Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sakura was a third year Academy student when she made a discovery. Her classmates were stupid, but they will live; She was not much better off, but she will die:

One of those Mondays, she got an assignment about shinobi life span. It was chosen for her by a teacher who took over Iruka-sensei for three weeks. A chunin, named one thing or another, a civilian born who saw fifteen children with his same upbringing and decided they should spend less effort, make less friends. He saw a girl with perfect grade reports and pitiful sparring matches that gives her best to everything and anything. He wanted her out. Contrary to popular assumptions, he did not hate her—that was why he wanted her alive. So he told her the mid-term grade essay topic was the mortality rate of the career she wanted so badly and hoped she could see what he wanted her to see. 

That afternoon the green eyed child went to the library, the public one, where her temporary sensei asked her to search at. The librarian, Noriko, a retired Genin Corps kunoichi, took in her question and gave her a book she knew her teacher must have wanted the girl to read. 

It was a thing between civilian born shinobi, retired or not. They try to nudge every child to pursue other interests, looking out for the girls, especially. Puppets on strings, donned with pink lens and half full glasses. Only when the children-turned-tool were neck-deep do they know the severity of it; some, never knew. Too many threats and a life lower than beggars, used not as humans but marked as numbers, never as names (that is the privilege of legacy children). With no status, they were the majority of the brawn, pulling weights the Akimichi couldn’t. 

So every child that came and asked about shinobi, Noriko would lead them to better things. Happier lives. Merchant, writer, artist, baker, wife. But the librarian was once a kunoichi, one who fought as a disposable meat shield in the Third Shinobi Wars, one who died and returned with no merrymaking. 

Noriko’s nation did not miss her, and she did not miss it. Years later, she made herself home in the library that guards nothing and everything at once. Nothing, because no shinobi that reads from there would be exceptional, a place that held no worth to the Archive of every village. Everything, because the shinobi that came and read found things others never mentioned, things only learned after a lesson they wish they could undo. 

“What cohort are you in, sweetie?” The middle aged woman asked gently. Her wrinkle lines became more prominent when stretched. The dyed chestnut hair was tied up into a neat bun.

“C- cohort?” She felt like she knew that word, but the meaning was lost on her.

“What is the number of your graduating class in the history of the Academy? For example, The Sandaime’ graduating class is the third cohort of the Academy, meaning the third class ever.”

Sakura thought for a while. It had been sixty seven years since the foundation of the Academy. She will be graduating in three years. The girl looked up at the expectant gaze of the former kunoichi, “The seventieth cohort, then.”

The librarian stilled. She stared at the nine year old girl. “The seventieth?” Oh kami, Noriko needed to get the girl out of the system, quickly, at that.

“Yes. I’ll be genin in three years.” She didn’t say if she passed, and the hopeful green eyes made the woman’s heart break a little.

“Oh, honey.” A sad smile, Sakura didn’t understand. “Come on, let’s help you do your assignment. Shinobi live span, you said?” With an answering nod, Noriko continued, “I have the perfect thing. Chūnin clearance, but I can make an exception. How is your reading level?”

The pink head titled, “A grade, ninetieth percentile ma’am.”

At this, she earned another blanch, a downhearted smile and a wet chuckle, “I’ll be right back.” A civilian genius, but not genius enough to keep her alive out there.

The book that was presented to Sakura was very nondescript looking, blending right in with other dull coloured binds. Not many had borrowed it. Medium thickness and seemed to be binded in recent years. The end of the book had the publishing dates of just a year ago.

“Quite recent. All the statistics you need calculated out. It’ll help you plenty, but you need to read it here, love. I can still give you a shorter genin version to take home later.”

[ Below are the active duty shinobi mortality rate and major reasons in Konohagakure no Sato, notes for references:

• Academy freshers (graduates of approx. six to nine months) — 99% survival rate due to exclusive D-ranks and strict observance as well as protection from jounin-sensei. Only three deaths were reported in the village’s history, though there had also been presumed deaths which is not counted as valid data points. // See: drop-out rates for Academy freshers, pg.36

• Genin (above a year of field experience) — 95% survival rate due to accidents and unaccounted mission risks from D to C ranks, most deaths come from teams outside of the Debut Class of the generation.

• Genin Corps — 72% survival rate due to misranked missions, low level combat abilities in face of threats, suicide and collateral damage. Considered low in comparison with other villages. // See: Five Great Elemental Nations’ statistic evaluation, pg.42
• Chūnin — 75% survival rate due to training accidents, misranked missions, protection attempts or suicide. More efficient chūnin may be deferred to an office job and thus livelihood could increase up to 100%
• Tokubetsu Jōnin — 80% survival rate overall due to training accidents, protection attempts or suicide. Variations can be accounted due to the specialization of each tokujō, i.e. a combat-oriented tokujō may have a lower livelihood than an office-oriented tokujō
• Jōnin — vast variations from below 60% to above 90% depending on specialization due to protection attempts and suicide. A genin teacher may have an above 90% survival rate while someone on the more dangerous rotation may take frequent suicide missions.

Notes:

1, Suicide mission is a form of suicide, these missions from A to S ranks have the livelihood of below 50%. In war time, these missions have less than 10% chance of surviving. 

2, The Debut Class of the generation  indicates same-cohort graduates seen once in fifteen to twenty years. Usually, this Debut Class will participate in the same chūnin exam and have the rare low number of exactly three genin teams with elite jounin sensei. Debut Classes are reserved for children who are clan heirs, prospective pillars and prodigies of their generation. If their age does not align, documentations will be changed in favour of constructing the perfect three man cell teams. The Sandaime, Three Sennin and the Yondaime belong to three consecutive generations of Debut Classes. The most recent Debut Class was Hatake Kakashi (albeit an early graduate) cohort.

Estimated the next Debut Class is the seventieth class of the Preparatory Academy. ]

Sakura knew she wasn’t an heir, much less a hailed genius. No one told her she was a genius. She was smart, and she had read enough to know the wars geniuses had fought at her age. First kill at four years old, Warring States. A rank missions at eight, First Shinobi Wars. Thirteen year olds ANBU, Second Shinobi Wars. Massacre before sixteen, Third Shinobi Wars. Sakura could do none of that. She might have been nine and taken two classes in higher level but she could not set off an explosion or gauge someone’s eyes out. 

She visited the library more often, for her assignment. Every afternoon in the weeks her parents were out, she’d come and read that book until its very last page. [Civilians rarely make it past genin, half drop out in their first year of field experience due to incompetence and inability to catch up with their peers]

Sakura turned the page, [Overall shinobi female:male ratio is  1:3. For jounin, this becomes 1:6 as most elite kunoichi settle down into marriage or retire early compared to their male counterparts]

She turned another page, [Kunoichi deaths are more likely by suicide while male shinobi deaths are more likely during battle. This can be explained by kunoichi’s higher rate of being kidnapped and enslaved, even ransomed if proved a valuable asset (though no official ransoming of kunoichi had been paid by any of the Great Nations in recorded history).]

One day, the librarian eyed the girl in the dark blue dress contemplatively and approached with a card in hand, “Hey kiddo, your assignment is okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She nodded, mind racing towards the realisation of her demise. She was many things others wished not to be. The worst combination for a living being in a shinobi village. A civilian girl with exotic colouring and no real use talents. She hitched and with a wobbly grin, turned up shyly. “I mean, I might need some more books.”

“The highest level of clearance I could get you is chuunin. You seem to really like books, how about you borrow my card?” At the girl’s confused expression, Noriko went on, “Chūnin clearance books don’t have jutsu theory or anything dangerous, the main reason it was for chuunin was because of the slang words and more explicit details,” (She didn’t know then, that the ‘explicit’ things were much more than that. She was a woman hardened by war and grief, Sakura was not. Noriko misjudged the tenderness of a girl raised by a different time.)  “So?”

“Ah– I– I would love to read more of those books.” Sakura needed to know more. See how she could survive. How to survive.

She had choices, be a civilian and get married off to a place her geography skills have never heard of before or be a kunoichi. The notion of heavy garments and tightened chest bindings and extreme etiquettes was not something she wanted to spend her entire life in. She had seen her grandmother. She did not want to become that—a teenage bride, beaten into submission, hands always cuffed behind long sleeves and tired, stupidly arrogant eyes that looked down on people and saw every woman as competition. Mother said once, and grandmother could only nick pride that was owned by her husband, so should you, one day. Sakura was too rebellious and stubborn for that.

“Thank you so much, ma’am.”

“It’s fine, do not fret. I’ve lived long enough to do more goods. You’d like aisle four to six, don’t wander. I’ll come with you but I still need to do my job.” One book was not enough. Perhaps two. The girl needed to be more scared.

“Hai. That would be more than enough.” With a smile that pleased her father, Sakura stalked behind Noriko to a more secluded section. 

“Most active shinobi don’t read, anyway, at least not books from the library. They’ve got clan tomes and dictionaries. But we have things they thought were unimportant. Now, see for yourself, love, their scraps are our treasure.” The woman smiled and prayed to Kami that the girl would find any book, read it and never return. All for the best.

It was in the latter half of her fourth year that she stole a chuunin clearance book. Noriko wasn’t looking and Sakura was perfectly docile all the time. 

After the assignment finished, she still returned, asking for more and everytime the woman would only frown deeply and then complied with her request. Sakura must not have hopes. Hope was not something she can pocketed and fish out in life and death moments to protect her from the luring hands of the Shinigami.

Noriko started talking about things, anything at all,

“Ne, Sakura-chan, do you cook? The new cookbook I just tried out had the best recipes. If you are good at it, just open a shop, I’ll be sure to come every week!”

“I don’t cook much, Noriko-san.” The pink haired girl pouted, if only a little, “Though I would like to ask about the Kunoichi mission type book?”

“Kunoichi takes normal missions, and honeypot missions, you must have learnt this from the Academy? Why read more? You know, I think those kunoichi classes aren’t so bad, maybe you could open a flower shop!”

“My friend has a flower shop, the biggest in Konoha. Yamanaka? I wouldn’t want to be enemies in business.” Noriko was not answering the questions and Sakura wondered why.

Yamanaka? As in Yamanaka Inoichi’s wife’s shop? “The friend as in Yamanaka Ino?”

“How do you know that?” She gasped and Inner even admitted how real the exclamation was. Sakura wasn’t an imbecile. But pretending to be one was very hard when starting out. Luckily, she had been doing just that for a while. “You buy flowers from them too?” No one in the village was ignorant of the Yamanaka-Nara-Akimichi Alliance. No one was ignorant of their heirs, either. It was an easy deduction.

“Not really. But she’s an heiress, have you heard?”

“Oh! She might have mentioned it before.”

“That’s right. When she ascends the title of Clan Head, your little friend would be too busy to operate a flower shop! You can even ask if you could work there.” She clapped her hands, slowly nudging the girl into the direction of hanakotoba and allergy-prone fragrances. Better than being killed. “Don’t you like flowers? I’ll give you a book on it, this way, the botany section.”

“But the kunoichi missions?”

“Flowers.” The librarian reminded her. “Same thing,” Maybe with a few books on flowers, the girl would come to love it. She was good at remembering things, Noriko noted, and tending to delicate things was better than war.

 Sakura did not come to love flowers like she should have. Sakura stole the [Shinobi Conditioning] book, one stuffed in a dusty corner of aisle seven—an unpermitted area.

The day after reading it, Sakura became eerily silent. 

[ Shinobi Conditioning takes many shapes and forms. The most important conditioning is on killing.

The first kill is extremely important and usually deemed the rite of passage for many shinobi families. Dated back in the Warring States, the average age for first kills was four to six. 

