by replaying the fight against Sasori in her mind. Chiyo’s puppetry had made her feel ten steps ahead—but without it, she’d have been too slow, clumsy. Vulnerable.

If she wanted to stand on her own next time, that had to change.

“Hey, Lee,” she said, turning to him. “When we get back to Konoha, want to train together?”

Lee practically lit up. “Of course, Sakura-san! The fires of youth shall guide us!”

“Perfect,” she said. “Bring your fire. I’ll bring bandages.”

They kept moving until Guy and Kakashi caught up from behind— well, Guy did. Kakashi was draped over his back like a discarded futon, apparently half-asleep.

Sakura blinked. “...Is Kakashi-sensei napping ?”

Guy beamed. “Sakura-chan! I’m thrilled to hear you’ll be training with us! We’ll awaken your inner fire through sweat and perseverance!”

“Lee!” he shouted suddenly, “we’ll run two laps around Suna to celebrate this joyous news!”

Sakura’s stomach dropped.

“And Sakura-chan,” Guy beamed, “you’ll look fantastic in green!”

A bead of sweat slid down her temple. Absolutely not. Her mind conjured a horrifying image—herself in a matching green jumpsuit, standing between Guy and Lee like a walking vegetable.

She laughed, waving her hands. “Thanks, Guy-sensei, but I think I’ll stick to my own clothes.”

She glanced down at her current gear—still mostly intact. “Besides, I’ve got another set at home that isn’t shredded.”

Guy looked at her with a serious expression. "You know, Sakura-chan, there is something to be said for the power of the green jumpsuit. Its vibrant color represents the exuberance of youthfulness and the unyielding spirit of hard work!"

Sakura raised an eyebrow. “Does it, now?”

Guy nodded solemnly. “Indeed! And I believe that with its help, you could unlock your truest potential.”

She chuckled. “Tempting. But I think I’ll keep relying on hard for now.”

Guy sighed, theatrically crestfallen. “Very well… But the offer stands!”

Sakura smiled, warmed by their enthusiasm. “Thank you, Guy-sensei. And you too, Lee. I really am looking forward to it.”

Lee gave her a sparkling thumbs-up. “Right back at you, my beautiful Blossom!”

                                  X 

After hours of walking, they finally reached a large dune that offered some much-needed shade.

Sakura trudged wearily across the sand, her feet dragging through the dust. Her calves ached, her lower back screamed, and her clothes were torn in more places than she cared to count. Sweat clung to her skin, sticky and stinging, and her hair—gods, her hair—was a matted disaster of dirt and damp strands glued to her forehead.

All she could think about was a shower. A long, steaming, blessed shower.

She could almost feel the hot water cascading down her skin, washing away the grime of battle, sand, and emotional wreckage.

We’re almost home. Just a bit more, and then—

YOU MIGHT HAVE A HEATSTROKE. WE’RE NOT GOING BACK TO KONOHA—WE’RE HEADING TO SUNA.

Sakura halted in her tracks.

...Oh. Right. You’re correct. Well— she resumed walking —I don’t care. At this point, any water source that doesn’t involve sand in my underwear will do.

The group stopped to rest beneath the shade of the dune, and Sakura gratefully dropped onto the sand, her muscles buzzing with fatigue.

The heat shimmered in the air like waves, distorting the edges of the horizon. The dunes stretched endlessly around them, golden and merciless.

She unscrewed her canteen and took a careful sip, savoring the tepid water as if it were the elixir of life. Around her, the others gathered in a loose circle—passing water, eating rations, swapping stories.

Temari was speaking, her voice low and steady. Sakura tuned in just enough to hear her filling the Kazekage in on everything he’d missed.

“…Kankuro was poisoned. We couldn’t treat him. No one in the hospital had the skill, and we didn’t know how much time he had left.”

Gaara didn’t interrupt. He simply listened, his expression cold.

Before Temari could continue, Hataro approached and gave a respectful bow.

“My apologies for the interruption, Kazekage-sama, but the wind’s picking up. We should press on. We’re only an hour out.”

Gaara gave a slight nod, and the group began to move again.

The gates of Suna rose in the distance—tall, sun-bleached, and unmistakable.

As they drew closer, Sakura could hear the faint sound of applause echoing across the dunes. Cheers. Shouts.

She blinked. Is that… a crowd?

And then they crested the final ridge, and she saw them—hundreds of people gathered outside the gates. Suna shinobi, civilians, elders, children—waiting for their Kazekage.

The cheers grew louder as they approached. Sakura’s steps slowed as she took it in.

The Kazekage had stopped, standing still at the front of the formation. The desert wind tugged gently at his robes and hair.

Sakura stared at his back. It was a quiet silhouette. Calm. Steady. Commanding.

Three years ago, that same boy had nearly killed her. Had stood in Konoha as a symbol of fear—unpredictable, unfeeling, dangerous. But now… he was the center of a celebration.

Their symbol of hope.

Their leader.

Their Kazekage.

Sakura’s breath caught.

He must’ve changed a great deal, she thought, eyes flicking to the quiet figure standing beside him.

You knew all along, didn’t you, Naruto?

She smiled—small, soft, full of something warm and aching.

You always see the good in people. Even when they can’t see it themselves. You reach inside them, even when it should be impossible. You make them want to try.

Her gaze dropped to her own hands—scraped, stained, fingers still stiff from days of overuse.

And me? I spent most of my teen years obsessing over my hair, my forehead, and whether Sasuke would ever look my way. While you were saving people.

She shook her head at herself.

Honestly, if I could go back in time, I’d smack my 9-to-14-year-old self straight across the face. Hard. Probably twice, just to be sure.

Right there—sweaty, filthy, and half-sunburned in the middle of the desert—Sakura made a decision.

No more waiting. No more playing catch-up.

She would change. She would grow. And not just in strength—but in empathy. In presence. In purpose.

She was already working on the Byakugou seal, storing chakra in her forehead day by day. But that wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be. She needed to become stronger all around.

Her eyes drifted again to Naruto, walking confidently beside Gaara, sunlight catching in his blond hair like a beacon.

I have a long, hard road ahead if I ever hope to come close to your level, she thought, heart clenching with both admiration and determination.

But while you’re saving the world, I want to be right beside you—helping carry that weight.

And she would start with those closest to her.

Naruto. Kakashi. Sasuke.

All of them had carried pain beyond what she could imagine. And for the most part, she had never asked. Never seen. Never really listened.

Naruto—the orphan. The outcast. The Jinchūriki who smiled through loneliness and rejection, and somehow still found the strength to care about others.

Sasuke—the boy haunted by the massacre of his clan, the burden of revenge, and the legacy of his brother’s betrayal. And all she had done was chase him like a fangirl in a fantasy.

Did I really think he had time for crushes? For teenage drama?

And Kakashi… her enigmatic, exasperating sensei. The so-called “Friend Killer.” She had heard the whispers, seen the way villagers looked at him sometimes. She knew something had happened to his team— something terrible —but she had never dared ask.

Her team… was a mosaic of loss. Of silence and pain and unspoken stories.

And yet, somehow, they had survived. Together.

Sakura… it’s time to grow up. Really grow up. Not just stronger—but more aware. More present. More capable.

And beyond Team Seven, she and Naruto had forged bonds with the other teams too—Shikamaru, Ino, Lee, Neji, Tenten, Choji, Hinata, Kiba. All of them had their battles. All of them had scars.

Sakura squared her shoulders.

If Naruto is going to be the light in the darkest places… then I’m going to be the one who holds the line beside him.

                                  X 

Sakura was pulled out of her thoughts when the group began to move again.

As they descended the last dune, the full scope of the crowd came into view—a sea of people, pressed together in loose clusters around the outer gates of Suna. Many held signs and banners swaying in the breeze, the fabric sun-bleached but vibrant with hand-painted messages.

One banner read, “Welcome Home, Kazekage Gaara! We Missed You!”

Another, “Thank You for Protecting Us!”

Sakura blinked, taken aback. This isn’t just a welcome... this is a homecoming.

Suddenly, a blur of civilian robes barreled forward—Kankuro, no longer in his usual makeup and armor, but in a plain sand-colored tunic. He sprinted straight toward his brother and pulled him into a tight, breathless hug.

Sakura froze, watching as Kankuro—stoic, sharp-tongued Kankuro—cried.

Tears slipped down his cheeks, raw and unguarded. His voice cracked as he clung to his brother.

"I'm so glad you're back, Gaara," he said, his words choked with emotion. "I thought—"

The Kazekage didn’t speak at first. He stood still in his brother’s arms, his expression unreadable—but not indifferent. There was a slight crease in his brow, a flicker of something behind his eyes that Sakura couldn’t name. Not discomfort. Not exactly.

Concern, maybe. Or something heavier.

He slowly pulled back, his hands still on Kankuro’s arms. His voice was low, level.

"What happened while I was gone?"

Kankuro wiped his face quickly, trying to pull himself together. "Nothing major. A few skirmishes with rogue shinobi near the western ridge, but we managed. Temari kept everything under control."

Gaara nodded once, and Kankuro pulled him into another quick hug before stepping away and turning to Temari, hugging her just as fiercely.

It was a quiet, unscripted moment of real family—something Sakura hadn’t seen between them before. She felt a lump catch in her throat and quickly looked away.

Naruto jogged up to the group, grinning. "Hey, Kankuro—I almost didn’t recognize you without all the makeup!"

Kankuro scowled automatically, wiping his face again with his sleeve.

"Very funny, Naruto. It’s not makeup. It’s combat-grade shinobi paint."

Naruto smirked. "Sure, sure. I bet Temari made you give it up."

Kankuro rolled his eyes. "Yeah… something like that."

The light teasing faded into the sound of cheers as the crowd thickened near the gates. Sakura noticed a young woman push gently to the front, holding a small bouquet of desert flowers—dull pinks and ochres, hardy enough to survive in the sun.

She stepped forward and bowed deeply before the young ruler.

"Welcome home, Kazekage-sama," she said softly. "We’re so grateful for everything you’ve done for us."

He stared at her for a moment, like the gesture didn’t quite make sense.

Then, slowly, he reached out and took the flowers. "Thank you," he said, just loud enough to carry.

The crowd erupted again, louder this time. Shouts. Applause. Some people threw their hands in the air. A few kids started chanting his name.

The Kazekage turned toward the gates, his posture straight but slightly stiff—like someone unsure of what to do with that much emotion pointed at him.

Sakura watched him with quiet awe.

He looked... almost lost in it.

Naruto stepped up beside him, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"Can you believe this, Gaara?" he asked, grinning. "You’re a hero to them. They look up to you."

Gaara didn’t respond right away. His eyes scanned the crowd as if searching for something he hadn’t quite found.

"I don’t know how to respond to this," he admitted quietly. "I’m not used to being welcomed like this."

Naruto nodded, his tone softer now. "It’s a lot, I know. But you’ve earned this. You’ve worked hard to protect them—and they see that."

They stood like that for a moment, the noise all around them, but their quiet understanding unmoved at the center of it.

And then the group moved forward, entering the gates of Sunagakure.

                                  X



Sakura’s breath caught as the city unfolded before her.

Tall sandstone buildings rose up from the ground like natural extensions of the desert, their surfaces carved with swirling patterns, reliefs of past Kazekage, and scenes from Suna’s history. The streets were busy but orderly, and the wind blew fine dust through narrow alleys where vendors called out prices and children darted between stalls.

Warm earth tones painted everything—ochre, copper, rust, gold. The city felt sun-baked and solid, like it had never moved an inch, no matter how hard the world shook.

And still, they were cheering. Civilians, shinobi, merchants—all of them paused as Gaara walked past, bowing or calling his name.

Sakura walked quietly among them, half-listening, half-focusing on the sound of her own footsteps. The dust clung to her boots. The dryness stung her throat.

But the energy? That couldn’t be ignored.

When they reached the Kazekage Tower, Sakura looked up and immediately felt small.

The building rose above the rest of the city like a fortress and a temple combined. Made of the same pale stone as the rest of Suna, but smoother, more refined—its façade carved with ancient symbols and ornate scrollwork. Tall, arched windows caught the sun and gleamed like molten glass.

She followed the group through the massive entrance and into a wide, echoing atrium.

Inside, the air was cool—blessedly so. The floor was polished sandstone, soft golden-brown and warm underfoot. The high ceilings arched overhead, and the walls were lined with rich tapestries, painted panels, and scrolls documenting the lineage of Kazekage past.

A handful of Suna ANBU and shinobi bowed low as their ruler passed. Others stepped aside to clear the way, murmuring quiet greetings in the desert tongue as the group ascended the broad stone staircase.

At the top, just outside a large set of double doors, was a secretary’s desk—and behind it, a small, round woman with her hair in two tight gray buns. She stood the moment the Kazekage approached and bowed with surprising depth for someone her size.

"I’m so happy you’re safe and back with us, Kazekage-sama," she said, voice trembling slightly.

The young ruler inclined his head. "Thank you, Maru."

Several guards moved forward and opened the doors for them.

Inside, the Kazekage’s office was already full. High-ranking shinobi and elders stood in small groups, waiting. Among them, Sakura recognized Baki and Ebizō, and of course Hataro—stoic and ever-vigilant.

When Ebizō’s eyes briefly met Sakura’s, her breath caught. The look was short, unreadable. Then his attention returned to the Kazekage.

The office itself was enormous and commanding. A large dark wood desk stood at its center, surrounded by scroll shelves and cabinets that lined the walls in neat, silent rows. A tall arched window behind the desk overlooked the village—and beyond it, the endless stretch of desert.

The sunlight slanted in across the floor, cutting through the heavy air with golden lines. There was no sound but the shifting of robes and the whisper of movement.

The Kazekage stepped forward, his posture straight, expression cold. He rounded the desk and settled into the chair with a quiet exhale.

He looked out over the room.

"All right," he said. "Shall we begin?"

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Suna

As soon as the Kazekage had seated himself at his desk and instructed them to begin, the heavy doors shut behind them with a thud.

The Suna elders wasted no time.

“What happened?”

“How are you feeling, Kazekage-sama?”

“What happened to the Akatsuki, my lord?”

The questions came rapid-fire. Sakura watched from her place near the back, standing with the rest of the Konoha team. The Kazekage looked pale, but composed. Worn, but firm. His voice was calm, clear, unwavering.

“As you know, I was attacked by two Akatsuki members: Sasori of the Red Sand and Deidara. They came for the One-Tailed, and they succeeded. Sasori extracted the Tailed Beast using a puppet-based sealing jutsu. I lost consciousness shortly after.”

A Suna elder cleared his throat sharply. “Kazekage-sama,” he interjected, “some information should not be disclosed in front of outsiders.” His voice was harsh, his gaze pointedly shifting towards Sakura and her Konoha companions.

Sakura’s eyes flicked to the Kazekage.

Without missing a beat, the young ruler his gaze to the elder. The look he gave was subtle, but lethal.

The pause that followed was... cold.

“I understand your concern,” he replied, voice steady but lined with steel, “but the Akatsuki are a shared threat. If we do not work together, we will lose more than just Tailed Beasts.”

The elder hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. Please continue your story."

Sakura almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

And so, the Kazekage resumed his account, describing in detail what it had felt like to have the Tailed Beast extracted from him. He spoke of the pain, the darkness, and the strange visions that had blurred the line between memory and dream. He described the sensation of the Shukaku leaving his body—the silence that followed—and the quiet he had mistaken for death.

He looked at Ebizo. “It was lady Chiyo who saved me. She revived me.”

The old man stiffened. "What?" he exclaimed. "Chiyo revived you?"

The young ruler closed his eyes for a moment.

“The life force transfer jutsu,” Ebizo murmured, almost to himself.

“Yes,” the Kazekage answered.

Sakura’s heart clenched. She looked at Ebizo.

“I see,” the elder said at last. He turned back toward the Kazekage. “The jutsu is a powerful technique that allowed Chiyo-sama to revive someone from the brink of death by sacrificing her own life force. She created it not as a weapon, but as a last act of devotion. As a healer. As someone who had seen too many of her people die without meaning.”

He paused.

“Bringing you back to life must have meant that she deemed your life worth saving, Kazekage-sama.”

The Kazekage looked at him in quiet shock.

“Where is her body now?” Ebizo asked.

“It is sealed away for now,” Hataro, the ANBU, answered.

Ebizo nodded.

The Kazekage nodded silently in return, a subtle flicker of gratitude in his eyes.

Across the room, Naruto clenched his fists. "We gotta stop 'em," he said. "We can't let 'em get any more of the Tailed Beasts."

The Kazekage looked at him and nodded once. “I agree. We have to work together to defeat the Akatsuki.”

Sakura placed a reassuring hand on Naruto’s back without anyone else noticing. She felt the tension leave his body slowly, like air from a balloon.

“We will hold a memorial in honor of Chiyo-sama tomorrow afternoon,” the Kazekage said, turning to his tiny secretary. “Maru, please prepare everything we need.”

Maru bowed. “Of course, Kazekage-sama,” and exited the office.

Another elder cleared his throat. “And what of the Akatsuki? What became of them?”

This time, the Kazekage turned his attention to the Konoha delegation. His gaze lingered on Kakashi and Naruto, then drifted toward Sakura.

Her pulse jumped.

His eyes met hers—level, expressionless.

“We encountered Sasori shortly after infiltrating Akatsuki’s hideout,” she began. “He was… difficult.”

Well, that was the understatement of the century.

“He deployed a large army of puppets at once. Human corpses turned into weapons.”

One of the elders leaned forward, frowning. “How many?”

“That one army had a hundred puppets.”

A ripple moved through the elders. Eyebrows lifted. Someone muttered under their breath.

“And you fought him alone?” another elder asked skeptically.

“No,” Sakura replied calmly. “I fought alongside Chiyo-sama. She used her chakra threads to support my movements—essentially, she used me as a puppet. It allowed us to synchronize mid-battle.”

“She controlled you?” one of them repeated, frowning.

Sakura’s jaw tightened slightly. “Yes. Willingly.”

There was silence, and not the respectful kind.

“He also used the body of the Third Kazekage,” she went on, moving past her discomfort. “Turned him into a puppet. The Iron Sand jutsu was one of the most dangerous techniques we encountered.”

Kankurō made a strangled sound. “Wait—he turned the Third into a puppet?! And used Iron Sand?!”

“Yes.”

“That’s... kind of amazing.” He caught himself, then winced. “I mean—horrible. Terrible. Completely disrespectful.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then: “But… uh… you didn’t, by any chance, pulverize it, right?”

His eyes were wide now. Hopeful. “Like, is there—any chance it’s still mostly intact? I mean for research purposes—strictly professional interest—because if there’s even a fragment—”

“Kankuro”, The Kazekage warned in a cool voice.

That was all it took.

Sakura blinked. That might’ve been the most energetic panic response she’d ever seen.

She cleared her throat and continued, describing the poisoned weapons, the mechanics of Sasori’s body, and how he had transformed himself into a puppet to avoid death. She explained how she used medical ninjutsu to create an antidote and how Chiyo’s experience had allowed them to pinpoint his weak spot.

No one interrupted again.

When she finished, the silence was different.

Even Naruto looked too stunned to talk—and he never missed an opportunity.

Sakura kept her gaze low, focusing on her hands.

“What a battle indeed.” Kankuro was the first one to break the silence.”

Sakura had shifted her gaze away from the Kazekage’s eyes throughout her recap of the battle. So she did not see his admittedly small but various reactions to her story. 

The rest of the Konoha team filled in the gaps after that. Kakashi summarized their reconnaissance. Naruto, surprisingly coherent, added some insight about Deidara’s clay techniques.

Eventually, everyone was up to speed.

“We’re all exhausted,” Temari announced. “I suggest we arrange accommodations for our guests in the Kazekage mansion. We’ll continue discussions about the Akatsuki tomorrow.”

Oh yes, please, Sakura thought, barely resisting the urge to sag in relief.

The Kazekage nodded once.

Maru reappeared like a summoned spirit—efficient, unbothered—and bowed.

“If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your quarters. There are fresh yukata and bath supplies already laid out. You may go to the hospital after for a check-up, and then you're free to rest.”

The Konoha team bowed to the council and trailed after Maru.

The doors clicked shut behind them.

Inside, one of the elders turned to Gaara. “Kazekage-sama, you will need a thorough examination as well. We must determine the extent of the effects caused by the Ichibi’s extraction.”

“Aa,” Gaara replied, exhaling slowly.

He really wasn’t looking forward to it.

The only formal exam he'd undergone since becoming Kazekage had ended poorly—specifically, with the hospital's Chief of Medicine embedded in the wall.

To Gaara’s credit, the man had charged into his personal space like a battering ram with a stethoscope. His sand had reacted on instinct.

As it does.

The Chief had limped away with two broken toes, minor abrasions, and what Temari later called "a hard lesson in trauma-informed care."

Afterwards, the Chief declared Gaara “healthy as a horse” without so much as lifting a thermometer.

Now? This exam would be longer. More invasive. Possibly more medically enthusiastic.

Gaara ran a hand down his face.

Another elder stepped forward. “We’ll alert Yakio-sama and prepare the proper measures, Kazekage-sama. You may return home to freshen up.”

He was just beginning to rise when Temari’s voice rang out.

“Hold up.”

Every head turned.

“I want Haruno Sakura to do the exam.”

Gaara stilled.

“I’m not asking,” she added.

                                       X

Outside, as the Konoha team followed Maru through the winding paths of the inner district, Sakura felt a strange pulse of anticipation flutter in her chest. Excitement? Nerves? Some mix of both.

Kakashi walked on his own, despite still looking like he’d fought a small army—and possibly won, but barely. He waved off Guy’s offer to carry him with a muttered absolutely not.

Sakura sighed, touched his forearm, and released a steady stream of chakra into him. Just enough to keep him upright.

He turned to protest.

She winked. “Don’t make me slap you.”

His eye crinkled. “Noted.”

They climbed the final stairs—and then it came into view.

The Kazekage’s mansion rose like a sunlit crown above the desert city—massive, immovable, and oddly serene. Its domed towers caught the last light of day, bathed in warm gold and soft copper, like the whole structure had been carved from the very sunset. Pale stone walls bore the wear of wind and time, yet still stood proud, regal, untouched by war or weather.

A great red insignia was carved above the main arch—bold, unmistakable. It wasn’t just decoration. It was a declaration: this was where decisions were made, where peace was brokered, and where power lived in silence. The wide stairway that led up to it looked more like a path to judgment than welcome.

Sakura paused at the base of the stairs, fountains murmuring at either side, her boots silent against the smooth stone. The mansion looked nothing like the Hokage’s Tower—less functional, more solemn. It didn’t hum with bureaucracy.

It loomed.

And yet… there was something beautiful about it. Not inviting, exactly.

But watchful. Steady.

Like its occupant.

“You know,” Tenten muttered beside her, “maybe Naruto should aim to be the Kazekage instead. Fancier digs.”

The group chuckled.

Inside, the light shifted. Shadows stretched high against the vaulted ceilings. Maru led them through wide halls washed in sunlight and silence. Paintings of desert landscapes, intricate calligraphy, and subtle Suna iconography lined the walls. There were no statues, no egos carved in stone—just presence.

The kitchen was enormous, sleek. The dining hall could seat a clan. The bath quarters were separated by carved wooden screens with gold filigree.

Upstairs, Maru gestured neatly to the guest wing. “Your rooms are prepared. Yukata and refreshments await inside. Please—make yourselves at home.”

“We each get our own room?” Tenten asked, already perking up.

“Oh yes, of course,” Maru replied with a polite smile.

Tenten and Sakura exchanged victorious grins, the kind only two exhausted kunoichi with shared trauma and no privacy for days could manage.

Maru led them down the hall. Eventually, only Kakashi and Sakura were left standing in the corridor.

“Your room will be on the right, miss,” Maru said, gesturing neatly.

“Hatake-san, yours is across the hall.”

“Mah, please—just Kakashi, Maru-san,” Kakashi said, waving one hand lazily. “Everything else makes me sound like an antique.”

“Well, you are old, Kakashi-sensei,” Sakura said dryly, not missing a beat.

Kakashi clutched his chest with mock offense. “To think my favorite student would stoop so low… attacking her poor, chakra-depleted teacher when he’s at his weakest.”

Sakura rolled her eyes. “If you’re still able to banter, you’re fine sensei.”

Maru chuckled. “Very well, Kakashi-san. I hope you enjoy your stay in Suna.”

She turned to Sakura with a smile. “If you’d like, we can take care of those clothes for you, Sakura-san. I know just the seamstress.”

Sakura looked down at her very-much-worse-for-wear outfit. “If you think there’s any saving this, please do. Burn it if you must.”

Maru nodded graciously, wished them both a good night, and slipped away.

Kakashi was halfway through opening his door when Sakura spoke, voice softer this time.

“Kakashi-sensei?”

He turned.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “I wanted to tell you one more thing —before Sasori died, he gave us a lead. About a spy within Orochimaru’s ranks. He’s supposed to meet someone ten days from now. Somewhere near the Tenchi Bridge.”

Kakashi’s visible eye sharpened. “Got it. I’ll follow up. Good work.”

He raised a hand and gently patted the top of her head.

Sakura blinked up at him, surprised. He looked like he wanted to say something—like the words were stuck somewhere between his ribs and his throat.

Then he cleared his throat.

“When we’re back in Konoha,” he said carefully, “I want to train you. In genjutsu and maybe some relevant ninjutsu.”

Sakura froze.

Her face went completely blank, then rapidly cycled through confusion, realization, disbelief, full-body shock, and what might’ve been early-stage tears.

Kakashi panicked. “Sakura-chan?”

The door across from them creaked open.

“Oy, Sensei Kakashi—have you tried the briefs? They’re insane!” Naruto called, stepping into the hallway proudly wearing his new yukata —slightly crooked.

He stopped short.

“Why is she frozen?”

“I think she’s… feeling a lot,” Kakashi answered grimly.

“Did you make her cry?” Naruto gasped.

“I… I might have?”

Naruto looked panicked. “Oh no. What do we do? Sakura-chan, are you okay? Is it—uh—is it that time of the month?”

“Should we get Tenten?”

“I’ve got protein bars—”

Sakura smacked both of them across the head with pinpoint precision.

“Idiots! I’m not crying because I’m upset—I’m happy! ”

Kakashi looked like he’d been struck by a live current. Naruto reeled back, blinking.

Sakura exhaled, then wrapped her arms around Kakashi’s midsection in a quick, firm hug.

He tensed. Like really tensed. Rigid as a board.

Emotionally constipated man, Sakura thought with affection.

She let go and bowed politely. “Thank you, Kakashi-sensei. I’d like that. I won’t disappoint you.”

To her surprise, his eye curved upward in a real smile. “It’s about time I earned the title of your teacher.”

Sakura smiled back, warm and honest. “You earned it a long time ago.

Granted, you did mostly train Sasuke-kun, but… you’ve saved my life too many times to count. And you showed me what it means to be a shinobi.”

All three of them stilled.

They were all thinking the same thing.

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

Kakashi cleared his throat and grew serious. “We’ll work around your training with Tsunade and Guy. I don’t need your shishō trying to kill me.

But… if we do this, it won’t be easy. I’ll push you to your limits. Probably past them. Think you can handle that?”

Sakura nodded. “Yes, Kakashi-sensei. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

He gave a faint nod. “I have no doubt.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then he added, more quietly, “This is part of a larger plan. One I can’t explain yet… but it’s coming.”

Sakura tilted her head. “A plan?”

“You’ll know when it’s time.” He looked at Naruto. “You too. I’ve got something in mind for you, as well.”

Naruto practically vibrated with excitement. “YES! Let’s go! Training montage incoming!”

Kakashi chuckled and finally disappeared into his room with a wave.

“Uhm, Naruto?”

“Yeah?” He was pulled out of whatever thoughts he might have had about his training with Kakashi.

“I haven't really figured out what to say yet. I just need to let you know that I…”

Naruto looked confused.

“I’m sorry. I just want to say that I really appreciate you! I don't think I’ve ever said that out loud. I have felt it a lot though. I.. I'm sorry if this is confusing to you. Hell, it is confusing to me.” She took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes.

“ Do you maybe want to meet at Ichiraku’s when we are home? I think I need to sort my thoughts out first."

Naruto still seemed confused but also stunned. “ Sure, Sakura-chan! And thank you for telling me.” He gave her the warm grin only Naruto was able to give. She smiled at him.

“Great! Thank you for listening to that shitshow.” She said, punching him lightly on the right upper arm shyly. “You got it Sakura-chan!” he laughed. 

“ I swear next time it will make more sense. Sleep tight Naruto! You really deserve it.” She turned around and entered her room. 

                                    X

As soon as she stepped into the room, Sakura stopped in her tracks.

It was… gorgeous.

Soft green walls, high ceilings, golden light pouring in through oversized windows—it looked more like a noblewoman’s retreat than a guest room in the middle of a desert stronghold.

The bed was massive, the kind you could probably stage a small festival on, all covered in plush pillows and a duvet that looked capable of suffocating someone in their sleep, albeit gently.

But it was the bathroom that truly stole her soul.

Sparkling white marble floors. A bathtub that could fit eight people comfortably—or twelve uncomfortably, if you were into that kind of thing. Flickering candlelight bathed everything in a golden haze, and for a moment, Sakura wondered if this was some genjutsu Suna had invented to lure overworked shinobi into recovery compliance.

She stepped toward the mirror, glanced up—and flinched.

Yikes.

Hair like a bird’s nest that had lost the will to live. Sand in places sand had no business being. Dirt, blood, and sweat smeared across her face like modern art.

Inner voice chimed in immediately: WELL, YOU LOOK LIKE YOU’VE BEEN THROUGH A WARZONE. OH WAIT—YOU HAVE.

Sakura rolled her eyes. Thank you, Captain Obvious.

She turned the taps and waited as the enormous tub began to fill. Stripping off her filthy clothes, she took a moment to just breathe in the silence.

Actual, uninterrupted, candlelit silence.

She sank into the hot water and let out a groan that sounded, frankly, indecent.

“Ohhhh gods yes.”

Her bones melted. Muscles unclenched. For the first time in days, nothing hurt. She drifted in and out of consciousness, considering the possibility of never leaving the tub again. Maybe she’d just stay here, live out the rest of her life as a semi-aquatic healer. Tsunade would understand. Probably.

Eventually, she dragged herself out, skin pink and limbs jelly-like. She wrapped herself in a towel that was somehow both absurdly soft and comically oversized, and began the sacred post-mission ritual: hair detangling, skin scrubbing, damage assessment.

She spotted the fresh clothes laid out for her and slipped into the simplest pair of cotton underwear ever designed. Nothing sexy—but oh so soft. Then came the black jonin pants and a fitted anthracite-gray turtleneck bodysuit.

She paused.

“A turtleneck ? In a desert ?”

Sakura gave a single, humorless chuckle. “Bold choice.”

Still, the material was surprisingly breathable, and the fit was flattering enough that she didn’t complain. Much. She bounced once onto the bed and sank deep into the layers of pillows and blankets, gazing out the window at the city below.

Suna shimmered in the night like a lantern in the dark. The rooftops glowed with tiny lights, and for a brief, rare moment, Sakura felt still.

Peace. Actual, undisturbed peace. Wild.

She snuggled deeper under the covers, closed her eyes—

—and immediately remembered something horrible.

“Shit.”

She sat up straight. The check-up. She was supposed to report to the hospital for a post-mission evaluation.

“Perfect timing, brain,” she muttered, swinging her legs out of bed.

She checked the mirror again. Still a little tired-looking, but leagues better than the disaster earlier. The turtleneck, she had to admit, made her hair pop. Her eyes too. Not that she was going for mysterious desert fashion icon, but it didn’t hurt.

Out on the streets, the air had turned crisp. So that’s why the turtleneck, she thought. Desert nights: nature’s plot twist.

Suna was bustling. Bright lanterns hung from stalls, music played from somewhere in the distance, and the scent of sizzling food hit her like a jutsu to the face. She passed vendors selling jewelry, spices, baked goods—and paused at one that offered something that smelled divine.

Two bites in, she didn’t even care what it was. It was hot and salty and fried. A perfect post-bath snack.

When she reached the hospital, she got in line at the reception desk—only to be interrupted immediately.

“Haruno-sama?” a doctor asked.

Sakura blinked in surprise. “Just Sakura is fine—"

Too late. Staff swarmed her. Nurses, assistants, even a couple medics she recognized from intel reports —all buzzing about her remarkable rescue of the Kazekage's brother.

“Really, you don’t need to—okay, no, don’t bow, oh gods please stop bowing.”

One nurse teared up. Someone else offered her tea.

Sakura looked around, entirely overwhelmed. “I’m begging you,” she said, “I am aggressively normal. Please calm down.”

No one did.

After a surprisingly gentle check-up, the doctor gave her a serious look.

“We can remove the scar, if you like.”

Sakura glanced down at it—the pale line across her abdomen, faded but still there. A relic of Sasori. Of Chiyo. Of everything.

She hesitated.

“No,” she said at last. “I’ll keep it.”

The doctor looked surprised. “May I ask why?”

Sakura shrugged, fingers brushing the mark. "It's a reminder of what I've been through, and what I still have to overcome."

                                      X

Sakura returned to her room feeling tired but content. She changed into a comfy T-shirt and the comfy undies. She brushed her teeth, grateful for warm water, clean clothes, and a bed that didn’t smell like blood or sand.

Just as she was about to drift into that rare, precious sleep, there was a knock at the door.

Sakura groaned into her pillow. “Unbelievable.”

Still, she shuffled to the door and cracked it open just wide enough to glare through.

“Oh. Temari-san,” she said, blinking in surprise. She opened the door wider.

Temari gave a tired smile. Her hair was windblown, her eyes sharp despite the exhaustion hanging off her. “Please, Sakura. I think we’re past formalities. Just call me Temari.”

Sakura returned the smile, stepped back and opened the door wider . “You got it. What can I do for you?”

“Well,” Temari began, brushing a stray hair from her face, “I have a small favor to ask.”

Uh-oh.

“I want you to officially take over the examination of the Kazekage.”

Sakura’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.

“Whaaaaaat? Me?” she blurted. “But—I mean—Hataro-san told me about your strict protocols …”

Temari rubbed her forehead. “That’s why I’ve been stuck in that meeting for the last three hours. Those inflexible, arrogant old fossils did everything in their power to block it. Meanwhile, our own medical staff couldn't save our brother.”

There was heat in her voice. History, too.

Sakura hesitated. “Of course I could try , but… wouldn’t he feel safer with someone from Suna? Someone he knows? Someone he trusts? I mean, I’m a stranger. After everything he’s been through, the last thing he needs is some foreign medic poking at him. I could review the findings, if that helps—”

“And that ,” Temari cut in, “is exactly why I want you . Do you realize that you’re the first person who’s even mentioned Gaara’s emotional state? Everyone else treats him like a damn weapon. A tool to preserve. Not a person. Not a human being. But you—you just said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.”

Her voice cracked, just barely, and Sakura caught the fire in her eyes.

“He’s my brother. And he deserves so much more than this cold, calculated system. Please, Sakura. Will you do the examination?”

Sakura remembered her earlier thoughts when they arrived in Suna—watching Naruto’s back as he walked ahead.

“But while you’re saving people, I want to be right by your side, supporting you every step of the way.”

She looked Temari in the eye and smiled. “Of course. I’d be honored.”

“Let me just change, and I’ll meet you there.”

As Sakura turned around and pulled on her pants and the dark turtleneck again, Temari lingered in the doorway, a grateful smile spreading across her face.

“Thank you, Sakura.”

Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, Temari added, “Also, I think this might be the first time I’ve seen a half-naked woman in the Kazekage’s mansion.”

Sakura froze mid-button.

“…I was going to bed .”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Temari said, grinning, “I think it should happen more often. Might get the stick out of my brother’s ass. Not Kankuro’s, though—he’s got the opposite problem. Too involved with the ladies.”

Sakura snorted. “Meanwhile, this underwear? Life-changing. You have to tell me the brand—I’m taking a full set back home.”

Temari brightened. “Right? I’ll hook you up. Honestly, if I’d known you’d be strutting around in your underwear in my brother’s house, I’d have made sure the set was much hotter.

Sakura flushed and lobbed a pillow at her.

Temari caught it one-handed, eyes twinkling. “I think we’re going to get along.”

Sakura buttoned up her pants and smirked. “Yeah. I think so too.”

They stepped out together into the cold desert night.

“Anything I should know before I start the examination?” Sakura asked as they walked. She wanted as much context as possible—especially if she was going to touch the most guarded man in Suna without getting crushed by sand.

Temari hesitated. “Well… The last doctor who tried to examine Gaara ended up stuck to the wall on the other side of the hospital.” She said brightly, waving her hand as if this were perfectly normal. “But in his defense, the guy was kind of a jerk.”

Sakura blinked slowly.

Temari patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry! I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Sure,” Sakura muttered. “Definitely. This is great. I’m so relaxed right now.” she elaborated as she followed Temari, regretting all her life decisions.

                                      X

Visualization of the Kazekage Mansion: 

Sakura's Room: 

 Sakura's Bathroom: 

Chapter Text

Chapter 5 The Examination

As Sakura and Temari walked through Suna toward the hospital, a quiet settled between them.

The air had even grown colder. Sakura tucked her hands into the pockets of her pants. While she usually wore something entirely different, she had to admit—pants were a vast improvement over a skirt in this kind of weather. Not exactly her style, but objectively better than freezing her thighs off.

"Gaara is a very complex person," Temari began, as they made their way through Suna’s dimly lit streets, the buzz of celebration still faintly audible in the distance.