If one can not handle killing, they do not belong to the ranks. Kill or get killed. Many Academy freshers drop out due to their psychological break and PTSD after their first. Some even retire early beforehand because of stress and the fear barrier.

People argue that their first kill was always unprepared and least expected while the next five kills were unprecedentedly easy. The breakdown between the first and second kill was almost instantaneous if the shinobi was fully conscious, as covered in elementary Academy conditionings. See: early-life conditioning, pg.29 

Self-conditioning was valued in the fields, especially when training was unavailable. Some popular methods include comparative imagery, command-force autopilot/blackout and ethical manipulation. 

In comparative imagery, one where not many could achieve, uses the shinobi’s ability to visualise and overlay their actions, (i.e. beheading someone could be compared to cutting off a butter cube while baking; certain kata movements could be interpreted as acting in a film or performance.) This method helps ease the mind and draw it to more satisfying imaging in the mind, distracting itself from the task at hand.

In command-force autopilot/blackout, the shinobi psychologically disengage and let their muscle memory act on its own accord. This is most applied by suicide mission personnel and experienced jounin, either as a natural defense mechanism or with chakra interference to the brain

In ethical manipulation, it is the most valued method and can be seen as idealistic by most Hidden Villages. This is the personal reminder of what someone was fighting for, fighting to protect. This makes the brain focus on a single, simple command like ‘kill’ or ‘survive’ and excuse itself of any consequences that would be caused in order to achieve it. 

Note:

- Most Hidden Villages force its genin to make the first kill before their first mission. Reports showed Konohagakure had banned this practice decades ago and moved on to replace it with animal killing instead. Sixth year Academy students would kill from rat, rabbit to deer. These however, does not fully desensitize killing.

-Nuke-nin and nefarious shinobi could kill for pleasure. It can be a choice developed in shinobi-hood or a born instinct coupled with early-childhood drive for bloodthirst. Most of those in S-rank, or, Red Coded and above had admit to their enjoyment in taking a life at one point or another in an anonymous study. They described it as an inevitable step to accomplish their titles.]

Sakura was nine, still a third year student, when she caught her first rat near her house and didn’t tell anyone. She killed it with a sharp stone and a cage for the hens her family used to keep. The carcass of the rat smelled like dead things with decaying substances covering its matted fur. She felt quite sorry for it. But it didn't plead, it didn't have the power to, and she finished it quick.

The next time, she tried without a cage and it took her several hours to get her hand on one. It was plenty of fun, killing them. The other kids never wanted her with them and Ino sometimes looked at her strange, too. She found company in hunting and heard it's a good adult hobby. Now she have a purpose, an activity to do instead of sitting in the corner as if she was a crazy kid like mother had said. 

On her fourth rat, Sakura brought a proper knife, one stole from the kitchen, small but sharp. She tried to skin it the way the books on survival told her how to. She did not eat it. The skin flailed and flopped in her dirtied hand with mangled organs and blood. She spent thirty minutes to wash the blood from her body and face. She took notice of how hard it was to get rid of the solidified liquid on her hair strands. The times after that, Sakura brought a hair tie and a hat.

She was two months shy of ten years old when Noriko gave up on pushing Sakura to different career paths.

Instead, she told her of med-nin. Hard, just like a challenge the girl would love but safe, banned from the frontlines. The woman gave her a book on animal biology, said it was much easier and she could be a veterinarian if she wanted to, treating nin-animals. "Iryo-nin are nin too, you know. They might be weaker, but so is anyone that's not clan children! Come on, I have a friend that works at the hospital, I can ask her for the best books in the subject."

"That's wonderful, Noriko-san. I was trying to read more about anatomy."

"Good idea. You will be such an amazing doctor," The brunette beamed and pat the little girl's back in approval. Then she whispered with hardened dark irises, "Leave the frontlines to them, you could never be half the shinobi they are."

Sakura loved the [Illustrations and Essays of the Anatomy: A Treatise]. It was the thickest thing she have flipped through. An in-depth collage of dissected humans, notes compared to those of Tsunade-hime, Tobirama-sama, Chiyo-sama and unsourced specialists. Revolutionary nervous system breakthroughs, relationship between tenketsu and blood veins as well as the cardiovascular network. Things she had never thought the body contained. 

The flesh and bones and things that control them is an intricate design as much of a mystery as the realms of summons. The books estimated in twenty years the medical field could advance pivotally at a pace unimaginable if a second coming of the Slug Princess was born. The woman herself had fallen from grace, her last quantum leap invention was to do with bone regeneration using chakra. She was the greatest, the first woman, the first true medic who wrote the four clauses all villages abide. There were glory in that, Sakura thought, and dreamed of being someone good enough to sit on the throne the Senju woman sat. 

Sakura began her little notebook of ideas on biology.

Genes, DNA, the atoms and cells and other units of the body. The book contained not what she had learnt, but rather what she thought would be possible given the explanations of those texts. Her theories were wild and doesn't hold back on any laws of science. She never dissected anything before, and that was becoming an issue. She can not look at pictures and figure out something so labyrinthine. An image frozen in time was not the key to the living.

She would have to fix that.

[ Surgeons were so revered and rare in the medical field due to several reasons, two of them being lack of precision and inexperienced anxiety, inability to cope with high-stress situations.

A surgeon never started out as a surgeon, instead as a practitioner and provider of healthcare, focusing on things that are more bearable and ethically rigid.

Some people agreed surgeons are heartless and traded their humanity to be able to give life to the dying. "This is not entirely true" said Senju Tsunade in the Third Shinobi War, "It is the equal respect we give to the study of anatomy and the abstract life force...There is no successful surgeon who haven't been a murderer and harbinger of ends. To the left of a surgeon' morals is a psychopath and to the right, shinobi. They are separated by invisible borders. In the end, fear most the ones who mastered all three grounds."

//

Surgeons make sacrifices, like any other career do. The most successful surgeons Konoha (the most medically advanced village) produced were forged in war where they must perform fast and effective sessions. This can only be achieved if they have a complete understanding of the anatomy and kill more than they have saved. They must devote everything to perfect their craft and rehearsed performances yield optimal results, similar to a musician. 

Dr. Kinamoto, under the Nidaime's reign, revealed, "You need to make mistakes to learn and it does not need to be human, but the amount of rabbits and cats I've dissected can fill The Valley of The End. I will never be able to make up for it. It is the reality of the profession."

Another person, Dr.Tetsuki wrote in his controversial memoir, page fifty one, "An adequate surgeon use cattle or hunted animals to sharpen his skills. A good surgeon use dead humans as tester bodies. Corpses in hospital morgues wheeled in the dead of midnight to be excoriate and study. But the best surgeon use living specimens. That is where he no longer have the rights to decide where the line of sanity draws. He will not be call the best surgeon, he will be the devil reincarnated."  

…  ]

It was the frogs behind the alleyway that gave her the adrenaline those non-fiction recollections of soldiers described. The exhilaration that jolted her arms and ran down her calves. The blood on the ground and specks of it on the green green grass.

The creatures were ugly and brownish in colour. She squeezed them and watched in satisfaction as they pop and roll them until the liquids drain out like a sponge. It was a fun game of killing, but she needed to do more. Killing when unnecessary is evil, she remember Iruka-sensei's words. But in the books she read it said the more exposure with killing, the better, especially for non-clan children. 

Sakura caught her first rabbit behind the Hokage cliffs. She skinned it, although harder than the rats, it was absent of the smell of rotten trash. Death dyed her hands but she did not mind.

She liked the notion of being a surgeon, more so the notion of uncovering things even the greatest did not understand, experimenting what many were scared of to then see it come to fruition. Sakura wondered about the tens and hundred methods no books said was ever tried out that she thought out. Why don't they cauterize wounds with a refined katon? Why can't suiton users force blood flow? Would a zap of controlled and low voltage raiton be able to revive the heart? Can chakra become invasive and replace poison? Questions, questions no one had asked. Sakura wanted answers, she will find them herself.

She pulled at a tendon, the borrowed book and her notes laid beside her on the ground. At each pull, the muscles moved and the rabbit’s limbs retracted, then as she released, it eased out. The girl tugged on different tendons, then she caught another one, now knowing how to sharpen a kitchen knife with her mother’s cooking lessons, and experimented on the blood vessels. The arteries were easy to locate, the blood squirting out in swift succession, but smaller vessels were accidentally cut by her more often than not. She poked at its eyes and with a pinky, pushed it out from the socket. The sound was equally nauseating as when she gutted it. The eyes were tiny and slippery, Sakura thought maybe cows' eyes would give her a better look.

It was fascinating. Sakura did not have an obsessive love for anatomy as she did with history or psychology, but it had a special place in her heart.

Some rabbits after that, she tried to douse them with the little chakra she had (the first time she almost fainted) and they fell unconscious but remained breathing.

Cutting them open and alive was hard, the little creatures always bleed out in less than five minutes. Sakura worked faster. She was over her seventeenth rabbit when she could open and close the wounds with needles and stitches before it die of infection.

On her twenty ninth rabbit, Sakura got bored of it, thinking she might need to open a rabbit farm at that point. She usually fed whatever remains of her dissections to the murders of crow near the Naka river. The dead Uchiha did not seem to mind.

Two days later, she found a lost kunai in the area and brought it with her.

She caught a neighbourhood stray cat one day, it was weakened and skinny. Its ribs poking from its empty belly. It could not run. She killed it at once.

Sakura started to catch a homeless cat or dog a month. The white, brown, black rabbits were forgotten, devoured by black birds.

She stole chicken feet and sheep’s hearts at the market while buying her mother’s groceries. It took her several tries to get only a few of what she needed, incase of raising suspicions. The chicken feet were unsurprisingly tedious, the tendons were studied with the rabbits, after all. The sheep heart, though, looked very similar to the rarely depicted drawings of the human heart in the chuunin medical textbooks. The first time she tried cutting it open, she failed and slashed the wrong opening. The chambers were bloodier than she would like, considering it was supposedly cleaned by the butcher. It was a mess and it took her three more months to acquire another heart, unprocessed, with lungs intact—even if it was not a stable or popular ingredient, the owner noticed things. This time she was much more careful and aware of the lines of her little kitchen knife. Some parts, like when separating the heart and lungs, she had to make use of the kunai. It was blunt, but reached deeper than her small blade. The tip was good to make pre-cut lines for the knife, too.

When Sakura graduated from the Academy, Noriko looked somewhat sad. Then she told Sakura about a boy named Riku,

“He graduated from the Academy and his class was a Debut Class, same one as the Third's son and that Hatake monster. He was fated to an early grave. Three months after his graduation, he got a misranked mission, from D-rank to B-rank. He gave his life for it. The kunoichi from his team dissapeared into the shadows, the other one suicided. They were the last team Mikoto-sama took on before she retired.” The woman looked solemn as she took in the hands of the girl she had come to know three years ago, “Sakura-chan, you may be from a Debut Class, but you are civilian, like me, like Riku. You will die, sweetheart. I, we tried to tell you, but you never listened. It is never too late. You can decide to back off before the team assignment day.”

“Noriko-san…” Sakura wanted to say she had perfect understanding of chakra theory, of everything shinobi, of survival tactics and anatomy and she even practised on how to desensitise from killing! But Inner demanded it be kept secret, Sakura laughed inwardly and agreed. “I– I still want to be a kunoichi.” She lowered her head, partly out of shame and definitely out of avoiding the confrontation of a loving mother who lost her son in a genin mission. 

“Sakura! You’d get killed! You will fail the chuunin exam and your life would be for naught. They kill each other there.” There was anger, there was pain and there was the understanding of a civilian. That was why she never made it to chunin, Inner commented. "I have been too lenient with you, and the shinobi world will demand its prices paid."

“And?” She asked with no heat, green clashed with brown, “I’d prefer that than marriage. At least it postponed my shipment until I turn fifteen.”

Noriko looked at another kid she’d failed. 

They never meet each other again. The librarian was killed during the Konoha Crush, during the exam that Sakura failed. 

Sakura had long since conditioned herself not to mourn, after that Waves mission. Because if it was her body mashed to a pulp beneath the tonnes of debris, she knew no one would mourn.

Hope was a dangerous thing you could have, Noriko told her so, You can not hope anymore, you will be delusional and get yourself killed. 

Yet Sakura had it clutched tightly, suffocatingly in the embrace of her ribcage. If she die, she will take the world with her, and hope is dangerous only to the people who are not on her side.

Sakura hoped a hope that others wouldn't call it one.

Chapter Text

Sakura remembered the shade of blue that dyed the sky the day she entered the Academy. She learned half the names of her classmates through the roll and memorised the chipped out walls and worn down wooden doors. 

They've always said she had photographic memory. 

(Years later, Sakura became one of the three people ever to recall the Picture Elicitation test with nigh precision in a T&I psych evaluation at thirteen. The other two before her went on to be the youngest ANBU operator in The Five Elemental Nations' history and Head of Intelligent & Military Strategies, leading advisor of the Fourth Shinobi World War)

She can still recount what was carved on her desk by previous students. Wishes, names and silly doodles alike. There was a short sentence though, jagged letters crudely chiselled that looked like it was at least a decade old. The line wasn’t on the desk surface, it was on the side. The young kunoichi-hopeful didn’t really understand what it meant but she remembered anyway.

The day after Sakura turned twelve she was handed the silver plate in the middle of a strip of fabric with Konohagakure’s insignia on it and an ID that pronounced her genin. The swirl emblem carved deep into the material, a symbol of a land, a people, a Will of Fire. A reminder of a path undertaken by many, the great legacy of the Leaf carried on to the next pages of history. It was a coat of arms the ranks adorn on themselves, a badge to tell the world of their unyielding loyalty. Sakura belonged to the Leaf, it said, Sakura will die and bleed and love the Leaf like all those that came before her had. Like eight other children with stars in their eyes and tiny fingers cradling an object that signified the beginning of something great. 

Konoha did not lack stern teachings and strictly authoritative rules, though they were not crazed like the Bloody Mist, several elders had proposed following the survivor method to eliminate the weaker links. It was almost a slim miss when five out of ten Department Commanders advocate against the change. If the vote had favoured otherwise, Sakura would have died by the kunai thrown by a fellow student. It could have been Ino that accidentally slit her arteries, it could have been Sasuke that lodged the blade inside her temple, it could have been shy Hinata with the drive of survival or brash Kiba with the ferocity of a rabid hunter. But it was a ‘what if’ only few know about, a rumour among jounin and clan heads that faded from being mentioned in the inauguration of the latest generation of warriors. 

This year, less than ten of them still stood. A class with only one pawn, they said. The Debut Class, the Seventieth cohort, strongest yet to come.

A group of children whose battles and accomplishments will tell the world about Konoha. 

(And told the world, they did.)

Sakura ran her fingers across the cold surface, looking up from her place to the man that ruled her world. Her classmates—the ones meant for more since day one—in a single file line facing him. Each year, only a small amount of shinobi are made. They were filtered and evaluated harshly, decisions made by an old uncrowned king and his wisest subordinates. 

“Today, nine of our soldiers are made.” The Third Hokage stood before them, his head held high and his eyes sharp in the shadows of a hat heavier than most. “Graduated by the name of Konohagakure shinobi, the seventieth class of the Preparatory Academy had chosen its finest assets to join the military rank as genin. I, Sarutobi Hiruzen, the Third enacted Hokage, hereby grant them the rights of official adults, dutiful citizens whose last breath will be devoted to the Village.”

There were faint clapping in the background, subdued in appropriate volume and frequency. Sakura knew her parents weren’t there. They never asked about her exams except Kunoichi class, they called it 'Etiquette class'—a subject of arranging flowers, sweet lies and practising smiles; never picked her up from school even in stormy weather and early release emergencies; never liked any questions about anything shinobi.

She was happy they weren’t there. For what good would they do in a room of killers and killers-to-bes acting like the Haruno Tradings control the entire economic ground? She wasn’t sad, Naruto and Sasuke’s parents weren’t there either. They’re dead, Inner said. Not that Sakura forgot. 

The room went to absolute silence again and Hokage-sama took the seat on the higher stage, posture straight and casting downward to them. 

If not for the nine inexperienced pre-teens in the middle of it all, the room full of half the important figures of the village would have been a national, high security meeting. It was suffocating. She could not breathe. She wished she never breathed at all.

Haruno Sakura, at the end of the line to the left, graduated with top marks and kunoichi of the year, stepped forward.

The whirlpool of giddiness people talked about wasn’t there, instead, something else watchful and strange clawed inside her. Like a punch of realisation, images after enlightenment, dark and vicious, it was terrifyingly unfamiliar. Inner hadn't seemed to mind.

She felt the burning gaze of observants, all that ranked higher than her and all that rank as low as her but worth much more.

She was the least important person in the room, the title of her graduation aside. Sakura gently raised the blade she was given by a chunin and slash it across her left palm. With her right hand thumb, she swiped it across the line of blood and pressed it lightly on the parchment laid on the ground. Her fingerprint a pretty shade of red darker than her dress, bold and neat ontop of the off-white.

Next, she stood, said, “I pledge allegiance to Konohagakure and the people which she stands for: one state, invincible, formidable and virtuous. I sincerely swear that I will support and defend Konohagakure no Sato, Hi no Kuni against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will always obey orders given by the Hokage or orders given by commanders appointed over me.” Then, rule 1, section I of the Shinobi Codes, the pink haired girl recited in an even tone, “A shinobi must strive for the greatest standard, must show the tenacity of someone worthy of the power he or she willed.”

(She will fulfil her declaration with steps that vertebrates the power flowing inside her and infinite endeavours of knowledge she restlessly strive after)

Following the steps, Yamanaka Ino, from her right side, stepped up and they switched places. The heiress, second kunoichi of the year said the allegiance then rule 2 section I, “A shinobi must always follow their commander’s instructions and never question authority in any circumstances.”

(She will fulfil her oath with a bled out commander in her arms telling her to retreat)

Next, Aburame Shino did the same and said rule 3, section I of the Shinobi Codes, “A shinobi must not show emotions, especially as an active operator, lest she or he fail because of that.”

(He will fulfil his statement with unshed tears at the fallen scene of comrades he has yet to befriend)

Then Uchiha Sasuke with rule 4, section I, “A shinobi must never stray from what he or she gave absolute fidelity to and always prioritise the mission above all else.” 

(He will fulfil his affirmation with unassailable goals and a mission he could never give up on)

Then Akimichi Chōji, Hyūga Hinata, Nara Shikamaru, Inuzuka Kiba and Uzumaki Naruto. The blond stepped up last, his brilliant cerulean eyes smiling in jovial, stumbling over the words of a phrase he seriously took time to remember, “A shinobi must never forget their roots. All they take from the village, they give back to the village. Konoha is the one and only faith.”

(He will fulfil his recitation with heart on his sleeves and love never draining for the place of his birth)

That day, soldiers were forged and the future crooked a little, titled a fraction and darkened in the corners. Too much expectations, too much praise for those with hands that undoubtedly will be bathed in blood and unblemished skin that will be littered with unsalvageable scars. 

“Very well.” The man exclaimed. “May you bring us a Konoha never seen before.” And for twenty or more times he had said it in the past, he finally meant it, then. He saw their flames, ones of many colours, many shades he could not name.

The Sandaime was old and for once, he believed in the things repeated over and over since he had been but a child. 

Sakura shoved her hitai-ate deep inside her pocket on the way home.

She had hid it under her pillow, occasionally tapping on it with her nails throughout the night. It was the most valuable thing she owned, the metal unchipped and polished to the point of reflecting like a hand mirror. She wasn’t particularly thrilled, disappointingly. It was a hitai-ate and that was all. 

Her world didn’t end when she was twelve. Her world didn’t begin when she was a kunoichi of the Leaf, either.

It was terribly anticlimactic despite how formal the ceremony was. They got a fashion accessory, a card with a portrait taken two months ago and told that they’re ready to kill for the village they have known some more than a decade ago.

It was easy to sacrifice in a village where much of it is needed. The freshly appointed kunoichi looked at the metal glint and recalled the fact that almost one third of the children there with her were orphans, that according to statistics, at least two of them will be killed on a mission in the next few years and even go missing at a later point. There were graduation classes before hers, struggling to adulthood with less than a handful survivors. She knew hers was a Debut Class, gemstones that can not be replaced, but that was what they are and not what she is.

Like any generation, Debut Class or not, some will take more lives than others, one or two will be named the genius of their generation, others in turn would be the failure of the generation. Perhaps Sakura would be the latter, like her mother and father had always told her.

She also knew how last names work. Where she came from they meant a life carved out and responsibilities predetermined. Her last name was insignificant. Who would ever be intimidated by a field of spring? It wasn't worth a folder in the Archives, she was sure. So was Naruto—she couldn’t find any ‘Uzumaki’ section in the Academy library—and hoped that if her fate was as predicted then he would suffer the same. He didn’t.

Sakura was not happy, she was not sad. She was angry at the world, maybe in anticipation, but it could be mistaken for fear.

But Sakura wept for she knew after that night she was no longer a girl, untamed rage pooled in her chest of the acknowledgement that she will die soon, she will die young and her death sentence had been hung the moment she left that room. 

The day after, Iruka-sensei told them to write their future selves letters about what they wish to achieve and who they wish to become. 

The chalkboard wrote I hope in the future you are… as a sentence starter with words like ‘a good shinobi’, ‘a carrier of the Will of Fire’ and ‘a strong leader’ scattered around.

The blond who sat next to her loudly pronounced his career as a Hokage and Sasuke-kun's face seemed to say he knew what to write down. They busied themselves into their own worlds. Worlds too far from her reach. A world that didn't, and will never (she later found out), have a place for her. They weren't her sun and she doesn't spin around them like a toy with a clockwork mechanism. 

Sakura had stared at her blank page. The kids that sat around exchanged their dreams with each other in hushed discussion as their teacher walked around to help. She listened to what her classmates said. "I want to be a loved shinobi, everyone will love a hero like me coming to save them!” Inuzuka Kiba said. She thought she might want to be a good kunoichi, a feared one instead of loved. It was easier to survive in a world that adored killers if you were feared. Love was a term equivalent to trouble and tragedy.

Akimichi Chōji chimed in shyly, "I want to be a good leader of my clan." She was clanless so that answer wasn't something she can take note from.

Sakura focused back. She didn’t want to write something like ‘I hope you live to marry Sasuke-kun’ because it would be awful if it didn't happen. Something like a life-long embarrassment, especially when everyone's wishes seemed so ambitious and grand. She wasn't exactly fond of the boy, contrary to popular beliefs. But if it means she can blend in and be anything short of genius, then so be it, he'll be her crush. 

Sakura was quick to connect things, and she was quick enough to connect 'genius' and 'exploitation' too. She laid low, stayed quiet and made sure she did not graduate early. Not like her taijutsu scores would have let her, though.

Nothing good comes from early graduations. 

Not all early graduates are barbarous, but all those that are barbarous are early graduates. Names that became tentative whispers among the high ranking shinobi. Names that never reach the walls of the Academy. They never taught Sakura about the killers and their ways, something clan libraries had plenty of; they taught her how to kill and tell her not to be remorseful. 