"As you know, he’s a Jinchūriki. Or… he was? I don’t really know what to call him anymore,” she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully, then she let out a breath and shook her head slowly.

“Being a Jinchūriki meant having the Ichibi—Shukaku—sealed inside him.

"From the very beginning, it brought him nothing but pain and suffering. The village feared him. They used him. He wasn’t seen as a child, or even a person. Just a weapon. A threat. A monster in human form.”

Sakura said nothing, but her chest tightened. Her footsteps slow, matching Temari’s even pace.

Temari’s voice grew heavier. “Our mother died not long after Gaara was born. He came early, too early. Sick and small and fragile. Our uncle Yashamaru took care of him. He was the only one who really stayed by Gaara’s side. The rest of us... we kept our distance. Even I was afraid of him. But no one feared him more than our father. He saw Gaara as a mistake. A failed weapon. And when Gaara turned six, he ordered Yashamaru to kill him.”

Sakura’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Our uncle was everything to Gaara. A father figure. The only person who ever showed him warmth. Love. Gaara was attacked one night by an assassin and survived—but when the mask came off, it was Yashamaru beneath it. As he lay dying, he told Gaara that he had never cared about him. That he blamed him for our mother’s death. That the sand, the thing Gaara believed was his mother’s protection, was actually born of her hatred for him.”

Sakura inhaled sharply. Her fists clenched at her sides.

“Our uncle broke him,” Temari continued, voice raw.

“After that, Gaara believed no one had ever loved him—and that no one ever would. That he never would be worthy of love. That night he carved the kanji for ‘love’ into his forehead with sand. A mark of his purpose: to love only himself. He became filled with rage. Hate. And for a long time, that’s what fueled him.”

They stopped walking. Sakura’s feet refused to move, her mind spinning under the weight of what she’d just heard. She’d known the Kazekage’s past was dark—but this was another level. The cruelty of it. The complete abandonment.

Sakura stopped in her tracks, the chill of the night air suddenly sharp against her skin. Her breath caught as the weight of Temari’s words sank in—each detail hitting her like a blow to the chest. Horror twisted in her gut.

The image of Gaara, small and alone, betrayed by the only person he thought loved him, was too much. She couldn’t unsee it. Couldn’t unfeel it. The cruelty he’d endured at the hands of his own family and people wasn’t just inhuman—it was unforgivable. Her stomach churned with a mix of grief and disbelief. How had he survived that? How had he not broken completely?

A wave of empathy surged through her—raw and consuming. But beneath it, something else stirred. Guilt. Recognition. Because as she stood there, shaking from the enormity of what Gaara had lived through, she saw herself. Saw the blind spots, the silence, the times she had looked at Kakashi, Naruto and Sasuke and not seen them . Not really. Not their pain. Not the cracks in their armor.

She looked at Temari. The Suna kunoichi stood with her arms stiff at her sides, brows furrowed, unshed tears clinging to the corners of her eyes.

“I only learned about all this after Gaara became Kazekage,” Temari said, her voice cracking with a mixture of regret and shame.

Sakura stepped forward without thinking. She wrapped an arm around Temari’s, grounding them both. Her heart was pounding, her chest tight, her throat dry with emotion. It was too much—and yet not enough. No amount of sorrow would ever be enough to honor what the Kazekage had gone through.

She turned toward Temari, her voice trembling but steady. “Temari, I… I think I understand now. Just like you didn’t see your brother’s pain, I was blind to my teammates’. To everything they were carrying while I was too focused on myself to notice.”

Temari looked at her, something in her expression softening.

“I think I know how you feel. About your brother. And about yourself.”

Sakura’s voice rose slightly, sharp with guilt. “Back then, I wasn’t scared of Kakashi, Naruto or Sasuke. I just didn’t see them. I didn’t want to see. I was too busy clinging to the fantasy versions of them in my head. Hell, I was so self-absorbed I thought I understood everything—when in reality, I knew nothing .”

She shook her head, disgusted with herself. “I honestly can’t stand the thought of who I used to be. I never made the effort to understand their pain. I was right next to them, and I missed everything that mattered.”

Temari gave a small, solemn nod. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.

She paused, her fingers curling slightly at her sides.

“My parents never hated Naruto the way some of the villagers did. They didn’t treat him like a curse or a threat. They just saw a loud, stubborn, kind-hearted boy who kept showing up on our doorstep.”

Her voice softened. “After Sasuke left, he became a regular guest at our house. My dad took a liking to him immediately. They were like long-lost idiots, always teasing each other, pulling dumb pranks, laughing over the most ridiculous things.”

Temari glanced over, a faint smile touching her lips as she listened.

Sakura’s expression shifted, just barely—touched by something fragile and warm. “Even Kakashi joins us sometimes. Pretends to read in the corner, but we all know he’s eavesdropping on every joke. And somehow, in those moments, things felt normal. Light. Like we could pretend we weren’t carrying the world on our backs.”

Her smile faded.

“We both let down the people we love, Sakura,” she said, her voice low but steady. “We turned away when we should’ve been looking closer. But now… now we’re here. Trying to understand. Trying to carry part of that weight with them. If it came down to it, we’d give our lives for them without even thinking.”

Nodding in agreement, Sakura reached out and squeezed Temari’s hand with the one not still looped around her arm. Her grip was steady, her voice quiet but sure.

“You’re right, Temari. We’ve grown. We’ve learned. And we’ve come to love these so-called ‘monsters’ with everything in us. We can’t change the past, but we can fight for a better future—for them, and for ourselves.”

Temari’s grip tightened in response, and in that moment, something unspoken passed between them. A shared promise. A mutual understanding born of regret and love.

“When he was younger,” Temari began, voice softer now, “Gaara carried so much anger in him. So much resentment. It built and built, and no one was there to stop it—because no one cared enough to try. No one even wanted to understand him.”

She paused, looking ahead as they walked.

“But then… he met Naruto. And somehow, that changed everything. He saw someone just like him—hated, alone, feared—and yet Naruto still smiled. Still reached out. Still believed in people. That’s what changed Gaara. Not just a bond—they mirrored each other. Naruto showed him what could be possible, even with a past like his.”

Temari smiled then—genuinely. “Over time, Gaara started to let us in. Little by little. He began to realize that he wasn’t alone after all.”

Sakura nodded slowly, absorbing each word with a growing heaviness in her chest. She remembered the first time she heard about Naruto and the Kazekage’s strange, undeniable connection—how after the invasion of Konoha, Naruto had spoken his name not with hatred, but with empathy.

She hadn’t understood it then. Not fully. But now… she was starting to see it.

Naruto had seen Gaara’s soul before anyone else had even tried to look.

He didn’t just save Gaara—he showed him he was worth saving.

“How does he feel about Shukaku now?” Sakura asked after a moment, her voice tentative.

Temari’s expression shifted again—more thoughtful, more complex.

“It’s... complicated. At first, Gaara saw Shukaku as a curse. A voice that never left his head. A reason for everything that was wrong. But as he grew older, he learned to manage that voice. He found control. Balance. I don’t know if I’d call it friendship, but there was... respect. Understanding. And now that Shukaku’s gone... I think it hurts more than he lets on.”

Sakura nodded, silent.

“And how did he become Kazekage?” she asked next.

This time, Temari smiled with pride that lit her features. “After the Chūnin Exams and the chaos in Konoha, Gaara saw the truth—what power should be used for. He stopped chasing strength for himself and started fighting for others. He worked relentlessly. The village noticed. People slowly started believing in him.”

Her voice dropped slightly. “When our father died, there wasn’t even a question. Gaara had already become what the village needed—what we never thought he could be. He was the obvious choice.”

Temari’s gaze turned serious. “But being Kazekage... it’s more than protecting the borders. It’s about protecting the people inside them, too. And Gaara knows what it’s like to feel unwanted. Forgotten. So he spends every day trying to make sure no one else feels that way. Not on his watch.”

Sakura was struck—again—by the sheer depth of the Kazekage’s path. The quiet strength it must’ve taken to rise from what he was given. The will to lead with compassion despite never receiving it himself.

They walked in silence for a few paces, Temari occasionally sharing smaller stories, fragments of memory—Gaara’s first council meeting, his discomfort with celebrations, the way he always observed from a distance.

Sakura listened closely, building a picture in her mind. Not of the Kazekage, but of the man beneath the title.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Temari said finally. “He’s been through so much lately, and I doubt he’ll make this easy. But if anyone can reach him, I think it’s you.”

Sakura looked at her, moved. “Thank you. For trusting me. I’ll do everything I can to make him feel safe.”

Temari let out a bitter little chuckle. “I don’t think he’s ever felt safe. Not really. He’s one of the strongest shinobi in the world—and still, I don’t think he’s ever known what it feels like to rest. To let his guard down.”

She looked away for a moment, then back again.

“He doesn’t like to be touched. Or even looked at too closely. He’s never talked about his feelings, not with anyone. You’ll need to be patient. Gentle. Give him time.”

Sakura nodded, that same quiet fire from earlier returning to her chest. “I understand. I’ll be careful. I’ll respect his pace, no matter how slow it is. I want to help.”

They reached the hospital and stepped into the elevator, ascending together to the eighth floor.

“This is where the examination room for the Kazekage is,” Temari explained as the doors slid open. The corridor before them was quiet—but thick with presence. High-ranking shinobi lined the hall, standing alert and still.

“They’ve increased security since the abduction,” she said, her voice low.

Sakura followed her lead, but couldn’t help noticing the looks cast her way. Some nodded politely. Others barely acknowledged her. A few stared openly, their eyes guarded, suspicious. Distrust curled in the air like a second wind, and Sakura felt its chill settle into her bones.

Still, she kept walking.

At the end of the corridor, they stopped in front of a heavy door. Temari turned to her one last time.

“Gaara’s past is complicated,” she said. “But he never lost his true heart. Even when he didn’t know how to show it, it was there. Buried, maybe—but burning all the same. His desire to protect… it’s the one thing that’s never changed.”

Sakura swallowed, throat tight.

Temari smiled faintly, then turned and waved as she walked away. “Break a leg. No pun intended.”

Sakura huffed softly. Mhmm. Sure, she thought.

She stood still for a long moment, the weight of what she was about to do pressing down on her like sand before a storm.

Sakura knew that the psychological examination she was about to conduct on the Kazekage would be a crucial step in his healing journey, and she was determined to approach it with empathy, patience, and professionalism.

She opened the door and entered the room. 

                                    X

Contrary to what she’d expected, Sakura didn’t step into a bright, sterile hospital room.

The lighting was soft, dimmed to a low, calming glow. A few tall candles flickered quietly, their flames steady, accompanied by indirect light from various warm-toned lamps. The air felt heavy but not oppressive. Peaceful, almost—like someone had tried to make the space feel safe, less clinical. Less threatening.

The Kazekage’s gourd stood in the far-left corner like a silent sentinel.

The room was larger than standard exam rooms—more comfortable. There were cushions, clean linens, and signs that this space had been deliberately arranged to soothe rather than intimidate.

Probably to help with the anxiety, Sakura thought.

Her gaze found the Kazekage immediately. He was seated on the bed, posture straight but not rigid, his seafoam eyes staring out the window.

And then, slowly, he turned to face her.

His expression was unreadable. Closed. But his eyes locked onto hers with such intensity that her breath stilled for a moment.

He looks like a predator, she thought. And I am definitely the prey.

She gulped.

PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, YOUNG LADY. IF HE SMASHES YOU INTO THE WALL, YOU JUST GRAB A PIECE OF IT AND THROW IT RIGHT BACK IN HIS FACE.

Sakura exhaled through her nose, dry amusement curling in her chest.

Yeah. Sure. Start a war by hurling a drywall at the Kazekage. And then die by Tsunade’s hand before you can explain yourself.

Both Sakura and Inner flinched at the very real image of her Shishō’s fury. Fatal would be putting it gently.

She composed herself and bowed slightly. “Hello, Kazekage-sama,” she said softly, keeping her tone even and non-threatening. “I’m here to conduct a psychological evaluation. I understand that you’ve been through a great deal, and I want to make sure we approach this in a way that feels safe for you.”

He said nothing. Just watched her with that still, silent intensity.

But he didn’t object. Didn’t move to leave or dismiss her.

That was something.

Sakura took a careful step forward—and paused the moment she saw his shoulders twitch. It was slight. Subtle. But enough.

Temari had been right. He wasn’t used to closeness, especially not physical. She quickly corrected herself, stepping back.

“I’m sorry,” she said gently. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Is it alright if I sit down?”

Again, he didn’t speak. But he didn’t object either.

She took it as permission and slowly settled into the chair beside his bed, careful to maintain a respectful distance.

Silence stretched between them.

Sakura sat with it, letting it breathe, not rushing to fill it. Eventually, she spoke.

“I can’t imagine how difficult things have been,” she said gently. “And I won’t pretend I understand what you’re going through. But I want to help—only if you want it. You don’t have to talk about anything you’re not ready for, but if there’s anything you do want to say... I’m here to listen.”

She paused, watching him for any signs of discomfort.

“Before we begin, I want to make sure you understand what this examination involves,” she explained, her voice calm and measured. “I’ll ask you some questions about your experiences—before, during, and after the abduction. We’ll be looking for symptoms of anxiety, depression, or PTSD. I’ll also be evaluating your cognitive function and overall mental health.”

Still, no words from him—but there was no rejection in his body language. Only caution.

Sakura softened her voice. “At any point, if something feels uncomfortable, you can stop me. You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to. This is your space, Kazekage-sama. You set the pace.”

A long moment passed.

Then, The Kazekage nodded once. Tired. Dangerous. Cold. Resigned—but calm.

Sakura offered a small nod in return, taking it as the signal to begin.

“I don’t think I ever formally introduced myself,” she said with a small smile, shifting gears. “My name is Sakura Haruno. I’m seventeen. I’m on Naruto’s team—and, as mentioned last night, I’m currently the apprentice of the Fifth Hokage. I still live with my parents—though I’m planning to move out soon. I really like sweets…”

She kept talking—soft, small things. Nothing personal enough to be invasive, nothing sharp enough to draw walls. Just light self-disclosure, a tactic she often used with high-anxiety patients. When people saw her as a person—young, awkward, human—it helped bring down the guard.

Not that she could possibly be a threat to the Kazekage.

He could crush me in two seconds flat.

And I’m over here talking about sweets.

He probably thinks I’m an idiot.

Or worse—annoying.

Her chest tightened a little at the thought.

Okay, back on track, she told herself.

Over the course of the next hour, she gently led him through the psychological exam. She asked about his emotions, thoughts, and responses surrounding the abduction. She guided him through standardized questions that could screen for PTSD, depressive symptoms, anxiety levels, and cognitive function—memory, focus, logical recall.

His answers were minimal. Nods. Shakes of the head. The occasional quiet “yes” or “no.” But that was okay. He was here . He was trying.

She didn’t push. She didn’t expect him to bare anything he wasn’t ready for.

And over time, she noticed something shift. Slight. But there.

The tension in his shoulders loosened. His gaze lingered longer, and not with as much sharpness.

When the psychological portion was finished, Sakura set her clipboard aside.

“Thank you, Kazekage-sama. You’ve done really well.”

She smiled softly.

“Now,” she said, gently, “we’ll move to the physical part of the exam. We’re in no rush. I won’t do anything without your consent. And I promise—none of this will hurt. I can draw blood and heal you simultaneously. You won’t feel a thing.”

She lifted her right hand and channeled chakra to her fingertip. It glowed soft green—calming, controlled.

Gaara nodded.

And unless she was imagining it, he seemed just a little more at ease than when she’d first entered.

“Could you please remove your shirt, Kazekage-sama?” she asked.

He rose to his feet, towering over her and began to undo the front of his loose clothing. Slowly, methodically, without a word.

And when he pulled it off—

Sakura blinked.

The Kazekage's torso was a masterpiece of nature, lean yet undeniably strong. His muscles formed a harmonious blend of power and elegance, each one defined but not exaggerated. His shoulders were broad, offering a sturdy foundation for the rest of his form, while his chest looked as though it had been meticulously carved from the finest sand and stone, each contour a testament to his strength. His skin, pale and unblemished by scars, was striking in its smoothness, almost luminous under the soft light.

HOLY SHIT, Inner gasped. I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING. THAT MAN IS STUNNING.

Of course, Sakura thought, this is where you choose to show up again.

I NOTICE BECAUSE YOU NOTICE. SUBCONSCIOUS OR NOT. ALL THAT SAND WORKING ITS MAGIC AND YET HE’S PACKING . YOU CAN’T DENY THAT.

Sakura didn’t deny it. She’d worked on a lot of shinobi, had seen the wear and tear of war written across many bodies.

But the Kazekage… he was something else entirely.

Still, she forced her focus back where it belonged. On the task.

She cleared her throat, trying to keep the tone light. “Uhm… Kazekage-sama?” she said, lifting her eyes back to his.

He looked at her—calm, steady.

She hesitated.

Now came the moment she’d try to break the tension… carefully.

“If you ever feel like your sand is about to intervene and toss me across the hall,” Sakura began, her voice light but deliberate, “please try to mention it beforehand. I just had a long bath and would really prefer not to get dusty again.”

She flashed him a grin.

The Kazekage’s expression didn’t shift immediately. But after a few seconds, something subtle flickered in his eyes. A moment of thought—then, unexpectedly, the corner of his lips curved upward.

Not much. Just a faint, dry smirk.

“I’ll try to warn you before throwing you anywhere, Haruno-san,” he said.

Sakura blinked.

Well damn. She hadn’t been prepared for that. Not even a little.

She returned the smirk. “Thank you, Kazekage-sama. That is truly, deeply appreciated.”

She made a few notes on her clipboard to steady herself, then looked up again. “Do you have pain anywhere right now?”

He considered it for a moment. “Does soreness count?”

Sakura smiled gently. “Absolutely. I can take a look at that too.”

He nodded once, then added quietly, “And… my head hurts.”

Sakura’s gaze rose instinctively to his forehead. Her voice softened. “Where exactly?”

“Right here.” He lifted his hand and touched the red seal above his left eye—the mark for love. The one he’d carved into his own skin.

A different kind of pain stirred in her chest.

Sakura stepped closer, slower now. “I’ll try my best to help you with that, too.”

She summoned her chakra again, calming her breath. “I’ll begin by trailing my hands lightly over your arms, back, and chest—just to feel for tension or injury. If anything feels uncomfortable, or you need me to stop at any time, just say so. You’re in control of the pace, Kazekage-sama.”

The young ruler gave a short nod. His posture was rigid, but not defensive.

Sakura shifted her weight forward.

“Alright then,” she said, voice low and clear. “I’ll begin now—”

“Wait!”

The word stopped her mid-motion. The Kazekage’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp—urgent. His eyes had flicked up to meet hers again, more direct this time.

She stilled immediately. “Yes?”

                                      X

Gaara sat on the hospital bed, tense and guarded. He knew the psychological and physiological examination was necessary—a step forward, a symbol of responsibility, of healing—but none of that stopped the knot of apprehension twisting in his gut.

Temari had argued with the elders for more than two hours. They wanted Yakio, the newly appointed chief of Suna’s hospital, to handle the process.

Temari had insisted on Haruno Sakura.

Baki, Kankurō, and even Ebizō had backed her. The other elders had pushed back hard, citing Suna’s protocols, confidentiality, and the risk of sharing information with Konoha.

Gaara had stopped listening after the first forty minutes.

At some point during the second hour, his mind had drifted. He didn’t know how they’d managed to convince the elders in the end—only that he had suddenly heard Temari’s voice calling him back to the present.

“I’ll get her now, Gaara. You can already go to the hospital. They’ve prepared everything.

She’d stepped closer, touched his shoulder lightly.

“Everything will be fine,” she said. Then she turned and left the office.

And so, Gaara had gone.

As the Konoha kunoichi entered the room, Gaara watched her with sharp focus, tracking every movement, every microexpression. She smiled warmly. Her voice was calm and open. She introduced herself again.

It unsettled him.

People had smiled at him before. That had never stopped them from hurting him later.

Rationally, he knew that wasn’t the case here. She was one of Naruto’s closest friends. Her presence alone—her willingness to come to Suna, to do this—meant more than he could say. But when panic rose in him, reason became distant. A theory, not a truth.

So he watched her like a cornered animal. Tense. Braced.

And then she started talking. Not about the exam, not about protocols—but about herself.

That, more than anything, threw him off.

It was unexpected. Disarming.

And strangely… comforting.

He felt the edge in his chest loosen just slightly.

Throughout the session, she gave him choices. Options. Control.

He could stop the questions. Decline them. Leave. She told him that outright—and meant it.

That mattered more than he could explain. Because control, for him, had always come with violence. But here, it was calm. It was offered. He didn’t have to fight for it.

Still, he kept most of his answers short. Nods. A few spoken words. He wasn’t ready for more, and thankfully, she didn’t push. She allowed the silence to speak for him. That, too, helped.

But the memories… they came anyway. Unbidden. Sharp. The questions unlocked rooms he had nailed shut long ago. And as much as he kept his face still, inside, he was shaking. The pressure built. Anger. Sadness. Shame.

He said none of this aloud.

She had given him permission not to, and he clung to that.

By the end of the psychological portion, he felt both raw and strangely lighter.

Then came the physical examination.

Again, she offered options. Clarity. Even a joke.

He didn’t expect that either.

He smirked—just barely—at her remark about getting dusty. It was unorthodox. Bold. He didn’t mind. In fact… he liked it.

When she asked him to remove his shirt, he complied without hesitation.

He folded it neatly and placed it on the bed beside him.

He could feel her pause. She was staring. But she said nothing.

Just as he began to wonder what she saw, she blinked, refocused, and carried on.

Then she reached for him—and something shifted.

An unease stirred in his chest. His muscles tensed. His sand moved.

He could feel it react from across the room. Rising. Testing. Ready.

“Wait!” he said, sharp and sudden.

She froze mid-motion, her concern immediate. “Yes? Is everything okay, Kazekage-sama?”

He hesitated.

“I can feel my sand moving,” he said quietly. “It’s reacting to my uneasiness.”

Her eyes flicked to the gourd. The sand had begun to slip out, slow and deliberate, like smoke with weight. It hovered, curling, responding to the tension inside him.

She didn’t panic.

She didn’t even move.

“I see it,” she said calmly.

The sand crept toward her. Close. Deliberate. And still, she didn’t flinch.

Leave her, he commanded. 

Nothing. 

Gaara stood halfway, heart hammering. His instinct was to shield her. He knew what his sand could do. He’d seen it crush bones and rip flesh without mercy.

He was about to intercept when Haruno-san lifted a hand toward him— don’t .

“It’s okay,” she said softly.

He froze.

The sand was now just a few feet from her face, hovering at eye level.

And then… she turned toward it.

She raised her palm and held it out—not in fear, but in offering. Slow. Measured. As one might to a wary animal.

Gaara stared.

No one had ever done that. Not even Temari. Not willingly.

And then she spoke.

“We’ve met before,” she said, voice still calm, eyes on the sand. “I don’t mean him any harm. I’m here to help him this time. I’m a close friend of Naruto. I want to help him feel better.”

The sand hesitated—then slowly, astonishingly, coiled around her fingers.

Soft. Gentle. Almost… curious.

It slid across her hand, her wrist, testing her chakra. Testing her.

Gaara’s breath caught.

My sand has never been so gentle before.

It moved up to her elbow, wrapping her forearm like it was memorizing her shape.

And then—it stopped.

It pulled back, hovered… and then, without warning, it curled downward and gently brushed its tip across her palm.

A handshake.

Then it receded.

It flowed back into the gourd without protest.

Sakura exhaled in surprise and turned to him, eyes wide and shining with something electric.

“That was crazy scary,” she whispered, “but also absolutely incredible.”

Gaara had no idea what to say. He just stared at her, stunned by what he’d seen.

She smiled at him, softer now. “Well, Kazekage-sama… I guess I just passed the ultimate test.”

“Aa,” he replied quietly.

His throat felt dry.

What just happened? Did it… trust her? Did that mean it trusted him… with her?

He wasn’t ready to ask those questions yet.

But he could move forward.

“I think we can resume the physical examination now, Haruno-san,” he said, lifting his gaze to meet hers directly.

She nodded.

And they continued.

                                      X

She slowly touched his right fist.

“It will hopefully feel warm and pleasant,” she said gently, turning his wrist so his palm faced upward. With her other hand, she found his pulse, pressing her fingers softly to his skin as she focused her healing chakra.

His skin was hot.

Hotter than most of her patients. Not feverish—just... naturally warm. A slow heat that clung to her fingers.

She looked up at him as her chakra flowed into him. “Does it feel okay?”

“Yes,” he answered, his voice low and focused on her glowing hand.

She smiled back at him, reassured.

Sakura moved slowly, carefully, trailing her hands along his forearms, up toward his shoulders, across his chest and down his back. With each motion, she explained what she was doing—giving him control, offering space, never pushing.

She worked out knots of tension buried deep in muscle and sinew, used targeted chakra pulses to relieve soreness, and subtly implemented physiotherapeutic movements to ease the strain on his spine and shoulders.

The Kazekage began to relax. Not just physically, but visibly. His breathing softened. His posture changed.

“I’ll have to draw blood now,” she said after a pause. “I promise, you won’t feel a thing.”

She caught him glance sideways—toward the gourd.

Sakura nearly laughed. Is he waiting for it to intervene on his behalf?

“I don’t believe it’ll react,” she said, amused.

His teal eyes shifted from the gourd back to hers. “Why do you think that?” he asked, visibly puzzled.

“It likes me,” Sakura said with a straight face.

Both of his nonexistent eyebrows lifted sharply.

It was—by far—the most expressive reaction he’d given her.

“It doesn’t like anyone,” he said dryly, slipping back into his usual stoicism.

“Well, Kazekage-sama,” Sakura smirked, “I suppose it’s a good thing I’m not just anyone, then.”

Before he could respond, she sterilized the site and inserted the needle while sending out a soft wave of healing chakra. True to her word, he didn’t flinch.

Sakura couldn’t quite explain how she knew, but what had happened earlier—when the sand wrapped itself around her arm—had been one of the most terrifying and awe-inspiring moments of her life. She had almost cried. And maybe also almost peed herself. It had been that intense.

She had acted on instinct—just raw gut and trust. But in that moment, something had passed between her and the sand. A silent understanding. The way it had touched her... the way it had pulled back, almost respectfully.

It could’ve crushed her arm to powder. It hadn’t.

It had shaken her hand.

She looked up at the Kazekage, at his seafoam green eyes. His gaze was steady, framed by the dark markings around them.

She smiled gently and removed the needle. Her chakra sealed the tiny wound instantly. The moment lingered—his face so close now. Time felt strange. Still. Like it had the night before in the tent.

Sakura swallowed.

He was still gaping slightly at what had just happened.

“See,” she said, laughing softly, “told you.”

There was something strangely delightful about watching one of the most powerful shinobi in the world look utterly dumbfounded—by his own sand.

She felt comfortable now in his presence. Not completely safe, maybe—but no longer wary. And he didn’t seem to mind her proximity anymore.

“This has never happened before,” the young ruler said eventually, still looking between his arm, the gourd, and her.

“Did you feel any pain?” Sakura asked.

“No. None.”

“Very good then.” She smiled. “Shall we continue?”

He nodded.

Sakura stood, bringing herself eye level with the Kazekage. He still sat on the bed, his feet hanging just above the floor.

“I’m going to take a look at your head now,” she said. “I’ll touch both of your temples. Remember, you can stop me at any time.”

He nodded again, his eyes locked on hers.

She stepped closer.

To reach him properly, she had to step between his knees—just a few inches, but enough to make her suddenly hyperaware of the space between them.

She gently placed her thumbs on his temples, the rest of her hands cradling the sides of his face. His hair, to her surprise, felt soft. Silky, even.

She closed her eyes, focused.

And then—his scent hit her.

Clean. Dusty. Warm, almost sun-baked. Subtle, but undeniably him. Her body responded before her brain caught up—her pulse quickening just slightly. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it settled somewhere low in her chest and refused to move.

Focus, she ordered herself. Focus, dammit.

With her eyes still closed, she concentrated her chakra on the seal above his brow.

The sensation hit her like a void.

It felt like standing at the mouth of a cave. Hollow. Gutted. The walls inside were fractured, as if shattered from within by something immense. It was dark. Cold. A place that had once been filled with something terrible—and now was just broken.

Sakura pressed her chakra into the hollow space and slowly began to rebuild. To smooth the cracks. Soften the scarred edges.

But as her chakra moved further and into his abdomen, she stumbled onto something else.

A pressure.

It didn’t come from the seal—but from somewhere deeper inside of him.

Something massive.

Her chakra brushed the edge of it and immediately recoiled. A pool of energy surged beneath her sensing field, violent and untamed. It wasn’t leaking—it was held back by sheer force of will.

Sakura’s knees started shaking.

What the hell…?

This wasn’t the Ichibi.

This wasn’t foreign chakra.

It was his.

All of it.

His chakra was wild—thick, potent, terrifyingly concentrated. She’d never felt anything like it before. Not even from Tsunade. Not even from Naruto.

And yet… he was retracting it . Holding it so tightly it was like it lived behind an iron gate. He wasn't accessing it at all. It didn’t seep into the room, didn’t breathe the way Naruto’s chakra did. It sat there—dense, controlled, massive—and utterly his.

Sakura’s mouth had gone dry.

This could kill me, she thought. If I reached into it, if he let it loose—I wouldn’t stand a chance.

The revelation left her breathless.

She understood Naruto’s strength—it was fueled by the Kyūbi. She understood Sasuke’s—his bloodline and Sharingan made him a force of nature.

But the Kazekage?

This was something else entirely.

No beast. No special dojutsu. Just him .

It was terrifying.

And exhilarating.

Here he sat, a young man, barely older than her—still, quiet, letting her stand this close. Letting her heal him. Letting her touch him.

A mere chūnin.

A no-name.

He had every reason to swat her away like a bug. And yet… he didn’t.

He let her be here. Trusted her—at least a little. Let her guide this.

The knowledge made her stomach flip. But she steadied herself.

She sent healing chakra back to the seal. Gaara let out a faint groan—something involuntary—and the weight of his head sagged into her hands.

She smiled to herself, eyes still closed, and kept going until every last fracture had been soothed.

When the chakra faded, the weight lifted.

She opened her eyes.

The Kazekage was watching her. Closely.

Her gaze drifted to the 'love' seal on his forehead. Her fingers tingled. An odd urge passed through her—one she couldn’t quite explain—the desire to gently run her thumb across the seal. To touch the place he had marked himself to feel something.

But she resisted.

Instead, she smiled softly and lowered her hands.

“We’re done, Kazekage-sama,” she said, stepping back a few feet to give him space. “I hope the examination hasn’t caused you any discomfort.”

“How do you feel?”

He looked at her, his expression thoughtful.

“Different,” he said.

Sakura chuckled. “I’m going to need a little more than that.”

“I feel like a weight’s been lifted. My body feels... relaxed. Regenerated. You took the pain from the seal away.”

“I’m glad,” she said quietly.

A beat passed.

“Also,” Gaara added, his tone dry again, “I feel betrayed by my sand.”

Sakura burst out laughing.

Did he just make a joke?

“Do you have any more questions?” she asked once she caught her breath.

Gaara straightened slightly. “Do you believe I can resume my Kazekage duties immediately?”

That startled her a bit. She hadn’t realized she had the authority to say yes or no to that.

“I’ll need to get the lab results,” she said. “I can produce them myself—I'll be back in fifteen minutes.”

“Of course,” the young ruler said.

At that, the sand slithered out of the gourd and floated to the door. It opened it for her—smooth, controlled.

Sakura smiled. “Thank you,” she said—to him, to the sand, or both.

Gaara blinked. That little moment of gratitude, that softness—it almost made him snort.

“Traitor,” he muttered to the sand as it returned. It bumped his shoulder lightly—almost playfully—before slipping back into the gourd.

“Hataro?”

The ANBU appeared instantly, kneeling in front of him.

“Can you fetch my siblings?”

“Of course, Kazekage-sama,” Hataro said before vanishing in a silent blur.

Temari arrived seven minutes later, striding into the room with her usual bluntness.

“I see there are no holes in the walls,” she remarked dryly.

“Aa,” Gaara replied.

Temari smiled, satisfaction flickering in her eyes. “Told you she could handle it.”

Kankurō followed, his voice echoing as he stepped through the door. “Well, I haven’t heard any explosions or emergency alarms, so I’m guessing it went well?”

Gaara rolled his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Temari asked, more gently now.

“My body hurts less,” Gaara said.

Kankurō snorted. “High praise from you.”

They didn’t have to wait long—before the pink haired kunoichi returned, her energy calm but confident. “Hi guys,” she greeted them with a smile.

“Hey, Sakura-chan,” both Temari and Kankurō said in unison, far too casually for Gaara’s taste.

He shot them both a look of disapproval. Temari, he could understand. But Kankurō? Really?

Typical. He always got too familiar around decent-looking women.

Haruno-san just laughed at their overly warm greeting.

“I have all the results now,” she said. “Do we need to wait for anyone else before I begin?”

“No,” Temari replied. “I’ll brief the council after our meeting tomorrow morning. Please proceed.”

Sakura nodded. “Kazekage-sama, you are experiencing severe symptoms of anxiety, you're going through a full-on depressive episode, and you're definitely dealing with post-traumatic stress disorder. These symptoms correlate with multiple traumas you've experienced over the years.”

She looked up from her notes with a calm, almost gentle expression. “Your overall mental health is… not great. However—your cognitive function is exceptional. You cleared every mental assessment. Physically, you’re in excellent shape.”

OH YES HE IS, Inner chimed in.

Not now, Sakura mentally shushed her.

All three siblings stared at her in stunned silence, horrified.

Sakura just smiled back. “You can resume your duties as Kazekage immediately. Your chakra reserves should normalize within the week. Normally, I’d recommend holding off on training until then—but I happen to know a certain loud knucklehead who’d be devastated if he didn’t get to spar with you before he leaves. And honestly, I think it would do you some good. It might ease your mind more than rest would.”

Now, all three siblings looked perplexed.

“I don’t get it,” Kankurō said. “Didn’t you just say Gaara’s ready for the loony bin?”

A sharp flick of sand snapped against the back of his head.

“OW.”

“What shinobi isn’t?” Haruno-san said nonchalantly, scanning Gaara’s chart again. “Don’t get me wrong, Kazekage-sama—you’ve been through more awfulness than most people could fathom. And I know that sounds like an understatement, because it is . What’s happened to you wasn’t fair. None of it was your fault.”

Gaara blinked. Her words hit harder than he expected. She knew what he had done. She knew what he had been . And yet… her voice was filled with compassion. Unflinching. Undeserved. Real.

Temari watched her speak with quiet pride.

“I know Shukaku gave you enormous power,” the pink haired kunoichi continued. “But based on my examination of your chakra system and seal, I honestly believe you’re capable of far more on your own.”

Gaara stared at her. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t doubt.

“You’ll need support. Not from a professional right now—I think therapy, at this stage, might not serve you as well as others would hope.”

Kankurō placed a hand on Gaara’s shoulder, grinning. “This is amazing news, Gaara.”

Temari smiled wide and gratefully at Sakura.

“I believe,” Haruno-san said, “that your healing will begin with the people already around you. People who care about you. Your siblings. Your friends. Your village. If you ever feel yourself slipping—lean on them. Talk to someone. Anyone you trust.”

Gaara struggled to process all the… kindness. All the care. From someone who barely knew him.

She smiled softly at him. Honest. Calm. Completely without judgment.

“Well, that’s all for now,” she said, stepping back. “I hope you rest well, Kazekage-sama. Temari. Kankurō-san.”

Kankurō stood. “Please, Sakura-chan—you found an antidote for Sasori’s poison, saved me , kicked Sasori’s ass, and helped bring my brother back from the brink. If that doesn’t earn you the right to drop the honorifics, I don’t know what does.”

“Kankurō...” Gaara said coolly.

Kankurō waved him off. “Thank you for saving my life. Let’s be friends, Sakura-chan.”

He crossed the room and took both her hands in his.

“Sure,” Sakura laughed. “That sounds great, Kankurō.”

“You’re one hell of a woman. You know, we could also—”

A wave of sand slammed into him out of nowhere, sweeping him several feet away from her.

“Stop harassing her,” Gaara said without even looking directly at his brother.

Kankurō groaned and dusted off his clothes.

Sakura giggled and bowed slightly. “Goodnight, everyone!”

“Goodnight,” they echoed together.

And then she was gone.

                                    X

The way home blurred past her.

Sakura barely remembered the halls, the walk, or the chill of the night air. Her body felt like it had been wrung out—her chakra depleted, her nerves humming quietly beneath her skin. She opened the door to her room, closed it behind her, and immediately stripped out of her clothes.

She pulled on the oversized T-shirt she’d grown attached to, flopped onto the bed, and collapsed face-first into the pillow. Her body didn’t even twitch.

Her right hand— the one the sand had touched —still tingled faintly.

It wasn’t uncomfortable. Just warm. Alive.

She drifted off before her brain could form a single thought more.

                                    X

The door had barely shut behind Haruno when another knock came.

A shinobi entered, followed by a man Gaara recognized immediately—the newly appointed chief of Suna’s hospital.

“Kazekage-sama,” the man greeted, bowing slightly. “We did not receive the full set of Haruno-san’s notes. We’ll acquire them immediately so we can assess the data and provide formal feedback on the examination.”

Gaara’s eyes narrowed.

There it was—the tone.

Flat. Authoritative. Entitled.

The elders had pushed for this man. After the ‘ Chief to the wall -incident ’, they had insisted the hospital needed a ‘real’ leader.

Someone to ‘restore oversight.’ Gaara had skimmed the application and met the man once in his office. Katano Yakio. Exceptionally qualified. Technically overqualified. Efficient. Professional. Respected.

Gaara had disliked him on sight.

“No,” Gaara said, cutting him off. His voice was calm, final. “Haruno-san already briefed us. Let her rest.”

Yakio hesitated for half a second before bowing low. “As you wish, Kazekage-sama.”

Baki stepped into the room just as Yakio straightened.

“The hospital still appears intact,” he said dryly.

“Yes, the Konoha kunoichi seems to have done a decent job,” Yakio replied. “Of course, I’ll need to review her notes and analysis thoroughly to form an accurate evaluation.”

Temari opened her mouth, but Gaara got there first.

“Yakio-san,” he said coolly, “you will report to my office tomorrow morning. The ANBU will provide the time.”

Temari glanced at Gaara.

That tone—cold, clipped, commanding—meant he had taken hold of the situation. So she let him.

She folded her arms and turned on Yakio and the others. “All of you, out. The Kazekage is done for today.”

No one argued. She ushered them out, one by one.

When the room was finally quiet again, Temari turned back to Gaara.

“How are you?”

Gaara considered the question. “I’m okay. As you said—no walls were broken.”

Temari’s lips curved. “She’s one hell of a medic,” she murmured.

“You should call it a day too,” Gaara said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Temari tilted her head slightly. “You’ll be fine getting home on your own?”

Gaara raised a nonexistent eyebrow.

She chuckled. “Yeah, that was probably a dumb question. Rest well, brother.”

She stepped out and closed the door behind her.

Gaara exhaled slowly.

Finally, alone.

This might have been the first moment of true solitude since the abduction.

The last twenty-four hours had been a blur of strategy, briefings, restructured security plans, and diplomatic discussions. He had spoken at length with Hataro, Temari, and several trusted advisors.

But now, the silence settled in.

He raised a hand. Two ANBU appeared immediately.

“I’m going home,” he said.

They nodded.

Gaara fastened his gourd to his back, moved toward the window, and vanished into the night air.

He needed space. And silence. And to feel the desert wind alone.

                                      X

He sat alone in his room, surrounded by the silence that had become all too familiar.

Usually, Shukaku would be here—rambling, hissing, grumbling about anything and everything. The absence was deafening.

Gaara exhaled slowly and turned to the balcony.

He needed air.

He exited out the balcony, scaling the side of the Kazekage’s mansion with practiced ease. This was his spot—high above the village, perched beneath the stars, where he could look out over Suna and listen to the night breathe.

It was almost a full moon tonight. The sky was sharp and quiet.

His thoughts weren’t.

A storm of emotions tore through him—confusion, grief, fear, anger. For most of his life, he had been defined by his connection to Shukaku. The beast had been his curse. His weapon. His identity. His constant companion.

And now?

Now he felt unmoored. Empty. Alone in a way that felt worse than solitude.

Right on cue, a flare of familiar chakra lit the edge of his awareness.

Gaara let out a breath that was half a laugh.

Of course.

Naruto never just showed up. He announced himself—bright, chaotic, and unmistakably loud, even in chakra.

The gourd on Gaara’s back rustled. Sand emerged, stretching down across the village like a ribbon, reaching Naruto’s window. A quiet invitation.

A moment later, Gaara could feel Naruto step onto it.

The sand carried him upward like an elevator, depositing him gently on the roof beside Gaara.

“Wow, Gaara! This view is incredible!” Naruto said, flopping down next to him with wide eyes.

Gaara gave a small nod, eyes still on the horizon. The city shimmered below them. The stars blinked above.

But his mind remained tethered to the events of the last days. He was still sifting through the rubble—what had been taken, what remained.

Naruto must have sensed it. “It’s been a tough time for you,” he said quietly. “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”

“I believe that your healing will begin with the people already around you. People who care about you. Your siblings. Your friends. Your village. If you ever feel yourself slipping—lean on them. Talk to someone. Anyone you trust.”

Her voice echoed in his mind. 

He took a breath.

“For most of my life, I was defined by Shukaku,” Gaara said, his voice low. “He gave me strength. Purpose. Something to anchor my existence to. Now that he’s gone…” he hesitated. “I feel adrift. Lost. Alone.”

Naruto didn’t interrupt. He didn’t offer empty words or platitudes. Just presence.

“Shukaku protected me,” Gaara continued. “Without him, I feel vulnerable. Weak.”

Naruto finally spoke, placing a steady hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I know how you feel. But you’re not alone, Gaara. You have me. And I’m not going anywhere. We’ll find your new path together.”

Gaara turned his head slightly, eyes meeting Naruto’s. “As Kazekage, I have a duty to my people. I can focus on that. But even that… feels hollow. Without the Tailed Beast, I feel like a shadow of what I was. I need something more.”

“Then let me help you find it,” Naruto said, smiling. “You’re not alone in this.”

Gaara looked at him, the smallest flicker of warmth behind his eyes. “I’m grateful for your support, Naruto. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Naruto said with a shrug. “We’re friends. That’s what friends do. We carry each other when it’s heavy.”

Gaara nodded slowly, eyes returning to the lights below. “I’m still struggling to make sense of it. For so long, I believed I was a monster—because of Shukaku. But now that he’s gone…” His voice trailed off.

“It’s like a piece of me is missing.”

“I know it’s hard,” Naruto said. “But you’re not defined by Shukaku. Or anything else. You’re you . And that’s enough.”

Gaara looked at him again. “You’re right,” he said slowly. “All my life, I thought of myself as a weapon. A tool. Something to be used by the village. But… maybe there’s more to me than that.”

“Absolutely there is,” Naruto nodded. “You’re the Kazekage—but you’re also a person. With your own dreams and aspirations. And I believe you can reach them. Even without Shukaku.”

Dreams and aspirations, huh.

Gaara had never thought about those things. Not for himself.

He gave a small, rare smile. “Thank you for believing in me, Naruto.”

“Always,” Naruto said, giving him a light nudge. “And if you ever need someone to talk to, you know where to find me.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the desert breeze soft against their skin.

Then Gaara asked, “Naruto… how does one focus on their own dreams? I don’t know how to think like that. My life has always been about duty. About protecting the village.”

Naruto leaned back on his elbows. “It’s not easy,” he admitted. “But I think it starts with your mindset. You have to believe that you deserve to chase your own goals. That you’re more than just what people need from you.”

Gaara nodded, thoughtful. “So it’s not just about obligation… but choosing a path of your own.”

“Exactly,” Naruto said. “That’s how we grow.”

A pause.

Naruto chuckled. “You know, it’s funny. When I first met you, I thought you were the biggest monster I’d ever seen.”

Gaara looked over, not offended—just quiet. “I was,” he said simply.

“No,” Naruto shook his head. “You weren’t. You were just a kid who got dealt a really shitty hand. You survived however you could.”

A quiet beat passed between them.

Naruto tilted his head. “What have you been up to this evening, anyway?”

Gaara blinked. “Haruno-san conducted my psychological and physical evaluation.”

Naruto grinned immediately. “You couldn’t have had anyone better.”

Gaara glanced at him. “Why do you say that?”

Naruto’s grin widened. “Because Sakura-chan is amazing.”

Gaara raised an eyebrow. “She is?”

Naruto leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “She’s not from a famous clan. Her parents are both genin. She was placed on a team with me and Sasuke—two kids labeled as monsters or ticking time bombs—and she never backed away from us. Not once. Her only doubts were about herself , not us.”

Gaara thought of her again. The way she’d touched his forehead. Her calm voice. Her chakra weaving through the pain. The sand wrapping around her hand like it recognized her.

“She… seemed different,” he admitted. “From the Chūnin Exams.”

“She is ,” Naruto said. “And she’s still growing. She’s one of the strongest people I know. She just doesn’t realize it yet.”

Gaara nodded slightly. He thought back to her recounting the battle with Sasori—how competent and composed she’d been —her hands glowing with healing chakra, her steady voice, the way she made his monster of a defense behave like a curious animal.

“I see.”

Naruto smiled. “Can you imagine? A girl with no famous bloodline, standing side by side with two so-called monsters, and still worrying she wasn’t good enough.”

Gaara let the silence stretch for a long moment. Then he murmured, “Thank you for telling me that, Naruto. And for… everything.”

Naruto gave a lazy thumbs-up. “Always.”

And then they lay back, side by side, staring up at the sky.

Suna slept below.

The stars burned above.

And for the first time in a long while, Gaara felt like the shadows might not win.

                                      X

Gaara's Balcony: 

The view from Gaara's Rooftop spot: 

Gaara and Naruto on the Roof: 

Chapter Text

Chapter 6 Testing the Waters

Sakura woke from the deepest, most peaceful sleep she'd had in weeks.

The plush bed cradled her like a cloud, the silky sheets brushing softly against her skin. For a moment, she simply lay there, stretching with a contented sigh, limbs heavy and relaxed.

“This is the best bed I’ve ever slept in,” she mumbled to herself, a sleepy smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Reluctantly, she swung her legs over the edge and padded toward the window, still slightly ajar. A gentle breeze slipped in, carrying with it the faint scent of sand and sun.

Outside, the desert was already bathed in gold. The dunes stretched endlessly in every direction, shifting like waves in the morning light. The calm seeped into her bones, slowing her thoughts, grounding her.

Suna was nothing like Konoha.

While her home was vibrant and bustling, alive with birdsong and greenery, Suna was all muted stillness and pale heat. The city moved slower, breathed differently. There was something almost sacred about its silence.

Sakura shook her head, smiling faintly, and wandered into the enormous bathroom.

She would absolutely have to convince her Shishō to let her get stationed in Suna more often.

With two hours left before her appointment at the Kazekage's office, she decided to indulge herself. Again.

The bathwater filled the marble tub with a quiet hush. She slipped in and let the warmth wrap around her. It was luxury, yes—but also comfort, and a much-needed reset.

By the time she stepped out, wrapped in a soft towel and humming to herself, she was nearly floating.

Then came the knock on the door.

“Enter!” she called, still brushing her damp hair.

An elderly woman stepped into the room with a kind smile and a respectful bow. “Good morning, Haruno-san. My name is Tome. I’m responsible for overseeing the Kazekage mansion.”

Sakura smiled at her. “Good morning, Tome-san. Please—just Sakura.”

Tome gave a warm nod. “Very well, Sakura-san. I’ve brought new clothes for you. Temari-san selected them personally. Everything’s in dark colors for Chiyo-sama’s memorial. Oh—and breakfast will be served shortly.”

She bowed again and left.

Sakura walked to the bed, expecting the usual functional shinobi attire… only to pause in horror.

The top of the folded pile revealed a matching set of lacey, petroleum-green underwear . Stunning. Sexy. Impossibly soft-looking.

“I’m going to kill her,” Sakura muttered.

Still, she hesitated only a moment before slipping the set on, a warm flush rising to her cheeks. It fit perfectly. The lace hugged her hips and the top gave just the right lift. She blinked at herself in the mirror.

“…Wow.”

This was easily the sexiest thing she’d ever worn— and looked.

She rarely gave thought to things like this—between training with Tsunade, hospital shifts, and constant missions, there hadn’t exactly been time for lacy distractions. 

And also, who would she even date? To be honest, quite a few guys had made advances over the years – but apart from not really having the time, no one ever came close to the feelings she had for Sasuke, and so she had turned them down. Plus she always got really shy and insecure when a guy made advances towards her. Ino on the other hand was far more advanced on the topic. She would be ecstatic seeing Sakura wear this type of underwear. 

Not that she’d tell anyone that.

She turned in front of the mirror, studying her reflection. While she’d always envied Ino and Hinata’s curves when they were younger, her own body had come into its own over the years. She wasn’t as endowed, sure, but she was strong. Lean. Her figure was toned and balanced—perky c-cup boobs, defined waist, and a round and tight ass. 

“Okay… not bad,” she muttered.

Inner Sakura whistled appreciatively.

Sakura shook her head and pulled on the rest of her outfit: an anthracite sleeveless turtleneck, fitted black cargo pants with mesh-lined cutouts, and sturdy boots. Practical but sharp.

Feeling confident and ready for the day, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen.

As Sakura stepped into the kitchen, she was met by the warm, inviting aroma of breakfast.

The space was enormous but also surprisingly modern and cozy—sunlight filtering in through the tall white windows, casting a golden glow over the stone walls and wooden floor. Wooden cabinets lined the back wall, and a large marble-topped island stood at the center of the room. Everything felt lived-in, warm. Not at all what she’d expected from a war-hardened desert stronghold.

Tome and Temari were already bustling about, both dressed in black.

Lee, Tenten, and Neji sat at the counter sipping some kind of juice, their quiet chatter filling the space with familiar comfort.

“Good morning, blossom! Wow, that outfit really looks good on you!” Lee beamed, waving enthusiastically.

Sakura blushed a little, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Good morning, Lee, Tenten, Neji. Thank you, Lee—you look very dapper yourself.”

Tome stood at the stove, flipping pancakes like she was born to do it.

The golden stacks piled on the plate beside her looked nothing short of heavenly. Temari, meanwhile, was arranging fresh fruit with practiced ease, her movements sharp and elegant. Watermelon, mango, papaya—the colors bright and summery against the marble.

“Good morning, Sakura-chan,” Temari called over her shoulder. “Hope you slept well.”

“I did, thank you, Temari-chan,” Sakura replied, easing into a chair at the large table.

The simple warmth of the scene reminded her of breakfast with her parents. She hadn’t realized how much she missed that kind of peace.

Tome approached with a plate stacked high with pancakes and set it in front of her with a smile. “Here you go, dear. I hope they’re to your liking.”

“They look amazing,” Sakura said gratefully.

Temari gave her an appraising once-over and smirked. “You clean up well. After only seeing you covered in dust and blood, I almost forgot you’re actually a decent-looking woman.”

Sakura raised an eyebrow. “You know, water and soap really do work magic.”

Both of them laughed.

The moment they all settled in to eat, Naruto shuffled in, yawning wide. He plopped down beside Sakura, hair sticking out in odd directions.

“Mornin’, Sakura-chan…”

“Good morning, Naruto. You look like you got hit by a sleep jutsu,” Sakura said, amused.

“Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

She was about to ask why when Kakashi and Guy entered the kitchen, both dressed down but still unmistakably shinobi. They nodded their greetings and joined the table as Tome, ever efficient, served up two more plates.

Sakura took a bite of her pancake and closed her eyes for a second. Light, fluffy, and soaked in just enough maple syrup. “Tome-san, these are incredible.”

The others nodded, mouths full, echoing her praise with satisfied hums.

Temari brought the fruit platter around, and Sakura grabbed a slice of watermelon. Its cool, juicy sweetness paired perfectly with the warm pancakes.

The air was light, the mood easy. Laughter rippled through the table as they ate and talked, the kind of casual joy that always felt a little stolen in times like these.

After a while, Temari stood up, brushing her hands together.

“Gaara’s already at the tower. I’ll take you to the meeting after breakfast,” she said, glancing at Sakura.

Sakura nodded, about to thank her when Temari’s tone shifted. “You’ll need to stay afterward.”

Sakura looked up, her fork halfway to her mouth. Temari’s voice was quieter now, heavier.

“The elders arranged a second meeting after your examination yesterday,” Temari added. “I’m… sorry. I didn’t think it would turn into this.”

Her apology was sincere. There was guilt in her eyes.

Sakura lowered her fork. “Temari, it’s okay. I understand.”

“I’ll fill you in on the details later,” Temari promised. “It shouldn’t take long. Gaara and I will handle most of it.”

Sakura offered her a small smile. “Thanks for the heads-up. And don’t worry—I’ll be ready.”

They finished breakfast shortly after, the laughter a little more subdued now.

Everyone moved to get ready for the day, but before Sakura could leave the kitchen, a familiar voice called her name.

Before Sakura could leave the kitchen to head back upstairs, Kakashi caught her eye.

“Hey. A moment?” he asked, his tone quieter than usual.

Sakura blinked. “Of course.”

He led her through a tall glass door tucked behind the kitchen—one she hadn’t even noticed earlier—and into a stunning orangery attached to the mansion.

The space immediately stole her breath.

High ceilings arched overhead, strung with delicate oriental lamps that cast soft, golden light over a tiled mosaic floor. Colorful ceramic pots brimmed with leafy plants and blooming herbs, their scent thick in the air—citrus, basil, soil. In one corner, a small fireplace crackled gently beneath a cozy reading nook: a long couch with white linen cushions, a deep armchair, and a low wooden table stacked with well-loved books.

It was... magical. Serene. She already knew she’d be sneaking back here later tonight.

But the atmosphere shifted when Kakashi turned to face her. His usual casual slouch was replaced with something straighter. Sharper.

“Sakura,” he began gently, “it was quite the move, you examining the Kazekage.”

Sakura frowned slightly. “I know. But—”

Kakashi raised a hand. “Not because I didn’t think you’d do a good job. You probably handled it better than any of us could have. But… there are going to be consequences. Political ones.”

Her brows knitted together. “Political consequences? What do you mean?”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Suna’s elders weren’t happy. Even though Temari was the one who insisted, it’s still a sensitive thing—having a Konoha kunoichi medically examine their leader. Especially one who was just brought back from the dead.”

Sakura’s expression shifted, guilt blooming behind her eyes. “I… I didn’t think about that. I only wanted to make sure he was okay. I even suggested they assign one of their own medics.”

“I know,” Kakashi said, voice softening. “Your heart was in the right place. That’s not in question. But you have to remember—Suna is still politically fragile. Gaara’s return saved face, but there are many who see Konoha’s presence as a threat. Or worse, an insult.”

She looked down at her hands, flexing them unconsciously. “I should’ve consulted you first. It was reckless.”

Kakashi didn’t answer immediately. He turned, glancing toward the glass door they’d just passed through, and then toward the ceiling—casually, like he was admiring the architecture. But she saw the flicker of calculation behind his eye.

“We’re in the Kazekage’s mansion,” he said quietly, his voice softer than before. “Best not to talk too much about it here.”

Sakura blinked, then followed his gaze, understanding beginning to thread through her thoughts. Of course. Of course they might be watched. The elders hadn’t exactly been subtle about their opinions yesterday. And if they had enough sway to arrange a full council meeting on such short notice, then it was likely they had ears all over the place.

“But they did ask for me?” she asked, matching his lowered tone.

Kakashi nodded once. “You’ll be expected to attend something after today’s briefing. Temari will have the details.”

Sakura hesitated. “Should I be worried?”

Kakashi tilted his head, unreadable. “You should be prepared.”

Not reassured. Not relaxed. Prepared. Sakura felt the weight of that word settle low in her stomach.

Her thoughts began to spiral, quiet but sharp. If they were listening in… then Kakashi couldn’t spell it out for her. Which meant she’d need to piece it together herself.

The elders weren’t fools. They’d waited until after the examination to act—after she’d touched the Kazekage, healed him, looked into his mind. They hadn’t stopped it in real time. They’d waited. Calculated.

Because it wasn’t about stopping her. It was about setting a stage.

Sakura’s fists clenched briefly. They want to put me on display.

Not to discuss her findings. To test her. To trip her up. To humiliate her in front of their peers.

Kakashi was watching her carefully, but still silent. He didn’t need to say anything more.

If I crack—if I say the wrong thing, if I act emotional—they’ll use it.

They’d use it against her, against Tsunade, and against Konoha.

They’d discredit the entire examination.

Maybe more.

Maybe even try to rewrite what happened in that room between her and the Kazekage.

And maybe… she realized, her breath catching slightly, maybe they don’t just want me to snap.

Maybe they want the opposite.

Maybe they want her quiet .

Apologetic.

Small.

To make her shrink beneath the weight of protocol and politics until she questioned her right to even be in that room in the first place.

To use her to undermine their own leader. 

To make her concede something she didn’t need to. To step back. To apologize for crossing a line that wasn’t even real.

Sakura straightened slightly, jaw firming. No.

She’d gone into that room with medical authority, not ego. She had offered respect and earned trust. That wasn’t a mistake. That was her job. That was her .

If they tried to spin it into something else—she wouldn’t explode, and she wouldn’t shrink.

She would hold her ground.

Calm. Unshaken.

Not combative, not subservient. Just undeniably present.

“I understand,” she said quietly. “I’ll be ready.”

Kakashi’s eye crinkled slightly, just enough to show approval. But he didn’t smile.

“I know you will.”

                                      X

They met up with the others at the Kazekage mansion’s main entrance.

Neji, Tenten, and Lee were eager to train at Suna’s renowned training grounds, while Kakashi, Naruto, Guy, and Sakura had a meeting scheduled at the Kazekage Tower.

As they headed out, Sakura noticed that Kakashi, Naruto, and Guy were already dressed in dark colors, same as her.

Kakashi wore his standard Jonin uniform—black long-sleeved shirt, dark pants, forehead protector, and his trademark mask. Naruto had swapped his usual orange for a black long-sleeved shirt and pants, with a fitted black vest layered over them. He’d added a black armband to his left arm—a gesture of respect for the dead. Sakura wore one too; Temari had handed it to her before they left the mansion. Guy was similarly dressed in his formal jonin gear.

“So, Sakura,” Temari asked, walking beside her with a knowing grin, “how’d you like the outfit selection for today?”

Sakura rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

She bumped Temari’s shoulder lightly, and Temari bumped her right back.

“Sexy though, right?” Temari said with a wink. “That color’s doing everything for you. I even guessed the cup size.”

“Temari!” Sakura hissed, her face flushing crimson. “Have you no shame?”

They’d drifted ahead of the others—though it was obvious Naruto was straining to eavesdrop.

Sakura turned around sharply. “Oi! Stop listening in on private conversations, baka.”

Naruto blinked at her, caught mid-pry. “C’mon, Sakura-chan! You can’t blame me. You were just getting to the good stuff!”

Her eye twitched. Slowly, deliberately, she raised her fist.

Naruto blanched and made a break for it. “Yosh—off I go!”

Temari laughed loudly. “Want to get together before the festivall tonight?” she asked, once Naruto had sprinted safely out of smacking range.

“We could get ready together. I… don’t really get to do that kind of thing often.”

Sakura glanced over. Temari’s voice had gone quieter.

“I’d like that,” Sakura replied sincerely. “We can ask Tenten too.”

Temari’s eyes lit up. “Perfect! I’ll send you the address after the meeting.”

“Deal.”

They entered the Kazekage’s office together.

The Kazekage sat at his desk, already flanked by a few elders and high-ranking shinobi.

Sakura’s eyes scanned the room—and immediately locked on the Kazekage.

He looks better. Less haunted than he had the night before. More grounded. She let herself take in the sight for a moment too long—until he turned his head and caught her in the act.

Their eyes met.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t frown either. Just… looked. No readable expression, as always. Then his cold gaze drifted elsewhere, and Sakura quickly dropped hers, face burning.

God—he totally caught me staring.

WHO WOULDN’T?! Inner barked. YOU WERE ASSESSING HIS RECOVERY. I WAS ASSESSING HIS EVERYTHING. I STAND BY MY METHODS.

You’re embarrassing.

YOU’RE EMBARRASSED BECAUSE YOU AGREE WITH ME.

Sakura pressed her lips together and let her hair curtain her face. I cannot believe I have a pervert living inside my head.

AND YET—HERE WE ARE.

The doors shut behind them. The meeting began.

Kakashi and Guy stood beside the Kazekage, joining a circle of Suna elders and shinobi. Sakura and Naruto hung back slightly, quiet observers.

The young ruler opened the discussion. “Akatsuki is a significant threat to both our villages. They’ve already taken the One-Tail. If we don’t act together, they will continue.”

His voice was even and authoritative. No trace of vulnerability. Only conviction.

“We understand the gravity of the threat,” Kakashi said, “and we’re prepared to cooperate fully.”

Guy nodded. “We’ll do whatever it takes to protect our people and stop Akatsuki.”

One of the Suna elders stepped forward. “We appreciate the sentiment, but we must also prioritize the safety of our own. We cannot afford further risk.”

Sakura could feel Naruto twitch beside her.

“We can’t just sit back,” Naruto said suddenly. “Akatsuki won’t wait for us to feel comfortable. If we don’t act, they’ll keep taking Jinchūriki—one after another.”

Sakura nodded silently, letting Naruto take the floor.

Another shinobi stepped forward. “We’ve been tracking Akatsuki’s movements on our end.”

“So have we,” Kakashi added. “Konoha’s goal is simple—stop Akatsuki. We’re prepared to share our intel to increase both our villages’ odds.”

Not everyone looked thrilled about that offer.

An elder frowned. “In theory, I agree. In practice… how do we know your intelligence is complete? That Konoha isn’t holding back crucial details to weaken Suna? After all—Suna was involved in the last attack on Konoha. We can’t be naive. Your Hokage might see this as a chance to gain the upper hand.”

Sakura’s nails bit into her palms. This stupid old fuck.

She wasn’t the only one bristling. Next to her, Naruto began to shift dangerously forward—but Kakashi gently touched his shoulder. A silent cue to hold the line.

The Kazekage answered, voice low and cold and razor-sharp. “Mislead us?” he repeated, quietly.

The entire room seemed to pause.

“I believe you’re aware that Konoha just risked multiple shinobi to retrieve me. The Hokage sent her own Jinchūriki. Politically, she had no obligation. After how Suna acted during the invasion of Konoha, she had every reason to stay out of it. To let Kankuro and I be killed. To let Suna fall to it's demise. But she didn’t.”

His voice rose slightly—not angry, but unmistakably commanding, dangerous.

“She stood by her word. Konoha stood by us. Their teams not only saved me—they also saved my brother. They fought and defeated an Akatsuki member for Suna’s sake. I won’t allow you to disrespect that or their Hokage.”

The elder went pale. “Y-You’re right, Kazekage-sama. My apologies. I misspoke.”

Sakura had to give it to the young Kazekage, he really showed leadership qualities. She would be way too hot headed for this job. She’d probably slap half of the elders to the other side of the desert every single day. Even though the current Hokage also had a slight anger management problem, she remarked.

The Kazekage didn’t reply. He simply looked around the room like he was daring anyone else to speak out of turn.

No one did.

“Anything to add?” he asked, voice calm again.

Baki stepped forward. “We’ll begin preparing the intel exchange with Konoha immediately, Kazekage-sama.”

The sand ruler nodded.

The meeting concluded with plans for tighter collaboration between the villages. Formal alliance-building in the face of a mutual threat.

As the tension began to lift, Temari moved beside Sakura.

“The elder meeting is in ten minutes,” she said quietly. “Two floors up. You ready?”

Sakura looked at Kakashi.

He met her gaze and gave a small nod.

That nod meant a lot.

You’ve got this. I’m here. You’re not alone.

She returned it, gave him a tight smile, and followed Temari out of the room.

                                      X

“So this meeting includes all of Suna’s elders, the chief of the hospital, Kankuro, myself, and Gaara,” Temari explained as they ascended the staircase, her voice tight with guilt. “Again, I’m really sorry you’re being pulled into this, Sakura. This is all my fault.”

“It’s okay, Temari,” Sakura said quietly, offering a small, steady smile. Her voice didn’t waver. “You don’t need to apologize.”

Temari hesitated for a breath, then continued. “Don’t let them provoke you, Sakura. They’re going to try. Hard. They want you emotional—want you to crack. Give them one excuse, and they’ll question everything Gaara is trying to build between our villages. You’re just the opening move.”

Sakura nodded, her expression neutral. She could feel the familiar flicker of temper in her chest, but she shoved it down. Not here. Not now.

As they reached the upper level, a few wooden chairs stood near the council chamber doors. Temari gestured toward them. “You’ll be called in when we’re ready.” Her face softened. “Just… hold your ground, okay?”

“I will,” Sakura said, and they exchanged a quick look of quiet solidarity.

“ Let’s meet up around three today. Here is the address.” Temari gave Sakura a little note and she stacked it in the right pocket of her cargo pants.

Sakura smiled and tucked the paper into her pocket. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Sakura took a slow breath and sat down, her eyes drawn to the heavy wooden doors in front of her. She caught a glimpse through the opening before it closed—seven elders seated in a half-circle around a long, imposing table.

Her pulse quickened. She rolled her shoulders back, grounding herself in the silence.

Footsteps echoed from the stairs behind her.

She looked up.

Three more elders arrived first, their expressions carved from stone.

Ebizo walked past her last—older than the rest, but his presence still commanding. He met her gaze as he passed and gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. She returned it, unsure what it meant.

Kankuro was next, flashing a supportive smile as he squeezed her arm gently in passing. His warmth helped settle something in her chest.

And then came him.

The Kazekage.

He moved like a shadow wrapped in authority—silent, composed, unreadable. The man beside him was unfamiliar, but even without context, Sakura didn’t like the way he carried himself: sharp, polished, watching everything.

ANBU followed at a respectful distance behind.

To Sakura’s surprise, the young ruler halted directly in front of her.

He was taller than she remembered—though, truthfully, she’d mostly seen him from across rooms, sitting on a bed or battlefield distances.

Now, standing inches away, his presence hit like a wall. There was something about him—something precise, cold, and arresting. Controlled power just barely sheathed beneath skin.

She caught the faint scent of him. Clean, mineral, like sun-warmed stone and something else—something undeniably male. It made her brain freeze for a second too long before she willed her treacherous focus upward. 

Her eyes met his and he just stood there and looked at her for a moment.

“Have you been briefed?” he asked, voice low and utterly devoid of fluff.

Sakura nodded once. “Yes. I have.”

His eyes lingered on her for a second longer, then he gave a curt nod and stepped past her into the council chamber without another word.

Temari followed him in with a final glance back and an encouraging smile.

And then Sakura was alone.

She sat back, exhaled through her nose, and stared at the door. Her heartbeat was steady, but she knew better than to trust her nerves to hold under pressure. She was here as a medic, not a political pawn—but they wouldn’t see it that way.

No mistakes, she reminded herself. No flinching, no fire.

Just truth. Clarity. Control.

They wanted a reaction. She wouldn’t give it to them.

Not yet.

                                      X

When the moment arrived, Sakura was called into the room. As she entered, she took note of the elders’ distinctive, grim expressions—each face carved with displeasure. The air was thick with tension, except around Ebizo, who sat with a more open expression.

She was instructed to take the single empty seat at the large conference table. She nodded once, inhaled slowly to steady her nerves, and complied.

One of the elders gestured to a man Sakura hadn’t met before. “This is Katano Yakio,” she said curtly. “Chief of Suna’s hospital.”

The blond man in his mid-thirties met Sakura’s gaze briefly, his expression closed, his nod firm but dismissive. He radiated a calculated distance.

Sakura returned the nod coolly.

Elder One, a sharp-eyed old woman with a voice like snapping cloth, opened: “Sakura Haruno, we have several questions concerning the examination you performed on our esteemed Kazekage.”

“I’m here to answer any questions you may have,” Sakura said, keeping her tone calm and professional.

Elder Two, frail but cutting, leaned forward slightly. “It seems rather audacious for someone your age to involve herself in such delicate matters—especially concerning Suna’s most important figure. Do you believe you’re making a name for yourself?”

And so it begins.

“My focus is on providing the best medical care possible,” Sakura said evenly, “regardless of my age.”

“It was I who requested Sakura’s assistance,” Temari cut in, tone sharp. “She proved her capability when she saved Kankuro’s life.”

Elder Three barely acknowledged her. His focus remained on Sakura. “And what makes you think you’re better equipped than our own hospital chief, Yakio-san?”

“I never said I was better equipped than your chief,” Sakura replied, voice steady. “I was asked by the Kazekage’s sister to perform the examination—and I did.”

“No one in Suna, including Yakio-san, was able to save me,” Kankuro added bluntly. “But when Sakura arrived, she did.”

The Kazekage spoke next, voice cool and deliberate. “Before we get into the details of Haruno-san’s examination, I’d like to discuss the aftermath of my brother’s poisoning.” His gaze shifted toward Yakio. “Why was the procedure Haruno-san performed never considered?”

Yakio hesitated, flustered. “Well, I… I couldn’t take such risks. The procedure was too complex—too unstable.”

He stumbled over his words, backpedaling. His tone turned defensive, and as he spoke, he cast a quick, dark glance in Sakura’s direction.

She held her posture.

Then cold seafoam eyes met emerald green “Haruno-san, would you kindly report to us your version of the events?”

All eyes turned to her.

Sakura took a measured breath. “When we arrived, Kankuro was unconscious and declining quickly. Immediate action was necessary.”

She kept her gaze steady as she walked them through the procedure, from stabilizing his vitals to performing the chakra infusion and administering the antidote.

The group listened in rapt attention as Sakura described the process. "I had to be careful not to use too much chakra, or I risked harming Kankuro even more. But I knew that it was his only hope."

Sakura looked up, her eyes shining with emotion. "And it worked. Kankuro's condition stabilized, and he began to recover. It was touch and go for a while, but in the end, he pulled through." Sakura finished. 

Yakio regarded her: “ So you agree it was risky?!” 

“Yes! When a patient is in that type of critical situation, most procedures are.” Sakura answered him calmly. 

Elder One eyed her skeptically. “Haruno-san, do you truly believe you’re qualified to handle such responsibilities in Suna?”

“I understand the gravity of the responsibility, and I have trained extensively to ensure I can provide the best care possible.” Sakura answered maintaining her poise. 

Elder Six scoffed. “So we’re to believe a young Konoha medic knows better than Suna’s experts?”

“It’s not about knowing better,” Sakura answered. “It’s about sharing knowledge, collaborating to improve outcomes for everyone.”

Yakio spoke again, tone mocking. “So you think you’re some kind of medical prodigy?”

God, they were pissing her of so bad.

She really had to work hart to keep her temper in check.

LET’S WIPE SOME FLOORS WITH THEESE BASTARDS. Inner seethed.

Sakura resisted the urge to smirk. “”I don't claim to be a prodigy, but I have dedicated years of my life to honing my skills and expanding my medical expertise.” she replied evenly.

“Years?” Elder Three scoffed and asked. “How old are you—sixteen? Have you ever handled a case as high-profile as this one?”

“Seventeen, actually,” Sakura said with a polite smile. “And while patient status varies, the core principles of medicine remain constant. Every life matters.”

Kankuro snorted. Then coughed. Then coughed again, clearly trying to cover for the snort. It resulted in ten seconds of awkward wheezing while the entire room stared at him.

The Kazekage’s gourd gave a quiet rustle.

Kankuro stopped instantly.

Elder Four huffed. “Your principles may be sound, but your experience is lacking.”

“Quite the opposite, actually,” Sakura replied. “I’ve been personally trained by the Fifth Hokage, Tsunade. She’s one of the greatest medics alive. From the beginning I was trained to do more than ordinary medical procedures. I am being trained to perform medical miracles.””

That drew a pause.

Elder Seven finally leaned in, tone curious. “You trained under the Fifth Hokage?”

Sakura nodded “Yes, I am her apprentice, and she imparted to me not just the technical skills but also the knowledge and confidence to perform medical miracles. I've witnessed her save countless lives and heal injuries that were deemed impossible and she trained me and is currently training me to do so as well. That's the level of expertise I strive to bring to every patient I treat.”

That statement caused a subtle shift in the room. A sliver of respect crept in.

Then Ebizo spoke. “Well, I believe that puts Haruno-san at quite an established level, doesn’t it?”

Sakura blinked. Ebizo gave her a faint smile.

“Miss Haruno, could you walk us through your examination of the Kazekage?”

Maybe it was because he was the first one to actually show her some respect and kindness during this meeting or maybe it was because he was lady Chiyo’s brother. Sakura’s instincts told her she could trust this man.

Encouraged by the sudden shift in tone Sakura walked the room through the examination.

When she finished with the psychological part she glanced over to the Kazekage. Should she tell them about the incident with the sand?

He seemed as stoic as ever and after a while he looked back at her.

If the council knew how the sand had interacted with her, would they see it as a risk as well? Of course they would.

They would take it and run with it. Temari had told her that they were trying to use her to undermine their own Kazekage. Idiots! Trying to undermine the man who actually cared for his people. She would most definitely not fuel that fire.

Upon further staring at the young man Sakura could actually see that behind his stoic facade he was clenching his jaw slightly. She took this as the last nudge.

She proceeded to talk about the physiological part of the examination, completely leaving out the sand and how he had told her it never had done what it had before. 

She kept the Kazekage in her view while reporting and he seemed slightly shocked at how swiftly she reported back the examination without mentioning anything about the sand. 

YOU ALSO FORGOT TO MENTION HIS EXCEPTIONAL BODY AND THAT EXHILARATING SCENT, Inner added.

Sakura rolled her eyes at her in her thoughts. 

Not now.

She completed her report.

Ebizo nodded. “It seems you’ve displayed greater skill than our own hospital staff during Kankuro’s treatment and provided a thorough, patient-centered examination for our Kazekage.”

“Yakio-san,” he continued, “did she meet all medical standards?”

Yakio seemed like he really did not want to answer this question.

Well, even you can’t argue with facts, can you?  Sakura thought triumphantly. 

“Yes, Ebizo-sama,” Yakio said through gritted teeth.

“And would you say her examination protocol exceeded current standards?”

Yakio was silent. Then nodded once.

Ebizo inclined his head. “Then we thank you for your work, Sakura-san. You’ve proven yourself more than capable. As the apprentice to the Fifth Hokage, I imagine this is only the beginning.”

Ebizo bowed. To Sakura’s surprise, so did Kankuro, Temari—and finally, the Kazekage.

The rest followed, however reluctantly.