She had a perfect score on her Homicidal Tactics and Strategy topic test, first of her class. It was not an optional question test. Her essay was copied to be of example for future children, uncredited. 

Haruno Sakura got a perfect score on Intro to Psychology and knew twenty eight ways to kill a man without spilling blood when she was twelve. No one questioned how the last person who achieved such academic results was in every village's Bingo Book, now it was Sakura with her lower than mediocre sparring matches and syrupy smiles. No one questioned, they really should have. But they didn't, they never did.

Sakura was disadvantaged by this system before the race even started. In the end, she managed, and the system benefited her. What is there to be cautious about a kid with naivety as her jacket and inferior as her bloodline? Many, many things, but Konoha will learn of it far in the future when their sandcastles come tumbling down. 

“Sakura-chan? Do you need any help?” Iruka-sensei knelt down when he saw her unmoving form. She went rigid under his attention. He was a fair educator, but he was just a man.

“No sensei. I- I just want to think about it more.” She answered timidly. 

Her chance of even graduating was already impossible, she knew the statistics. She was the only civilian in the graduating class of clan heirs and heiresses, except Naruto, but she's sure he's got something special too. Plus, he was a boy. And she was nothing. But she was so furious because what was wrong with being a girl? With no legacies and nepotism at her command? 

Naruto was a boy and he was the only other kid who wasn't a clan heir but he had more chances at becoming a successful shinobi than she was. He had more chances at becoming stronger and even if aspirational, more chances at being respected. So the green eyed girl was furious with the boy who had golden hair. He didn't understand. But she loathed the world more than she should Naruto, a bright example of its product, so she restrained herself from bullying the kid like everyone else seemed to like. They had other reasons to do that, she never understood any of it, but she was furious with him for a different reason and she knew he was innocent. 

The teacher nodded absentmindedly after her answer and moved on to see Naruto finished with his one-sentence answer. The man sighed then began to lecture the boy with whiskered cheeks.

She turned back to her page and brought the tip of her pen down. It got absorbed into the paper and a splotch of ink slowly formed. It got bigger until she pulled her hand away to see a big black circle, almost tearing a hole onto the white paper. Sakura exhaled and started her letter. 

‘To future Sakura,

I hope in the future I will not die young and useless. I hope you, future me, have moved out to a genin apartment. That we could support ourselves and be more than what they think we could. I hope you live happily   confidently proudly–’ 

She smiled a little at that. Proudly. That'll be her word. She might not be able to amount to anything but pride she will carry. The pride of a first generation shinobi. Pride of a kunoichi. Of a woman. A girl.

Iruka suddenly clapped his hand and she jolted, “Alright class. We’re out of time. If you haven’t finished, do it for homework and hand it to me when you’re ready.”

Sakura never finished the second sentence in her letter. She never handed it in, either. Because it was scrunched up then torn to shreds and burnt with the same fire that burnt her skin. With the same fire of the matches that her mother had used for their candles and stove. She didn't cry that night, for she realised the moment she became kunoichi she would live like one until her death. The fourth clause, Shino’ turn, said that she should not show emotions.

Sakura never cried after that, and it angered her parents immensely. 

"A woman shall strive to be pretty and lovable, not proud of herself. Never be proud. Men do not like ladies that hold themselves proudly. Good civilian men do not like ladies who are kunoichi, either." Her mother squeezed her shoulder blades with so much force she felt her bones cracking beneath. "Love, my daughter, you are nothing if you can not be what I needed you to be." 

The next day, Sakura went to school with a burnt on her thigh and an excuse that she accidentally put her letter in the bin.

Sakura was too careful with anything assigned by the Academy to do that. It was a poor excuse. But any excuse is acceptable when they don't care. No one did.

Head in the clouds, the table had read.

Chapter Text

  Haruno Sakura was fourteen years, eleven months and twenty five days old when she was walking down the civilian district for the last time. 

 She was paying her parents a visit after a 9 hour shift at the hospital. Yesterday they had called for a family meeting. She stopped by the market to buy her parents a basket of fruits. They were merchants so they’d know if she didn’t buy the best oranges or the highest quality apples. There were things she planned and things she haven't. This was one of the things she haven't, but it won't affect what she needed to do that day.

"Are you buying that, girl?" The shopkeeper rolled her eyes and commented snidely. "If not then leave missy. Psst, these useless shinobi nowadays," Momentarily realizing that it’d cost her half of her paycheck that month, Sakura breathed out and buy them anyway.

When she knocked on the door of the house that bled through her sleeps, Sakura didn’t get a welcoming smile or an understanding look when she showed up sleep deprived and bedraggled. Instead, her mother took the fruit basket away before she could enter the house. After, Mebuki held her forearm and led her to the living room where the curtains were drawn shut and a large decorative china vase stood in the corner like how she’d remembered it; The old kettle was boiling in the kitchen top; then there were the various documents splayed across the table top and a kimono box that sat next to a red paper. Sakura knew what it was. She didn’t ask.

Mebuki and Kizashi despised the shinobi life—that, she knew well. It was one reason she’d taken up the leasing documents for an old, rathole of a single genin department.

Sakura’s mother announced to her that she had arranged a suitor for her daughter. The middle aged woman goaded how all the other civilian girls are either married or to be married.  “He’s from a nice family. He’s got a merchant business, Sakura, you won’t have to worry about your husband not coming home every time he leaves the door.” Her mother chided, “Shinobi is taking you away from us. Now it’s time for you to do our family name a favor. That man has many wives but I’m sure not one as young and as pretty as you. You will be loved.”

 Her father never talked a lot, not to her, anyway. But he looked at her and gave her a shinobi resignation form, “We’ve put all your information on, so be thankful. The marriage papers are on the table. Your mother and I have chosen the wedding dress.”

Haruno Sakura stiffened. Momentarily, she willed herself to not cause collateral damage in a civilian neighbourhood. Her eyes found the leather whip on the chair behind the blond woman. She lowered her head, “Yes, otou-sama.” 

“Oh my, the water must have been ready. Let me pour you tea.” Mebuki said and walked away. Soon she reemerged with a tray in her hand and settled it on the table. The woman smiled warmly and held up the teapot. “Sakura, come. I’ll give you a cup.” Then she stood more straightened and added, “Don’t sit when you aren’t allowed.”

“Hai, oka-sama.” She answered obediently. 

Sakura stepped towards her mother and knelled down. The woman strode behind her.

The hot water was scalding as it splashed across her back. Her scalp felt like someone smeared tar on it then lit it on fire. Sheer pain jolted her body and she stopped listening to the murmuring of her parents. The droplets travelled down her neck and she knew her shirt was wet and would smell like cheap allergic tea leaves that leave rash marks. Her muscles tensed. Sakura restrained herself from touching her neck, the burning sensation was bone deep. Then there was nothing. Her skin charred and she could see the lesser affected area where the water rolled in lines down her arms. It left pink skin streaks and reminded her of the Snake Sannin.

She didn’t feel anything else as the last drop of tea dripped down to her socks.

Good thing she was an excellent medic.

Kizashi continued grimly, not sparing a glance her way, “I heard what they say about you. About your teammates, your teacher and master.” Then Mebuki promptly added, 

“The blond boy’s a monster, you know, he killed so many of us that night. The Uchiha is cursed and is an awful lot like his traitorous brother. Your sensei, we’ve heard, is a friend killer, a murderer. You never know when he'll strike on you.”

“What did they say about their Godaime? I don’t think I’ve heard.” She asked innocently, deciding to play into the conversation. Her tone was sickeningly sweet and girlish. Her palm glowed as it hovered on top of her peeled skin and mend them back carefully.

Her father finally looked, something akin to condescending in his eyes, “Oh, love, she’s a gambler and a drunken mess. One day she’d gamble this land away! Who’d have let a woman rule a village anyways?”

She picked up the resignation form and folded it neatly to put in her pocket. Her hand still trembled from the damaged nerves she was half-way through recovering. Her tongue wet her lower lip and she felt the pull of energy inside her, around her, exuding in furious intensity form her parents. The medic breathed, her chakra core tightened.

“When is it?” Sakura asked, “The wedding.” She stared at the papers, voice almost eager.

Her parents seemed to breathe out in relief, they told her they were glad she thought things straight. “At the end of the month,” They said. “He’d come to Konoha to get you. He lives in the Iron Country, in the civilian side. He has guards who are Samurai of the Iron, you know? It’s much better than shinobi anyway.”

"I will make known of the Haruno name."  She replied. She will. 

She’s got a plan sorted out, she reminded herself. The Haruno wasn't hers (no spoiled salmon colored hair) and Sakura wasn't theirs (A kunoichi, a fighter, a healer, a lover of ruined life forces). It was just a name she was born into, a footnote in the grand schemes of things fate built for her.

She won't be marrying a stranger worth her father’s age or handing in that resignation form to her own Hokage. 

She’s going to T&I. 

Eyes speak for themselves more time than the lips ever do. 

Naruto saw an open field of grass, Sasuke saw green sea glass while Kakashi found jade stones that shine in sunlight. 

They didn’t see her. Naruto saw freedom in those irises, he thought her eyes look like they’re smiling themselves. Sasuke saw fragility, he believed all that her eyes were doing was shedding tears. Kakashi found an illusion of a kunoichi he couldn’t save, a Rin waiting to happen.

The pink haired girl’ eyes darted around lazily. Her standard kunoichi heels clicked against the cold floor as she greeted the head of Intelligence “Yamanaka-san” instead of “Inoichi oji-san”. 

The man in question peered his eyes from his desk, something like guiltiness was crafted into feign welcomeness. Sakura was once almost a family friend to the Yamanaka. 

Ino and Sakura. Inseparable friendship turned into a fallout of vicious glares and hurtful words over a childish crush. 

Inoichi knew last winter the two had rekindled their relationship with the effort to band together into their small group of four—something he overheard to be like ‘kunoichi for kunoichi’. Sakura had visited the flower shop more often after a mission but regularly missed the blonde and vice versa when Ino stopped by the pink hair’s apartment to find it empty. A regular genin would do sparse D or B ranks at most three times a week when the masks were required to follow demanding dangerous jobs with little breaks in between. This was mainly because the two have clashing mission schedules.

Inoichi didn’t know if his daughter was made aware of the nature of the ANBU job. Sakura’s identity in the shadows was highly classified; it wouldn’t surprise him if none of her friends knew. He wasn’t involved in her advancement when she leaped in the ranks–her current position was mostly pushed by Hokage-sama so none of the higher-ups questioned. Though without contextual information regarding Sakura status, he was still one in power to intervene. He saw a child slip into the greedy hands of Elders and forced to serve the village (just because she is an asset they can afford to lose, not any of the other children) and he let it happened.

Clan heirs, Jinchuuriki and various predetermined career placements as pillars of Konoha, Sakura’s graduating class was hailed with too much hope. With a less than mediocre family history and the blood that proved full civilian, the girl even if she showed potential, had a name anyone would overlook. She was the only civilian-born who passed the test; he had heard speculations that she’d be quick to drop out and take part in the family's merchant business or be a career-genin. 

The Yamanaka clan owed her a debt, he later found out.

Years later, Tsunade-sama had said Danzo demanded a young medic to join ANBU when she started training both girls. It wasn’t wise to give up Ino, an heiress of one of the most important clans. Yet she was unable to let go of Sakura who showed impeccable chakra control and unassuming intelligence suitable for a promising predecessor. Unknown to either candidate, their files were sent to the Head Quarters to be processed in order to choose one.

Sakura came to be the logical (expendable) choice, in the end.

Inoichi was impressed with how much she grew in the past years, but to be absorbed into ANBU, he won’t doubt she had compartmentalized, as expected from the forces. He gave her a strained smile and nodded to acknowledge her presence “Third room to the left, Corridor 2.” He instructed.