Sakura rose to bow in return. “It’s my duty as a medic to offer the best care possible. Thank you for the opportunity to help.”

Ebizo’s smile was gentle. “That concludes Sakura-san’s time here.”

She turned to leave, Temari rising to follow.

Once the doors closed behind them, Temari hissed: “You were a badass.”

Sakura exhaled slowly. Her whole body was starting to unclench.

“Stupid old farts,” Temari continued. “I was two seconds from slamming a chair into one of them.”

Sakura chuckled dryly. “Honestly? Same.”

“They only dared to poke you to get to Gaara. They’d never confront him directly.”

Sakura nodded. “He does command the room.”

“He does,” Temari agreed, shaking her head.

They made their way downstairs. At the bottom, Sakura caught Maru’s warm smile from the reception area and smiled back.

Temari turned to the secretary. “The meeting will run until the memorial. He’s not to be disturbed.”

“Understood, Temari-san,” Maru replied.

Just as they were about to leave, a shinobi rushed up with a basket of fruit.

“Matsuri,” Temari greeted. “Here to see Gaara?”

The girl—petite and pretty, evidently the same age as Sakura—nodded with a hint of concern in her eyes. "Will he return before the memorial?" she inquired softly, her voice carrying a subtle note of hope.

Her brown hair, a lustrous cascade that fell to her shoulders, framed her delicate face perfectly. The bangs gracefully parted on either side of her forehead, drawing attention to her striking features—a pair of expressive eyes, a gentle nose, and a soft, thoughtful mouth.

“Sorry,” Temari said. “He won’t be available.”

Disappointment visibly crashed over Matsuri’s features.

Temari added gently, “I’m sure you’ll catch him later.”

The girl bowed and walked off. Once they were outside, Sakura raised an eyebrow. “Admirer?”

Temari gave her a sidelong glance that was far too smug. “Oh yes. My brother has an actual fanclub . Started the day he became Kazekage and only got worse with time. You should see the letters. Poems. Gifts. One girl sent him her baby tooth . The recent attack on Suna? Might’ve tripled their numbers overnight. Nothing makes a war-hardened shinobi more desirable than a near-death experience, apparently.”

Sakura blinked. “A baby tooth ?”

“Wrapped in a silk ribbon,” Temari said gravely. “It had glitter.”

“…That’s unhinged,” Sakura muttered.

“Deeply. But Matsuri’s more of the ‘quiet devotion and soft stalking’ type. She’s been infatuated since the day she became his student. I swear, if she’d had the chance to trade limbs just to be in your place last night—alone in a room with Gaara, shirtless—she would’ve given up both arms and her kneecaps.”

Temari snorted at her own joke. Sakura looked like she was about to drop dead.

“Temari!” she hissed, looking around in a panic. “Keep your voice down! If someone hears that out of context—”

“They’ll be jealous , obviously,” Temari said sweetly.

Sakura groaned, dragging a hand over her face. “Please, no. I’d really prefer not to be hunted through the streets of Suna by a horde of furious fangirls. That’s not how I want to go out.”

“Noted,” Temari replied with a wicked grin. “But you’re already public enemy number one. You touched his bare chest , Sakura.”

“That was your doing!” Sakura whisper-yelled, scandalized. “And for the record, I was being professional . I’m a medic.”

“Mmm, sure".”

“I healed him!”

Temari raised a brow. “And lived to tell the tale. The last medic who tried to examine him needed three reconstructive surgeries after Gaara’s sand flung him into a wall. Meanwhile, you leave with all your limbs and his chakra still warm in your hands. Curious, isn’t it?”

Sakura looked down at her palm instinctively—the one the sand had touched. Her fingers tingled slightly, a phantom memory. She flexed them.

Temari tilted her head. “You’re thinking about it right now, aren’t you?”

“I’m thinking about jamming my head into a wall.”

“Same difference.”

Sakura sighed. “If people think I’m the first woman the Kazekage stripped for, they’re going to riot.”

“But you are,” Temari said brightly.

“ Medically stripped. Under doctor’s orders .”

“Well, he followed your orders,” Temari mused. “That’s basically marriage in Suna, by the way.”

Sakura’s entire face turned red.

“Oh my god, stop talking.”

Temari burst into laughter and finally took pity on her. “Fine, fine. No more teasing—for now.”

They walked in silence for a few steps. Then Sakura suddenly remembered something.

“You said something earlier—about a place?”

Temari perked up. “Right! The address I gave you—it’s the best yukata boutique in the city. Custom fitting, gorgeous fabric, staff who don’t bat an eye when we walk in with shinobi gear and desert sand in our boots. Bring Tenten. I told them to expect three.”'

Sakura narrowed her eyes. “Why does this sound like the setup to a tactical ambush?”

“Because you know me too well,” Temari said with a wink. “Which is exactly why it’s going to be fun.”

                                      X

Kazekage's Orangery: 

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: The Memorial

The scorching sun hung high above the vast desert of Sunagakure, its heat wrapping the city in a shimmering haze. The stone walls of the Kazekage Tower radiated warmth, the air thick with midday weight. Sakura stepped out into the brightness, squinting against the light, the weight of the elder council meeting still pressing against her shoulders like an invisible flak vest.

She exhaled slowly.

It was over.

For now, at least.

Her pulse had steadied, and her jaw—tight through most of the interrogation—was beginning to unclench. She had survived the political minefield. Her tongue hadn’t betrayed her. Her fists had remained, miraculously, unclenched. Her honor—and Konoha’s—intact.

She took another breath. The heat had intensified since morning; it felt like the very ground was radiating back the tension she’d just stepped out of.

When she opened her eyes, they landed immediately on a familiar slouching silhouette tucked into the only patch of shade that dared exist in this city: Kakashi, leaning against a sandstone column, nose buried in his battered copy of Icha Icha Tactics , looking every inch like someone who hadn't a care in the world.

Of course, she knew better.

She walked toward him, brushing sweaty strands of pink from her face. Her voice was dry as the air. “Kakashi-sensei. Did your ‘important meeting’ take longer than expected? Or were you just too comfortable in the shade to move your lazy ass?”

He looked up with an exaggerated blink, eye curving in amusement. “Ah, Sakura. You caught me. I got pulled into a very heated debate over the role of chakra manipulation in emotional catharsis. It turns out, romance novels are wildly misunderstood in the shinobi community.”

She folded her arms, unimpressed. “Fascinating. And here I thought you were just stalling for time.”

“Oh no, far from it,” he said solemnly. “After that, I was summoned to decipher an ancient Suna scroll hidden beneath the Kazekage’s floorboards. And then—just when I thought I was free—I discovered a forbidden jutsu that summons cats. Talking cats.”

Sakura blinked. “Talking cats.”

He nodded. “Well. They meowed in Morse code. But it was very emotionally nuanced Morse.”

She stared at him for a beat, deadpan. “Incredible. And I assume you’ve filed a full report with the Hokage about this critically important mission?”

“Of course,” he said, eye glinting. “Classified. Top secret. National security.”

Sakura huffed, her sarcasm evident. "Of course, Kakashi-sensei. I should have known. You being the cat type and all. Thank you for enlightening me. Just don't forget that the real world is waiting for you!"

Kakashi tilted his head. “You think I’m a cat type?”

“I think you’re an avoid-all-emotional-confrontation-by-faking-an-urgent-feline-crisis person.”

Kakashi shrugged. “Tomato, tomahto.”

Despite herself, Sakura chuckled. It felt good—normal—to exchange this kind of banter. After the stiff, calculating tone of the council room, it was like breathing again.

“Still,” she said, more seriously now, “thank you for sticking around. Even if you were off playing with cats.”

He closed the book and tucked it away in his flak vest. “You did well in there.”

Sakura blinked. “You already know?”

He gave her a look. The — of course I know, I’m me— look. “You walked out upright. And no one’s screaming. That’s usually a sign of success.”

Her cheeks flushed faintly. “I don’t know about success, but I didn’t make it worse.”

“You held your ground. That’s more than enough.”

She nodded, more grateful than she let show.

“The elders,” she murmured, “they’re not happy with the Kazekage’s intentions. They want to paint the alliance with Konoha as reckless. Emotional. Weak.”

Kakashi glanced at her sidelong, voice casual but edged. “Have faith in Gaara. He doesn’t strike me as someone easily outmaneuvered.”

Sakura dropped her gaze to the tips of her sandals, watching the dust curl with each step. “You’re right,” she murmured. “He’s… not. I just worry. About how far they’ll go to make him bend.”

There was a pause. Then Kakashi said, almost too softly, “Take it from a former dark, mysterious, brooding loner: the Kazekage can handle a few cranky politicians.”

That made her laugh. “Is that what we’re calling your ANBU phase now? Mysterious?”

“I was very mysterious,” Kakashi replied. “Women used to cry when I walked away.”

Sakura rolled her eyes. “They probably cried because you never explained anything and ghosted them.”

“And yet, they always came back.”

“To kill you.”

“Still counts.”

She gave his arm a light nudge, and they fell into step side by side, leaving the Kazekage Tower behind as the desert sun beat down on the stone path ahead.

For a moment, it really did feel like old times—before all the chaos.

Just her and Kakashi, master and student.

With their exchange complete, Sakura and Kakashi decided to head to a nearby restaurant where they were meeting the rest of the Konoha nin. As they walked side by side, the banter flowing effortlessly between them, it felt like old times—like a family reunited.

                                      X

The restaurant was an oasis of life and color nestled in the heart of the desert. A welcome contrast to the dry politics of Suna's elders. Sakura stepped inside with Kakashi beside her, her senses immediately assaulted in the best way. The air was thick with the aroma of roasted spices and grilled meats, the warm scent of cumin and cardamom mingling with fresh herbs and sweet stewed fruit.

Colorful tapestries lined the walls—scenes of ancient battles, heroic figures atop swirling dunes, even one romantic-looking mural of two shinobi holding hands under the stars. The cloths swayed slightly in the breeze coming in from high, latticed windows. Overhead, delicate lanterns dangled from carved wooden beams, casting pools of golden light onto tables below.

It was beautiful. And loud.

Naruto’s voice rang out before they even made it halfway to their table.

“Sakura-chan! Kakashi-sensei! Over here! We already ordered everything on the menu!”

Sakura raised an eyebrow. “Of course you did.”

Their group was huddled around a low, wide table piled high with dishes. Guy, Lee, Neji, Tenten, and Naruto were already halfway through what looked like a banquet. Vibrant platters of grilled skewers, spiced rice wrapped in palm leaves, and thin, crispy bread stacked like fans filled the space between them.

“My youthful friends!” Guy called out, gesturing grandly. “Kankuro himself said this place has the best food in all of Suna! Let us feast!”

Sakura slid into the seat between Kakashi and Tenten, gratefully accepting a tall glass of something sweet and citrusy.

“Alright, who dared who this time?” she asked, spotting the gleam in Naruto’s eyes and the tears already forming in Lee’s.

“Lee is losing a chili contest,” Neji deadpanned, sipping calmly from a bowl of soup. “Again.”

“I am not losing !” Lee gasped dramatically, wiping his face as sweat poured down his temples and tears out his eyes. “I am merely… delaying victory.”

Naruto cackled. “Sure, buddy. Just don’t pass out before dessert.”

“Noted!” Lee wheezed, stabbing another bite of something red and unholy-looking with the conviction of a man with something to prove.

Their laughter drew the attention of a few other diners, but no one seemed to mind. If anything, the infectious energy added to the atmosphere of the place. The low hum of traditional string instruments being played in the corner created a steady rhythm beneath the chaos.

Amidst the laughter and conversation, Sakura found herself engaged in a discussion with Guy about her desire to improve her taijutsu skills. He spoke with his trademark passion, his words filled with energy and unwavering belief.

"Sakura, my flower of hope! When we return to Konoha, I shall train you and Lee in the ways of the mighty taijutsu! Prepare yourself for the most rigorous and outrageous training regimen you've ever experienced!"

Lee couldn't contain his excitement. "That's right, Sakura! Guy-sensei's training is intense, but it will make us stronger than ever!"

Sakura laughed heartily, sharing in their enthusiasm. "I'm up for the challenge, Guy-sensei! I want to push my limits and become even stronger. Let's make it happen!"

Guy and Lee looked like they would burst with enthusiasm soon.

Tenten, sitting across from her, grinned and leaned forward as Sakura lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Temari wants us to get ready together for the festival later. She's already planned everything. Wants to meet at some fancy Yukata shop. You in?”

Tenten’s eyes lit up. “Oh, absolutely. I’ve never worn a Suna-style Yukata. And if Temari’s organizing it? You just know it’s going to be wild.”

Sakura gave her a warning look. “I’m not joking when I say she reminds me of Ino on shopping days.”

Tenten laughed. “That’s terrifying. I’m even more excited now.”

                                      X

As they entered the square where the memorial would be held, Sakura was struck by the solemn beauty of the decorations. The flowers, candles, and sand were arranged in such a way that they seemed to be a natural extension of the desert landscape. It was clear that the people of Suna had put a great deal of thought and care into the memorial. The security for this event was definitely up there—shinobi and ANBU could be spotted everywhere, and she could sense far more than she could actually see.

Sakura and the rest of the Konoha team found a spot near the back of the crowd, close enough to have a good view of the podium where the Kazekage would be speaking, but not so close as to intrude.

The square was filled with villagers, many of whom were dressed in black as a sign of respect for their fallen hero. The atmosphere was solemn and reverent, a quiet mourning humming through the crowd.

Naruto leaned a little closer to her—just enough that their arms touched, as if he could sense the tightness in her chest. Sakura let out a slow breath, then leaned into him slightly.

“You know... Granny Chiyo really was a hell of a woman,” he said quietly.

A small smile tugged at Sakura’s lips. “Yes, she was. You should’ve seen her fight, Naruto. She truly was a force to be reckoned with.”

Naruto chuckled softly. “I bet she was. I wish I could’ve seen it.”

Sakura nodded, her thoughts drifting to the mission—the cave, the puppets, the way Chiyo had moved like a whirlwind of precision and willpower.

When the Kazekage stepped up to the podium, Sakura’s attention snapped to him. He too had changed into dark clothing. It looked exactly like his usual attire—just in black and without the armor. The gourd still hung at his back.

Ebizo entered the stage after him and stood on his right.

The young ruler nodded once to the elder, who returned the gesture—and then the he began to speak.

“Citizens of Suna.”

A pause. Not for drama, but clarity.

“I stand before you today not just as your Kazekage—but as a man who has known death. And returned.”

A murmur moved through the square.

“I was taken by Akatsuki. I was killed. The Ichibi was torn from me. And yet I am still here.”

He didn’t speak like someone telling a story. He was simply stating fact. Stark, spare.

“I am here because Chiyo-sama gave her life to bring me back.”

A beat of silence followed.

“She was not obligated. She owed me nothing. She chose to do it anyway. For this village.”

“She reminded us all of what true strength looks like. Not the kind that comes from a tailed beast. Not from fear. But from conviction. From choice.”

His cold eyes swept the crowd.

“She chose to give her life for Suna. For all of you.”

He paused again.

“I returned without the Ichibi —But I did not return empty-handed.”

“I returned with clarity. With the will to protect—not as a weapon, but as a leader.”

The desert wind caught his hair, red strands shifting like flame against his stillness.

“I also returned with proof that our allies in Konoha do not speak empty words. When Suna fell, they answered. They fought for us. They bled for us. They saved me. And they saved my brother.”

For a brief moment, his eyes met Sakura’s. Seafoam green locking with emerald. It lasted no more than a heartbeat—but it left her breathless.

Did that just happen? she thought, pulse quickening.

‘OH IT HAPPENED,’ Inner whispered gleefully.

“I won’t lie to you. Akatsuki is still out there. They will strike again. But we are not helpless. And we are not alone. We stand with our allies—with Konoha.  This alliance is not a formality. It is a bond. And it will hold.”

Sakura stared, lips parted. He’s good. No hesitation, no fear. Just quiet, undeniable strength.

“We are of the desert. We bend. We endure. And when we must—we rise.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, a nearly imperceptible shift.

“Chiyo-sama is gone. But her will remains.”

“She gave us the chance to stand again. We will not waste it.”

“Ebizo-sama reminded me today that Chiyo-sama would not have appreciated all the dark colors and gloomy faces, as he put it. So tonight, when we celebrate her memory and honor her—let us do it in true Suna fashion.”

Then, just before stepping back, the Kazekage raised his right hand—palm open, fingers spread like a fan—and brought it down slowly over his chest, fist closing at the heart.

And then he said something in a low, resonant voice—something in the desert tongue Sakura didn’t understand.

“ Iru as’haar’n shayma .”

The effect was immediate.

The entire square, from the elders to the youngest children, echoed him without hesitation.

“Iru as’haar’n shayma.”

A wave of black colored robes, bowed heads, and fisted hands swept across the square. Sakura stood frozen, struck by the solemn beauty of it—the weight of thousands speaking as one.

She turned her head slightly. “What did he just say?”

Kakashi, standing just behind her, repeated the words softly and performed the same gesture Gaara had. His voice was almost reverent.

“It means ‘May the desert remember her name.’ It’s something sacred to the people here.”

Sakura blinked and looked back at the villagers. The way they repeated it—it wasn’t just respect. It was a kind of oath.

The Konoha nin mirrored the gesture as best they could. Sakura did the same, placing her fist to her heart .

As the young ruler finished and stepped back, the crowd erupted into applause. It was quieter than the usual raucous celebration in Konoha—more restrained, but no less powerful.

Sakura and her team joined in, clapping for the Kazekage’s words, for the village’s strength, for Chiyo’s memory.

Then he turned to Ebizo and bowed deeply.

The cheering stopped.

And the crowd bowed back.

Sakura felt her knees bend almost without thinking.

Her heart felt heavy in her chest. She had to blink fast to keep her eyes from watering. She hadn’t known Lady Chiyo long—barely a few days. But that mission, that battle, had carved something into her bones. That fight had been the closest she’d ever come to breaking apart entirely... and somehow, Chiyo had dragged her through it. With her needles, her puppets, her iron will—and her completely unfiltered commentary.

Chiyo had been old, mad, reckless—and brilliant. A woman sharp enough to slice through enemy lines and stubborn enough to heal her enemies if it served the greater good. She had made Sakura feel like a weapon worth wielding, not just a girl who happened to be in the right (or wrong) place.

What a terrifying, impossible, awe-inspiring woman.

Sakura swallowed hard.

She side-glanced toward Naruto. He was still, his face unreadable in his bow.

Even dead, that crazy old bat was teaching them things.

Sakura looked down at her hands, flexed her fingers once.

Rest easy, Chiyo-baa-sama. And don’t haunt me—I’m doing my best.

                                      X

As the citizens of Suna slowly began to disperse from the square, Kakashi and Guy gathered their teams a few streets away.

“We leave for Konoha at noon tomorrow,” Kakashi told them.

Naruto’s face dropped a little, but for once he didn’t say anything.

“Hai!” the group replied in unison.

Around them, the mood of the village had begun to shift. Festival workers were already moving into the square. Banners were being hung. Market stalls went up like blooming petals. Laughter returned, slow and careful, as the people of Suna transitioned from mourning to celebration.

Guy’s eyes practically sparkled. “My comrades! The time has come! This square will become a kaleidoscope of joy and wonder!”

Kakashi leaned against a post, Icha Icha in hand. “You know, Guy... I think you have more energy for festivals than for missions.”

“You wound me, Kakashi!” Guy declared, hand to his heart. “But fear not. Even your cold, jaded exterior shall be melted by tonight’s firework of youthful passion!”

Her sensei let out a scoff.

Lee struck a pose beside him. “Kakashi-sensei, there will be contests, games, perhaps even... feats of strength!”

Naruto groaned dramatically. “Please tell me they have food. Real food. I miss Ichiraku’s like I miss oxygen.”

Tenten nodded toward the square. “There’ll be dancing too—and music! Real Suna folk music. It’s supposed to be wild.”

Kakashi’s brow lifted over his book. You guys really aren't having the effect you might think you are having…”

Sakura narrowed her eyes. “Alright. If you won’t come willingly, I might have to let Ino know how the great Copy-nin needed to be carried home, piggyback-style, by his eternal rival.”

Everyone knew, if Ino got hold of that story, it wouldn't be long before the whole village, no, the whole five nations knew about it.

“You wouldn’t.”

Sakura smirked.

“Bridal-style,” Naruto added helpfully, grinning.

Kakashi closed his book. “I officially hate all of you.” He sighed dramatically , a small smile tugging behind his mask. "Alright, alright. I suppose I can't escape the festival's clutches. But mark my words, I'll be the first one to find a quiet spot to take a nap.

Sakura and Naruto high-fived as Guy laughed triumphantly.

“Oh Kakashi,” he said, wiping away an imaginary tear. “Even your reluctance is laced with youth!”

“Great…” Kakashi muttered.

He turned to Naruto and Sakura, both of whom were looking way too smug. “To think my own students would stoop this low…”

“But that’s why we’re your students,” Naruto said, throwing an arm around Sakura’s shoulders. “To keep you interesting.”

Sakura grinned. “Just don’t let any talking cats delay you again, sensei.”

Guy gave her a thumbs-up. “We’ll see to it personally, Sakura-chan!”

Tenten and Sakura waved their goodbyes and made their way toward the Yukata shop, the sounds of a slowly waking festival trailing behind them.

                                     X

They found themselves standing outside a quaint Yukata store, its vibrant sign adorned with intricate designs.

Excitement filled the air as they stepped inside. Upon entering, the coolness of the shop provided respite from the desert heat. The air was filled with the pleasant scent of sandalwood and the soft melodies of traditional music playing in the background.

The interior of the store was adorned with delicate silk fabrics in a rainbow of colors, cascading from ceiling to floor like a vibrant waterfall of beauty. The walls displayed rows of intricately patterned yukatas, each one a work of art.

"Welcome, welcome!" a cheerful voice greeted them. The store owner, a middle-aged woman with warm brown eyes, approached with a friendly smile. "You must be the lovely ladies here for the festival preparations. Temari-san has already informed us about your visit."

Temari, who stood a little further into the store beamed, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "That's right! We're here to make this festival unforgettable." The shop was abuzz with activity, the sound of rustling fabric and excited chatter filling the room. The shop owner introduced them to the staff, two young women named Ayumi and Risa, who would assist them with their hair and makeup.

Sakura couldn't help but notice their skilled hands and warm demeanor. With Temari leading the way, they ventured deeper into the store, and were led to a private room adorned with silk tapestries and comfortable cushions. The room exuded an air of exclusivity, setting the stage for an unforgettable shopping experience.

"I have prepared a selection of the finest yukatas for your perusal. Please make yourselves comfortable." Ayumi said.

As they settled onto the plush cushions, Risa appeared, carrying a tray adorned with a pitcher of ice-cold lemonade and delicate glasses. The refreshing citrus aroma wafted through the air, instantly invigorating them.

Sakura eagerly poured the lemonade into the glasses, her eyes sparkling with delight. ‘Ah, this is just what I needed.’ She smiled at the young woman and thanked her.

Tenten took a sip, savoring the tangy sweetness on her tongue. "Wooow, this is insane!”

Temari chuckled, her fan resting lightly in her hand. "Indeed, lemonade is a Suna specialty. But let's not get too comfortable. We have a festival to prepare for! Alright, ladies, let's find the perfect yukatas to make heads turn tonight!" Temari exclaimed, her voice filled with enthusiasm.

With renewed energy, the trio set their glasses aside and turned their attention to the array of yukatas beautifully displayed before them.

Tenten's eyes widened in awe. "Look at these intricate patterns and vibrant colors! It's like stepping into a world of art."

Sakura nodded in agreement. "Absolutely stunning!."

As they ventured through the store, they immersed themselves in a playful exploration of fabrics and styles.

Temari selected a yukata in a bold turquoise color with a deep black obi.

Tenten gravitated towards a white yukata patterned with red fans.

“By the way, the Kazekage really gave a great speech at Chiyo-sama’s memorial! He doesn't talk much, but when he does it sure is impressive.” Tenten praised while looking through a Yukata shelf.

Sakura agreed. She really had appreciated the words the Kazekage had found for Lady Chiyo.

“ I’m happy the council wasn't able to interfere with the alliance between Konoha and Suna” Sakura commented while browsing through the accessories section.

“Yeah, it's a good thing you were able to keep your cool. I mean, I tend to lose my shit with them occasionally.” Temari admitted.

Sakura chuckled. “I almost did, but Kakashi-sensei pulled me to the side before the meeting and reminded me to stay calm and collected.

He said, 'Don't let their words get to you. Remember who you are and what you stand for.' Sakura said, trying to imitate Kakashi.

Temari giggled at Sakura’s antics and nodded in agreement. “I wish I had someone like him around when I was younger. Hell, I might need someone like that every day." She laughed.

Sakura still had not chosen a Yukata. She had never owned a silk yukata like these before. The fabric was so smooth, so beautiful, it made a lump rise in her throat.

Temari turned her way. “You okay there?”

Sakura's face blushed a deep red. “They are so gorgeous, and I am very blessed to be able to try on yukatas like these.” Sakura’s voice disappeared almost into a whisper.

Temari leaned closer in order to understand what she was saying.

“I just…” Sakura’s voice broke. “I can’t afford them,” she admitted, her words barely audible, thick with embarrassment.

Temari's eyes widened in surprise: “Sakura…”

”I’m currently trying to save up for my own place when I turn 18, and I don't want to take money from my parents. They have worked hard and deserve nice holidays… and my mom always dreamt of a vegetable garden...”

“Sakura?”

“Plus the hospital isn't paying me much until I pass some final tests. Then, I will finally get a better paycheck, not to mention position. But I don't have that much now. So these are way too expensive for me.”

“S- a- k- u- r- a ?”

“And I have been on missions these past years, but all the training with Shishou and the work at the hospital has almost completely isolated me. So I couldn't take a lot of missions and did not earn as much… Don’t get me wrong, these yukatas are truly stunning...bu—!”

“SAKURA, FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!” Temari almost yelled.

Sakura immediately stopped talking, her gaze dropping to her hands.

“Look at me!” Temari said with her authoritative tone usually used while leading Suna ninja.

Sakura raised her head as commanded and straightened her posture ever so slightly at the sound of Temari's voice.

In a swift motion, Temari gently grasped Sakura's hands and said, "Sakura, I should have told you earlier. Gaara has graciously offered to cover the expenses for our yukatas and accessories. You are his honored guests, and he wants us to enjoy the festival to the fullest."

As Sakura's hesitancy hung in the air, a flicker of concern crossed Temari's face. "Sakura, I understand your hesitation, and I admire your independence. However, this is a token of Suna’s gratitude to Konoha.“ Her voice is firm, yet compassionate.”

Kankuro’s in charge of the boys—which, let's be honest, is already a disaster waiting to happen. His face paled when I reminded him of his duties after the council meeting. Idiot!” She said while shaking her head.

Sakura's emerald eyes flickered with a mix of gratitude and uncertainty.

“Also, this is completely non-negotiable!”

Sakura had to chuckle. She might be just as stubborn as me.

AGREED, I LIKE HER! Inner contributed.

Me too.

“Thank you, Temari!” she said, smiling at Temari.

“Thank you so much, Temari!!” Tenten said.

“Well, technically you have to thank Gaara,” Temari said smiling.

“Oh, we will definitely thank him if we see him tonight,” Tenten exclaimed, twirling around with her chosen yukata in hand, a dreamy look on her face.

Temari and Sakura both laughed.

“I think this one might be the one for you,” Temari said, holding out a yukata for Sakura. The yukata is in soft pastel hues, decorated with cherry blossoms.

“You don't think it might come across a little cheezy, given my name and my hair color?!” Sakura chuckled.

Temari grinned, “Nah, you’d look cute in anything. Besides, the cherry blossoms will bring out the pink in your hair and the pastel colors will bring out the colors of your eyes.”

“I couldn't agree more!” Tenten said from the fitting room she was currently changing in.

“You haven't even seen it…” Sakura commented dryly.

“Got a good idea of what it looks like from Temari's description,” Tenten quipped. “You know, being a kunoichi and all.”

Sakura and Temari couldn't help but laugh hard.

Tenten exited the fitting room. The deep indigo, embellished with elegant silver dragon patterns fitted her like a glove.

"Damn, Tenten," Sakura said, eyes wide. "You look incredible."

Temari nodded in agreement. "That dress was made for you."

"Thanks, guys. I think I'm going to get it," Tenten said, blushing a little.

"Okay, me next!" Temari exclaimed and jumped up from the cushion with a grin.

A few minutes later, she emerged from the fitting room—and both Sakura and Tenten visibly froze.

The yukata clung to her curves like it had been made for her, accentuating her toned arms and long legs. The desert colors brought out the brightness in her eyes, and her confident posture made her look like a queen of the sand.

Sakura and Tenten gasped in unison.

"WOOW!" they both exclaimed, wide-eyed.

Tenten nodded enthusiastically. "That is so the one!"

"No doubt about it!" Sakura agreed with a grin.

Temari twirled, letting the silk fan out around her. "Oh, I'm definitely getting this one," she announced proudly.

Lastly, Sakura made her way to the fitting room. Ayumi was waiting inside, her hands already moving with professional ease.

“Great choice,” Ayumi said with a warm smile as she began preparing the yukata for her.

When Sakura stepped out, the soft pastel fabric shimmered gently in the light, cherry blossom petals dancing across it like a spring breeze. It flowed with every step she took, graceful and understated, but stunning all the same.

Tenten clapped her hands. "Sakura, you look absolutely breathtaking!"

Temari nodded with a smug expression. "Told you. That color's perfect for you."

Sakura blushed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thanks, guys," she mumbled, still not used to this kind of attention.

Ayumi came over and adjusted the fabric gently, ensuring a perfect fit. "You’ve all made wonderful choices," she said, beaming.

Risa entered a moment later, her hands full of brushes and products. "Ready for some makeup?"

After two hours of primping and powdering, the transformation was complete. 

Tenten's dark hair was styled into a relaxed low bun, adding a touch of grace to her simple, confident look. Her deep red obi is tied snugly around her waist. 

Temari blonde hair was styled half-up, loosely gathered while the rest flowed down her back.

Sakura hair was loosely pulled back with soft tendrils framing her face. Risa had added a gentle blush to her cheeks, a sweep of eyeliner to make her eyes stand out, and a rose-toned gloss on her lips.

As they made their way to the cashier, laughing and talking, the shop owner met them with a knowing smile.

"My, my," she said, eyes twinkling. "Your dates for tonight are going to be very lucky men."

All three girls froze mid-step.

Tenten let out a long sigh, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, mine’s too busy kissing his clan’s ass to notice me like that.”

“Mine doesn't even live in the same village...” Temari muttered, under her breath.

Sakura exhaled sharply through her nose. "Mine went rogue to avenge his entire clan, then left me unconscious on a bench after calling me annoying— right after I told him I loved him."

The poor shopkeeper paled, clearly horrified she’d hit a landmine.

"Ahem—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry..."

"It’s okay," Temari reassured her, waving it off. "We just have… complicated relationships."

Tenten and Sakura nodded, each lost in their own particular brand of romantic disaster.

They thanked the shop owner and her team profusely for their help, bowed politely, and exited the shop into the glow of the early desert evening.

                                      X

As they stepped out of the store, a sea of lights greeted them. Aurette had set the bronze sand ablaze in shimmering, scale-like patterns.

The streets were awash in joyous hues—pastel pinks, blues, purples, and gold. Lanterns hung from poles, casting warm light down on the bustling crowds. Colorful stalls lined the roads, their displays brimming with handmade goods and festival trinkets. The air was alive with the scents of grilled meats, sugar-dusted sweets, incense, and sun-warmed stone.

The city pulsed with celebration. Traditional drums, string instruments, and wooden flutes joined a chorus of cheerful voices. Everywhere, people in flowing yukatas moved like petals on the breeze, laughter mingling with song.

“WOOOW!” Tenten and Sakura said in unison, eyes glittering.

Temari smiled at their wonder. “I’m glad you like it. Come on—let’s go find the boys.”

They didn’t have to look far. A familiar commotion near a game stall drew their attention: Naruto cheering at full volume, Lee and Guy dramatically flexing beside a ring toss booth, while Kakashi, Neji, and Kankuro looked on in varying degrees of amusement and apathy.

“What’s going on?” Sakura asked, walking up to them.

“Ah, Sakura-chan, Tenten-san, Temari—you all look stunning tonight!” Kankuro beamed. “It’s a Suna tradition! Ring Toss.”

Naruto grinned. “You have to land the ring on the post. Sounds easy? It’s rigged. Super hard. Only the most skilled ninja can win!”

Tenten’s competitive streak lit up. “Step aside, amateurs,” she said, grabbing a set of rings. Her first shot missed by a hair. The second? Bullseye.

Cheers erupted. “Nice one, Tenten!” Naruto shouted.

He turned toward Sakura—and froze.

Sakura blinked. “Uh… Naruto? You good?”

He scratched the back of his head, cheeks pink. “You just… look really beautiful tonight, Sakura-chan.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Thank you, Naruto,” she said softly, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “You look pretty handsome yourself.”

And he did. Crisp white yukata with deep blue and orange accents, the colors making his tan skin glow. He’d grown—height, strength, presence. She could see it now.

Behind him, Kakashi and Neji stood in sleek, dark yukatas—navy and charcoal, tailored perfectly.

Kakashi, of course, wore his mask underneath. The contrast against their pale skin was downright unfair.

Goodness, Sakura thought, blinking. Too good-looking for their own good.

I AM DROOLING. I REPEAT, I AM DROOLING.

Sakura quickly turned her gaze to Lee and Guy—and had to bite back a laugh. Their yukatas were identical to their hideous green tracksuits, complete with blinding orange obi.

“True blossoms in the chaos!” Lee declared. “Sakura, you are a knockout!”

“Oi! Bushy Brows! Wanna fight?!” Naruto shouted, stepping in front of her.

Sakura giggled. “Thanks, Lee. Loving the homage to the tracksuit.”

“Hey, what about me?” Tenten mock-pouted.

“You all look incredible!” Guy declared, striking a dramatic pose. “Yukatas ablaze with youthful fashion!”

“Thank you, Guy-san,” Temari said, clearly enjoying the chaos.

“Kankuro and I need to find Gaara before the fireworks. See you later!” Temari waved, disappearing into the crowd with her brother.

The rest of them continued to wander the festival—sampling food, laughing, and trying games. As the night wore on, the crowds thickened, the music picked up, and the air began to shimmer with excitement.

Tenten stopped at a food stall. “I’m going to try everything.”

“There’s too much,” Sakura warned.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t try!” Tenten tossed coins at the vendor with a gleam in her eye.

Sakura chuckled, trying a few traditional dishes—takoyaki, okonomiyaki, and something sweet stuffed with fruit and nuts.

Just as they turned to leave the stall, a group of tall, handsome Suna men strolled up, all smiles and charm.

“Well, well,” one said. “Two lovely ladies enjoying the festival?”

“You look stunning. Mind if we join you?” said another.

Sakura blinked. “Um, thanks. We’re just with our friends.”

“Yeah, but we appreciate the compliments,” Tenten added, smiling.

A moment later, Naruto’s voice chimed in, cheerful but a touch possessive. “Hey, you guys aren’t trying to steal the spotlight, are you?”

Sakura turned. Lee and Guy were right behind him. Neji followed, arms crossed. Kakashi leaned against the stall, book in hand. He looked—unbothered. But very present.

The tallest Suna man looked between them, a bit pale now.

Kakashi closed his book and looked up at the group of Suna men. "Well, well. It looks like we have some competition, boys." He smirked underneath his mask as he pushed himself off the stall and stood next to Sakura and Tenten.

“We didn’t mean anything by it,” he laughed nervously. “Just wanted to say hello.”

“We’ll see you around!” another added, backing away quickly into the crowd.

Sakura crossed her arms. “You know, we’re very capable of taking care of ourselves.”

“Overprotective idiots,” Tenten muttered with a fond smile, elbowing Lee.

“We can’t help it,” Naruto grinned. “We care.”

Lee nodded solemnly. “It is the duty of man!”

Sakura rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched upward.

Soon the group found a fishing game stall, and the challenge began. Kakashi sighed theatrically. “Fine. Loser pays for everyone’s food.”

“You’re on!” Naruto shouted.

Sakura and Tenten watched from the sidelines, occasionally cheering on their friends or laughing at their antics. They both knew that when it came to competitions like this, it was best to just let the boys have their fun. Kakashi was the clear frontrunner!

Figures , that man would literally be able to fly, if it got him out of paying for everyone's food' Sakura thought. 

But as the game neared its end, Neji started to catch up to Kakashi. The two of them were neck and neck, with only a few minutes left on the clock. Naruto and Lee were in last place, but they didn't seem to mind. They were too busy laughing at each other's failed attempts.

Tenten leaned over to Sakura and whispered, "I don't think I've ever seen Neji so competitive before." 

Sakura and Tenten were having a blast watching them and Sakura couldn't contain her laughter anymore, having to hold her stomach and accidentally stepped a few steps backwards. 

Then she suddenly felt her back pressed against a broad chest, a familiar scent crossing her nose as she inhaled.

You’ve got to be kidding me. 

                                      X

Suna Restaurant:




Sakura festival: 

Sakura, Tenten, and Temari ogether at a vendor’s stall, admiring an array of delicate gold and gemstone earrings:

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Memories Under The Suna Moon

Sakura couldn't believe her luck—or perhaps, misfortune.

Amidst the joyous atmosphere of the Suna festival, her carefree laughter had led her to collide with a solid chest.

And not just anyone’s chest.

The familiar scent that surrounded her told her exactly who she’d just stumbled into. Instantly.

Startled, she dropped the bag of freshly made takoyaki and okonomiyaki onto the ground.

Why is this always happening to me? She cursed under her breath. And why the hell does his scent mess with my brain like this?

Her cheeks burned as she stepped forward quickly and turned, gaze dropping to the ground.

A wave of shock rippled through her when she looked up—right into his cold teal eyes. He was staring at her, unblinking. They were still standing very close.

The Kazekage.

He looks... She swallowed. The best word she could come up with is ... really handsome. In a mysterious, cool, and extremely dangerous kind of way.

OH YES, LET’S PUT THAT ON A T-SHIRT. "HANDSOME, MYSTERIOUS, DEADLY."

She forced herself to break eye contact and looked him over. He was wearing a deep, muted blue yukata that contrasted perfectly with his red hair and pale skin. The fabric clung in all the right places, accentuating his lean frame and broad shoulders. His sleeves were pushed up to reveal strong forearms, and the v-neck dipped low enough to hint at a sleek, well-defined chest. A dark grey obi was tied neatly at his waist.

Her stomach tightened, and her face flushed with a mix of shyness and disbelief.

Suddenly, Sakura’s body tensed instinctively. That’s when she felt it.

Chakras. Several.

Swirling, focused.

ANBU. Her senses flared. Suna.

In response, she felt her own team’s chakra shift behind her, rising like a protective tide.

She was just about to turn and defuse the tension when The Kazekage—who still hadn’t taken his eyes off her—lifted one hand. Calm. Composed.

Instantly, the tension in the air shattered like glass. The hostile chakras dissolved. Behind her, she felt the Konoha team's chakra settle again.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

How do I always end up in situations like this?

Kankuro and Temari, standing nearby, broke the silence with warm smiles as they crossed the space to meet the others.

“All good!” Kankuro grinned, giving Naruto’s shoulder a pat.

A masked figure appeared beside the sand villages ruler—Hataro.

“Apologies, Kazekage-sama,” he said quietly. “They’re still on high alert after the attack. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Thank you, Hataro,” he replied, his gaze still locked on Sakura.

Then Hataro turned to her—and the shinobi behind her.

“We didn’t mean to startle you or your team,” he said, bowing politely. “Please accept my apology.”

Sakura couldn’t see his face beneath the mask, but the sincerity in his voice was unmistakable.

“Mah, all good, Hataro,” Kakashi said casually from behind her. “I’m just happy more people were here to witness my win.”

Sakura had to fight a grin. God, he always knows how to defuse a situation.

“Oi, Kakashi-sensei, you won?!” Naruto exclaimed. “You got out of another bill?!”

“Mah... who won isn’t as important as figuring out who lost. Wasn’t it you or Lee?”

Naruto and Lee both erupted into flustered arguments behind her.

Sakura gave Hataro a small, reassuring smile. He nodded once and vanished in a flicker.

Feeling a bit off balance—and still a little flustered—she turned her attention back to the Kazekage.

Has he been watching me this whole time?

“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, eyes flicking upward. “I didn’t mean to bump into you like that. It was completely my fault.”

He watched her for a moment, expression unreadable, before answering.

Silently and stoically, the young man observed Sakura for a moment before finally speaking "No harm done. Accidents happen."

His voice was even, calm. But there was something else there. Something she couldn’t place.

Why does he always sound like he’s evaluating me?

Still, she felt a knot of tension unwind in her chest. His tone didn’t carry blame. Just... observation.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For diffusing the tension. I appreciate it.”

The Kazekage gave a small nod. “It’s my duty to maintain peace. Besides, unnecessary conflicts are a waste of energy.” He tilted his head, gaze narrowing slightly. “You seem to be quite the clumsy ninja. Perhaps you should work on your spatial awareness.”

She blinked.

Did he just... insult me?

She bristled. “Excuse me—?”

But before she could deliver a retort, the corner of Gaara’s mouth lifted.

He’s messing with me.

OH MY GOD. THIS LITTLE SHIT.

Just then, something soft brushed her hand. She looked down.

Gaara’s sand nudged her dropped food bag toward her, gentle and precise. She crouched to retrieve it, watching the sand slink back into the gourd at his side.

“Uh… thank you, Kazekage-sama,” she said with a little smirk. “And I’ll try to work on my spatial awareness. Wouldn’t want to ram an elbow into you next time. Not sure you could handle it.”

A beat.

Then—

“I’ll hold you to that, Haruno-san.”

His voice was steady, but his eyes glinted—dry amusement dancing behind the stoicism. A smirk forming.

And when his gaze lingered just a little longer, her heart did… something.

"Gaara-sama! There you are!" 

Both of them turned around to see Matsuri running through the alley, around the festival-goers and towards them. Her short, brown hair bounced as she ran. She was wearing a bright-green kimono that flapped in the wind around her. Her face was flushed from running and her brown eyes were lit with determination. She stopped in front of them, breathing heavily, and bowed before Gaara with reverence.

Sakura's legs automatically took another step away from the Kazekage.

"I've been looking everywhere for you! I haven't gotten a hold of you ever since the Akatsuki attack. How are you? And what was that weird chakra flaring just now? Are we under attack again?" Matsuri blurted out blushing slightly as she was taking in his appearance in a not so subtle way.

—She clearly liked what she was seeing. 

Gaara's expression softened as he glanced at Matsuri. "I appreciate your concern, Matsuri. But I'm fine! And as to the flaring. It was just a minor incident. Haruno-san here accidentally bumped into me, and the Anbu still seem to be a little overprotective after the attack."

Sakura offered a polite nod, schooling her expression. She could feel the temperature drop between them like a sudden desert breeze.

And a shift in Matsuri’s energy when she was mentioned. The girl's eyes darted to her with a look that was… surprised? Irritated? Hard to tell. But definitely not thrilled.

"Oh... I see. Well, I'm glad everything is okay then. You look really good, Gaara-sama,” Matsuri said eagerly.

Her voice dipped just a little too warm on the honorific.

SUBTLE AS A ROCKSLIDE, THAT ONE.

Before any reply could form, Temari’s voice called out from behind them. “Matsuri! You found him. You look nice.” She arrived with Tenten in tow, fan resting on her shoulder.

“Ah—Temari-san, thank you! You look beautiful as well,” Matsuri said quickly, bowing again.

Tenten looped an arm through Sakura’s just as she beamed at Gaara. “Kazekage-sama, thank you again for your generosity. These yukatas are amazing. I haven’t felt this pampered in years, right, Sakura?”

“Oh yes,” Sakura said, managing a small, sincere smile as she smoothed her palm along the silk fabric. “It’s the most beautiful one I’ve ever owned. Thank you, Kazekage-sama.”

They both bowed slightly.

He nodded in acknowledgement, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than expected. Sakura felt it—warm against her skin despite the space between them.

She tried to ignore the flutter in her stomach, feeling a strange pull towards him when those eyes caught hers. But before she could dwell on it any longer, Temari spoke up: " Would you guys want to join us?"

Sakura glanced toward the group gathering behind them—Naruto waving energetically, Guy striking a pose, and Kakashi flipping a page in his book like he had nowhere better to be.

“You better believe we want to!” Naruto called.

Kakashi side-eyed him. “Don’t think we’ve forgotten who lost the last game.”

Naruto winced. “Aw, come on...”

The group fell into motion, the bustle of the festival swelling around them.

The citizens of Suna beamed when the Kazekage walked past them. They waved their hands in the air and called out his name. Others presented small gifts as tokens of appreciation, and cheers echoed through the streets along with words of endearment. Some were laughing, others crying with joy as they spoke words of admiration and adoration.

The Kazekage thanked them awkwardly and kept handing the gifts to Kankuro, who was starting to have a hard time carrying all of them.

The tall tower of offerings began to wobble in his arms. Seeing his dilemma, Guy, Lee, and Sakura ran up to him and lent a helping hand by hoisting some of the presents off his back so he could move with more freedom. He grinned at them, grateful.

Half an hour later, all of the Konoha shinobi—along with Matsuri, Temari, and even some of the Sand ANBU—were actively helping carry the tokens of appreciation.

Sakura was starting to understand what Temari meant when she said her brother was popular.

While he kept a straight face, seemingly unmoved, women of all types kept approaching him with fluttering lashes and overly bright smiles, angling for his attention. Some were subtle. Others... less so. But they were all quickly shooed away by either Matsuri or Temari, who had taken up quiet posts on either side of the Kazekage, like hawks guarding a high branch.

As they continued on, Naruto and the Kazekage walked at the front of the group.

“Damn, this is insane!” Naruto exclaimed, juggling a few of the smaller parcels. “You’re like a superstar here!”

The Kazekage just shrugged, but even from the back, Sakura could tell—his posture stiffened slightly, and the edge of his expression tightened. It wasn’t pride. It was discomfort.

“Hey,” Naruto said more gently, shifting the stack of gifts into his right arm so he could clap a hand to the Kazekage’s shoulder. “You okay? You seem a little tense.”

He didn’t respond immediately. When he did, his voice was quiet.

“It’s just... all a bit overwhelming. I never expected to be in this position. To have people look up to me like this.”

Sakura watched the back of his head, saw the brief way Naruto’s smile softened.

“You’re doing great,” Naruto said, and there was no teasing in his tone for once. “You’ve done so much for Suna. And yeah, it’s overwhelming. But you deserve every bit of this. You’ve earned it. Don’t let the pressure get to you.”

To think, I used to believe he was the biggest idiot on the planet... He truly will make a good Hokage one day , Sakura thought, warmth blooming in her chest as she smiled at Naruto’s back.

Then he ruined it.

"Oy, Gaara! You're one of my true friends, so it's finally time to share one of my most top-secret jutsu with you," Naruto declared conspiratorially, waving for the Kazekage to come closer. When the Kazekage stepped forward—keeping a cautious distance—Naruto leaned in eagerly. "It's called the Sexy N—"

Never mind... Sakura thought sharply, narrowing her eyes.

Quickly reaching into the pile of gifts she'd carried earlier, she selected a particularly hard package.

Then she hurled it directly at Naruto’s head.

"OUCH! Oi, Sakura-chan! What the hell was that for?! Ay ay ay, that really hurts!"

"Unbelievable," she muttered, crossing her arms tightly.

And then she heard it.

A low, brief chuckle.

Both she and Naruto turned in surprise, only to find that it had come from the Kazekage.

A quiet sound—barely audible over the hum of the crowd—but unmistakably real. His expression remained composed, but there was a subtle crease of amusement at the corner of his mouth. Sakura blinked, stunned by the unexpected sound.

Had he just... laughed?

Naruto laughed along, grinning, and Sakura felt her own lips twitch into a small smile.

Matsuri caught up moments later, her arms full of gifts, face flushed and bright with purpose.

“Kazekage-sama, I believe they’re waiting for you now. We’re almost there,” she said, gesturing toward the road ahead.

The Kazekage glanced at her and gave a low, “Aa. Thank you, Matsuri.”

The group shifted course and continued walking in the direction she indicated.

Their path led them toward a tall building that stood out even amidst the colorful festival scenery. Newly renovated, it stood with a quiet dignity—walls painted in warm earth tones, blending seamlessly with the desert backdrop. Intricate carvings framed the entrance, depicting children dancing beneath stylized clouds and blooming cacti.

The group slowed to a halt near the building’s steps. But the Kazekage continued forward alone, his pace unwavering as he approached the door.

“Gaara made it a priority when he became Kazekage,” Temari said beside Sakura, her voice full of pride. “He wanted to provide these kids with a safe and nurturing environment.”

Sakura blinked. “This is an orphanage?!”

Her voice came out more breathless than she meant it to. She stared at the building with wide eyes, taking in the polished stone, the welcoming windows, the sheer size of it.

“I didn’t know orphanages could look like this,” she murmured.

Large windows invited the glow of lantern light inside, casting long shapes across bright walls. The air outside seemed warmer here, softer somehow. Hopeful.

“They’re not,” Kakashi said. He had lowered his book, and his eye lingered on the facade. “Most are barely patched together. Especially during wartime.”

“This is incredible,” Guy added, his voice almost reverent for once. “You can feel the youthful energy radiating from it!”

“Konoha definitely needs to take notes!” Naruto said, still balancing several small gifts in his arms.

Sakura nodded slowly. She couldn’t stop looking at it. A place like this could change everything for children left behind by war. She’d never seen anything like it.

Temari and Kankuro exchanged a glance, their pride evident.

“It’s become a tradition,” Temari said. “He visits the children every festival.”

Sakura glanced down, a small smile forming as she took in the weight of that sentence.

Not just a symbol of peace, but someone who showed up. Who chose to show up.

She didn’t know what she’d expected when she first came to Suna—but it hadn’t been this.’

Not him.

Not like this.

                                      X

As they approached, the doors to the building swung open with a quiet creak, revealing a spacious, vibrant common room bathed in warm light. Soft furniture in cheerful colors was arranged in cozy clusters. Bright cushions were scattered across the floor, toys peeked out from baskets in the corners, and hand-drawn pictures were pinned lovingly along the walls.

The air buzzed with joy before they even stepped inside.

The children’s faces lit up the moment they caught sight of the Kazekage—and then, just behind him, the Konoha shinobi. A ripple of excitement moved through the room, and within seconds, they rushed forward, a flurry of tiny sandals and excited voices.

“Kazekage-sama! Look at the drawing I made for you!” a little girl cried, barely five, her ash-blond hair bouncing as she ran.

The Kazekage knelt without hesitation. His expression softened in a way Sakura hadn’t seen before—tender, unguarded—as he accepted the paper in both hands.

“Thank you, Haisa. It’s wonderful,” he said. “You have such talent.”

The girl beamed, bouncing on her heels.

Another voice piped up, louder and older. A boy around ten sprinted toward him. “Kazekage-sama, we’ve been waiting! Can you play with us?”

The call set off a chorus. Other children joined in, echoing the request with growing excitement.

The Kazekage’s answer was simple. “Of course we can. Let’s head out.”

But one small voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Kazekage-sama, can we play with them too?” a boy asked, pointing with stubby fingers at the rest of the Konoha team.

“Sure you can!!!” Naruto and Lee shouted at the same time, fists raised in enthusiasm.

The children cheered, scattering into groups and tugging at sleeves and hands.

“Are those whiskers?” a little girl asked Naruto, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Ehhh…” Naruto rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, they are. I was born with them.”

The crowd around him only grew more fascinated.

“What kind of haircut is that?” one boy asked, jabbing a finger at Lee.

“This,” Lee declared proudly, “is the youthful style of the Hidden Leaf Village!”

The rest of the team chuckled, unable to hide their amusement.

They moved outside together, into the orphanage courtyard—an open playground space surrounded by high sandstone walls. There were swings, climbing poles, and shaded areas with benches. But it was the next moment that truly stopped Sakura in her tracks.

At the children’s request, the Kazekage’s sand began to move.

It slipped out of his gourd without a sound, flowing into the air in delicate patterns. Sakura watched, transfixed, as it danced above their heads—curling and twisting into shapes. Creatures of myth and animals from the desert. A phoenix took shape, followed by a sand-fawn with long ears and delicate legs. The children squealed and reached toward it, giggling as the sand shimmered around them.

The movement was playful. Gentle. Protective.

She'd never seen his sand behave like this.

Lee and Naruto couldn’t resist joining in. Naruto darted between the children and the sand creatures, hyping them up for a challenge.

“I challenge you to a race!” he shouted, punching the air.

Lee’s eyes gleamed. “Bring it on, Naruto!”

The sand shifted again, forming a winding little racetrack through the courtyard with gentle slopes and curved walls. The kids were screaming with laughter and lining up at the start.

The race began.

Sakura watched them go—Naruto, Lee, and a dozen children running full tilt, arms flying, laughter echoing through the warm night air.

The Kazekage’s sand responded in kind, moving obstacles into their paths with perfect timing—just tricky enough to be fun, not frustrating.

She caught herself smiling. This— this —was something she never thought she’d witness.

As the race neared its end, Naruto and Lee both very theatrically tripped on the last curve, landing in the dust with exaggerated groans.

The children erupted into cheers.

“You’re the winners!” Lee cried, clutching his side like he’d run a marathon. “I can’t defeat such youthful energy!”

Naruto rolled onto his back. “I yield!”

The kids cheered louder.

Sakura watched as they bowed low, thumbs up, and congratulated their tiny rivals. Temari and Kankuro stood nearby, grinning from ear to ear.

“You’re awesome! One day I’m gonna be strong like you!” one of the boys said, eyes locked on the Kazekage.

The Kazekage knelt again, meeting the boy’s gaze directly. “You’re already strong, Shohoku. Don’t ever forget that.”

The boy beamed. The caretakers nearby smiled too—one of them pressing a hand to her chest at the sight.

Then the Kazekage stood, dusted his sleeves, and asked, “Ah, I almost forgot. Are you all hungry?”

A unanimous shout answered him: “YES!!”

“Very well,” the Kazekage said with a nod toward one of the Sand shinobi nearby, who tapped his earpiece and murmured a quiet command.

Only seconds passed before a soft rustle and the lively beat of music filtered in from the street across from the orphanage. Sakura turned at the sound—and blinked.

Her jaw dropped.

Nine colorful festival stalls were being wheeled toward them by vendors, each more vibrant than the last.

Bright flags fluttered at the tops, lanterns swayed, and the aromas that followed hit like a wave—savory, sweet, and everything in between. The first stall overflowed with sweets: cotton candy in pastel spirals, glossy caramel apples, syrup-drenched pastries. The next three featured what Sakura could only describe as elite-level Suna delicacies.

She heard a whimper and turned her head, already guessing who it was.

Naruto had frozen in place, practically drooling as he stared at stall number four.

Of course. Ramen. Steam curled from stacked bowls of the stuff, rich and fragrant, and clearly the real deal. Stall five was heaped with exotic fruits and vegetables from across the nations. The sixth was lined with children’s clothing in all colors and cuts. The seventh—Suna’s infamous lemonade, bubbling with citrus and ice. The eighth displayed rows of toys, while the ninth… held the fishing game from earlier.

The children gaped at the scene like they’d been handed the moon.

“What are you waiting for?” Kankuro asked, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Go and eat all you want. You can each pick out some clothes and toys. And I think the fishing game might be fun.”

His gaze lifted, landing on Kakashi, who was leaning against the fence like he had no intention of moving.

“If you ask Kakashi-san nicely, I’ve heard he has quite the talent for it.”

Sakura turned in time to see Kakashi freeze.

He looked up slowly, half his face hidden behind his book—and then he was met with about thirty pairs of hopeful, expectant little eyes. The poor man didn’t stand a chance.

With a sigh of theatrical resignation, he tucked the book away. “Alright, alright. I suppose I can help out for a bit.”

Hah, Sakura thought, grinning to herself. Even he can’t say no to those puppy eyes.

A chorus of cheerful “Haiiii!” followed as the children stampeded toward the stalls, grabbing plates and laughing with unrestrained glee. The Kazekage and his siblings followed more calmly, joined by the Konoha shinobi.

Sakura made her way to the lemonade stand, thirst catching up to her at last. The first sip was pure heaven—cool, tart, and sharp with just enough sweetness.

She was about to go for another when she noticed a small figure in the corner of her eye. Haisa—the little girl from earlier—had her face scrunched in pain, clinging to one of the caretakers and trying not to cry. Her cheeks were red, and tears were streaking down her face.

“The ramen burned her tongue,” the caretaker explained, alarmed. “I think she tried to eat it too fast—oh no, look, blisters are already forming.”

The Kazekage stood nearby, frowning slightly.

Sakura stepped forward with a second cup of lemonade in her hand.

“Hi,” she said gently, crouching to Haisa’s level. “I’m Sakura. You’re Haisa-chan, right?”

The girl nodded, tongue still sticking out slightly, tears spilling over.

“Oof, that looks like a mean blister,” Sakura said softly. “That must really hurt. But I can help, if you hold still for me. Think you can do that?”

Haisa gave a brave little nod.

Sakura smiled, calling chakra into her palm. Her hand glowed green as she hovered it gently over the girl’s tongue.

Within seconds, the pain in Haisa’s eyes began to fade. Her tiny body relaxed, and the tears slowed. When Sakura pulled her hand back, the blister was gone.

“There we go,” she said kindly. “Here—take a sip of this lemonade. It’ll help cool things down. No more pain, I promise.”

Haisa took the cup with both hands and drank. Her shoulders dropped with visible relief.

“Thank you so much, Sakura-san,” she said, beaming.

“You’re very welcome, Haisa-chan,” Sakura replied. “But next time, maybe let the ramen cool down a bit first, okay?”

The girl nodded earnestly.

“And you should definitely have extra ice cream tonight. Doctor’s orders.”

Haisa’s eyes lit up.

The moment she turned to run back to the stalls, the caretaker let out a sigh of gratitude. “That was amazing. Thank you.”

Sakura stood and brushed off her knees. “It’s no trouble at all.”

When she turned back around, the Kazekage was watching her.

His expression was quiet—soft, almost.

She gave him a little nod.

After bidding farewell to the caretakers and the children, the group made their way toward the outer walls of Suna, where the fireworks would begin in about fifteen minutes. The Kazekage had ordered the remaining Suna-nin to deliver the gifts to the orphanage  and join their loved ones for the celebration.

Matsuri, of course, had argued to stay—eager, smiling, slightly too loud—but the Kazekage, oblivious to the meaning behind her insistence, had calmly told her to enjoy the rest of her evening with her own friends.

Sakura didn’t miss the way the girl pouted behind him.

The streets of Suna shimmered under the moonlight. The festival’s buzz had quieted just enough to feel like something magical was about to unfold. People still lingered, laughing and moving in small groups, their yukatas catching the light of hanging lanterns.

Naruto walked beside the Kazekage, their steps in sync.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, glancing sideways. “It’s nice seeing all those smiles on the kids’ faces, huh?”

The Kazekage gave a small nod. “Yes. It was.”

Naruto grinned, his voice warm. “Yeah. Being a shinobi’s not just about fighting. It’s about connecting with people, too. We gotta remember that. Even when things get rough.”

Sakura walked alongside Kakashi, sipping the last of her lemonade. She glanced at her sensei and arched an eyebrow.

“I bet you’re secretly enjoying all this, Kakashi-sensei. You can admit it.”

He chuckled softly behind his mask. “Well… I can’t deny this festival has a certain charm. And I suppose the fireworks aren’t entirely terrible. So, for one night—I’ll allow it.”

Sakura bumped her shoulder against his lightly. “I knew you had a soft spot. See? It’s good for you to relax every now and then. Even you.”

Ahead, Kankuro gestured dramatically, leading the way toward a raised ledge overlooking the city.

“Come on! The view from up here is unbeatable,” he called. “And hey—it might actually help the Kazekage loosen up for once.”

Temari grinned. “Yes!”

“I don’t need to relax,” the Kazekage replied, flat and immediate.

Neither sibling acknowledged the protest.

Sakura caught the subtle scowl that crossed the Kazekage’s face.

The group ascended the walls, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone. The quiet was a stark contrast to the lively streets they had just traversed. A crescent moon hung in the sky, and by its light, Sakura could see her breath despite the warmth of the summer night. She shivered once, the chill brushing down her spine as she looked up.

Thousands of stars glittered above her like pinholes in velvet. She had never seen so many. It stopped her in her tracks.

"Hey, Sakura-chan," Naruto said beside her, plopping down on the ledge with his legs crossed. "Remember our tradition back home? Takoyaki and okonomiyaki during the fireworks? I totally forgot to buy some..."

Sakura turned to him, her grin blooming like instinct. “Of course I remember. And lucky for you…” She held up the bag with both snacks. “I came prepared. Wouldn’t be the same without them.”

Naruto's face lit up. “Sakura-chan, you're the best! Let’s dig in!”

“You're still hungry?” she laughed. “After five bowls of ramen and everything else?”

“Nahhh. There's always room for takoyaki and okonomiyaki. Especially when we're celebrating.”

Sakura stood and began moving around the group, handing out portions. The Konoha team received theirs first—Tenten gave her a wink, Guy wiped away an emotional tear, and Neji accepted his quietly with a small nod of thanks. She moved to Lee, then to Kakashi, who was still reading and barely looked up, but murmured a soft, “Much appreciated.”

Finally, she turned to the Sand siblings.

Kankuro grinned when she passed him his share. “Thanks, Sakura-chan. You know, you’re looking especially beautiful tonight under the stars.”

Sakura snorted. “Nice try. You’ll have to do better than that if you want to impress me.”

“Well, maybe I could impress you la—OW!”

A small ball of sand smacked the back of his head, making him face-plant into his okonomiyaki. The pancake clung to his forehead like a badge of shame.

Temari snickered. “You were asking for it.”

Sakura covered her mouth to stifle a laugh as she handed Temari her portion. The blonde took it with a smirk.

Then Sakura turned to the Kazekage, who had been watching the exchange in silence. She stepped toward him, holding out the bag with a small smile.

“Kazekage-sama… would you like some?” she asked. “It’s a tradition for us, watching the fireworks with these.”

There was a beat of silence—just long enough to be noticeable—before he gave a small nod. “Yes. Thank you.”

She handed him the takoyaki and okonomiyaki and gave a respectful nod.

He accepted it, then turned his gaze upward.

Then, with a deep thrum and a flash of light, the first firework burst across the sky—crimson, trailing sparks of gold. A murmur rippled through the crowd.

More followed—silver, jade, violet—each bloom echoing like distant thunder. The colors lit up the desert sky, chasing the shadows from every corner.

It lit the faces around her, shadows flickering, awe painting everyone in a quiet hush. One by one, the fireworks followed: sapphire, emerald, silver, each one blooming in perfect rhythm. The crackle and pop filled the air like distant thunder.

Sakura didn’t move. She simply let herself feel it.

Not just the fireworks, but the warmth of everyone gathered. Naruto’s laughter, infectious and bright. Kakashi’s visible eye, crinkled in a smile. Tenten and Lee whispering excitedly, and Guy clasping his hands to his chest like this was the most youthful display of nature he had ever seen. Even Neji had a softened look about him.

Kankuro and Temari were already mid-debate about the correct way to eat takoyaki—fork or fingers.

And the Kazekage… He stood just slightly apart, his profile outlined in gold and silver bursts. His eyes were fixed on the sky, contemplating.

Sakura exhaled quietly, her thoughts drifting to Lady Chiyo and her sacrifice, which had allowed the Kazekage to be here, to experience this moment with them and with his people. Her heart filled with a deep gratitude for the woman.

Sakura smiled—then paused.

Something was off.

She didn’t move. Just breathed. Focused inward.

Her smile faded.

Without a word, she closed her eyes and ran through a diagnostic scan—quick, precise, trained. She only needed seven seconds. Her chakra swept through every system, every point of vulnerability, looking for it.

Nothing.

The poison had definitely completely left her system now. So what was this feeling? Maybe she had overeaten-that must have been it.

Without thinking, Sakura's hand drifted to the scar on her abdomen while she talked with Temari and Tenten as they walked back towards the Kazekage tower. 

                                      X

Naruto and Sakura Suna festival: 

Lee, Naruto and Sakura Suna festival: 



Sakura Fireworks: 

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: Chaos 

When they reached the Kazekage Tower, the group said their goodnights, thanking the Kazekage and his siblings for the evening before heading to their respective rooms.

"We should do this again sometime," Naruto said, turning to Temari and Kankuro. "It was a lot of fun."

Temari grinned. "Definitely. Maybe we could come to Konoha and return the favor."

Sakura nodded, but her thoughts lingered elsewhere—on that strange tug in her chest, the unease that hadn’t quite left her. She waved goodbye and made her way toward her room, her mind racing with quiet questions.

Once inside, she slipped off her yukata and hung it with care. Her fingers trailed over the pastel silk.

I can’t believe I own something this beautiful.

She changed into one of Naruto’s oversized t-shirts, padded into the bathroom, and studied her reflection.

Her makeup was still intact, soft and clean, drawing out her features in a way she’d grown to like. She brushed her hair out, tied it with a ribbon, and glanced at the bathtub.

Too tired. Maybe tomorrow.

Sakura crawled into the plush bed and let herself sink into it. The mattress enveloped her like a warm cocoon, the sheets hugging her limbs, soft and grounding. Her breath evened. Her body relaxed.

Click.

Her eyes flew open.

No. No no no no— not this again.

She sat up fast, scanning the shadows.

Another click. Louder. Closer.

Her palms began to sweat. Her heartbeat picked up. "Who's there?" she called, her voice tighter than she meant it to be.

Silence.

Only her breath.

Then came the ringing. Subtle at first—like pressure shifting in her ears—but it sharpened fast.

The scent followed: copper, thick and unmistakable.

Metal.

Her stomach dropped.

No—

Just like in the tent.

The walls bled.

It started slowly, red lines crawling like veins down the plaster, then spilling fast into thick streams. The floor darkened. Blood pooled beneath her.

Sakura tried to move—but the mattress dragged her down. Her limbs felt molasses-heavy. The sheets twisted around her waist like they wanted to keep her there.

She looked down. The pool was rising.

Up to her hips now.

There was no source. No wound. Nothing to stop it.

She couldn’t scream—her throat locked. Her muscles refused. She was not able to make any sounds.

Her fingers dug into the sheets.

Inner?

Silence.

No shouting. No sarcasm. No comfort.

Just—

Nothing.

Her own mind, echoing empty.

“Fuck,” she gasped.

She threw herself sideways, breaking free from the bed’s hold and landing hard on the floor. Her hands were slick with blood— no , not blood, not real, it couldn’t be—

Click.

The sound rang out again, sharp and deliberate.

Sakura turned her head.

Her mouth went dry.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

Focus. Breathe.

This had to be a flashback. A hallucination. A PTSD loop after the fight against Sasori.

Right?

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she braced herself, eyes sweeping the room, every nerve on edge.

She moved her hands to her temples, trying to send healing chakra to her head—to something . But nothing happened. Her chakra wouldn’t respond. It felt severed, like a string cut clean through.

She tried again. Nothing.

Panic prickled across her skin.

She clenched her fist, tried to summon chakra there—to gather it for defense. Still nothing. It was as if something had blocked her entirely. Severed her from her own body.

Was this a nightmare?

Sakura ran for the dresser, her footsteps sloshing through thick pools of blood. It coated her calves, her clothes, every inch of skin it touched. The grotesque warmth of it made her stomach twist.

She reached the dresser, slipping on her knees as she grabbed the edge, fingers finding the drawer slick with red. She yanked it open.

Blood splashed her face.

She didn’t flinch.

Inside, her fingers closed around a kunai. Cold steel. Real.

No chakra? Fine. She didn’t need chakra to wake herself up.

With practiced precision, Sakura drove the blade into the side of her thigh—just deep enough to send pain shooting through her nerves.

But the dream didn’t break.

Her stomach flipped.

“Crap.”

Dizziness hit her like a hammer. She stumbled backward, tripping on the soaked sheets, falling to the floor with a dull thud.

The blood was everywhere. Thick. Endless. Like the walls were bleeding.

Sakura tried to crawl. Slipped again.

This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t PTSD.

This was something else.

Genjutsu? Her thoughts scrambled. Maybe. But she couldn’t tell without chakra—and if she couldn’t break it, and no one could sense her chakra spike...

She was trapped.

Then she felt it.

A pulse. Not in the room—in her .

Like something thrumming deep in her core. Something foreign. Wrong. Alive.

Her blood ran cold.

Her mind turned, racing through possibilities. An attack? Poison? A seal she hadn’t detected? What the hell was inside her ?

She forced herself up, jaw clenched, muscles shaking. Her head was pounding now. Worse than before.

The pulse inside her felt stronger, heavier. Like it was climbing its way toward the surface.

Focus.

Her head was hurting so bad.

She shut her eyes. Inhaled. Exhaled. Called on every medical drill Tsunade had drilled into her— assess, control, respond.

Her heart rate began to slow.

She opened her eyes. Moved to the window. Reached out, fingers trembling, and tried to open it—

Locked.

The smell of blood was stronger now. Copper-sweet. Suffocating. Her vision swam.

Fuck !!! she hissed inwardly.

Her glance moving to the door.

She staggered toward it, the floor sticky beneath her. The pulse inside her surged.

She grabbed the handle.

Then—everything went white.

Not light.

Blind.

Her vision blanked into a milky haze.

Sakura froze. Heart hammering.

Then a growl—low, guttural—rumbled in her chest.

Her own voice. But not her own voice.

What the fuck was that?

She stumbled again, reaching out for the doorframe. Her body wasn’t listening. Her legs moved without instruction. She tried to will herself forward, to move, to run , but it was like shouting into a storm.

She was losing control.

No—she had already lost it.

“I need to move—come on, MOVE!” she screamed internally.

Her body twitched. Shifted.

She didn’t know if she was walking, crawling, or dragging herself, but she was going. Her limbs numb, her mind screaming.

She hit a wall. Solid. Real.

Then she smashed her forehead against it, a last-ditch attempt to shock her system into clarity.

Pain. Real.

She staggered again, blood trailing from her temple.

But she was moving.

Time had warped. She couldn’t tell how long she’d been stumbling. Her body felt distant, unrecognizable.

A cage she was locked inside.

Whatever was in her—it was getting stronger.

She felt its pulse. Its growl. Its presence curling through her veins.

But her will wasn’t gone. Not yet.

Then—finally—her hand hit something solid.

A seam. A frame.

Driven by sheer instinct, Sakura pushed.

The darkness didn’t waver.

It clung to her like a second skin, thick and suffocating, sealing her in a veil of nothingness. Every breath felt distant. Muted . Sakura's grip on her own body was slipping—thread by thread.

That presence inside her… it had almost fully taken hold.

Her limbs no longer answered her. Her thoughts flickered in and out like candlelight in a storm.

Fight it. Fight back. Now.

She pushed—reaching for any shred of herself that was still hers.

But it was like pushing against a tide.

Her footing vanished. Her body tilted, weightless—then plunged.

Splash.

Warmth closed over her like a coffin.

Liquid. Thick. Clinging. Blood? Water? Something worse?

She tried to scream, but as her mouth opened, it flooded in. Her lungs burned.

No air. No up. No down.

Just darkness.

Is this it? Is this how she dies?

She thrashed wildly. Her hands sliced through the liquid, blind and desperate, searching for anything— anything —to hold on to. But the weight was too much, the darkness too dense. The pressure crushed her ribs like stone.

Her vision—what little was left of it—shattered into static.

Then—

A grip .

Fingers—rough and solid—closed around her arm.

Not hers.

Not imaginary.

Real.

Something—or someone—was pulling her up.

Air exploded back into her chest in a ragged gasp. Her lungs seized. Her body convulsed.

But it was too late.

Her mind slipped.

Not into sleep.

Into nothing .

The grip on her body remained. But Sakura’s consciousness—her self —drifted.

Detached.

Adrift.

The last thing she felt was the presence curling around her mind like smoke, finally sinking its claws in deep.

And dragging her under.

                                      X

“SAKURA!”

The sound punched through the dark.

“Sakura!”

Something rough coiled around her arms and ankles—pressure. Grounding. Real.

Her body jerked.

Pain bloomed immediately—sharp in her thigh, pounding behind her eyes. It was everywhere. Her limbs ached, her chest burned. Her head felt like it had been cracked open and stitched back together the wrong way.

She winced.

Her senses were crawling back—slowly, like waking up underwater. A soft touch brushed her cheek—warm, gentle, steady. She leaned into it before she even realized it was there.

She forced a breath in.

The presence inside her—the one that had twisted her limbs, drowned her mind—was gone. Whatever had hollowed her out, it had receded. She was herself again. Shaking. Wrecked. But present.

The iron stink that had thickened the air was gone. Her skin no longer prickled like it was under siege.

“Sakura.”

The voice again. Low. Closer.

She blinked once. Then again.

A blurred face came into focus—green eyes locking with seafoam.

“Gaara?” she whispered. Her voice rasped, barely there.

He was right there—so close—his gaze intense, steady. And completely focused on her.

She blinked slowly. Her mind pieced together the rest.

They were in a hallway—somewhere inside the Kazekage mansion, just outside a room she’d never entered before. Her back was against the wall. She could feel the cool stone at her spine. Shivering.

His sand hovered around her like a barrier, coiling at her wrists and ankles in soft spirals.

Gaara stood before her, drenched, water dripping from his hair, his chest bare and slick with moisture. Low-hanging trousers clung to his hips. His arm braced beside her head; the other ghosted along her cheek.

Her pulse stuttered.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice so quiet it almost didn’t reach her.

“I…” Her mouth was dry. Her body trembled, her muscles weak. “I don’t know.”

“Sa-ku-ra.”

A low, dark voice echoed down the corridor.

Her senses snapped into focus at the sound of her name. She whipped her head toward the source, heart stuttering.

Kakashi.

He stood framed in the open doorway, his silhouette backlit by dim corridor light. His casual Jōnin attire looked out of place next to the sheer intensity in his posture. His hitai-ate was pushed up, revealing his fully activated Sharingan—its dark red iris spinning slowly, seething with chakra. The crimson patterns burned like coals in the dark, boring straight into her.

Her blood ran cold.

He didn’t speak again. He didn’t need to. The look in his eye said everything. Something had dragged him here fast. Something had alarmed him.

Something about her.

Her stomach lurched.

She had never seen him look like that.

She followed his gaze instinctively—down.

And what she saw hit her like a punch to the ribs.

She was soaked to the skin. Naruto’s grey oversized T-shirt clung to her body like wet paper. Her bare legs were streaked with water and her blood. Thick rivulets of crimson were trailing from wounds on her thigh and forehead, dripping steadily to the stone floor— And on top of all that, the half naked Kazekage was pinning her against the wall his sand restraining her.