It was an annual check-up for Konoha ANBU. She was appointed a mask and accepted it nine months ago. Here, she's not Sakura. Here, she was Sheep. Sheep for innocence, for obedience, for weakness, for all the things that ANBU aren’t . But Tsunade had said it fit her, because Sheep was for perseverance, for determination and endurance. All the things that she was.

Being an operator doesn’t mean she stopped being anything else. Doesn’t mean she stopped being a submissive daughter. Doesn’t mean she wasn’t still under tutelage and expectations of the great Senju Princess. Doesn’t mean she stopped working for the hospital when her ANBU team didn’t have any missions—especially when Hound returned to service recently and wiped out the missions at the speed of Naruto inhaling his ramen. 

There were words about her. Passed around like some bids in a casino.

"Konohagakure and its people leaned so much on gossip - else the entire social network could collapse" , her Master remarked once when Shizune reported dissatisfaction in the civilian district regarding her leadership role. 

Team 7 had never ceased to be the fascination in older men’ coffee meetups or the housewives with children attending the Academy. They were suddenly set as the exemplar for ‘do-not-be-like’ lessons taught to kids.

Their team dissolvement letter came in her mailbox seven days after Naruto left without a goodbye, thirty days after Sasuke left with resolve to accept some shady offer. 

‘Dear Haruno Sakura,

As of XX-XX-XXX your training team has been officially disbanded with the approving stamp from the Godaime Hokage. You have two weeks to take action in regard to this letter. You can either, 

• Find an internship/apprenticeship under someone tokubetsu-jounin rank and above. Their signature is required for the Department of Personnel Management to keep you as an active shinobi.

• You can fill a career resigning form and return your hitai-ate as well as your relevant Identifications to the Council.’

That was when Sakura wept for a week and marched to the Hokage office the week after, demanding the best kunoichi she knew to take her in. 

Nonetheless, this decision only further made Team 7 to be a bad name. The last of the team hiding under the Hokage shadow, feeding off of pity from the Slug Sannin like a blood sucking mosquito.

Saying the number 7 out loud always left a bad taste in her tongue, it felt surreal yet she knew it wasn’t untrue how atrocious they turned out to be. A neglectful sensei with a past most people fear and few people despite, a boy who committed treason at the ripe age of thirteen and a delinquent who wore human skin to hide his bloody monster. Then there was her, ever being ‘the girl’ because ‘less than average’ was somehow worse than any adjectives used to describe her former teammates. 

So Sakura didn’t care about the scrutiny and assessing eyes, she didn’t shy away from the whispering rumours. 

“It’s that useless girl again.”

“Godaime probably was out of her mind when putting her in for the mask.”

The man snickered, “Her whole team is doomed to fail. She was probably just shoved into the same team because they didn't have enough people. She didn’t pass the chunin exam, figures.” 

She wanted to retort, to say I was busy getting killed by a Jinchuuriki after going against three sound-nin after getting attacked by a Black Coded S-rank Sannin in the span of a month. But remained silent, acting oblivious as if her ears weren’t coated with chakra to enhance her hearing. She had hurt so much it doesn't hurt anymore.

“I’ll tell you a secret. Godaime wanted to put her in the inter-village squad that they’re preparing against Akatsuki.” His friend made a surprised but displeased sound. “But Kazekage himself demanded that she be removed. Even Mizukage seemed hesitant. It was so shameful for Konoha.”

“Kami, really? Tch, the kunoichi are all useless sluts anyway, what an embarrassment to our reputation. We really fell behind other villages when we allowed those leeches to go into the higher ranks like us. Housewife is their job and they couldn't even do it properly.”

She stopped listening and opened the door she was appointed to. It creaked creepily as she pushed by the metal knob.

Morino Ibiki sat in the middle of the room.

Her eyes darted up to see Mitarashi Anko standing behind him like a shadow. She didn't bother searching for their expressions.

There were two chairs facing each other and a wooden table in between. Two light bulbs dangling above the unplaster ceilings, they popped in and out in a terribly off-tune frequency.

Sakura was familiar with the concrete walls and gloomy settings, so she wasn’t surprised. But to have the Head of Torture and Interrogation with his assistant who specialized in Torture to do a mere psych check was definitely overkill.

“Haruno Sakura, a Team 7 member, made genin two and a half years ago. One A-rank, ten C-rank and thirty one D-rank missions before ANBU.” He shuffled the documents in his hands, “Those are your only description we are sure of. But your ANBU profile,” He held up a page and turned it to face her, "are all redacted due to confidentiality. The Hokage, the Elders, Department Heads and I are those who have higher access to all of ANBU profiles.”

The page was black lines after black lines with her name on the top left corner. Under it was the date she joined and her mask description. 

“Why am I unable to access this information?” He demanded, “While at it, I want to discuss your unstable psychology too. Some shinobi have come to report this and I’ve decided to flag it as a threat.”

“They are redacted for national security purposes, sir. As per my psychology, I advise you to take a look at my recent eval.” She held their eye contact and drew her lips into a straight horizontal line.

Anko quirked an amused brow but didn't comment on the girl's boldness. Ibiki’s face was still as ever, he set his jaw tight, “Who do you serve, Haruno?”

“The Village, of course. I pledged allegiance to the shinobi loyalty of Konohagakure when I graduated, didn't I?” Sakura asked sarcastically then rolled her eyes. “Who else, pray tell, do you think sir?”

"I asked for a who, not a what." He set the paper down. "The typical answer we expect out of that question is the Hokage."

In any other circumstances, precisely with any other sane person, Ibiki’ stare would send anyone to immediate confession or a fight-or-flight response. The pink haired medic seemed perfectly fine if not comfortable inside a cement box with no windows. The man closed his eyes and let out a breath, “According to my intel, you were never officially promoted to Chunin or Jounin. You made a leap from Genin to ANBU. Last time that happened we produced an internationally feared murderer who had a clan massacre as his prelude.”

At that, Sakura chuckled, “Just your luck then, old man. Just this place’s luck with their moulded child soldiers.”

Anko peered over Ibiki's shoulders and saw him finish noting something down hastily. Unstable//To be considered for defiling from ANBU//Psych check under investigation. She mentally filed the interaction in her brain to ask questions about it later. She was starting to see why the brat caught so much bad attention on herself.

Sakura finished the supposed interrogation and shunshin out of the room as soon as she was dismissed.

She walked the main corridor and glanced at the clerks, her green eyes sharp as a spear aimed at their heads.

Those in T&I that day did not see eyes that could smile or eyes that cry or eyes that reflect ones’ memories. Those in T&I that day saw a pair of violent eyes. 

Chapter Text

Konoha has an unfair amount of blue skies, Sakura thought. But that day the clouds seemed to creeped down to the Hokage cliffs in rolls of greys, its shadows large and overwhelming, falling over the faces, just like the namesake of their title. 

Her apartment complex was in the hem of the shinobi neighborhood, a little worn down with no heating system and poor ventilation except the large window at her bed and kitchen. It was the cheapest place she could rent out with her pay check—ANBU missions gave her above average income, but that money is stashed away in the sealing scrolls deep within her kitchen cabinet. She didn’t find moving out of her first genin apartment to be an appealing idea. Alas, not many people would assume she lived here and the landlord doesn’t do frequent check-ins; the neighbors are placidly quiet, too. She thought they must be on long-term missions when she caught sight of them once or twice a year.

It’s not like she was home often, either. 

Her door had a coat of scraped out green paint that no one bothered to go over to make it more presentable, there was no keyhole like at her parents’. None of the doors in shinobi houses does, though. They all prefer to take more security measures like layers of protection seals, booby traps or activation devices. The most common set up was the chakra signature seal, most likely can’t be faked.

Most likely. 

Because when she stepped into the comfort of eerie silence, there was a white envelope in the middle of her dining table.

Nothing seemed out of place. There were no traces of breaking in.

The door was selective to whom it opened when they fed it chakra and Sakura made sure no one but she herself could enter. She huffed an incredulous laugh and approached the table. 

Her dinner from yesterday was still there, the cold mug of coffee across from it. Alcohol bottles were littered across the floors with small broken pieces around, its sharp edges glazed with dried blood. The broken glass glistered from the faint sunlight that escaped from her ugly curtains. 

She was summoned on short notice the night before to aid an extensive surgery—then coerced into a long hospital shift.

Now that she noticed, her clothes must have reeked with blood and disinfectants. No wonder her mother gave her a head to toe boiling hot tea shower. The smell faded, but it was definitely there. 

Sakura flipped the envelope back and forth. There was no name or symbol on it. Tearing it open was not an option when the paper stayed intact as she pulled on the corners. Reaching into her weapon pouch, the kunoichi attempted to cut it open with her kunai. That wasn’t a successful act. 

“Tsk. Do you want me to read this or not?” She muttered annoyedly.

 Internally cursing on whatever special effect this paper had, she channeled chakra into her finger tips. If that doesn’t work, she might just try to use a fire jutsu or throw it out somewhere. The envelope suddenly was aflame the moment her chakra was absorbed, it spreaded from four corners and met in the middle to reveal a letter folded neatly inside. The ashes were an undesirable, messy byproduct, she decided, and felt like she might want to murder whoever wrote her this. 

There are a few suspects on the sender, it could range anywhere from ROOT to her own shishou, even the pedophilic man that wanted to marry her wasn’t out of the list. 

‘H. S,

Assemble four kilometers NW from Konoha borders, inside the Silk village. Use your sensor abilities. Nowhere after 0200.’ 

“Right…Akatsuki . Jerks. What a way to hire someone there.” In honesty, it was an honor to be invited into the organization; but she was asked to hold onto the offer, demanding that she wait for more updates since the last time they met. 

It was an unexpected encounter with two S-rank missing-nins during one of her night walks in Training Ground 44, bare feet in the nightgown she rarely has a chance to wear.

 Deidara made no subtle entrance while Sasori lurked like some sort of ghost in the branches.

“Hey no need to tense up, Pinky. It’s not like we want to start a war with Land of Fire, kinda lame, y’know. We’re here for goodwill and harmony.” There was some mildly insane type of excitement laced within the sentence, Sakura refrained herself from snorting.  

Goodwill and harmony, my ass.

The blond gave out member benefits that somehow seemed more desirable than what she got from her ANBU job.

 Free food, he said, and no tax. What they received on their missions will be all theirs.

She had been half convinced to follow them at that—Konoha usually tax twenty five percent of her monthly income. With her skills to perform higher ranking missions, she’d be much richer in a few months with a criminal gang than she could ever be in a legal village system in years. 

 The offer extended further from that. Sasori looked like he didn’t want to be there, though the pink haired girl can hardly tell from his disturbing puppet body. But he did tell her, in all nonchalant: “We have the best genjutsu and bukijutsu specialists in the world if you are interested. This isn’t a meagre invitation, it’s rather a disposition requirement of sorts. Because you know what happens if you decline.”

Seeing her glare and balled fists, Deidara faked being concerned, perhaps not all of his overly dramatic act as fake. “ ‘We won’t kill you’ was what Sasori-danna meant. The organization would find ways to foist you into the ranks, however.” He hummed and thought about himself. Apparently it was quite a widely known struggle to convince the younger version of him into Akatsuki back then. He came around eventually, like they all did. An offer for fame, money, protection and power was something they couldn’t pass up on with ease.

Sakura considered for a moment. 

Not only did Konoha lack resources but she was also sidelined at receiving any training from her genin instructor. Tsunade stopped teaching her new things when she was deemed competent enough with chakra enhanced strength and advanced medical capability.