Her breathing stuttered.

Panic surged up her spine.

No. No no no—Kakashi is going to see this and think—

Before she could find her voice, before she could move, the Kazekage stepped forward.

He placed himself between her and the corridor, shielding her from view like a solid wall of intent. In the same breath, the sand around them rose. It twisted through the air in fluid ribbons, shimmering in the dim torchlight, wrapping around her with calculated grace. The grains spiraled up, fast and precise, until they formed a thick cloak around her body—concealing everything.

Sakura’s heart pounded.

Oh gods. That’ll only make it worse.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10 Back To Business

Gaara and Naruto spent the entire night gazing up at the star-scattered sky, saying little. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable—it simply was. Unspoken understanding settled between them like the desert’s cool air, calming and constant.

As the night wore on, Gaara noticed Naruto's breathing had shifted. Slower. Deeper.

He was asleep.

Gaara glanced at him. The peaceful expression on Naruto’s face, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the twitch of fingers every so often—it all fascinated him. For someone who had known so much loneliness, Naruto had a way of resting as though the world itself posed no threat.

How does he do that? He wondered. Sleep without fear.

Even now, Naruto's guard was down completely, as if the stars themselves had given him permission to rest. As if nothing could reach him here.

A faint exhale—almost a chuckle—escaped Gaara’s throat before he realized it.

Naruto had faced horrors. He had suffered, been isolated, burdened. And yet... he carried something Gaara couldn't name. Not innocence. Not exactly hope.

Something gentler.

Even before the extraction, sleep had become a brittle thing for Gaara. Nights passed in pieces. Silence felt too loud. The absence of Shukaku had left him hollow in ways he couldn’t explain to anyone—not even to himself.

But tonight was different.

With Naruto beside him, snoring softly beneath the stars, the void inside him quieted. Just a little.

He didn’t know if this peace would last. But for now... he let himself feel it.

Gaara lay back against the rooftop, let his breath settle, and closed his eyes.

Sleep came—not easy, not light, but whole.

                                      X

With the rising sun, Gaara stirred, eyes opening slowly to the soft light warming the rooftop. Naruto still lay beside him, snoring lightly. Gaara couldn’t remember the last time he had slept this peacefully.

Since childhood, his nights had been haunted—by Shukaku's threats to seize control of his body, by nightmares, by hatred directed inward and outward, and by the constant reality of assassination attempts.

Insomnia had long been a loyal, bitter companion.

He glanced over at Naruto and allowed a small, genuine smile to rise on his lips.

His sand stirred at his side, rising quietly as if sensing his intent. It arched above Naruto, reshaping into a curved dome—a shimmering parasol that shielded his friend from the harsh desert sun. The grains glinted in the light, gently swaying like golden threads in the morning breeze.

Gaara let his eyes drift toward the horizon.

The sky had been set ablaze with color—pink bleeding into amber, streaks of lavender stretched thin across a canvas of soft blue. The desert sun crept over the edge of the village, casting long golden rays over the rooftops.

For a moment, he simply watched.

Then, with practiced ease, he stepped down from the roof, entered his chambers through the open balcony doors, and began preparing for the day.

He unbuttoned his coat slowly, the filtered sunlight painting soft lines across his bare chest. The water was already running as he stepped into the shower. Warmth cascaded over him. He tipped his head back, eyes falling shut.

The memories came quietly.

Naruto’s voice from the night before. Their quiet, grounding talk. The ease of it. The strange stillness he had felt in Naruto’s presence.

And before that—Haruno-san.

The examination.

His sand.

Gaara's brow furrowed slightly under the stream of water.

He had never seen his sand react that way to anyone. Not since childhood. Not even to his siblings. It hadn’t moved with suspicion or force—it had shifted gently. Curiously. As though drawn to her.

Almost... affectionate. Intimate.

Had she noticed?

Of course she had. She’d responded to it. Carefully. Purposefully.

Curious, he thought.

Gaara stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. Steam curled from his skin as he crossed the room and dressed in silence.

He pulled on his crimson coat and dark trousers, then adjusted the gray vest secured by a single strap across his shoulder. His gourd belts clicked into place with familiar weight.

In the kitchen, Tome was already waiting with a steaming bowl and tea.

“Good morning, Kazekage-sama,” she said, bowing slightly. “I hope you slept well.”

“I did,” he replied. “Thank you, Tome.”

They spoke briefly about the day’s schedule—the final festival preparations, minor security changes.

Nothing urgent. Nothing that couldn’t wait an hour.

When he finished eating, he rose and nodded politely. “Thank you for the meal.”

“You’re welcome, Kazekage-sama,” she said, already tidying up.

He left the kitchen and made his way to the orangery.

This room—more than any other inside the mansion—was his sanctuary. Light filtered through tall windows, catching on the leaves of the plants and throwing quiet reflections across the tiled floor. In the evenings, the lanterns and fireplace filled the space with flickering warmth. But even now, bathed in morning light, it calmed him.

He sat for a while in silence.

Then, with a final breath, he stood.

The day would not wait forever.

As he exited, the crunch of dry sand underfoot signaled his steps toward the main tower.

Hataro flickered into view beside him, appearing with the efficiency of habit.

“Good morning, Kazekage-sama,” the Anbu said.

“Good morning, Hataro,” Gaara replied.

The shinobi had been at his side since his appointment as Kazekage. He didn’t speak often unless required. Gaara appreciated that.

The tower rose ahead—sunlight glinting off its surface—and Gaara walked toward it, steady and prepared.

Hataro was only a few years older, yet his sense of duty and unwavering loyalty had set him apart early on. His record was among the most decorated in Suna’s military history—clean, precise, formidable. Even among the elite, Hataro stood out.

More importantly, he had never once looked at Gaara with fear.

From the beginning, while others whispered in the halls and watched him from behind careful eyes, Hataro had spoken plainly. Respectfully. With trust. Gaara remembered that clearly—because it had been rare.

Almost unheard of.

Even now, years later, the memory lingered.

The guards back then hadn’t known how to hide their discomfort. They whispered outside his office doors, spoke behind their hands in town. It was nothing new to Gaara. He had grown up surrounded by hate, fear, and suspicion. It was the burden of being a jinchūriki—and then, somehow, the Kazekage.

He had told himself their fear didn’t matter.

And most days, it hadn’t.

But late at night, when the whispers echoed a little louder through empty halls, he had found himself listening. Shukaku, ever eager, had offered to silence them in more than one creative way. Gaara had always declined. But sometimes—he had considered it.

Now, the whispers had quieted. The fear had shifted.

The guards respected him—not just as a weapon, but as a leader. As a man.

It was progress. And Gaara was... grateful for it.

But Hataro had never needed to evolve into that respect. He had lived it from the beginning.

Gaara’s thoughts flicked back to the man’s file—something he had read years ago, in the first month of his appointment, back when his own emotions were still foreign to him.

He hadn’t known what to feel at the time. But now...

Hataro’s parents had been murdered during a bandit raid when he was ten. He had escaped with his two-year-old sister, and the two of them had lived as refugees, wandering, surviving, until a Suna squadron had rescued them two years later.

He had joined the military shortly after. And rose fast.

Gaara walked beside him now, listening to the sand crunch beneath their sandals.

They had more in common than most people knew.

The day of the Akatsuki attack—when Gaara had been taken—Hataro hadn’t been on duty. It had been his sister’s first day at the academy.

“I never got to ask,” Gaara said quietly. “How was Akane’s first day?”

Hataro didn’t answer right away. Gaara couldn’t see his face behind the porcelain mask, but he felt the shift in the man’s chakra—brief hesitation, surprise.

“It went well, Kazekage-sama,” Hataro said at last. “She was nervous at first, but... she enjoyed it.”

A pause.

Then— “I should have been by your side that day.”

Gaara stopped. Turned toward him. “What do you mean?”

“I should’ve been there to protect you. It was my duty.”

Gaara blinked once. The quiet between them stretched.

“You had the day off,” he said. “To be with your sister. That was a special day for her—and for you. It’s nothing you should ever regret.”

“But still—”

“I know what you did,” Gaara cut in. “You evacuated the academy. You kept the children safe. Kankuro told me. If anyone fulfilled their duty that day, Hataro... it was you.”

The tension in Hataro’s shoulders eased. Not gone—but less.

“Thank you, Kazekage-sama.”

Gaara gave a small nod and turned back toward the tower. “You’ve served me well since the beginning. I trust you with my life. And I know you’ll be there when I need you.”

Hataro bowed, falling into step behind him once more.

As they walked, their conversation shifted to the upcoming meeting with the elders and Konoha. A discussion on alliances—strategy, diplomacy, the political weight of peace.

Just before they reached the entrance, Hataro flickered away in a silent shunshin.

Gaara paused outside the tower, looking up at its façade, golden in the morning sun.

He had work to do.

And slowly—steadily—he was beginning to understand what he wanted from that work.

Not just peace for Suna.

But something more personal. Something quieter.

Dreams, perhaps.

His own.

                                      X

Gaara pushed open the door to his office and stepped inside. The air here was cooler, a welcome contrast to the heat beginning to rise outside. The morning sun had yet to reach this side of the tower, and he savored the shaded quiet—the stillness before duty returned.

He set the gourd down in its usual place beneath the window, then lowered himself into the chair behind the desk. Silence settled thick around him.

It was always the silence that reminded him.

Shukaku was gone.

Their relationship had been… volatile. Difficult didn’t begin to cover it. But in the absence of that ever-present growl in the back of his mind, Gaara sometimes caught himself missing it.

Missing him .

After so many years, a kind of bond had formed between them. Not trust. Not warmth. But a shared existence. A twisted partnership.

Especially after the attack on Konoha, things had shifted.

Before that, Shukaku had been in control more often than not—feeding off Gaara’s bloodlust, whispering violence into his every thought. During the Chūnin Exams, he had been little more than a weapon pointed at the world. A tool of fear. A puppet of war.

That’s what Suna and Orochimaru had wanted.

But he —Naruto—had seen through it.

Naruto had met his rage with conviction. His loneliness with understanding. His madness with empathy. And somehow, that had been enough to break through.

No one—not even Yashamaru—had ever looked at Gaara that way.

The thought of his uncle sent a familiar sharp pain through his chest. Almost reflexively, Gaara pressed his palm to it.

Yashamaru had lied. Pretended. Called it love until it was too late.

Naruto hadn’t pretended. He had seen him.

Gaara shut his eyes briefly, forcing the memories of  Yashamaru away. That path led to a place far too dark.

He focused on Naruto instead. On Temari. On Kankurō. On the brightness they’d brought into his life—small lights that kept the dark at bay.

His mother’s hatred… it was a pain without name. Something he carried in silence. Something that lived beneath his skin. It wasn’t rational. It didn’t need to be. It hurt . And it always would.

But Naruto had given him something else to hold onto.

After the attack, Gaara had changed. He had chosen a different path—Naruto’s path. To protect instead of destroy. To lead with purpose, not fear.

Even his relationship with Shukaku had shifted. The beast had remained hostile, unpredictable—but no longer all-consuming. Gaara had learned to resist him. To command the sand rather than be consumed by it.

It wasn’t peace. But it was balance.

And then, after the extraction... everything changed again.

The silence had returned. The weight in his chest was different now.

When he was alone in his tent just after his resurrection, he had sat in front of his gourd. Just to see . Hands pressed to the cool surface. Eyes closed. Breathing steady.

What he felt then wasn’t Shukaku.

It was something else.

Something darker.

Not external. Not foreign.

His .

The energy that surged through him had been thick and volatile, but it didn’t come from a beast. It came from within. It wasn’t the chaotic roar of Shukaku’s malice—it was something colder. Quieter. Coiled deep in his bones.

The sand had responded—alive, restless. It surged around the tent like a stormcloud, wrapping the space in eerie silence. And still, it obeyed him. Not with reverence, but with something stranger. Recognition.

The connection had changed. The control felt... different.

It frightened him.

Gaara remembered staring at his own hands, trembling with the force of it. He had curled them into fists.

This was his power now.

It hadn’t asked permission. It was simply there .

And it was waiting.

He hadn't told anyone. Not yet. There hadn’t been time. But he knew he needed to explore it—carefully, deliberately. Somewhere secluded. Somewhere no one could get hurt.

Whatever this was, he could no longer ignore it.

A soft knock at the door broke through his thoughts.

Gaara straightened in his seat.

“Enter.”

The door creaked open and a familiar face peeked in.

“Good morning, Kazekage-sama. Would now be a good time to go over the itinerary for today?” Maru asked brightly, beaming at him.

Gaara gave a single nod.

Her smile widened as she stepped into the room, binder in one hand, a steaming cup of tea in the other.

She approached with careful concentration, tongue poking slightly out in focus as she tried not to spill a drop.

A rare flicker of amusement passed over Gaara’s face before his expression returned to its usual impassive calm.

Maru stopped in front of the desk, placed the tea in front of him with delicate care, and opened her binder.

They reviewed the day's agenda together—details of the memorial, final coordination for the celebration.

Maru had arranged for vendors to visit the orphanage later that night, bringing toys and festival food.

Gaara didn’t speak of it, but inwardly he was grateful.

The children at the orphanage meant something to him. And the people closest to him knew it.

Just as they finished, Temari poked her head into the office.

“Morning,” she greeted casually. “You too, Maru.”

Gaara narrowed his eyes. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Temari stepped inside without missing a beat. “Relax. Tome said the Konoha-nin aren’t even awake yet. I’ve got time.”

Gaara leaned back slightly, silent, waiting for the real reason.

“I wanted to tell you in person,” she said, her tone shifting. “The elders have called a second meeting—after today’s with Konoha. It’s about your examination yesterday. And they’ve summoned Haruno-san to be there.”

His face didn’t move. But behind the calm, Gaara felt a flicker of heat twist through his chest.

“They summoned her,” he repeated flatly.

“I intercepted the shinobi on his way to the mansion. Told him I’d handle it,” Temari said.

Good.

So that was their angle.

Use Haruno-san to make a political statement. Undermine Konoha’s standing. Challenge his authority—quietly, but effectively.

The irritation twisted tighter.

He brought his hands together, resting his elbows on the desk. His gaze found Temari’s and held it.

“They’re testing the alliance,” he said. “And they’ll use her to do it.”

Temari nodded grimly. “I figured.”

“You’ll need to brief her,” Gaara said. “I can’t stop the meeting now. She’ll have to answer them. There’s no way around it.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Temari said. Her voice was calm, but the fire beneath it was unmistakable.

Their eyes met—years of shared battles, shared distrust of the council, passing silently between them.

The elders had always tried to pull strings. But never this openly.

Gaara could see how much Temari cared about Haruno-san. He admired that about her. When she believed in someone, she fought for them. Hard.

“I’ll make sure she’s ready for whatever they throw at her,” she promised.

“Not too ready,” Gaara warned, voice like sand under pressure. “If she sounds prepared, they’ll accuse her of collusion. She needs to speak in her own words.”

Temari frowned. “That’s a trap.”

“I know.”

His voice was low, taut. The sand in his gourd stirred slightly behind him, as if echoing the tension in his shoulders.

“It is a trap. But Naruto says Haruno-san is clever. I trust her to navigate it.”

Temari studied him a moment longer, then gave a short nod.

“I’ll talk to her before the meeting.”

She turned and left without another word.

Gaara’s eyes lingered on the door before returning to Maru.

“Thank you for the tea.”

She smiled, gave a respectful bow, and exited silently.

“Hataro.”

The ANBU flickered into view before the desk, kneeling without a sound.

“Get Baki, Ebizō-san, and Kakashi-san here. Unofficially.”

A nod. And he was gone.

Gaara leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking softly beneath him as his thoughts turned toward the inevitable.

The elders would go after Haruno-san. That much was clear.

What he didn’t know—what twisted at his gut—was how far they would go to assert their control. He had expected resistance to the examination. He had anticipated distrust. But summoning her to stand before them... this was a calculated strike.

They were always wary of outsiders—especially those from Konoha. Even after years of alliance, their fear still lingered beneath the surface, dressed up as tradition, as caution, as pride. Gaara had hoped his leadership would soften that. That shared enemies would forge stronger bonds. That his choices would show unity, not weakness.

But the elders were still playing their own game.

He rubbed his temples, feeling the dull pulse of a headache begin to build behind his eyes.

He needed to be ready—for them, for her. But he couldn’t protect Haruno-san directly. Not without making it worse. If he stepped in, they’d accuse him of favoritism, of weakness. Worse, they’d use it as proof of Konoha’s influence over him.

No. As he’d told Temari, she would have to speak for herself.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t prepare the ground beneath her feet.

A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts.

“Enter,” Gaara called, voice level.

The door opened, and three figures stepped inside—Baki, Ebizō, and Kakashi.

They approached his desk in silence, standing at attention.

“What do you need of us, Kazekage-sama?” Baki asked, his tone low and respectful.

Gaara met their eyes in turn. “You may already know, Ebizō-san—the elders have summoned Haruno-san to a second meeting today. They intend to question her. To use her as a pawn in their attempts to challenge my leadership.”

Kakashi stepped forward. His visible eye narrowed slightly, his slouched posture at odds with the sharp focus behind his gaze. “I see. And what do you want us to do?”

“I want you to talk to her, Kakashi-san.”

The words hung between them a beat. Kakashi gave a short nod.

Gaara turned toward Ebizō.

“They’re furious that Haruno-san performed the examination instead of Yakio,” he said. “They see this as a breach of protocol—and an opportunity.”

Ebizō's expression darkened. “Ritomi and Jonobu,” he said. “They’re the ones driving this. They’ve been itching for a reason to sever ties with Konoha.”

He looked to the others. “They’ll frame the questioning as procedure. But they intend to provoke her. Diminish her. They’ll do it without care for her rank, her reputation, or what her village might think of it.”

Gaara’s jaw clenched. He said nothing.

“They’ll make it public,” Ebizō added. “Or close enough to it.”

“Pardon my language,” he went on, “but those two are stubborn old goats. Their vision’s rotted with pride. The others are more fluid—some leaning their way, some looking to you for guidance, Kazekage-sama. Those are the ones Haruno-san must win over.”

Kakashi hummed, scratching the back of his neck. “Sakura is hotheaded. But she’s brilliant. Her intellect rivals the best minds of the Nara clan. She’s analytical, strategic, composed—when she wants to be.”

He gave a small, rueful smile. “It’s probably for the best it’s her and not one of the others standing before them. If it were Naruto or even Ino… well. Let’s just say it wouldn’t be subtle.”

A pause.

“She’ll know what’s at stake,” he said quietly. “And she’ll act accordingly.”

There was no bravado in Kakashi’s voice. Just calm certainty.

Gaara studied him. He’d always known Hatake by reputation—deadly, sharp, detached. A man whose loyalty was cold and exacting.

But the trust in his voice now was absolute.

He speaks of her the way one speaks of a comrade, not a subordinate.

It was unexpected.

And it said more about Haruno Sakura than any official report.

                                      X

Gaara remembered the first time he had truly acknowledged Kakashi Hatake.

His mind drifted back to the Chūnin Exams in Konoha—a pivotal moment that had etched itself into his memory with unnerving clarity. Back then, his thoughts had been consumed by a singular desire: to battle the Uchiha.

It wasn’t about the coup. He hadn’t cared about Suna’s alliance with Orochimaru, or the greater political schemes winding through the Leaf. All he had wanted was the fight. The kill. To crush the Uchiha and feel the satisfaction of it. He remembered standing in the arena, the tension thick in the air, waiting for his opponent to arrive.

But Uchiha was late.

Whispers rippled through the crowd. The murmurs grew louder, irritation coiling in Gaara’s chest. He didn’t believe it—wouldn’t believe it. He had seen the hunger in Uchiha’s eyes. That bloodlust. That hate. That same desperate urge to destroy. He would come.

Just as the proctor prepared to announce his disqualification, chakra stirred the air.

A swirl of leaves—and then, there he was.

The Uchiha landed with calculated ease beside another man, clad in a flak vest and reading a book with maddening nonchalance.

Kakashi.

The Copy Ninja offered a half-hearted excuse about traffic. Traffic. He made small talk with the officials as if they weren’t standing in the middle of an arena ready for combat.

But Gaara wasn’t watching him.

He was staring at the Uchiha. And the Uchiha was staring back.

The promise of violence passed between them in silence. The desire to kill—mutual and razor-sharp—thickened the air.

Then something shifted.

Kakashi-san straightened slightly. His body language changed in an instant—just a breath of a moment—but it was enough.

His gaze snapped toward Gaara.

And locked.

Gaara froze.

Kakashi’s single visible eye bore into him—not curious, not casual, but cold and dangerous. A hunter’s gaze. One that had seen death a thousand times and never flinched.

Gaara’s knees trembled. Shukaku stirred violently inside him, agitated and shrieking, responding instinctively to the threat. His blood pounded in his ears. His sand tightened around him like a vice.

It was the first time he had felt something he couldn’t understand.

Not fear. Not entirely.

But close.

And then—just as quickly—Kakashi turned away.

His eye crinkled into that easy, dismissive crescent. Back to speaking to the Uchiha like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just looked straight through Gaara.

The moment passed.

But it stayed with him.

Gaara blinked and returned to the present. The memory lingered like smoke.

He hadn’t understood it then. That moment when his spine had locked up, when his instincts screamed.

But now, with the clarity of time and growth, he recognized it for what it was.

Intimidation.

The first time he had ever felt it.

Afterward, Gaara had needed to release it—the tension, the chaos roiling inside. As he left the arena’s corridor, two lower-ranking shinobi made the mistake of mocking him. Their words didn’t even finish before his sand moved.

Fast. Violent. Final.

Their screams were short-lived, muffled by the pressure of his sand as it closed around their bodies and crushed bone and breath alike. A dull, wet crunch echoed off the stone walls.

And just like that, the ache inside him ebbed.

The world slowed.

His focus returned to the task at hand: the Uchiha.

All he had wanted was blood. And as he stepped into the ring, his sand roiling in anticipation, that desire had never felt more pure.

The Copy Ninja had reminded him that power came in many forms—and not all of them needed sand and blood to be deadly.

Gaara had carried that lesson with him ever since.

                                      X

His instincts had warned him back then how dangerous and lethal the Copy Ninja truly was—and if Kakashi vouched for Haruno-san, Gaara would respect that.

"I regret that it has come to this," Gaara said, voice even. "Haruno-san examined me because my sister asked her to. She should not be put in this position. I trust your judgment in her abilities, Kakashi-san. I will stand as her ally."

"We all will," Ebizo added.

A warm smile tugged at the old man's lips. "My sister must have felt a connection to Sakura-san if she chose to face Sasori with her. Chiyo was... well, a bit mad, but her instincts were sharp. She didn’t trust easily."

Ebizo's expression turned serious.

"Let her face them alone, Gaara-sama. Do not interfere, no matter how infuriating Ritomi and Jonobu get. It will only provoke them further. I've read the report on your examination. Sakura-san is more than capable."

Gaara exhaled slowly, tension still coiled in his chest. But Ebizo was right. Stepping in would only escalate things—and undermine Haruno-san in the eyes of the council.

"I trust your judgment, Ebizo-san. I’ll leave it to her."

"Baki," Gaara said, turning to the shinobi, "make sure Kakashi-san has access to the meeting without being noticed."

Baki nodded once and exited swiftly.

"Thank you. If that’s all, I’ll brief my student," Kakashi said, already preparing to leave.

"It is."

They exchanged a nod—concise, mutual, grounded in understanding. Kakashi vanished in a flicker of movement.

Gaara turned back to Ebizo. "Regarding the memorial for Chiyo-sama... would you like to speak as well?"

Ebizo shook his head. "Oh, no, Gaara-sama. I’m no public speaker—and this moment belongs to you. The people need to see their Kazekage. They need your voice to guide them forward."

Gaara inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Very well."

Ebizo bowed and left.

A moment later, Maru entered, her expression crisp and professional.

"Kazekage-sama, are you ready for your first meeting?"

"Yes."

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Pawn To Prominence

As Gaara emerged from his brief absence, it felt as though the entire village had been holding its breath.

The morning was filled with waiting citizens, their voices rising with urgency and hope as they gathered to speak with their Kazekage. For hours, he listened—each voice bringing tales of hardship in the wake of Akatsuki's attack.

Trade routes had been disrupted. Supplies were delayed. An entire outer district lay in ruin, reduced to rubble by the assault. Families displaced. Livelihoods shattered.

A stronger alliance with Konoha would certainly improve trade flow, Gaara thought, absorbing the concerns of the merchants who spoke with increasing desperation.

With quiet resolve, he promised to prioritize the matter. He assured them that the Sand Village would allocate emergency resources and funding in the meantime. It wasn't enough. But it was something.

Eventually, the time came for the scheduled meeting with Konoha.

The Kazekage’s office filled gradually—Suna’s elders arriving first, Ritomi and Jonobu included, their presence as sharp and brittle as ever. High-ranking shinobi followed, each casting watchful eyes toward their leader.

Then came the sound of footsteps echoing down the hall.

Temari. Kakashi-san. Gai-san. Naruto. Haruno-san.

Gaara’s gaze passed over them all, settling on his sister’s subtle nod. Ritomi and Jonobu, across the room, barely veiled their disdain for the Konoha shinobi. Gaara suppressed a sigh. He had hoped for a smoother beginning.

But they were here. No turning back.

This meeting would be pivotal—not just for diplomacy, but for protection. The Akatsuki were still out there. Naruto, as a Jinchūriki, remained a target. The threat loomed closer every day.

Gaara straightened, letting his voice cut cleanly through the tension. He spoke of the Akatsuki—of their strength, their movements, the urgency of unity. Konoha and Suna could not afford to stand apart.

Kakashi and Gai gave solemn nods.

Then, Ritomi stirred.

A murmur of skepticism slipped from her lips, her narrowed eyes fixed on Konoha like a hawk circling prey.

Naruto’s voice broke through before Gaara could respond. Loud. Honest. Angry.

"We can’t just sit around while the Akatsuki keep hunting Jinchūriki!" he snapped, fists clenched. “We have to work together!”

Gaara nodded, his eyes calm but cold. “Agreed.”

Ritomi’s frown deepened. Gaara could feel her resistance growing, and with it, an old sensation stirred in his chest—sharp, familiar.

Bloodlust.

He kept it at bay. Barely.

Despite everything he’d become, despite years of growth, that part of him still existed. And Ritomi... was testing it.

She wasn’t even waiting for the second meeting. Already she was trying to undermine him—and Konoha. As if his abduction had rendered him weak. As if they’d forgotten what he was.

He would have to remind them them— and h e would not tolerate any disrespect towards Konoha or their Godaime Hokage - that much was certain. With a firm resolve, he prepared himself to address Ritomi and reaffirm his position as the Kazekage of Suna.

When Gaara spoke again, his words were icy and precise. Ritomi faltered, sweat beading on her brow as she offered a stiff, reluctant apology.

You should be a better actor by now, Ritomi, he thought, gaze lingering a beat too long.

Across the room, silence settled.

Then Baki stepped forward, voicing his support for increased collaboration.

Gaara gave a short nod and allowed the discussion to shift. Intelligence sharing. Strategies. Tactical exchange. Anything that would help them stay ahead of Akatsuki—and keep the Jinchūriki safe.

The meeting eventually drew to a close. Ritomi and Jonobu exited with a few of the other elders, leaving a trace of tension in their wake.

Gaara’s eyes followed Temari as she moved to Haruno-san’s side. They spoke quietly—easy rapport, familiar gestures. Then Haruno-san turned toward Kakashi. Their exchange was brief—a nod, a faint smile.

Good, Gaara thought. She knows what’s coming.

Naruto bounded toward him like a whirlwind of optimism.

"Oi, Gaara!" he grinned. "We’ll show these bastards who’s boss!"

Despite himself, Gaara smiled. “We will.”

"You think we could train before I head back home? I’ve gotten way stronger, you know!"

Gaara shifted slightly, eyes flicking past Naruto to where Kakashi stood. The silver-haired Jōnin gave a subtle shake of his head, the corner of his eye crinkling with humor as Temari and Haruno-san disappeared down the hall.

Yes. Perhaps it was best to keep Naruto out of the political web—at least for now.

“It’s actually my doctor’s orders to train with a certain loud knucklehead before he leaves,” Gaara said coolly. “I’d say you qualify.”

Naruto barked a laugh. “You got it! I’ll show you just how much I’ve improved.”

Gaara let the thought settle.

Testing this new power of his—with someone like Naruto—felt… safer. But he still wasn’t sure if he had the nerve to reach for it. Not yet.

After a pause, he answered.

“Meet me at the private training grounds. Tomorrow morning.”

Naruto lit up like the sun. “Hell yeah! Don’t be late!” he called, hurrying after the others.

Gaara watched him go. Then, with a quiet sigh, returned to his desk.

There were more urgent matters ahead.

                                      X

With a cheeky grin, Kankurō burst into the office, Baki trailing behind him.

“The Kazekage’s personal pick-up service has arrived,” he announced.

Gaara didn’t even look up. “I’m perfectly capable of walking there myself, Kankurō,” he replied dryly.

Kankurō only shrugged, unbothered. “I know, I know. But can you blame me for wanting to spend time with my baby brother?”'

Gaara gave him a withering stare that might have turned lesser men to stone. “Fine. Let’s go.”

He rose and led the way out, with Kankurō and Baki falling into step behind him. Their boots echoed through the narrow stone corridors, the sound growing louder as they ascended the steps to the council chambers.

With each level they climbed, the quiet weight pressing on Gaara’s thoughts deepened.

As they neared the top, Hataro flickered into view at Gaara’s side without a sound. Gaara’s eyes shifted forward, toward the grand chamber doors now coming into view.

A small group of elders waited there, postured in silent anticipation. Among them stood Yakio, as always in the center—composed, inscrutable. The group bowed as Gaara approached.

Gaara gave Yakio a short nod—acknowledgment, nothing more—then continued forward.

Just outside the chamber doors, his gaze caught on Temari and Haruno-san. They stood a little apart from the others, speaking in low tones.

From a distance, the Konoha kunoichi seemed collected. But as he drew closer, Gaara saw it.

The subtle tension in her jaw. The restless twitch of her hand at her side. A faint flicker behind her eyes.

She was nervous.

She hid it well, but not well enough—not from him.

Kankurō strode forward suddenly, positioning himself between Gaara and the two women as they neared.

Whatever he did or said was obscured, but the effect was immediate—Haruno-san’s shoulders relaxed slightly, a small, surprised smile flickering across her lips.

Then it vanished just as quickly.

Gaara watched her silently. When had they grown so close?

He came to a stop in front of her, and she turned to face him. Up close, she looked even smaller—more fragile than he remembered. That bothered him, though he wasn’t sure why.

She looked distracted. Her thoughts somewhere else.

Unfocused, he noted with irritation. A shinobi should never look like that before a battle.

Because that’s what this was. A political ambush dressed in civility.

His gaze bored into her.

“Have you been briefed?” he asked, voice cool and composed.

It was like flipping a switch.

Whatever uncertainty lingered in her expression vanished in an instant. Her spine straightened. Her eyes sharpened.

The shift was immediate—and effective.

Good, he thought, satisfied.

“Yes, I have,” she replied, tone even and clear.

He gave a short nod. No further words needed. The understanding between them was quiet—but firm.

He turned and entered the chamber, the sand in his gourd stirring faintly at his back.

Temari lingered just long enough to squeeze her shoulder. “We’ll call you in soon,” she said softly before following Gaara inside.

The doors closed behind them with a low, echoing thud.

With a decisive stride, Gaara moved to the head of the long, polished table and took his seat. Temari, Baki, and Kankurō followed, settling into their designated spots with practiced ease. Behind Gaara, Hataro took his place, silent and watchful.

The remaining Suna elders and shinobi filled in the rest of the chamber, their faces grave. Ritomi and Jonobu sat opposite Gaara, positioned deliberately in the center—directly across from the seat soon to be occupied by Haruno Sakura.

Gaara’s voice cut through the heavy silence like a blade. “Ritomi-san. Jonobu-san.” His seafoam gaze settled on them. “May I ask the purpose of this meeting? It appears to have been arranged without my knowledge. I would like to understand your intentions.”

Ritomi cleared her throat delicately, offering a carefully measured smile. “Kazekage-sama, we are gathered to discuss a matter of importance to our village.”

“It has come to our attention,” Jonobu interjected, tone clipped, “that your recent examination was conducted by the Konoha kunoichi Haruno Sakura. This raises concerns, as she is not a member of our medical corps. A procedure of such sensitivity should have been conducted by our own chief of medicine, Katano Yakio.”

Gaara listened, face impassive. Around the table, murmurs stirred.

“And your concern?” he asked evenly, though the edge beneath his words was hard to miss.

“We are concerned for your safety, Kazekage-sama,” Ritomi replied. “You are our village’s greatest asset. Entrusting such a critical procedure to an outsider—however talented—is a risk we cannot overlook.”

So this is how they’re framing it, Gaara thought, suppressing the flicker of irritation rising in his chest.

But he didn’t move yet. This was like a game of Shogi—and they’d only just begun their opening play.

Ritomi’s voice rose slightly. “We believe it is necessary to question Haruno-san regarding her examination of you.”

Gaara’s answer came immediately. “Very well.”

The doors opened.

Haruno Sakura entered with calm, confident steps. Her face betrayed nothing. She smiled politely at each elder as she took her seat, poised and unshaken. Across from her sat Yakio, Ritomi, and Jonobu—each studying her with narrowed eyes.

Yakio gave a perfunctory introduction. Ritomi and Jonobu, however, launched straight into questioning.

Their tone was sharp. Their words clipped. Their intent obvious.

They aimed to rattle her.

Gaara’s fingers twitched once, resting atop the table. He could feel the low hum of his sand shifting within the gourd behind him—subtle but restless, as if echoing his irritation.

Despite their attempts, Haruno-san remained composed. Her answers were clear, professional, and brief—never too defensive, never overly familiar. When Temari or Kankurō tried to offer clarification, Ritomi cut them off without ceremony.

Enough, Gaara thought, his patience thinning.

He waited. Watched.

The sand stirred again. No one else could hear it, but he could feel its discontent. A silent warning—shared between him and the power at his back.

He leaned forward slightly.

"Before we continue discussing my examination,"Gaara calmly addressed, "I would like to address something that happened after my brother's attack."

He turned to Yakio.

"Why did you not take into account the procedure that Haruno-san performed?"

Yakio faltered. “I—I ... It was way to risky..." 

Gaara’s eyes narrowed. He shifted his attention to the Konoha kunoichi. “Haruno-san. Please describe what you did to save my brother’s life.”

She sat straighter. A brief flicker of surprise passed through her features—but only for a moment. Then she spoke, her voice steady, her explanation detailed and methodical. She described the poisons, the symptoms, the procedure. Gaara watched the room shift as she spoke—watched some of the elders lean in slightly, brows furrowed not in doubt, but in dawning respect.

His chest tightened unexpectedly.

Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how close they had come to losing Kankurō.

His gaze drifted—first to his sister, then to his brother—then back to the young kunoichi across from him.

Some of the elders looked unconvinced. Yakio’s arms crossed stiffly. Ritomi’s eyes were narrowed. Jonobu sneered.

But others—Ashiki, though silent, seemed thoughtful. A few others glanced between Gaara and and Haruno-san, their skepticism softening.

And through it all, she remained composed.

Then came another jab about her age.

Her  eyes met Jonbu's without flinching.

“Seventeen actually,” she said plainly. “Every patient is important. I’ve handled many challenging cases before. The principles of medicine don’t change based on age—or rank.”

Her voice was soft, but it carried. She even smiled.

Gaara saw it: the way Ritomi’s jaw tightened. Jonobu’s hand clenched against the table.

Their strategy was failing.

Kakashi’s earlier words echoed in his mind.

She’s clever. Analytical. Strategic.

And more than anything: composed under fire. 

Surprisingly.

Ritomi and Jonobu had come armed with accusations and arrogance.

Haruno-san had come with facts.

And she was winning.

She has been one step ahead of them from the very beginning.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Gaara's lips as Kankurō tried—and failed—to stifle his snort, disguising it with an odd throat-clearing sound.

Gaara reclined slightly in his seat, content to watch the unfolding game.

She’s making all the right moves, he thought, not without a quiet swell of admiration.

Ritomi and Jonobu, oblivious to their own unraveling, pressed on with increasing aggression. But Haruno-san didn’t waver. Her composure was exact. Her responses were pointed. Every sentence a strategic counter.

Gaara leaned back further in his chair, waiting patiently for the inevitable checkmate.

And then she said it.

“The Fifth Hokage.”

The name landed like a shuriken. The room fell still—surprised, uncertain. Several elders exchanged glances.

“You trained under the Fifth Hokage? That’s quite a claim,” Ashiki, one of the more conservative elders,” said, breaking the silence at last.

Haruno-san nodded once. " Yes, I am her apprentice, and she imparted to me not just the technical skills but also the knowledge and confidence to perform medical miracles. I've witnessed her save countless lives and heal injuries that were deemed impossible and she trained me and is currently training me to do so as well. That's the level of expertise I strive to bring to every patient I treat.”

Gaara’s fingers curled loosely against the table.

Checkmate.

The air in the room had changed.

As Ebizo led Haruno-san through Gaara's examination, Ritomi and Jonobu finally seemed to understand the gravity of the situation.

“Well in that case, we as the council thank you for your cooperation, Sakura-san. We appreciate your time and consideration for coming to Suna-and our Kazekages aid, when Temari-san asked you to. You have truly proven your capabilities, and with you being the apprentice of the fifth Hokage, I believe this only will be the start of your journey. “

Ebizo said with a respectful bow.

Gaara stood.

And joined him.

He bowed, his motion precise and sincere.

His brother would have died without her. That was a truth he would not forget.

Temari and Kankurō rose as well, offering their own bows.

Gaara looked around the table. One by one—reluctantly—so did the rest of the council. Ritomi and Jonobu followed, visibly strained. Yakio’s bow was shallow, his jaw tight.

Haruno-san, ever composed, returned the gesture with polite grace. Then, with Temari at her side, she exited the room.

Now, it was Gaara’s move.

He sat again, his cold gaze sweeping across the council.

“Yakio-san,” he said, voice cool. “I want a comprehensive plan on how to improve Suna’s medical facilities. The recent attack has made it clear that we are not adequately prepared for emergencies. I expect a full proposal, including ways to restructure the system and modernize our response protocols.”

Yakio blinked, caught off guard. “Yes, Kazekage-sama.”

“You may include a list of outdated laws that hinder progress. Consult with Konoha if necessary.”

Gaara’s tone sharpened by a fraction. “You have six weeks.”

Yakio's face paled significantly as he processed the weight of Gaara's words. With a slight nod, he replied in a high-pitched voice, sounding almost like he was in pain. "Yes, Kazekage-sama."

Turning to the others, Gaara straightened, his presence commanding.

“As for the rest of you—I value your concern for our village’s safety. But we cannot continue to cling to outdated notions of who is qualified to help us. Haruno-san has demonstrated her expertise. And I trust her.”

He let that settle. The silence was sharp.

“Suna cannot stand alone. We could not stop the Akatsuki from attacking us. We could not prevent my abduction. We were even unable to save one of Suna's most valued and strong shinobi when he fell victim to poison.”

His voice did not rise. But it cut.

“We are proud. Strong. But we must also be wise. It is time we evolve. It is time we adapt.”

The elders exchanged uneasy glances. Even Ashiki looked pensive.

“We must not let pride blind us. We must learn from our allies and recognize excellence—wherever it comes from. That is how we protect our people. That is how we survive.”

He paused.

“And that is what I intend to announce—to all of Suna—today.”

The weight of his words filled the room like desert heat. Ebizō offered a quiet nod of agreement.

“You are right, Kazekage-sama,” the elder said. “We must adapt. Or be left behind.”

Several others followed with murmured agreement, their resistance cracking.

Gaara inclined his head. “Then I will proceed.”

His voice grew steady and resolute.

“I will always honor Suna’s values. I will protect our people. And I will seek out the strongest allies and the best minds—regardless of origin—to help us thrive.”

He paused, scanning the room.

“This alliance with Konoha will serve us well. I will announce it to the people at Lady Chiyo’s memorial.”

There were no objections.

Gaara offered a final bow to the elders, attached his gourd to his back, and strode from the chamber.

Kankurō joined him.

As they descended the stairs, Gaara heard his brother chuckle.

“One of Suna’s most valued and strongest shinobi, huh?”

Gaara shot him a withering look. “Be quiet.”

Kankurō laughed harder, the sound echoing through the hall as they walked.

                                      X

Maru was already waiting dutifully for them in front of her little desk with her usual chipper energy. “Kazekage-sama, your clothes for the memorial have been laid out and prepared in your office!”

Gaara gave her a small nod of acknowledgement and stepped inside. As he entered, he moved toward the couch on the right side of his office, set his gourd down beside it, and began unfastening his coat.

Kankurō closed the door behind them with a casual thud and leaned against the frame like he owned the place.

“Quite a meeting, huh?” Kankurō said, in the same tone someone might use to comment on the weather.

Gaara didn’t answer. He stripped off his coat, folded it with meticulous care, and placed it on the couch before reaching for the new attire Maru had prepared. This version of his formal coat was jet black—paired with equally dark, precisely cut trousers. He slipped into them without ceremony.

“I can’t believe they agreed,” Kankurō continued, watching him. “Even a temporary alliance with Konoha? I thought Ritomi was going to keel over from sheer indignation.”

“It wasn’t just me,” Gaara replied, sliding his arms into the coat. “Haruno-san left them no room to maneuver. They weren’t persuaded. Just cornered.”

Kankurō gave a low hum of agreement, brows raised. “No kidding. She handled them like she’s been doing this for years.”

He smirked, arms crossing. “She is an impressive woman,” he added under his breath, eyes glinting with mischief.

Gaara rolled his eyes and adjusted the collar of his coat with calm precision.

“But,” he continued, his voice cooling, “this wasn’t the full council. Only the elders. And the ones who did show up… They’ve changed.”

Kankurō straightened slightly, sensing the shift. “Changed how?”

“They’re bolder,” Gaara said. “Less cautious. They question orders. Suggest ‘alternatives’ to directives they’d never have challenged before.” He fastened the final clasp. “They speak more freely. Challenge more directly.”

Kankurō frowned. “They think losing the demon made you weak?”

“They wouldn’t dare say it aloud,” Gaara said, his tone flat. “But I see it. They’re testing boundaries. Watching me. Looking for signs of decline.”

Kankurō’s expression shifted, the last of his grin fading. “You don’t think they’re right, do you?”

Gaara met his gaze. “I know they’re wrong.”

He adjusted his sleeves. “I’ve changed. But I haven’t lost strength.”

There was a pause—then something unreadable flickered through his voice, quiet but certain.

“If anything, I’ve gotten stronger.”

Kankurō narrowed his eyes. “Stronger how?”

Before Gaara could answer, a deep boom echoed through the sandstone walls—followed by another. The slow, steady rhythm of the memorial drums rolled through the air like a distant heartbeat.

Kankurō tilted his head toward the sound. “Memorial time.”

The tension shifted. Gaara picked up his gourd and slung it into place.

“I just hope this alliance with Konoha will help us defeat Akatsuki,” he said, his voice turning solemn. “Our people have been suffering since the attack. Trade routes are unstable. Some families can’t afford basic supplies. Reconstruction is stalled without the resources we need.”

Kankurō nodded, serious now. “Yeah. It’s been rough. But if this alliance holds, we’ll have more backing. More hands. It’s not nothing.”

Gaara gave a quiet nod and adjusted the hem of his robe.

“Didn’t think you could get more emo, little brother,” Kankurō said, flicking at the dark fabric with a half-smile.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Gaara replied, mildly annoyed.

Kankurō chuckled and pulled the door open with exaggerated flourish. “Alright, alright. I’ll see you at the memorial, Dark Lord of the Desert.”

He gave Gaara a light pat on the back as they stepped into the hallway, the drums growing louder as the village gathered.

Then, just before they turned the corner, Kankurō murmured,
“Funny thing about being underestimated—it makes proving them wrong a lot more satisfying.”

Gaara didn’t respond.  A faint, fleeting shift passed across his face—calm, deliberate.

Satisfying wasn’t the goal. But he wouldn’t deny the appeal.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: Rebuilding Hope 

After his speech at the memorial, Gaara made his way to the graveyard in silence, the weight in his chest pressing heavier with every step. The moment the gates of the cemetery closed behind him, the noise of the city softened—distant and muffled, as though the world itself had stepped back to let him grieve.

Rows of sun-bleached stone stretched out before him, casting long, sharp shadows across the dry, cracked earth. The graves here were old and new, humble and grand. Some were marked by weather-worn stones, others by freshly carved memorials wrapped in ribbons, offerings, and folded paper charms.

The scent of sunbaked sand mixed with the faintest trace of incense left behind by mourners earlier that day. Dust hung in the air like a veil, catching in the wind and settling quietly again without a sound.

Lady Chiyo’s grave stood slightly apart from the others, framed by a low ring of desert lilies that someone—likely Ebizō—had carefully tended. The engraving on her headstone was simple, yet precise. A small bowl of water sat before it, left untouched. The liquid had grown warm under the sun, a shimmer of heat dancing across its surface.

Gaara remained dressed in his formal black robes, unmoved by the rising temperature. The heat clung to him like armor—suffocating, but familiar. His shadow stretched across the sand like a blade.

Behind him, beyond the walls of the cemetery, the village had already begun its preparations. Laughter drifted faintly on the breeze. A clatter of drums echoed from the far side of the city, and vendors’ voices called out their wares as the festival stirred to life.

But here, in the stillness, there was only silence.

His thoughts turned, slow and heavy.

Why?

The question dug deeper than he meant it to. He clenched his jaw, forcing the rising ache in his throat back down.

“Why did you choose to give your life for mine?” he whispered.

There was no answer. Just the whisper of wind through dry grass. The scrape of sand shifting underfoot.

You were a woman of respect. Of conviction. You had already done enough. And I… I have only ever brought destruction. My life was built to be spent, not saved.

His fists curled at his sides, nails digging into his palms beneath the long black sleeves. The grief had dulled, but it hadn’t gone. It simply settled lower—deeper—where no one could see it.

Ebizō’s voice returned to him, unbidden:

"Bringing you back to life must have meant that she deemed your life worth saving, Kazekage-sama."

He wanted to believe that.

But wanting and believing were not the same.

The wind shifted again, brushing across his face with a sudden gentleness.

His crimson hair stirred slightly, strands lifting like memory.

He closed his eyes briefly, letting it pass through him.

It felt—strangely—like permission to breathe.

He inhaled slowly.

Then exhaled.

He took a final look at the grave. “I will try,” he said quietly. “To be worth it.”

He turned away, sand crunching beneath his boots, and began the quiet walk back through the rows of stone—leaving behind the solemn hush of the cemetery and heading toward the sound of life beginning again.

                                      X

The paperwork waiting in his office towered in neatly stacked piles—a mountain of ink, stamps, and administrative burdens that loomed like a silent reprimand.

Gaara stared at it briefly.

Then turned on his heel.

"It can wait," he muttered.

What he needed now wasn’t diplomacy. It wasn’t signatures or strategy. It was movement. Something physical. Something real.

In a fluid motion, he leapt onto the nearest rooftop, the gourd on his back shifting with him like a second spine. His feet barely touched the tiles as he raced across the city’s rooftops—silent, swift, cutting through the heated air like wind through canvas.

Below him, the streets buzzed with life. Colorful lanterns were strung between clay buildings, swaying gently in the dry wind. Children ran barefoot through alleyways, trailing streamers. Vendors shouted above one another, hawking skewers of grilled meat and cold citrus tea. Drums beat in the distance, their steady rhythm calling the village toward the celebration that would begin at sundown.

But Gaara kept moving.

He headed east—toward the part of the village still scarred by the Akatsuki’s assault. Rubble remained where buildings had once stood. Sand had filled the broken spaces, but it couldn’t hide the emptiness.

These were the streets where people had lost everything.

Gaara slowed slightly, his gaze sharp as he scanned the area ahead. His thoughts turned to the displaced—families who still didn’t have permanent homes. Merchants without storefronts.

Children whose futures had been fractured by fire and sand.

I can’t undo what was lost, he thought, but I can help rebuild.

He landed lightly on a ridge.

Three familiar chakras approached from the west—and one much brighter, practically a beacon of chaotic joy.

They must’ve sensed him when he passed nearby.

Sure enough, a rooftop ahead shimmered with movement.

Naruto, Kankurō, Lee, and Guy were gathered there, arms loaded with bags.

Naruto spotted him first.

“Oi! Gaara!!” he called, grinning from ear to ear. “What are you doing out here?”

Kankurō raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, shouldn’t you be buried under three dozen scrolls by now?”

Gaara landed soundlessly beside them, the sand in his gourd settling. “I’m heading to the outskirts. To assist with the rebuilding effort.”

Naruto’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming. “That’s awesome. Count us in!”

Kankurō groaned in mock protest but stepped forward anyway.

“Well, if they’re going, I’m not getting left behind.”

Lee struck a dramatic pose, one fist clenched at the sky.

“Kazekage-sama, we shall lend you our youthful strength in this noble endeavor!”

Guy mirrored the gesture with equal intensity. “Together, we shall blaze a path of restoration with passion and purpose! ”

Gaara nodded once, then turned.

They followed.

As they made their way across rooftops and narrow paths, their chatter echoed above the rooftops—interrupted by bursts of laughter, dramatic declarations, and Kankurō’s muttered commentary.

“I’m telling you, Gaara,” Naruto said between chuckles, “you haven’t lived until you’ve seen Lee and Guy’s yukatas. They match their jumpsuits. Like, exactly .”

Gaara raised a nonexistent eyebrow, imagining it. Naruto howled with laughter.

Kankurō shook his head. “They look like two overly festive weeds.”

“It is the springtime of youth that allows us to choose such bold fashion !” Lee declared proudly.

“Yes!” Guy chimed in. “We are redefining tradition itself ! The flames of youth must burn no matter the garment!”

Kankurō rolled his eyes but smirked, elbowing Gaara lightly. “This is your life now, you know.”

Gaara made no comment. But inwardly… he didn’t mind.

He wasn’t used to this kind of chaos or traveling with such boisterous individuals. In Suna, the shinobi were typically reserved and quiet when in the presence of their Kazekage.

Even his siblings, despite their brashness, usually carried themselves with restraint around the him.

But this group from Konoha… they were loud. Wild. Unapologetically themselves.

And undeniably skilled.

Despite the noise and the antics, each of them had earned their place on the battlefield. And their joy—however unruly—felt honest.

Refreshing , Gaara thought.

As the sun sank lower, casting warm amber across the dunes, Gaara let their voices wash over him like distant wind chimes—soft, clashing, alive.

                                      X

As they neared the village outskirts, the atmosphere shifted with a sudden, unspoken weight. The easy cadence of conversation between Gaara, Naruto, and the others slowed, then stopped altogether, swallowed by the sight unraveling before them.

Where life had once thrived, only desolation remained.

The streets were unrecognizable — buildings hunched like wounded beasts, their walls split and sagging, roofs caved in or torn away entirely. Sand blanketed everything, not as a familiar companion but as a smothering veil, clogging gutters and burying the edges of once-busy footpaths.

Smoke hung in the air like a bad memory, sour and clinging, threaded through with the acrid scent of charred wood and scorched metal.

Beneath the haze, the village exhaled its suffering.

Children knelt in the rubble, their small fingers tracing the outlines of what had been — a charred book, a broken sandal, a bent hairpin. A mother stood frozen beside a crumbled doorway, clutching a singed scarf to her chest as if it could bring back the warmth it once held. A father dug with bare, bloodied hands through shattered stone, eyes wild with a hope that hadn’t yet accepted the silence.

A limp doll lay abandoned in the dust, one glass eye missing. Nearby, a delicate porcelain teacup sat cracked in half, its floral pattern still stubbornly visible beneath the grime — a whisper of hospitality in a world that had no time for it anymore.

The group came to a stop, the silence stretching long between them. No one spoke. The devastation pressed in on all sides, wrapping around their shoulders like a shroud. Whatever laughter or levity had lingered in the air was gone — dissolved in the weight of what they were seeing.

Gaara’s footsteps slowed.

This was what remained of the Akatsuki’s cruelty—loss etched into every stone.

A voice called out from behind him. “Oh—Kazekage-sama!”

He turned to see an older man approaching, a slight stoop in his posture, his face etched with exhaustion.

“I’m here to help with the rebuilding efforts,” Gaara said simply.

The man blinked, clearly startled. “Oh… thank you! Thank you for your support, Kazekage-sama,” he said, bowing deeply.

“The workers are off for the day because of the festival. We just don’t have the strength to continue alone.”

Naruto stepped forward, voice bright and sure. “Count us in, too! We’ll help however we can!”

Gaara’s gaze shifted subtly, watching the villagers’ reactions as they took in the leaf symbol etched on Naruto’s forehead protector. He saw it then—an unease, a flicker of uncertainty in their eyes. Murmurs whispered between them like wind through paper.

It wasn’t just the elders who doubted the alliance. The people did, too.

Years of distrust didn’t vanish with a single speech.

A small voice cut through the tension.

“Excuse me.”

Gaara turned to see a little girl peeking from behind her father’s leg. Her dark hair curled messily around her face, and her large brown eyes shimmered with hesitation.

She tugged nervously at her dress. “Are you the Konoha ninja who rescued our Kazekage?” Her voice was small but steady, curious and full of wonder.

Naruto crouched down, lowering himself to her level. “No,” he said gently, smiling wide. “It was Chiyo-baa-sama who brought Gaara back. But we helped her out!”

Kankurō stepped in, hands in his pockets. “They saved my life,” he said with an easy grin.

The girl’s eyes widened in awe. Then, slowly, her face lit up with a radiant smile that seemed to brighten the ash-hung air.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Her father rested a hand on her head, affectionately ruffling her hair.

Gaara watched in stillness. Her joy—so unguarded, so genuine—struck him unexpectedly. He didn’t understand it.

The pure and genuine reaction of this child towards his rescue. How could someone so innocent be filled with such joy by him returning to the village?

But around them, the shift was unmistakable.

The villagers began to relax. Shoulders loosened. Frowns faded. The air felt a little less strained.

His brother and comrades had a way of softening the world around them. Gaara was quietly grateful for that.

He looked to the girl. “Can you show us where to begin?”

Her eyes widened. The Kazekage had addressed her directly.

She nodded quickly and motioned for them to follow. They trailed behind her through the broken streets, weaving between scorched beams and sunken rooftops until they reached a block of what had once been homes.

The crowd stirred. Whispers rippled through them like wind across sand.

“Kazekage-sama has come to aid us…”

“…He’s wearing all black… So hot”

“…He looks… so handsome.”

Gaara ignored the chatter. It was easier that way.

“What are your orders, Kazekage-sama?” Guy asked, his tone shifting into crisp professionalism.

Gaara surveyed the damage. His voice remained calm, but the authority beneath it was clear.

“First, we clear the debris. Clear paths for movement and future reconstruction. People have lost everything—help them recover what they can.”

He paused.

“Safety is our priority. No one gets hurt.”

“Understood, Kazekage-sama!” the Konoha shinobi responded in unison.

Without another word, Gaara and the group got to work.

“YOSH! Kage Bunshin no Jutsu!” Naruto shouted, chakra flaring as a hundred shadow clones burst into existence. They scattered like firecrackers, rushing to lift heavy beams, clear paths, and follow instructions from grateful citizens.

Children squealed in delight at the sight of so many Narutos, eagerly joining in to help move smaller stones. The area filled with laughter and cheerful shouting, the somber mood beginning to lift.

Kankurō let out a breath and pulled several scrolls from his belt. With a flick of his wrist, he sealed away their earlier shopping bags and tucked the scrolls into his pocket.

Then, in one practiced motion, he unfurled a new set of scrolls, summoning a small army of puppets. They leapt into motion at his command, clearing rubble and debris with mechanical precision, kicking up dust and whirling sand in their wake.

Lee and Guy worked together like a perfectly synchronized engine, stacking salvaged bricks and reinforcing cracked foundations with speed that rivaled machines. Their grunts of exertion were matched only by their cheers of enthusiasm.

And Gaara—stood at the center of it all.

He hesitated, just for a moment.

Whatever force now lay within him, it was not the chakra he once knew. It was darker. Wilder. Still untested.

But as he reached for his gourd, the familiar weight of it grounding him, he felt... stillness. The sand poured out smoothly, obediently, with no hint of that deeper force stirring.

Good.

With precise, elegant motions, Gaara began moving the sand through the wreckage—clearing pathways, lifting beams, and creating space for villagers to work. In a matter of minutes, he completed the labor of twenty men.

He continued quietly, assisting others where needed. He lifted. He reinforced. He stabilized crumbling walls with shifting pillars of compressed sand.

Two hours passed in a blur of dust and sun.

The shinobi’s shirts were long discarded in the heat, forming a sweaty pile off to the side. The desert air shimmered, warped by heat and chakra alike.

Muscles glistened. Faces flushed.

“What a most invigorating workout, Lee!” Guy proclaimed, raising a fist to the sky. “We must reconvene at sunrise to continue this noble labor!”

Lee beamed. “Yes, Gai-sensei! The fire of youth burns bright!”

Kankurō snorted and shook his head. “You guys are something else, I swear.”

Several Narutos grinned in unison, and a few flexed just for show.

Meanwhile, the children of Suna were glued to the sight of Gaara. They huddled together, whispering in hushed tones, wide-eyed and starstruck.

“Did you see how Kazekage-sama moved that wall with his sand?” one boy whispered, eyes sparkling.

“He’s so cool!” a girl sighed, hands clasped beneath her chin.

Gaara heard them.

And he didn’t know what to do with it.

Compliments had never sat comfortably with him. Being called ‘cool’ felt... bizarre.

He kept his focus on the work, but awareness clung to him like the sun on his back.

The attention didn’t stop.

More villagers gathered as word spread. Passersby stopped to watch the unusual group of shinobi helping rebuild. Some offered quiet thanks. Others simply stared, admiration written plainly on their faces.

Then came the women.

Clusters of them—young, old, somewhere in between—all gathered in small groups. Some brought cold drinks, others just hovered, chatting in hushed, excited voices as they watched the shirtless shinobi work.

And Gaara, it seemed, had become their favorite.

“Did you see Kazekage-sama lift that boulder? He didn’t even flinch!” one whispered, her cheeks pink.

“He’s so strong… and those eyes… like frost and fire,” her friend sighed.

Gaara froze mid-motion, their voices drifting just within earshot.

He blinked.

Then, slowly, turned his head.

They were watching him.

Smiling.

Giggling.

Blushing.

Gaara stiffened. His spine straightened, his hands uncertain.

What is happening.

He hadn’t known this kind of attention existed—let alone that it could be aimed at him. He was used to fear. Avoidance.

Whispers of a different sort. Not this... fascination.

Naruto noticed.

And he grinned.

A trio of shadow clones elbowed Gaara, one leaning in close.

“Hey, Gaara... looks like you’ve got yourself a fanclub.”

“I told you,” Kankurō said, strolling over with his usual smugness. “He doesn’t even have to try. Meanwhile, I gotta perform puppet shows, crack jokes, survive poison , and I still get less attention.”

Gaara gave him a flat look.

“They love the mysterious, dangerous, powerful, cold, and silent emo type,” Kankurō added, complete with finger quotes and an exaggerated swoon.

“Your fanclub quadrupled after the attack. Meanwhile I’m over here like, ‘Please, notice me, I’m charming!’” He sighed dramatically, draping a hand over his forehead. “It’s hard living in your shadow, little brother.”

Gaara’s expression did not change.

But the glare he shot at the Narutos and Kankurō spoke volumes.

They simply laughed.

As the sun began to set and the work finally came to an end, Gaara took a slow turn, surveying the streets. Much of the rubble was gone. Some buildings had even begun to take shape again. The destruction still lingered, yes—but hope had returned in pieces.

Soon, festival lanterns would begin to flicker to life, casting color and light across the village.

The villagers were beaming. They offered the shinobi tall glasses of cold lemonade, their gratitude evident in every word and gesture. Gaara and the others accepted with quiet thanks, savoring the cool sweetness after hours under the unforgiving sun.

The atmosphere had shifted—less weight, more warmth.

Except for the heat still burning beneath Gaara’s skin.

Not from the sun.

Not from chakra.

From them.

The women.

Unbothered by his quiet demeanor—or perhaps intrigued by it—they hovered nearby, full of smiles and admiration. One particularly bold woman stepped forward, her eyes wide, her voice almost reverent.

“Kazekage-sama, you are truly a vision of strength,” she said, breathless. “Will you grace us with your presence at the festival tonight?”

Gaara looked at her.

She blushed immediately. Her hand went to her hair, nervously twirling a lock between her fingers. “I… I mean, if you’re attending…”

“I will attend the festival,” he said simply, taking a measured sip of lemonade.

The woman’s face lit up even more, her cheeks deepening to a dramatic shade of red. “Amazing. Perhaps we’ll see each other there,” she murmured, her voice soft—borderline sultry.

Gaara felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Something in her tone tripped his survival instincts. Not chakra. Not intent to kill. Just... danger of a very different variety—He didn’t know how or why, but he knew he needed to retreat.

He stiffened, every nerve on alert.

And as his eyes dropped momentarily to his bare chest, he realized—regrettably—that he should’ve put his shirt back on five minutes ago.

Instead of answering, Gaara drained the rest of his lemonade in one long, purposeful gulp.

The woman opened her mouth to speak again, but was thankfully cut off—swept aside by a group of villagers approaching with heartfelt expressions and dust-streaked clothes. Gaara recognized them immediately as the owners of the surrounding buildings.

“Thank you again for everything, Kazekage-sama,” one of them said, bowing deeply. Others echoed the sentiment, their voices warm with gratitude.

Gaara nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. The distraction was welcome.

The rest of the shinobi slipped their shirts back on—though not before a few disappointed sighs passed through the watching crowd. From the women. And, if Gaara wasn’t mistaken, at least one man.

“I will be back tomorrow with more shinobi,” Gaara said, casting a practiced eye over the cleared streets. “Have you received your loans already?”

“Yes,” replied the girl’s father, holding his daughter close. “Thanks to your swift support, all the families will be able to enjoy the festival tonight.”

“Does everyone have a place to stay?”

The man nodded again. “The shinobi assigned us accommodations. You’ve taken care of everything, Kazekage-sama. Truly.”

Gaara gave a quiet nod, scanning the remains of the street one last time. “Good. We’ll continue to provide aid until every home is rebuilt.”

After a few more thank-yous and a final round of respectful bows, the shinobi said their goodbyes and began the walk back toward the Kazekage’s mansion.

Gaara kept to the back of the group, his mind finally beginning to settle.

He’d take a quick bath. Change. Prepare for the night’s festivities.

The others were preparing too— with their last-minute yukata purchases for the Hyūga and Kakashi, who had both expertly avoided the initial group shopping session.

Gaara couldn’t blame them.

Still, as he glanced around at the fading light and the soft buzz of conversation among his comrades, he found himself oddly content.

If he was being honest—completely honest—he wouldn’t have changed a thing about today.

Not even the shirtless part.

…Well. Maybe the shirtless part.

                                      X

Gaara stepped into his chambers—a space that had, for generations, been meant for the Kazekage and his wife. The legacy of it hung in the air, etched into the quiet opulence of the walls and the deliberate symmetry of its layout. But Gaara, who had long since accepted the solitude of his path, occupied it alone.

The room was vast, cathedral-like, its stone arches soaring overhead in a testament to Suna's enduring craftsmanship.

Warm light filtered through the tall, arched windows, casting golden patterns across the pale wooden floor. The walls were carved with subtle motifs of wind and sand, a silent nod to the desert beyond, and every line seemed designed to evoke a sense of stillness rather than grandeur.

Bookshelves stretched from floor to arch along the walls, filled with books, scrolls and records of leaders past—each one a burden, a lesson, a warning. Potted desert plants, carefully tended, softened the corners of the room like quiet sentinels. At the center stood a wide bed of minimalist design, its frame carved from the same wood as the shelves, its linens simple, in tones of soft stone and sand.

To one side, a walk-in wardrobe remained largely untouched, its order precise, almost ceremonial. On the other, a writing desk sat near the tall window, where late sun spilled across parchment and ink. A second archway led to the bathing chamber—cool stone, polished and calm—built not for indulgence but for ritual.

Everything in the room was beautiful, but restrained.

Despite its grand size, Gaara would have been content with a smaller room. Nonetheless, he had managed to create a modern yet cozy atmosphere within its vast walls.

Gaara preferred indirect light. Small lamps and candles dotted the room, casting warm pools of glow instead of harsh illumination. As dusk settled in, Tome—unfailingly attuned to his rhythms—had already lit them. A soft orange hue kissed the walls.

Tome was the only person permitted to enter without invitation.

Even Temari and Kankurō only entered when nightmares dragged him screaming from sleep.

“Hataro.”

The Anbu appeared without a sound, kneeling in front of him.

Gaara looked down at the masked shinobi. “Since you missed Akane’s first day at the academy,” he said evenly, “you should take her to the festival tonight.”

Hataro halted, silent—stunned.

“I can give you the first two hours,” Gaara continued, heading toward his closet. “Security is triple tonight. Make them count.”

Before the man could even think to decline, Gaara glanced over his shoulder. “You have one hour to get ready.”

As promised, a stack of bags rested by the closet. One of them was labeled with Hataro’s name. Gaara picked it up and turned back.

Hataro hadn’t moved.

“You won’t have time to shop,” Gaara said dryly, extending the bag. “Here.”

The Anbu slowly rose to stand. His face hidden behind his mask. “Kazekage-sama... I...”

“Oh. Right.” Gaara’s voice was smooth a small smirk showing. “It’s also an order.”

Hataro took the bag at last and bowed deeply. “Thank you, Kazekage-sama. Yūta will command your detail until I return.”

Gaara nodded once, and Hataro disappeared in a flicker of chakra.

Alone again, Gaara’s eyes shifted toward the adjoining bathroom.

Bathed in sunlight and silence, the room exuded a kind of sacred stillness—more temple than bath. Floor-to-ceiling windows arched upward with quiet elegance, opening the space to Suna’s golden skyline, though no one could see in.

The soft gleam of sandstone tiles reflected the light in delicate ripples off the still water of the central pool, its surface untouched, like glass.

Candles lined the base of the walls and alcoves—not for light, but for tradition. Their scent was faint, a blend of desert herbs and calming oils once chosen for royal lineage, now quietly burning for a man who never asked for a crown. Large potted plants softened the stone, their green a rare touch in the heart of the desert, and benches lined the edges like ceremonial seating rather than practical furniture.

To one side, a simple yet refined shower stood recessed into the wall, flanked by clean lines and warm wood. The basin and counter were understated, immaculately arranged, and rarely used beyond necessity. Even the carved mural on the back wall—an abstract tree etched into stone—seemed to watch over the space, quiet and rooted, like him.

It was a room designed for two. And yet, like everything else in the Kazekage’s domain, it was only ever occupied by one.

The marble tub gleamed in the candlelight, inviting.

He made a note to enjoy it later.

For now, he peeled off his sweat-soaked clothes, tossed them into the hamper, and stepped into the shower. The rainfall showerhead cascaded warm water over him, washing away dust, fatigue—and some of the weight on his chest.

After a few minutes, he turned it off reluctantly and stepped out, steam curling around him.

He reached for a plush towel and dried himself methodically, letting the fabric absorb the droplets clinging to his skin. As the steam slowly cleared, the mirror revealed the foggy silhouette of the Kazekage.

Gaara stood before his reflection, the mist clinging to the edges of the glass. It was the first time since his abduction that he had really looked at himself.

His eyes scanned the image, catching the subtle shifts in his appearance—his frame thinner, the hollows beneath his collarbones more prominent. He'd lost weight.

The physical aftermath of Shukaku’s extraction had taken its toll.

He still bore the muscular, sinewed build of a shinobi, but his skin seemed paler. The contours of strength that once defined him now looked faded. In his own eyes, he appeared almost... frail.

His fists clenched against the sink.

The reflection was a jarring contrast to what he remembered.

The invincibility Shukaku once gave him—the monstrous strength he could summon in an instant—was gone. And without that power, what remained?

Just me.

Emotionally broken? Perhaps. But until now, he’d always had raw power to lean on. Even as a child, feared and alienated, he had something. A weapon that made people keep their distance.

His gaze lifted to the familiar red kanji carved into his forehead.

Love.

An ironic mark, he had etched into his skin like a brand—meant to declare that he loved only himself. A desperate act of self-justification.

He remembered the battle with the Uchiha during the Konoha invasion. Even injured, he’d been confident he could have crushed him. All it would’ve taken was a little release of Shukaku’s power. The Uchiha hadn’t stood a chance, not really.

But fighting Naruto… that had been different.

Naruto hadn’t just overpowered him. He’d reached him. He had forced Gaara to confront something more terrifying than the beast inside: his humanity.

The recent abduction by Akatsuki, however, had stripped him bare—physically and metaphorically. For all his strength, he’d been defeated, captured, and nearly killed. Again.

The sense of helplessness returned like a weight on his chest.

Gaara’s breath quickened. His grip on the sink tightened as the panic surged.

And then, in the mirror, he caught a glimpse of that version of himself—the younger, wild-eyed one. The feral thing with sand-caked skin, hollow cheeks, and bloodlust burning in its stare.

A ghost from his past.

And yet, it was never truly gone. It lingered, always, just beyond the edge of control. Because it wasn’t just a memory—it was a part of him. One he had forced into chains. One he now kept buried beneath composure and duty. But it stirred sometimes. Like now.

That version of himself had once hurt others without hesitation. Had lashed out to feel alive. He had become the very monster others feared.

And now, all these years later, he was still fighting to keep it leashed. To only unleash it on enemies. On monsters who harmed the innocent—the way he once had.

The pain flared in his chest again. His muscles locked with tension.

He couldn’t lose control. Not now.

His breath stuttered. Not now.

His grip dug into the ceramic sink until his knuckles turned white. He stared at the trembling reflection. He barely recognized the man looking back.

How ironic, he thought bitterly.

No more monster inside him… and yet here he was, still wrestling with it.

And now, something darker stirred— new , unfamiliar. A power that didn’t belong to Shukaku. It called to him, coiled deep in his gut, whispering seduction through rage and hurt.

Gaara closed his eyes.

He could feel the sand in the gourd in his bedroom shift.

No, he thought. But it was already moving—flowing toward him, across the floor, through the open door.

The grains entered the bathroom like a living tide.

Sweat beaded on his brow as he tried to focus, grounding himself in the rhythmic sound of the water droplets hitting tile. His breathing hitched.

The sand reached him.

It curled around his wrists—softly.

Not hostile. Not hungry. Gentle.

Its grains traced patterns across his skin, slow and fluid, like fingers offering comfort. A touch he hadn’t expected.

Gaara’s body stilled, unsure what to make of the sensation.

The sand moved with purpose, not just control. It was... soothing him.

Like it understood.

The tension in his shoulders began to ease. His fingers relaxed their death grip on the sink. His pulse slowed.

He stared down at his hands, now encased in spirals of swirling sand.

What are you doing? he wondered silently. “You’ve never done this before,” he murmured aloud, voice rough with disbelief.

Brows furrowed, he studied the sand’s movement—curious, cautious.

Then—he felt her presence.

Tome.

The moment shattered.

The sand dispersed instantly, retreating into the hallway like a loyal servant taking its leave. Gaara turned away from the mirror, grabbed a pair of loose pants and a simple tunic, and threw them on quickly.

By the time he reached the door, his face was once again composed.

Tome greeted him with a wide smile. “Kazekage-sama, the festival begins in thirty minutes,” she said, bowing.

“I’ll be there shortly,” he replied.

She bowed again and took her leave.

Gaara turned back to the room and approached the bags left beside his closet. The first contained a deep muted blue yukata. The second held accessories—a dark gray obi and matching sandals.

He dressed swiftly and caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror.

The yukata’s neckline dipped low, revealing more of his chest than he liked.

Too much, he thought grimly, tugging the fabric closed and folding the wide sleeves back to keep them out of the way.

He looked at the color again. The blue suited him. Tome had chosen well.

Gaara secured a small gourd to his hip. A soft stream of sand flowed from the larger gourd to fill it—ready, loyal, waiting.

He left the room without another word.

                                      X

Akatsuki aftermath: 







Kazekage's Chambers: 



Kazekage Bathroom: 

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: Whispers of Appreciation

The hallways of the Kazekage mansion were steeped in stillness as Gaara stepped out of his chambers. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the moon to cast pale light through the tall windows of the upper hall.

The corridor stretched long and elegant before him, its high ceilings supported by a series of sandstone arches that echoed soft candlelight across the polished floor. Ornate sconces flickered along the walls, casting golden warmth over carved stone columns and tasteful alcoves adorned with desert blooms. Through the towering arched windows, the moonlit dunes shimmered faintly in the distance, a silvery contrast to the glow of lanterns blooming across the village below.

The air was still, but not empty. It carried the scent of wax, sandstone, and freshly washed linen —mingling softly with the echo of footsteps on woven red carpets that ran like veins through the palace’s heart.

It felt quieter than usual. Not solemn, exactly—but reverent. As if even the walls knew this night meant something more.

At the far end of the hall, ornate double doors stood partially open, revealing a curved balcony beyond. The breeze brushed against his face as he stepped through and crossed the threshold.

He came to a stop at the edge, drawn by the breathtaking sight laid out before him.

From the balcony, the view of Suna was vast—an ocean of rooftops under the moon, bathed now in a soft tapestry of gold and amber. The village, transformed by the festival, shimmered beneath the stars. What had once been scorched and broken just days before now pulsed with quiet celebration.

Lanterns floated like embers along the streets and rooftops, their gentle light warming the sandstone below. Streamers fluttered from terrace to terrace, and colorful stalls turned the alleyways into a ribbon of vibrant motion. The steady hum of the crowd reached even here, distant but steady, like a heartbeat.

Gaara’s gaze swept across it all, silently absorbing the beauty below. It was a testament to his people’s resilience—to their choice to honor Lady Chiyo not with silence, but with light.

He remained there for a moment longer, letting the wind lift the hem of his robes. Then he turned and descended the grand staircase, its marble steps gleaming beneath the soft radiance of the chandeliers above. The warmth of the lights softened the otherwise solemn structure of the main hall, briefly casting him in gold.

As he passed the bustling kitchen, the elderly housekeeper emerged, her apron still dusted with flour and her smile bright as sunlight— a proud sparkle in her eye.

“You look absolutely dashing tonight, Kazekage-sama.”

Gaara gave a short nod in response, his expression as impassive as ever. If anything, his silence only made her grin wider.