Sakura was at a stall for growth when people her age developed new techniques constantly with throughout teaching from clans and personal internships. It eased her a small fraction when she successfully taught herself to manipulate chakra blades and used her medical knowledge to start researching about poisons. Things that Sasori said— with growing her skillset with the strongest group of shinobi—was something textbooks become abysmal at compared to hands-on instruction. 

Sakura held herself from accepting the offer immediately, saving some dignity. 

Having a chance to leave this rotten place she was born in was a chance that probably won’t come again. If she had left without a supporting force, capturing her for treason would not be a difficult task if a shinobi of Kakashi’s caliber got involved. Instead of giving a direct answer, she had questions. 

“You think I wouldn’t suspect if the most dangerous association decided to invite a no-name like me into their ranks? If this is a joke then it is very badly written, considering how they said you two were obsessed with ‘art’, I think you’ve got no humor.”

Deidara had bent over laughing at that. Almost loud enough that she wondered if any night-shift border guards could hear. If they could have, she wouldn’t be surprised if they are incapacitated already. 

“Don’t play the fool. It doesn’t suit you.” Sasori spoke flatly. 

“For one, Pinky, Akatsuki have access to a lot of information, with people like Itachi-danna it’s way too easy for Leader-sama to get your files. We need a medic, or something like that. Hm.”

She retorted, “I thought you did fine without one, being almost immortals and all that?”

The ex-Suna spoke again, this time with more irritation, “We need to sustain our forces, unlike what the ninja villages think, we aren’t stupid. Additionally, your potential at chakra control is something that we can put into good use.”

Sakura knew she wouldn’t stand a chance in confronting them with violence, they’re far more terrifying than any of her previous enemies, Orochimaru not counted.

Akatsuki wouldn’t waste time on mere A-ranks, not unless they see what the individual’s village couldn’t. From what she had learnt about their members, not only did you need to have an impressive presentation of skill but also dissatisfaction with your village to be able to be considered. How many of those job interview boxes could a genin medic tick? 

Sakura knew the importance of medics on a team dynamic: most casualties were, at base, due to unprofessional medical attention, or lack thereof during missions. She also knew that ANBU commanders would fight each other to get a medic on their team, something she vaguely remembered them describing as a ‘luxury’. Majority of the medical practitioners weren’t skilled enough to be sent on missions so the ‘medics’ that were regulated within ANBU either needed extra protection or were just shinobi with other specialization but know enough first aid to save a life. Since it was something hard to come by and went unnoticed by the higher-ups, her abilities were kept a secret within ANBU team Sa.

Most young shinobi didn't want to choose a healthcare career when it was the plain support role, nothing else. 

Aspiring to be a hero, to protect your village, to make your parents proud usually doesn’t include being anything other than a front-line combatant. Unless their clan were specialized in other departments like Tracking or Intelligent, most clan kids have limited options. That resulted in the societal belief that medic-nin are weaker and thus weren’t needed in a strong team setting—despite various proofs otherwise. ANBU were the only place they regard proper medical attention as fundamental, partially due to the many life-or-death situations they encounter on a basis.

 So, she was half taken aback when Sasori referred to Akatsuki as stupid if they didn’t want a medic. 

"I have a counter-request." Sakura wanted this to be everything or nothing at all. The nature of a doctor's job is not doing things half-assed. "I want you, Akasuna no Sasori, to provide me with your entire poison collection for research. I also wish to have one-on-one training with at least half of your members. In return, I will research and cure whatever ailments your members may possess."

"That is a decision not made by me. Although we do promise you will be provide with enough instruction and material to become a Black coded kunoichi as it suits our best intentions." Was the reply she got.

Akatsuki honored their words, no matter how much they were antagonized by the general public so she wasn't worried. Yet. What their words promise is something she would not taken all seriously, no. The two strands of thought would be the definition of a dichotomy themselves.

A Black coded shinobi is far more closer to being an invincible immortal than human sane and in flesh. 40% of shinobi are Green coded, 45% Yellow, 10% Orange and 4% Red. Because Black code was something ever granted to names and monikers that can wage war and finish one just as effortlessly. The type of code reserved for Kage and Akatsuki and a few certified psychopaths on the loose. People who defied death and fate in life all the same.

Sakura had a goal to not meet any of the Black codes, with the exception of her Hokage, and thus improve her survival by at least fifty percent. 

Haruno Sakura, 'a Black coded kunoichi' made Naruto's Hokage dream to be a bowl of congee in comparison. If any teenager could be a killing machine then a dead ancient alien could be revived any day and she wouldn't even flinch. 

No one would believe her if she had reported that she was out for a walk at 2am and went home with an invitation that the people with the highest bounty in any Bingo Books receive. Maybe they'd book her another round of pointless T&I. 

The idea was as surreal as her state of mind. So Sakura had kept it for herself. 

She ran home.

Lying on the hardwood floor decorated with her own brand of interior taste—discolored blood and other trinkets that could probably deck her a place in a psych ward, she thought about her life in the village. Little broken blades pinned old photographs to her bathroom door, mirror shards that were still big enough for use, a closet of chemicals that could probably dissolve a whole body if she measured it correctly, ripped or broken furniture and empty unnamed pill packages. You can’t blame a doctor for their thirst of understanding anatomy, you can’t tell a kunoichi to cease her paranoia. Sakura was both, and she was glad it wasn’t a sight made to the public. 

The times Ino had tried to visit, she had not been completely occupied—just hiding. Not hiding, not avoiding, she doesn’t want to think of herself a coward, unlike how most of the villagers were convinced so. She had her secrets and they are meant for keeping. 

This village had kept secrets from its own children. Naruto was a secret. Sasuke was a secret. Hell, except for her, they were all national secrets. 

The good thing about being a pawn was that she got to live and do whatever she wanted within the bounds of her higher powers. The bad thing about being a pawn was that there would be no hesitation in being sacrificed. Not even Konoha, "the village of peace and comradeship" would flinch sending their brethen into a war. 

Haruno Sakura knew her name will never amount to that of her generation. She was supposed to be replaced at one point, and the departure of her male teammates meant they've thrown a wrench into some elder's plans. She was sure of it. Really, the whole apprentinceship under the Godaime was a last-chance toss of a coin. 

It wasn't what they had wanted for her. She peservered, nonetheless. There was a huge circus line strung before her, and she must walk it. If she ever fall (which was probably expected) there would be a replacement. 

Sakura knew about Team Gai. Exceptional in their cohort, but only having one clan kid in the formation didn't help them gain any status or good graces (He wasn't main-house Hyūga after all). They've never spoken to the Sandaime, they've barely seen active ANBU, they've not walked around each other and treat teammates like ticking bombs. 

But they've not almost-die. Their closest brush with death had been the chūnin exam, but they lived. They've been ghosts, for most of what her classmates would say. Hidden away as stashed meat shields that could come to be of use one day.

That was exactly what she'd become. Some medic to be thrown into the first wave of attack. Some kunoichi that couldn't outrun honeypot missions forever. She was civillian, despite what little Academy training her parents had. They never made genin. 

Kakashi's little kunoichi had been nameless, and she understood her values well. She would never be sold with some gold bars like the usual kunoichi, but swung out like a bag of trash with no resale price tagged. 

Had she wanted to rot with age? To be one with the bodies in hospital labs whose names never made it to the memorial stone? Was this the life she'd lead trying to outlive her eventual death that no one will mourn for? Did she wanted to be walked over by self-crowned heroes or run with world-defying criminals? A king's velvet drape or a killer's sharpened blade?

Somewhere between dawn and day, the pink haired girl made a decision. In another world, this decision would have never even occured. In some others, it would brew in her heart but she never dare follow through.

This time, she does.

Konoha was a land of many lies. 

Sakura was just one dutiful citizen that tried to be normal, so she lied.

She never liked the idea of herself being ‘different’. There was something arrogant and fraudulent about it, something she can’t quite place.

She grew up inside a mold. Sakura is a normal child with a normal childhood, unlike her teammates. Because unlike them, her childhood wasn’t an event the whole world stopped spinning for. Wasn’t the end of a legacy that held fame so terrifying it overshadowed the Sannin. Wasn’t the end of a clan so ancient, so mighty, so powerful. Wasn’t the end of an admired hero, simultaneously the beginning of a promised prophecy. 

The spring-born girl knew early on that normal was good and normal will not be hated because everyone was normal. Because liking the broody ‘cool’ boy was normal and hating the loud-mouth disobeying kid was also normal. 

But being normal in a selection of extraordinary people demonstrated to be impossible. 

Perhaps not being normal was something she could try. 

But there were plenty of above-average shinobi. 

There weren’t plenty missing-nin from Konoha, though, Inner reasoned.

If they don't want you be normal, then be more than extraordinary.

If normal kills, then you have to be fireworks and not candlelights.

Be unfathomable.

Be great.

Sakura listened.

Chapter Text

She had her usual ANBU uniform on, sleeveless black turtle-neck cladded with metal chest plate. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, some pink strands stuck out like hair ornaments. She wore a pair of knee-length kunoichi boots under her leg warmers that act as ankle weights. 

It wasn’t common for ANBU operators to walk the village and let people know that they were ANBU. They fought and killed in the shadows. They lived and died in the shadows, too. 

So Sakura put a dark red cloak on, her porcelain mask hanging on the pouch strapped around her abdomen, hidden from prying eyes. Her hood was down to express a lesser sense of suspicion. Today she took the long way to the Headquarters.

Near the old red bridge where Team 7 used to meet, she saw Team 10 walking together from their training routine. Ino slapped the boys' shoulders, finding something utterly ridiculous, bending over laughing with tears forming in her eyes. Shikamaru scowled and rolled his eyes, muttering something about bad jokes. Chouji looked confused as if he couldn't find what was funny while shoving a handful of chips into his mouth.

"Shika, you should invite us to yours. Yoshino-obaa-san make the best dinner in town! Aside from Chouji's family ofcourse." Ino whined, her hands pulling the Nara heir's arms.

Chouji excitedly spoke, "She's right. We went to my house last time so now its yours!" 

"Troublesome." He rolled his eyes, "Why don't we go takeout or something?" 

"You kidding? We've eat outside for everyday of this week!" The Yamanaka pinched the bridge of her nose, half glaring at her friend. "But thankgod our team can eat anywhere because there's no way I'm eating the same dish  for every team lunch." 

"You mean ramen?" Chouji asked. For his knowledge there was only one team that religiously go to the same restaurant and eat the same thing for way too many days.

"She meant ramen, yeah." Shikamaru answered with a sigh. "How Team 7 eat that much ramen is beyond me."

"How are they anyways?" It was the Akimichi that asked, curiously wondering the whereabouts of his not-really-friends. "I haven't seen any of them in a while."

"Idiot. Sasuke-kun left, Naruto also left, huh- What did he leave for? Training? Not sure. Then Forehead just, I don't know...disappeared into somewhere? Asuma-sensei said he haven't seen their sensei for months." Ino put her hands up exasperately, giving up on her memories, her face a little downcasted. "Huh. I guess they just faded from the mainstream. The rumours only talk about how they failed and not how they're doing. Hope they're all alive."

The rumours about Team 7 was so wide spreaded that every shinobi and a good amount of civilians was made aware of their disbandment. Being one of the Rookies themselves, seeing a team failing out of the game so early was a worry for Team 8 and Team 10. They have graduated from the Academy only two and a half years ago, yet the notorious Team 7 made sure that every member of them had people all over judging and stalking their lives to critic it. 

Most of the genin teams haven't had much chances to interact in the field and only ever see each other for the ocassional party someone like Ino would throw. There were even less chances the teams got to work with Team 7. Kiba said his team was on a mission with them and besides not being extraordinary like everyone put them to be, they did have a competent dynamic. 

(What the genin didn't know was how Kakashi's team getting labelled the number 7 was their warrant for a guillontine hanging above their heads. All the other team with the same number were tragedy the world buried.)

"We'll get news once one of them decided to stop brooding, matter of fact, they're loud." The Nara heir tried to quell his worried friends. "We're a Debut Class, meaning low death rate."

The blonde turned her head in a whiplash, "Debut Class? Wait- We are what?" 

"What's that?" Chouji asked, "Never heard of it."

"Tsk. Because neither of you sit down to read since those picture books at five." He massaged his temples and leveled them with a tired gaze.

"Hey! I'm suprise someone who spend half his day napping and doing old people hobbies even get up to grab a book!" Ino snapped back.

Team 10's conversation was casual with no small amount of nagging from Ino or complains from Shikamaru. They were there, whole and completed. 

They might not have been the happiest, but they weren't at each other's throats and it hurts just looking at them. 

Sakura jumped to a nearby branch and took the other way. It cross training ground nine and she saw a group of people there. Quietly, Sakura tuned out just before she heard the shouts from Gai to his students. They're at it again.

Tenten said she always thought her team was the worst team when it came to team work. A boy who was too loud, too lively. A girl who liked unusual things like weapons and blades, who were too serious. Another boy who thought he was above everyone. The only reason why they made it out of the Forest of Death was due to their acquaintances of each other, for more than a year doing mission and every day of that year meeting each other at four a.m. for training. "Teams bonded in different ways" Tenten said, "And mine probably bonded by having rather...unique personalities. Or enduring Gai's training regime. Probably both, but in the end we were a team when it mattered most."

Sakura wanted to snort at that memory. She'd wish her team were anything remotely close. Her team had omens coming from them since the beginning. Kakashi still drilled them teamwork, Naruto still insisted on Ichiraku team lunch, Sakura still made everyone attend festivals together. Sasuke even tolerated them. But it were forced upon them and they tried in their ways. It couldn't work. It could never have worked.

Just three children the Sandaime looked at and said 'these will do.' They did not do. 

Sakura focused back on her tracks. She started counting her steps, it was something she found very good to disassociate to while avoiding her jumbled strand of thoughts. 

One, two, three, four, five...

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen,...

Twenty-seven...Thirty-two

Forty, forty-one, forty-two...

Forty-nine, Fifty.

Fifty. Sakura counted.

She had made fifty steps when for the first time in a long time, she heard an oddly familiar voice. 

Sakura had half a second to respond and choose between disappearing or brace for attack.

“Sakura-chan! Is that you? Sakura-channn!” Someone screeched as they paced from across the street.

She turned her head lightly, instead. 

Brilliant blue met cut grass green and she halted. She saw the orange first, then the golden spike of hair and she settled on the widened eyes. 

Naruto.

His eyes were beaming with life, filled to the brim with the type of love she can not comprehend. Here, Konoha weren't the same after the Konoha Crush. Civilians blamed shinobi for failing the duty of protection and shinobi blamed each other on the failure of competency. They were reminded of past deeds and history unraveling itself, rumors of war weighted on villagers for years to come. Naruto wore his heart on his sleeves and he had led an increasingly happier life but when she did the same with hers they were tore apart and chewed at, then spat out. Sakura hadn't seen those bright eyes in anyone here lately. But she found them in a past life, on a boy who laugh in cheerful hiccups and bolster The Will of Fire.

Momentarily, she found herself staring and playing a silent game of find-the-difference. He’s grown a little, Inner supplied. He finally got rid of his terrible fashion choice of navy and orange, she decided. The orange is still there, but it was surrounded with black, giving him a new air of maturity. His headband plate was sewn on a long black strip of fabric, the endings of his tied knot fluttered in the wind. His hair was a little longer and his hand less bonny. His voice sounded somewhat deeper and more raucous, losing to the flow of puberty, a hint of playfulness was still present. But she can recognize that excitement, that tone anywhere. He’s still just a fourteen years old boy turning fifteen. There’s nothing exactly drastic about him, but she knew in a year or two she won’t be able to recognize him so easily. She didn't let herself wander to the thoughts if he, or any of them, could recognize her by voice alone. 

After all, the last she have spoken with any of them was older than her brain would like to remarked. She was losing memories, not literally, but those better times were nothing more than what-ifs in daydreams. She choose not to remember. She can not bear to carry their broken love on her shoulder or glue it together with salty tears and sticky blood. 

It would have been unbearably awkward, if for the gaping absence of silver and blue, but since the end of times it had been Naruto and Sakura, the last ones who cared. 

Without the scolds of a boy who grew too fast and sly smiles of a man they called mentor, pink and yellow fit on their own. They had done missons together, had have replacements of their lost boy with them. It have been Lee, Hinata, Shikamaru or Neji, strangers who came and go and never stayed because they have a team called theirs.

It was two months of missons together without their two constants, where it was just Naruto and Sakura against the world. The Cresent Moon Kingdom Escort. Land of Rice Investigation. The Gelel Stone Legend. Fights where they were back to back, Sakura thinking of ways to kill while her blond loudmouth gave her reasons not to. It wasn't the same without the other two, but their love never changed. They would die for each other had it come to that. Sakura half-wished it stayed like that forever. She grew up knowing good things don't last.

Then Naruto left and the newly enacted Godaime sent her a letter. Not of his departure, but of the announcement that her team is no more. (She didn't even know he left until then.)

“You came back,” Sakura exclaimed softly, at a loss for words. Because one of her boys was back, infront of her, ever radiant with creasing corners from seeing wrongdoings of people. It is inevitable. Naruto isn't the most innocent child, nor was she. But Naruto haven't killed, not with his hands waving, palm flat open and teeth baring comically adorable. There was that same edge of blues she could notice in his uneasy stance and twitching fingers, but the sun shone so blinding she almost forgot it was there.

“I knew it was you Sakura-chan! You’re the only one I know with pink hair dattebayo!” He told her, hands stretching out to grab her shoulders.

She swiftly moved out of his reach and flinched at her instinctual reaction. Naruto seemed to pay no heed. “And you’re the only ninja I know who wears orange.” She grimaced. Trying to gather herself and be natural. Sakura had forgotten how to be natural among old comrades. 

“Because orange is an awesome colour, why does no one agree with me?” He whined.

And for a second in time, the pink haired medic saw a glimpse of simpler life. When Team 7 was alive. When they were just a love-struck girl, two boys with childish rivalries and a masked man playing teacher. She doesn't know what they are, now. When people looked, they were the failure of their generation, the shame of the village. 

But it had been a year since everything happened. A year too long too short. 

 She didn’t want to nudge a wound that were badly patched up and barely healed, so she left it be.

“You’ve finished traveling?” 

Naruto looked at her, a little solemnly, “About that, Sakura-chan. I’m leaving in a day. Ero Sennin needed to talk to Baachan about something. We’re leaving as soon as possible.” He muttered a hasty apologies, she waved it off,

“You’ve got anywhere to go then?” Despite how much she wanted to meet at least one of her ex-teammates, it wasn’t a time for sob-stories and old-friends catch ups.

Sakura remembered someone telling her that in a shinobi’s career, you have to give up something important, sacrifice something significant. Letting go of a past life. 

So Sakura gave up on them. 

She stopped holding out for false scenarios where they’d have a perfect reunion, where her boys would be in awe when she showed them how strong she’d become. 

She didn’t want their validation when she realized they had betrayed her. Sasuke and Naruto were the traitors who left while Kakashi-sensei was the traitor who stayed. At this point, she wouldn't know if her sensei was ever inside the village's walls. So maybe they all were renegades. She should join them soon too.

They chose to forgot her, and she lived with it in mind.

She never forgot them.

Sakura also knew, if she had stayed home like she intended to without the need to go to the Headquarters, she wouldn’t know Naruto came back at all. She knew Naruto wouldn’t tell anyone, least of all her. 

“Why are you wearing that, Sakura-chan? You look like one of those freaky mask people. All fishy and serious with their long cloaks.” He pointed at her outfit, eyes squinted.

That’s because I am ANBU. She refrained herself from saying. Sakura settled, “Time for a fashion change, ne?” She twirled around then grinned at him. "It's good fabric and helps hide weapons. You should try it out sometimes."

“Heh? Sure Sakura-chan.” He didn’t press on, instead, he seemed relieved to change the subject, “How’s the village anyway? It’s great to be out in the world, I got to do so much!”

Sure you did Naruto, Inner commented sarcastically, While I’m the only one confined in this rotten place, you all have a fun time out there huh. Naruto didn't send her any letters. She didn't send him any either, she never know where he'd be and somehow, she expected it to be the way it is. She wasn't surprised to hear nothing from those she called team mates. They in return, probably won't hear anything from her either.

So Sakura told him about the village. She told him about Kakashi’s long term missions, about their friends preparing for the next chunin exam (he complained about that), about the inter-village squad that was put together by Konoha-Suna-Kiri allies. He questioned if the rest of Konoha 11 were fine, if they got any stronger, about Ichiraku ramen and whether the cup noodles released a new flavor. 

Naruto didn’t ask anything about her. She didn’t care. Sakura asked him about his travels, his little missions he did with the Sannin to make a living along the way. He said it’s confidential, that he’d tell her more the next time he comes back. He didn’t know when he’d come back. He reassured her,

“Just you wait, Sakura-chan, I’ll come back as the strongest ninja, believe it!”

But she was tired of waiting.

Waiting.

And waiting.

For life will stab her in the back before those she ever loved get the chance to.

He still looked at her with those ocean eyes. She can not bring herself to shatter what was left untainted by the blood of her world. The people who doesn't know much about murder and death and believe in a well crafted political play their Kage called 'peace'. 

She won't say anything. If he was finding joy, it's not her place to smear pain onto it. It isn't fair, but if she can see his sanguine gaze and foolish grin again, she won't say anything.

He was a lot of people's sunshine. Except, he's not hers anymore. (she'll always refer to them as her boys, though)

Her eyes stung. 

Sakura offered him a half-hearted hug for a goodbye because she has got a place to go. She has always got a place to go but never a place to stay.

"I'll make sure to wait to see you get stronger." She spoke with rare sincerity.

She wanted to see him grow into what he could be. For him to tear down all the walls that shunned him. Tell everyone he's there and he's a hero if there ever was one, a Hokage if anyone would better suit. She'll wait to see it. But she won't wait for him to see her. She didn't need that anymore.

Naruto looked on, face perplexed. That’s not the direction for the hospital or the mission office.

Chapter Text

Sakura stopped in front of the Headquarters. Her Sheep mask was placed on her face like protocol required. Her pink hair, now being out instead of under the dark hood, seemed to draw many curious discussions about her identity. 

Except for Team Sa, no one here had seen her unmasked. Pulling the hood down was the closest Sheep had revealed herself. 

The place had half of Konoha’s training grounds dedicated for its members, Team Sa was able to claim one near the Headquarters, much to the other teams’ dismay. The unlikely team wasn’t consisted of freshly promoted ANBU—except Sheep—but those that are well in the height of their shinobi careers. Seasoned assassins and masters of subterfuge, they were all well respected, known and looked up to within the Black Ops. 

Team Sa was put together several years ago, its original members were Horse, Bear, Ox and Otter. Sheep, the unassuming pink haired girl, was a later addition to complete the structure. Otter was the Commander, his reputation stretched from the days the elite Team Ro was still active. He wasn’t one of them, no, but he had known that team from the many times they required extra personnel on the field. He was good friends with their Hound-taichou, once upon a time. Horse was a nightmarish Nara, one with the ability to refine their kekkei genkai to a more deadly weapon, controlling his enemies to kill their own comrades. Bear was an Aburame whose favorite weapon was his wasp colony, containing up to several hundreds with special modifications to carry a vicious poison. The last jounin member was Ox, he was from a small clan with specialization in Doton, his career slowly approaching the time of his retirement due to old age. 