She continued, her voice full of warmth and not the least bit intimidated by his presence. “Your brother and our Konoha guests left about half an hour ago. They looked eager to immerse themselves in the festival. I believe Temari and the Konoha ladies have already made it to the streets as well.”

He nodded again, but his mind was elsewhere—still in the bathroom, still thinking about what the sand had done. His fingers drifted briefly to his temples, pressing lightly as if that might smooth out the memory.

He closed his eyes for a long, grounding moment.

And then he felt something… being held directly in front of his face.

He cracked one eye open.

A small glass was floating inches from his nose.

Gaara opened the other eye and stared at the offering: a shot glass filled with a translucent purple liquid that glowed faintly in the warm kitchen light. Suspiciously radiant.

He raised a nonexistent brow, finally shifting his gaze to Tome.

She was smiling like someone who knew exactly what she was doing.

“It’s homemade,” she said casually. “My husband’s family recipe. They guard it like it’s buried treasure, but he insisted I bring you a bottle—after everything.”

She tilted the glass forward just a hair. “Also, respectfully, Kazekage-sama… you look like you could use a drink.”

A breath escaped him—half sigh, half amusement.

He accepted the glass.

The scent hit him first—sharp, spiced, and oddly nostalgic. He hesitated for a second longer, then downed it in one smooth motion.

It was—unexpected.

Smooth, with layers. There was heat, yes, but it rolled over his tongue like something practiced. Familiar notes of sake, but deeper. More complex.

It lingered.

He lowered the empty glass and regarded it for a beat.

“Your husband’s family is right to be protective,” he said matter of factly.

Tome beamed. “He’ll be thrilled. It’s the first compliment they’ve ever gotten from the Kazekage who drinks sand for breakfast.”

Gaara did not rise to the bait. But something about his silence made her grin widen.

“You should go,” she said. “Suna’s waiting.”

He handed her the glass, nodding once.

“Thank you.”

She turned and padded back toward the kitchen, still humming contentedly to herself.

Gaara lingered.

The faint warmth of the liquor settled into his chest. Not enough to blur the edges—but just enough to make them feel less sharp.

Then he turned toward the front hall, the taste of desert spice still lingering on his tongue, and followed the distant hum of festival drums into the night.

                                      X

As Gaara stepped through the grand gates of the Kazekage mansion, the city that sprawled before him had transformed into a spectacle of color and sound.

Where there had once been quiet streets and caution-taped ruins, now vibrant banners rippled in the desert breeze.

Streamers in every hue crisscrossed the rooftops, and the roads were awash with lantern light—soft orbs glowing like tiny suns against the deepening sky. The air was thick with the rhythmic pulse of flutes and drums, underscored by the laughter and shouts of children weaving through the crowd.

The transformation was staggering.

He moved slowly through the festival, his presence slicing through the crowd like wind through sand. People stepped aside instinctively, their conversations dipping to reverent hushes before rising again with admiration and awe. Bows greeted him at every corner. Some nodded. Others murmured thanks.

Though his stoic demeanor remained unchanged, Gaara couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and warmth from the genuine adoration of his people.

He walked past rows of stalls brimming with foods and wares—grilled meats, fried sweets, silks, trinkets, lacquered fans, and hand-painted masks. He caught scents of soy, citrus, plum wine, and char. His stomach, somewhat traitorously, made a low, embarrassed twist.

Among the bustling crowd, Gaara’s senses snagged on a rich, smoky scent that cut through the swirl of incense and festival spices like a blade.

 It was meat—charred just right. His feet carried him toward the source before he consciously decided to move.

He found the stall tucked between a sweets vendor and a lantern maker. A modest setup. A single grill, a few paper signs, and a young woman focused with surgical intensity on turning skewers of glistening meat over a bed of glowing coals. Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows, her brow furrowed with concentration. She hadn’t noticed him yet.

“What can I do for you?” she asked without looking up.

“I’d like a skewer,” Gaara replied.

“One skewer coming right up!” she chirped.

Then she looked up.

Their eyes met.

She froze.

The silence stretched.

Then: “Kazekage-sama!” she squeaked, instantly dropping into a bow so fast the tongs flew out of her hand and clattered to the ground – her cheeks were flushing with a deep color that matched the rosy hue of the other woman who had spoken to Gaara at the outskirts earlier today.

He blinked. "The skewer?" he prompted, gesturing towards the succulent meat still cooking on the grill, now temporarily forgotten by its diligent cook.

Startled, the woman let out a small yelp and hastily resumed her work. She scrambled to recover the tongs, throwing them into a bucket, taking a new pair and resumed grilling, though her hands now trembled slightly.

“So sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t recognize you at first. You’re… um. You look…”

Gaara waited.

She cleared her throat loudly and focused all her remaining soul into that skewer, turning it with the delicacy of a glassblower.

When she finally handed it over—careful not to touch his fingers—she glanced up shyly. “It’s on the house, Kazekage-sama. Thank you for… all that you have done for Suna! I'm so happy you are back with us" she replied gratefully. "I hope you enjoy your evening tonight. Thank you for stopping by my stall."

“I’ll pay,” Gaara said, already pulling coins from his pocket.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly—”

"I insist," he simply answered, handing her a generous amount.

The woman's eyes widened in surprise. She faltered, then accepted the money, her hands slightly clammy. “Thank you,” she breathed, bowing again. 

He took a bite of the skewer.

Word had clearly spread, because a curious line had already begun to form behind him—locals eager to sample whatever had caught the Kazekage’s interest. The woman blinked in awe, glancing between the Kazekage and the sudden swarm of customers.

Gaara stepped aside, skewer in hand. He took a bite—tender, savory, perfectly seasoned—and allowed himself a brief moment to savor it.

But before he could finish the skewer in peace—

“GAARA?!”

The shout could’ve cracked tile.

Gaara turned slowly. Kankurō was barreling toward him with the energy of someone who had either found free food or lost a bet.

“Where’d you get that?” Kankurō demanded, eyes locked on the skewer with something bordering on desperation.

Gaara gestured vaguely toward the stall.

Kankurō leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “So… think you could pull the Kazekage rank and get me one without the wait?”

“No,” Gaara replied flatly.

“What, no special privileges?” Kankurō looked genuinely scandalized. “Come on, you’re the Kazekage.”

“That’s why I waited in line.”

Kankurō groaned and shuffled off toward the now ridiculous queue, muttering about betrayal and political misuse.

Temari arrived a beat later, her yukata catching the breeze. She gave Gaara a look up and down.

“You clean up well,” she remarked, a note of surprised approval in her voice.

He blinked. “It’s a yukata.”

She laughed softly. “Yeah. And you’re still you. But it works.”

He gave her a faintly perplexed look. She shook her head, brushing it off.

“Anyway, yukata shopping was a success. Tenten, Sakura, and I had a blast.”

Gaara made a noncommittal sound, more grunt than word, as his gaze swept across the stalls and lights.

Kankurō rejoined them just in time, brandishing his skewer like a trophy. “Okay, worth the wait. That lady is a genius.”

Temari rolled her eyes. Gaara shook his head just slightly.

As their conversation drifted, his gaze wandered back toward the food stall. The line had doubled in size.

Still, the woman behind the grill worked with quiet focus, carefully tending the skewers, unbothered by the commotion her Kazekage had caused. He watched her move—precise, steady, unaware of how that one, brief interaction had allowed him to connect with his people in a way he rarely could.

A small thing. But it mattered.

Despite his earlier reluctance, Gaara found himself drawn in by his siblings’ excitement. The three of them were quite a mismatched trio - Kankuro's boisterous nature contrasting with Temari's sharp tongue and Gaara's reserved demeanor - yet somehow they fit together perfectly. 

They were family.

Family…

The thought struck deeper than expected.

Another sharp ache bloomed in his chest.

As a child, he’d looked on from a distance—watching others hold hands with their parents, crowd around festival food stalls, play games in the sand. The warmth they shared had felt like something out of a dream. Something meant for someone else.

Because the ones Gaara shared blood with had either tried to kill him… or had been ordered to keep their distance.

That hadn't changed until years later—after the attack on Konoha. It was only then that Temari and Kankurō told him the truth: that their father had forbidden them from approaching him. That they’d begged to disobey. That they hadn’t wanted to abandon him—but they’d been forced to.

He remembered that night vividly.

Lying alone in the dark. Staring at the ceiling. His face wet with tears that burned like acid. Mourning the childhood he’d never had.

But also—somehow—feeling something new. Something foreign. Something that resembled… comfort.

Because he finally knew the truth. His siblings hadn’t turned their backs on him. They had fought to stay.

And Naruto—Naruto had never needed an order. He’d chosen Gaara, again and again. Even when Gaara didn’t think he was worth saving.

So even if Gaara would never have the kind of future they did, he had made a quiet promise:

He would protect theirs.

He would give them the future they deserved—even if he could never fully be a part of it.

He glanced at Kankurō and Temari now—laughing, bickering, alive.

They were the most precious things he had.

He would die before letting harm touch either of them.

“Yo, man!” Kankurō’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You okay over there? You looked like you were smiling at me.”

Gaara blinked, caught off guard.

“I knew it,” Kankurō said smugly, jabbing a finger at him. “You just realized how much you love me, huh? It’s fine. Happens to everyone eventually. No one resists the Kankurō charm for long—”

He didn’t get to finish.

A precise, pebble-sized ball of sand zipped out of the gourd at Gaara’s hip and slammed straight into Kankurō’s open mouth.

“—mmph!!”

Kankurō gagged and stumbled back, spitting sand everywhere.

Temari raised an eyebrow. “I was about to blow him halfway into the desert.”

Gaara crossed his arms. “I beat you to it.”

Still sputtering, Kankurō tried to regain his dignity. “Ptoo! You two are unbelievable. Just admit you love me and move on already.”

Then, grinning at Temari, he added, “You cried while I was poisoned, by the way. Don’t think I forgot.”

He turned toward Gaara. “‘He’s one of the most valuable and strong shinobi we have’,” he said in a deep, mock-serious voice, mimicking Gaara’s expression with exaggerated solemnity.

Gaara didn’t blink. “Do you want the honors, or should I?”

Temari cracked her knuckles. “I’ve been waiting all day.”

Kankurō raised both hands. “Whoa, whoa—guys? It was a joke .”

Gaara looked to his sister. “Still your turn.”

Temari smirked, already stepping forward.

Kankurō bolted.

Gaara watched him run, expression unreadable—then slowly exhaled through his nose, the ghost of something like a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

                                      X

As they strolled through the bustling festival grounds, Gaara’s sharp eyes caught a familiar pair among the crowd. Hataro and his younger sister, Akane, stood near a brightly colored game booth, both dressed in civilian clothing.

Akane’s energy was uncontainable. She bounced up and down on her toes, her pigtails swinging with every hop. Hataro stood beside her, arms crossed but with a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Even amid the festival’s chaos, he looked calm—steady.

Gaara approached them slowly.

As his presence settled over the nearby crowd, the background noise dimmed. People parted instinctively, their voices lowering to hushed murmurs.

Akane spotted him first. Her eyes widened with delight.

“Gaara-sama!” she cried, sprinting toward him. She reached out, tugging eagerly at his sleeve. “Come play with us!”

Before she could get another word out, Hataro stepped in. In one swift motion, he gently caught her hand and pulled her back a few paces.

He bowed deeply to Gaara, and with a hand on his sister’s head, silently prompted her to do the same.

As captain of Gaara’s security detail, Hataro understood exactly how close the last two seconds had come to an unnecessary security incident.

It was a known rule within the ANBU: no one—no one—was to make physical contact with the Kazekage unless Gaara initiated it.

The only exceptions were his siblings, Naruto, and medical personnel. Any breach would trigger a rapid and possibly violent response from his guards—who, even now, were undoubtedly watching.

“I apologize for my sister’s behavior, Kazekage-sama,” Hataro said, his voice low and steady. He remained bowed, guiding Akane into a deeper bow beside him with a gentle pressure to the top of her head.

Gaara regarded them silently.

Then hataro straightened just enough to rest a hand on her head. His tone was gentle, but clear.

“Akane,” he said, “you must remember: the Kazekage is our village’s leader. You are to address him as Kazekage-sama at all times, and never approach or touch him unless given permission. This isn’t just about respect—it’s about protocol and safety.”

Akane’s face crumpled. Her lips trembled as she blinked back tears. “I… I didn’t know,” she whispered. “I just got excited. I never meant to be rude, I swear.” Her small voice faltered. “I was just happy to see Gaa—uh—Kazekage-sama…”

Hataro’s hand stayed firm on her head, his thumb brushing lightly against her hair in reassurance. “I know, Smalls. I know you didn’t mean any harm.” His voice softened. “But you’re in the academy now. You want to be a ninja, don’t you?”

She nodded quickly, tears slipping down her cheeks “Yes, nii-san.

“Then that means learning when to act, and when to hold back. We all have responsibilities—even to the people we admire most.”

Akane drew a shuddering breath and turned back to Gaara. Her spine straightened as much as it could, her voice steadier now.

“I apologize for my behavior, Kazekage-sama,” she said clearly. “I accept full responsibility for my actions.” She bowed again—low, deep, and sincere.

Hataro straightened beside her and bowed as well.

Gaara studied them both in silence.

The tension in the surrounding crowd had long since dissolved into curiosity and quiet observation—but nearby rooftops still held shadows. He could feel them—his ANBU. Watching. Tense. Waiting.

Ready to descend the second that small hand had reached for him.

It could’ve gone badly.  

And yet, it hadn’t.

He let out a slow breath.

“Thank you, Akane-san,” he said at last. “You’ve learned something today that many shinobi don’t grasp until much later. That’s commendable.”

Akane peeked up, eyes wide and hopeful.

“As a shinobi of Suna, respect is expected,” Gaara continued. “But so is accountability. And courage. You’ve shown both.” A pause. “Apology accepted.”

Akane’s face brightened in quiet, damp-eyed relief.

Gaara turned to Hataro. “At ease.”

The ANBU captain straightened. “Thank you, Kazekage-sama.”

“You’re a good brother,” Gaara said simply. “Strict, but fair.”

For the first time that evening, a smile cracked through Hataro’s usual stoicism. “I try.”

Gaara’s eyes drifted down to Akane, who was still watching him with the same awed reverence as before—except now, she also stood a little straighter. A little prouder.

He tilted his head slightly. “I believe there was talk of a game?”

Her eyes went wide. “Really? You’ll play with me ?”

A brief pause. “Yes.”

Akane practically levitated with joy. She darted back toward the game booth, glancing back every few seconds to make sure he was following. Gaara moved after her, his pace unhurried, drawing further whispers from the nearby crowd as they cleared a path.

Hataro watched the two of them from a small distance, arms folded again—but the set of his shoulders had eased.

The game was simple—throwing soft rubber balls into rotating cups of different sizes and colors. Akane missed her first two tries, her frustration mounting fast.

Gaara stepped forward without a word and took up the remaining balls. His throws were clean. Sharp. Unerring.

Three cups. Three hits.

The booth attendant paled slightly as he handed over the prize on the rack—a sand-colored stuffed bear with oversized ears and a lopsided smile.

Gaara accepted it silently, then turned and offered it to Akane.

Her face lit up as though someone had given her the moon.

“Thank you, Kazekage-sama!”

Gaara gave a small nod.

It was a rare thing to be so openly adored by someone with no agenda. No fear. Just... joy.

Strange , he thought, watching her clutch the bear. And oddly grounding.

Her eyes filled with awe as she hugged the toy close, pride radiating off her small frame.

“Now,” Gaara said, gesturing toward the remaining balls on the booth counter, “it’s your turn.”

Akane blinked at him, doubtful. “But… I couldn’t hit a single one before,” she murmured, shoulders drooping.

Gaara lowered himself to one knee beside her, mirroring the quiet patience Hataro had shown earlier. He picked up one of the balls and placed it gently in her hand.

“Remember, Akane-san,” he said calmly, “becoming a Suna shinobi means never giving up. Focus. Breathe. Keep your eyes on the target. Visualize the ball landing where it should.”

His voice was steady, even—but it carried a quiet authority that made her straighten.

She nodded with wide, earnest eyes, clutching the ball tight.

Then, as instructed, she inhaled slowly, exhaled, and threw.

The ball soared in a clean arc—landing squarely in the cup.

Akane gasped.

“Very good,” Gaara said, inclining his head slightly.

He purchased five more rounds, stacking fifteen balls in front of her. “Now you practice. With enough focus, a lucky shot becomes skill. And if you hit every one,” he added, gesturing to a truly massive teddy bear in the corner of the booth, “you win the grand prize.”

Akane followed his hand, then looked up at the towering prize, —its head alone nearly the size of her own— with a sparkle in her eyes so intense it nearly knocked Gaara back a step.

The next few minutes were filled with the sound of concentration and the soft thud of balls landing in cups. With each successful shot, her confidence grew—and with it, her aim.

By the end, Akane let out a triumphant squeal as the final ball plunked into the last cup. A small crowd cheered, and the booth attendant handed over the enormous bear—twice her size.

“Outstanding, Akane-san!” Kankuro whooped, fists pumping in the air. Temari smiled, and others nearby clapped along.

“Your persistence and hard work paid off,” Gaara said, his voice genuine.

Hataro stepped in to help lift the oversized prize, handing the smaller stuffed animal Gaara had won earlier back to his sister.

“We’re going to need a bigger apartment,” he muttered, half-laughing as Akane clung to both bears.

“Thank you, Kazekage-sama,” she said, beaming, cheeks flushed from excitement. “I couldn’t have done it without you!”

Gaara offered a rare but sincere tiny smile and inclined his head. “You did well.”

As the two disappeared into the crowd with their prizes, Kankuro leaned in.

“Poor guy,” he muttered. “That bear’s going to need its own room. Might have to reassign him a new district, huh?”

“He’ll manage,” Gaara simply said, already turning. “Shall we continue?”

For the next hour, the three siblings wandered through the festival, weaving through crowds, exchanging nods and greetings. Gaara offered his standard diplomatic face—controlled, cold and distant.

He’d never been greeted with such warmth by his own people before. Not like this.

It was... too much.

The colors. The noise. The smiling faces. He kept his posture upright and his pace measured, but inside, he was drifting somewhere between discomfort and awe. He paused occasionally—admiring fine pottery, sampling snacks, watching children run past him with wide eyes—each moment tugging at something inside him he hadn’t yet named.

Later, they stopped to watch a traditional dance and drum performance. The crowd was loud with applause. Gaara remained still.

By the time they stepped away, he was visibly drained.

He exhaled slowly, the stiffness in his shoulders betraying his exhaustion. Temari caught the shift immediately.

“Gaara,” she said gently.

He turned, her voice cutting through the haze in his mind.

“You’ve done more than enough for one day,” she said with a warm smile. “Let’s find the Konoha team. The orphanage visit is soon anyway.”

Relief bloomed quietly in Gaara’s chest. He gave a small nod.

“Aa.”

They rounded a corner—and Temari’s voice immediately sharpened.

“Kankuro!”

Gaara’s head turned.

There was his brother—arms loaded with shopping bags, surrounded by women their age who were showering him with attention. All of it, of course, because he was the Kazekage’s brother.

Gaara’s eye twitched. Just slightly.

He’d made Kankuro pay for every single item, but it clearly hadn’t stopped him from basking in the attention.

Temari stormed ahead to deal with him.

“So noisy,” Gaara muttered under his breath, closing his eyes briefly to block out the clamor.

He had less than a second of silence before something collided squarely with his chest.

His eyes snapped open, instincts flaring—one hand twitching toward his gourd out of reflex.

Someone had crashed into him.

Hard.

The impact wasn’t forceful enough to knock him back, but it was… close. Too close. A smaller figure pressed against him—tense, warm, unmistakably human. A soft exhale escaped their lips, startled and sharp, followed by the thud of a dropped bag.

Gaara looked down.

What greeted him first was an explosion of pink.

His eyes narrowed slightly, tracking the source as strands of soft hair brushed his collarbone, drifting upward with the motion of her flinch.

The scent hit him a moment later—clean, floral, something faintly citrus beneath it.

His brow twitched.

The figure stepped away, clearly mortified, and turned around.

Pink fluff was replaced by green.

Emerald, wide, and very familiar.

Haruno.

She froze as their eyes met.

Her blush hit like a wave—high on her cheekbones, vivid against her skin. She looked as if she'd just registered that she hadn’t run into a post or a wall—but the Kazekage himself.

Again? Gaara thought, watching her avoid his gaze like it was physically painful. He wasn’t sure what it was about today, but this made three women who had turned red the moment he so much as breathed near them.

Haruno-san lifted her head slowly.

Their eyes locked.

The force of it caught her mid-breath. Her pupils dilated slightly. The blush deepened.

Strange, he thought absently. Her eyes weren’t that green yesterday.

The moment stretched between them, sharp and oddly silent.

Around them, the world kept moving—festival drums echoing in the distance, laughter ricocheting from stall to stall—but here, in this little corner, everything had narrowed to two people and the space between them.

Gaara’s gaze dropped—trailing along the lines of her yukata. Pastel tones, finely embroidered flowers that perfectly complemented the color of her hair. It moved softly in the wind, like a watercolor come to life.

A flicker of chakra brushed the edge of his senses—then another, and another.

His ANBU.

Of course.

They’d sensed the sudden proximity.

He didn’t move his body, only raised his fingers slightly.

Stand down.

The pressure lifted.

Behind Haruno-san, her teammates exhaled in relief. Hataro had already reappeared beside them, fully masked once again. He bowed in apology, one fist across his chest.

Gaara gave the smallest nod, then turned back.

Haruno-san was still there.

Still watching him with those eyes full of questions—and something else. A cascade of emotion moved across her face in seconds: panic, guilt, embarrassment, curiosity, then something gentler… like admiration?

How exhausting.

How can one person feel so many things at once? he wondered, faintly exasperated but… intrigued.

Finally, she spoke.

A breathy apology. A quiet thanks.

Gaara tilted his head.

“No harm done,” he said. “Accidents happen.”

She relaxed visibly, her body easing into a more comfortable stance. Then her gaze dropped to the bag lying on the ground between them.

Before she could move, the sand moved first.

It spilled gently from his gourd, coiling around the bag and lifting it with perfect grace before extending it toward her.

Haruno-san blinked, clearly mesmerized.

Her fingers brushed the sand as she took the bag from it—and smiled. A real one this time.

"It's my duty to maintain peace," Gaara replied, his voice carrying a calm resolve. "Besides, unnecessary conflicts are a waste of energy."

A flicker of amusement tugged at the corner of Gaara’s mouth as he tilted his head slightly to the right, his gaze locking with hers once more.

"You seem to be quite the clumsy ninja," he said, as if pointing out a tactical flaw on the battlefield.

He didn’t know what possessed him to say it—but the moment called for something lighter. And to his surprise, it felt natural.

“Perhaps you should work on your spatial awareness,” he added with a faint smirk. A rare tease.

It was unexpected—how easily the words came, how much he didn’t mind the exchange.

Haruno-san huffed and tilted her head with exaggerated grace, her green eyes dancing with mischief.

“Uh, thank you, Kazekage-sama,” she replied, mock-formal.

“And I will try to work on my spatial awareness. I wouldn’t want to ram my elbow into you next time. Not sure you could handle it.”

Gaara’s smirk deepened, just slightly. He had never been threatened so casually—and certainly not with such theatrical charm. He should have bristled. Instead, something inside him stirred.

“I will hold you to that, Haruno-san,” he replied, quiet but firm, with the barest flicker of challenge beneath the words.

They stood there a beat longer than was strictly necessary.

Then—

“Kazekage-sama!”

A high voice broke the spell.

They both turned just in time to see a blur of movement cutting through the crowd.

A small figure running toward them at full speed.

Matsuri, Gaara thought.

                                      X


Suna festival View: 

                                         
Gaara Suna Festival: 

 
Gaara and Sakura Suna Festival: 

 

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: Growls in the Mist

The young Konoha shinobi ascended the stairs of the Kazekage mansion in their yukata robes, ready to call it a night.

Meanwhile, Gaara, Guy, Kakashi, and Gaara’s siblings remained in the kitchen. Tome had already left for the evening, but she’d prepared sandwiches and tea for a late-night snack.

“Bummer you guys have to leave again tomorrow,” Kankuro said, chewing mid-sentence. “I could get used to having you around.”

Temari nodded, her expression warm. “Good thing we’re strengthening the alliance with Konoha, then. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.”

Guy laughed heartily, his joy infectious. “Indeed! The bond between our villages must grow stronger than ever before!”

Gaara sat quietly, observing the exchange. His gaze was steady, but his mind was elsewhere as he lifted a cup of tea to his lips.

Then, Guy’s demeanor shifted. The cheer in his face dimmed.

Gaara immediately straightened in his seat, his siblings following suit.

A glint in Guy’s eye betrayed the weight of what was coming.

Gaara raised a hand. Sand uncoiled from his gourd like smoke, sweeping up the walls and around the ceiling. The room sealed off with soundproof precision.

“You can speak freely now, Guy-san,” Gaara said.

Guy nodded. “As discussed, we’ve been in contact with Konoha—and Tsunade-sama fully supports the proposal to strengthen our alliance.”

Relief unfurled in Gaara’s chest.

The other Kage had resisted his title from the start, citing his age and past. Peace between the villages had always seemed like an ideal just out of reach. But this—this was a step forward. A real one.

Tsunade had given him hell over the years. He’d learned quickly that it was her way. But when it mattered, she stood beside Suna. Always. Gaara respected her deeply for that.

Still, the look in Guy’s eyes said the conversation wasn’t over.

“Tsunade-sama has agreed to share highly classified intel with Suna,” Guy continued, retrieving a scroll from his yukata and handing it to Gaara.

Gaara broke the seal and scanned the text.

His blood ran cold.

“They’ve already extracted two?” he asked, voice low and disbelieving.

His siblings stiffened.

“Yes,” Kakashi said. “We believe Akatsuki has captured two tailed beasts already.”

Temari’s voice faltered. “That means… two Jinchuriki are—”

“Dead,” Gaara said, finishing the thought for her. His fingers trembled slightly around the scroll.

There would be no Chiyo to bring them back.

A surge of anger rose in him—white-hot, quiet, and consuming.

Kakashi and Guy remained silent, allowing the weight of it to settle.

“Do you know who?” Kankuro asked, his voice more sober than usual.

“The Gobi and Rokubi,” Kakashi said. “We don’t know the identities of the Jinchuriki, or which members of Akatsuki were responsible.”

“So the fifth and sixth tails are already gone?” Kankuro said.

“They’re not moving in order.”

“No,” Kakashi replied. “Which makes them harder to track.”

Gaara clenched his free hand into a tight fist. “They’re far more unpredictable than we thought.”

Kakashi nodded. “We don’t know who they’ll go after next. Or who they’ll send.”

A heavy silence fell across the room.

“Damn it,” Kankuro muttered. “And we’ve got zero coordination with the other villages. How the hell are we supposed to stop them? They could come for Naruto or Fū any day now.”

Temari placed a steady hand on Kankuro’s shoulder, her face echoing his unease.

Kakashi’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. “They don’t seem to want Naruto. Not yet.”

All eyes turned toward him. The shift in the room was immediate—sharpened attention, bracing tension.

“We encountered Itachi Uchiha on our way from Suna to rescue you,” Kakashi said, his words directed at Gaara. “But he wasn’t trying to capture Naruto. It felt more like a distraction.”

Gaara’s brow furrowed, mind racing. “Itachi Uchiha… Sasuke’s brother.”

Kakashi gave a small nod.

“Why are you so sure?” Kankuro asked. “Maybe he didn’t think he could handle all of you. Maybe he just wasn’t able to do it.”

“I used to serve with him,” Kakashi replied, his voice taking on a rare gravity. “We were on the same ANBU team. And trust me—he was holding back. Naruto was already caught in his genjutsu. If he wanted him, he’d have taken him.”

Gaara went still.

Even with Kakashi there? The Uchiha had still had the upper hand?

Kakashi didn’t flinch under the weight of Gaara’s stare. “He’s one of the most powerful shinobi I’ve ever faced. I don’t know that I would’ve survived a serious fight.”

Temari let out a soft gasp, one hand instinctively rising to cover her mouth.

Gaara understood the reaction.

The man before them not only had intimidated Gaara, when no one had before, but he was also one of the strongest ninjas to exist.

Kakashi continued. “Itachi and his partner, Kisame Hoshigaki, split up—one intercepted my team, the other Guy’s. Just to slow us down. They weren’t aiming to win. Only to delay.”

“The Monster of the Hidden Mist,” Temari murmured.

Kakashi nodded once. “Tsunade-sama has taken the situation seriously. None of this has gone public yet, but she’s begun mobilizing Konoha. And she’s asked Suna to join her.”

Gaara’s thoughts stilled.

It really has come to this.

Konoha was preparing for war.

So would Suna.

“Tell her Suna will stand with the Leaf,” Gaara said, voice low and unwavering.

Kakashi met his gaze and offered a nod. “She’ll send more information tomorrow.”

The tone of the conversation turned even graver.

“We’re entering a difficult era,” Kakashi warned. “All shinobi—especially those close to Naruto—will be pushed harder than ever before.”

He paused before adding, “When we return, Naruto’s training will continue under both Jiraiya and me. We’ll increase the pace drastically.”

He looked to Gaara. “Sakura will undergo specialized training as well. She’s more than a medic—she’s becoming a key piece in this puzzle. We’ll need every advantage we can get against the Akatsuki.”

Gaara nodded.

The air between them had grown dense with understanding.

Suna would answer in kind. There was no other option now.

But Kakashi wasn’t finished.

“There’s something else,” he said.

The room quieted again. Even Kankuro straightened.

“Sasori gave Sakura information before he died. He revealed that a spy embedded in one of Orochimaru’s bases is planning to make contact soon.”

Temari’s expression darkened. “Orochimaru’s involved too?”

“We don’t know how deep,” Guy said, stepping in. “But he and Sasori were once partners in the Akatsuki. Orochimaru tried to take Itachi’s body… failed. Now he’s focused on the younger brother.”

Gaara’s eyes narrowed as they flicked toward Kakashi, who remained unreadable.

“When is this meeting supposed to happen?” he asked.

“In nine days,” Guy answered. “At Tenchi Bridge. Kusagakure.”

Gaara took a moment to absorb that. Another thread in the ever-growing tangle.

“We’ll wait for Tsunade-sama’s final decision on how the Leaf plans to act,” Guy added.

“She’ll likely want to speak with you directly,” Kakashi said.

Gaara gave a nod, expression calm but resolute. “I’ll make sure Suna’s shinobi receive intensified training immediately.”

“Thank you for your time, Kazekage-sama,” Kakashi said, finally breaking his distant stare.

“And thank you for trusting Suna with this,” Gaara replied. “We’ll find a way through this. We have to.”

There was no dissent. One by one, they nodded.

The wall of sand around them receded, unraveling in soft spirals before returning to the gourd at Gaara’s hip.

The meeting was over.

But the path ahead was only beginning.

                                      X

Gaara’s mind was heavy with the weight of the evening’s revelations as he closed the door to his chambers.

The room was dimly lit, warmed by the soft glow of lamps and candlelight. He moved to the closet, retrieving a hanger, and laid it across the bed before undressing with methodical precision. The yukata was folded and hung neatly back inside.

He slipped into loose pants.

In the bathroom, a dozen pipes released steaming water into the wide tub, filling the air with mist. Gaara reached for a bottle of shower gel, letting it pour into the water until the steam carried a rich, clean fragrance.

He returned to the window.

Suna’s festival lights were finally fading—now only a soft flicker on the edges of rooftops, like the last embers of a fire.

His thoughts drifted to Naruto.

Akatsuki hadn’t moved on him yet. But they would.

I will not let them take him.

Naruto wasn’t just a Jinchūriki—he was something else.

Something more. A force that pulled people together, even those like him. Even those like Gaara.

The warmth wrapped around him like a cloak.

Steam curled along the tiled ceiling, thick with the scent of minerals and faint lavender. A scent he liked—something that suggested calm, though he’d never truly felt it. Still, he let it linger, let it surround him. He knelt by the bath to test the water—silent, methodical.

Then froze.

His spine locked. Every instinct sharpened.

Something was wrong.

The air had shifted—not the temperature, but the stillness. It was off, disturbed in the way only sand could sense. The fine grains he had left on the door to his chambers—subtle, precise, the last line of warning—had moved.

Something had entered his chambers.

He crouched low in the mist, letting it veil him. Listening. Watching.

A shadow moved behind the fogged mirror.

The figure approached slowly, unsteady. Each footfall scraped against the floor in the wrong rhythm—too slow, too heavy. It collided with the doorframe. Then the sink. A dull, fleshy thud.

The movements were… wrong.

Not cautious. Not stealthy. Just broken.

Like a puppet with fraying strings.

And still—no chakra. No sound. Just that creeping wrongness, like something ancient had opened its eyes behind their ribs.

He didn’t move for his sand in the other room. Not yet.

He crouched lower, the mist curling around him. The air tasted metallic now.

The figure staggered closer.

Unnatural energy clung to it. Heavy. Muffled. Distorted. Gaara narrowed his eyes.

One foot after the other dragging over the tile, bare and streaked with something dark.

It moved toward his bath.

He extended a hand, guiding a thread of sand from the next room—silent, controlled, deadly.

But the longer he watched, the more hesitation crept in.

There was no attack.

Only... pain.

A sound tore from the figure’s throat—a growl, cracked and guttural, as if forced through something that should not be breathing.

Then it crossed into the light.

And Gaara stopped cold.

Haruno.

She was barefoot. Her clothes clung to her—just an oversized gray shirt now soaked with sweat and…blood. Her pink hair hung limp and darkened with moisture, strands plastered to her face and neck like wilted petals. Veins bloomed black and purple across her skin, rising like spiderwebs from her neck, spreading up her face and arms.

Her eyes—had turned milky white.

And she was bleeding. A deep gash across her forehead. Another near her thigh, nearly invisible in her hunched stance.

Blood spilled silently onto the marble floor beneath her.

She was heading towards the water, unaware. Her gaze didn’t seem to register the room, or him, or even her own body. 

Another growl tore from her lips—inhuman and cracked. Her entire body shook with it.

Gaara tried to feel for her chakra.

Nothing.

No chakra at all.

What is this…?

Then the sand wall behind her shifted. It rose without him calling it—restless, instinctive, reacting on its own. It rose behind her—restless, instinctive—without his command. Not a shield, but a warning. Tiny grains poured to the ground like falling ash, stirring the air in soft hisses as she moved.

Her white eyes rolled back. Purple veins flared.

And then—she collapsed.

Right into the water.

The surface broke beneath her like glass. Her knees hit the edge first, then slipped—folding under her as she toppled forward. There was no splash, only the soft rush of water parting. A low ripple echoed outward, vanishing into the mist. Steam surged upward in delicate plumes, stirred by the sudden heat of flesh meeting water. The bath accepted her without protest, as if it had been waiting. Her body sank in silence.

Gaara moved in an instant.

He dove after her, arm outstretched, catching her just as she slipped fully beneath the surface. Her skin was slick with sweat, blood, and now water, her limbs thrashing weakly beneath the surface. Her mouth hung open, slack and soundless. A spasm, then another—useless. Uncoordinated.

Her lungs—

Her lungs are filled with water.

He yanked her free with no resistance. She was weightless, boneless in his grip, her body limp against his chest. The bathwater streamed from her hair and limbs, trailing behind them in long, hissing ribbons. He carried her swiftly out of the water and to the cool marble floor, cradling her with more care than he’d thought himself capable of.

There was no time to call for help.

And this could destroy everything.

If anyone found them like this—her soaked, hurt and unconscious, him half-dressed and crouched over her—it wouldn’t matter what the truth was. Either she had attacked the Kazekage. Or they’d claim he had taken advantage of not only a shinobi of Konoha, but the Godaime Hokage’s apprentice.

Both would lead to:

Treason. Scandal. War.

Tsunade would have him executed. Or try. She’d punch through a wall, write the warrant in blood, and probably hurl it at the Daimyō before marching on Suna herself.

Assuming they believed he was the threat.

If they believed the opposite—that she had attacked the Kazekage—Suna’s proud citizens would demand blood. War banners would go up before breakfast.

Either way—not ideal.

It wouldn’t just fracture the alliance—it could bury it. And everyone under it.

His ANBU were just outside, stationed on the rooftop. The Konoha team slept two floors down.

He had to keep his chakra steady. Controlled. Let no spike escape.

No alarm.

No witnesses.

Ergo: keep the alliance intact—barely formalized, already threatened by history, trade, sabotage, paperwork, their own citizens, and now apparently, attempted manslaughter in a bathhouse.

She wasn’t breathing.

He pressed a hand to her chest.

For a breath, nothing happened.

Then the sand burst from the doorway, answering his will before he could finish the thought. It coiled around her ribcage, firm and deliberate—then began pulsing. Controlled compressions. Rhythmic. Exact.

He counted the beats in his head, jaw clenched.

One. Two. Three—

She jerked.

A wet gasp tore from her lungs.

Then—

She coughed. Violent. Gut-deep.

Water sprayed from her lips, splattering his chest, the floor, her own shirt. Her body convulsed, shoulders rising in a sudden, panicked shudder.

But her eyes—still veined, still wild—snapped open.

And her mouth—

Fangs.

She lunged.

Gaara’s sand reacted before he could.

Two of her punches were blocked mid-air, intercepted with smooth precision. His foot connected with her abdomen in the next instant—sending her flying out of the mist-filled room and into the dark of the bedroom beyond. He hadn’t used chakra. Couldn’t afford to. But even held back, the strike landed hard. Clean. 

Enough to create distance.

He stepped after her—ready now.