Then one day, the Hokage herself appeared at their assembly center and demanded to see Team Sa. The team with zero rate of KIA deaths and low mission failure ratings. It was the first and last time they had been summoned upon direct order by Tsunade. 

She presented them to a little girl who stood as tall as Bear’s ribcage. Her face hidden behind a sheep mask, she stood in attention with arms straight down her sides and the Hokage announced, “Sheep is part of the ranks now. She will be in your team. Take her to do A ranks first and after Otter thinks it is suitable, she can attend your S ranks.” Then she looked down at Sheep, “You can show them your face and introduce yourself now, kid. Be here at 6AM sharp tomorrow and they’ll show you around.”

The girl looked hesitant but did as her Hokage said. The fingers of her unblemished skin stuck out from the floor-length cloak. The ANBU winced, they have seen younger geniuses, but this girl had petal-coloured hair and gangly pale limbs and stared at them with a speck of wonderment and her lips pulled into a soft smile. She looked too fragile.

She looked breakable.

She looked like she could still love.

 The usual aloofness they expected from the exceptionally young ANBU wasn’t there. Weasel and Hound and Raccoon hadn’t smiled at all under the depths of their Headquarters, surrounded by damp cement.

But Weasel turned his back and Hound ran away and Raccoon was found dead, suicided.

The children Konoha sent to the claws of ANBU never made it out alright. They never made it out completely alive, either. 

"I’m Sheep. Nice to meet you.” 

The men thought she’d die with missing appendages and ruined skin on their first mission. She didn’t.

She came back and managed to kill half as much as Horse with his Nara shadows. 

They never thought of her as a simple girl again.

Sometimes Otter thinks his team was scared of her. She ran like the wind was on her side. She threw kunai knowing well she would hit bulleyes, sinking in the enemy's opened mouth like a sick twisted circus performance. The team was probably scared of her bruised face that day and the way she slashed through their enemies like a feral apex predator. How she use her skin to test the sharpness of her blades, how she was stellar of a beast wearing sheep skin. 

But when night fell and their camp fire lit, when her mask slid off, she was just a genin who'd seen a few too many terrors. She was a not a sheep, more like a lamb who saw its parents' sheered and slaughtered, yet no one wondered. They weren't what their masks were without it, so no one wondered.

Sheep stopped at Team Sa’ training ground. The earth was broken into fissures and there were small blood puddles on the grass. She watched the ANBU from afar, analyzing their moves and fighting stances.

They were divided into two pairs.

Whenever she show up for training, Sheep had liked to focus on her wide range damages, razing the forest to the ground on her wake. One on one spars were more preferred but on days they'd team up and fight with each other, she mostly only show up after Team Sa had finished.

They were coming to call an end as her thoughts wandered. She flared her chakra in the stead of a greeting. Slowly, she raised her hand to remove the mask that clung onto her face like clay. 

“Oh Sakura-chan? You want a spar?” Her taichou asked as the team regrouped after their simulation fight. “We're just having a break. Your psych check went well?"

"I'd say so." It wasn't a complete lie. It went well because if it hadn't she would have had chakra constrain manacles and yanked to the prison underneath the village. "It went well, yeah." She repeated her point. Considering the people that took her eval, it was truly lucky she was even released.

The other three teammates sprinted closer to the two, their faces without a cover. To an ordinary point of view, they were just any other shinobi team. Outside of missions, outside of the offices and away from the streets, they laid bare for each other to see. Sakura got to be Sakura, though she didn’t exactly find it comforting.

“Genma-taichou.” She acknowledged the other senpai with a nod at each one, “I need to go somewhere so I can't stay for long.” Genma have a talent in coercing people into sparring if so he wish. And he does wish Sakura would finally give in so the team get on nice view of her skillset displayed.

It was Ox, the oldest member, Daichi who spoke next, “Let her be, taichou.” The man who used Doton had warmed up to her after Sakura pulled an impressive stunt, revealing her healing abilities to save his life. 

“You’re playing favorites huh, old man Daichi?” Genma pouted, almost too inappropriate for the leader of a feared assassination team. 

Horse and Bear gave each other a glance. “Do you have any feedback for us?” Nara Gin—Horse, directed at her. He had been in the field for as long as she had been alive, yet, her knew their medic always have a unconventional look on things. She was an excellent observant who provide tolerable comments and feedbacks without the hint of arrogance they'd get from any other ANBU who have their ego hang above the clouds. 

“Genma-taichou, you need to improve your chakra control, the senbon and Hiraishin can’t be your all-in-one saving; the chakra blades I taught you were flickering.” He huffed in irritation but didn’t retaliate as she continued, “Daichi-ji, you have more experience than anyone, but, take care of your knuckles, you are going to have arthritis soon.” She reminded, like a doting mother. How ironic she was the youngest one. But then again, her entire life experience was a messy compose of contradictions and ironies. 

“Gin-senpai and Jun-senpai, cuts are easier to heal than a dislocated shoulder or broken bones but they’re annoying injuries. This time you might want to patch yourselves up, I’m busy.” She threw them a standard first-aid kit and pointedly looked at the long gashes, some of the red liquid caked up on Gin's calf but on Jun's shoulder, they seem to be running freely, dripping down like slow rain. It wasn't an unusual sight in a spar between killers, like how it would have been unusual if there was no blood. Gin caught the kit with one hand and thanked her while Jun nodded stoicly. 

Genma, ever the most talkative one attempted at conversation again, “All busy, huh. Where will you be going anyways? Don't you want to tell your taichou?”

Sakura hymned and ignored the question. She gave all of them a scan, “Never mind, you guys would be just fine here.” In this village, without me, she didn’t say. “When is our next mission?”

“Not until next month.” 

Perfect.  “I’ll see you all then.” She grinned.

Maybe not on the same side, but definitely the same fight.

After leaving her team to their own devices, she walked back inside the Headquarters and made wide strides, navigating her way like it was her second home. The mask now adorning her features. She was Sheep, one last time.

The hallways and corridors looked more like tunnels with blurry exits. The moving shadows casted from low light had resemblance the ghosts buried here.

ANBU was built on broken soldiers who knew nothing but bloodshed. They have buried souls and history, unknown entities loss in time because here, they shed off the skin they wore in the light and wear a mask borrowed from the Shinigami. The ones KIA on ANBU missions never got their name honored or carved. They were flickers of darkness, not daylight creature of conscience and humanity. Sakura was not sure if she liked to die like that. Sheep wouldn't mind if that's the only way out.

Sheep stopped in front of a chipped wooden door. She knocked twice and twisted the handle open before anyone inside answered. 

There was a massive shelf to the right, accommodating the lists of all ANBU teams and arrangements. On the other side was a small set of couches with an empty tea table. An office desk sat in the back, stacked up with boxes of papers and files. 

"Sheep."

She replied lazily, "Hai. Deer-san."

 "At least this time you don't just materialize out of thin air." The man in a Deer mask said wryly. He leaned back on his office chair. "Rare to see you in here. The Human Resources Dept, especially. Last time you were here you were threatening me for some profiles, which I won't give even now. They're classified."

Sheep didn't delve on what she did in the past (she got the files using a homemade poison anyway) and took two large steps towards him. Her arm extended to flopped a small stack of paper on the already cramped desk. "I've got places to go, you see Deer-san." She hummed thoughtfully, "I don't think you could find any better Sheeps." 

Deer took the papers in his hand and stalled momentarily. "You're resigning?"  

“It’s been a long day, Deer-san.” A visit to her parents, suspicious T&I spych check and one hell of a dubious recruitment letter. It doesn't stop there, much to her shortening patience; to top it all off she also ran into an old forsaken friend. Yes, it's been a long day. But it's been a longer year.

Deer looked doubtful but kept on watching her next moves instead of demanding an explaination. People don't need explainations to leave places like ANBU. They'd come back. They always had.

The shadows were consuming, but they were the only place with manuals on life and death and things in between. On killing a man and maneuver a massacre.

Sheep carefully lowered the mask from her face. It was the first time Deer saw her bare; nose, eyes and lips exposed. He had seen her ID photo, but he’d assumed she had grown. But that wasn’t an adult woman looking at him.

It was a child's face, nonetheless. That explains some things and raises tenfold the amount of questions.

Being the person in charge of personnel files, he didn’t exactly have free access to everything in the archives. All he did was sorting people into teams where their abilities are needed. The entire profile of someone—age, birthplace, psych evaluations and non-mission-relevant details, are limited to a small number of authorities. Deer was a mere pawn, so he never asked about the redacted lines. It was never his place. 

Sakura's eyes darted around, the green almost glowing. She gave her superior a half hearted grin as the sheep mask fell on his desk, making a thud. "I won't see you around. You can expect to hear my name though, probably." She offered. 

Deer wondered if it was her way of saying goodbye with awkward comfort or if there's more to her words she was implying. Afterall, her leave would be the loss of a great asset. Someone who was appointed personally by the Hokage at a young age despite how picky the Sannin was rumored to be. The young fallout ANBU always leave a wrecking hell on their track. Namely Weasel, for one. But Sheep was sheep for a reason, was she not?

Before he can voice any of his thoughts, she shunshin away.

It seemed to be her favorite technique to run from undesirable situations, perhaps Hound had rubbed it on her.

Maybe Deer will have to make a trip tomorrow morning to hand this form in and if lucky, ask some questions to the woman who wore the hat.

But he just sighed and went back to his mountain of paperwork, wondering if ANBU would ever be able to capture another lamb for the slaughterhouse. 

Haruno Sakura was fourteen years, eleven months and twenty six days old when she defected.

Chapter Text

She slipped past the gates at 0130. 

Sakura took the route ANBU usually took for missions, a small human-size hole on the side of Konoha’s North gate. It was unnecessary for Black Ops to check in with border guards, them fussing over legal documents and identifications. Rather, the imprinted tattoo on their arm bicep made sure to be a gag order device, conditioning absolute loyalty. She had managed to read enough about fuinjutsu needed to dissolve the tattoo ink.

She remembered telling her Team Sa she’d come to the next mission but then proceeded to hand in her resignation letter five minutes later. It was an oxymoron, sure, but it would cause a scene. Sakura liked the idea of leaving chaos and confusion. It wasn’t what Haruno Sakura would do, nothing like Sheep would do. 

But this girl brimming with a hope of escape would. A dead dream discarded from her heart and a new one growing. It wasn’t a pretty dream, the new one, but she will treasure it. She will hold it like the sky holding its stars. She will die with her dream, if it is what life wants. But there was this little girl. She has a dream and it is alive and it festered in her bruised body. 

Dawn break will be her ladder and she will climb the sky.

Akatsuki will be her ladder.

It didn’t take long to reach the Silk Village. The civilian town was small, at best the size of a Konoha district. 

Darkness bit a chunk of the village inside its mouth. The moon was leisurely retreating down the mountain ranges as the sky ready itself for dawn break in several hours. 

She concentrated on the flow of chakra, on the wind that flapped the fabric the people used to cover windows and doors, on the soil and ground that held up the houses and tree roots. 

The two Akatsuki members' chakra flared from a corner near the borders, it was not discreet at all, so Sakura questioned the organization's ability to do any type of reconnaissance. 

Do Akatsuki lay low? Do they just wander to nations and places in between, proudly cloaked in their red clouds? Or, maybe they did this because they underestimated her ability to sense and navigate. Either way, “I’m going to have words with them.” 

Sakura didn’t cover her chakra as she approached a dark alleyway snuggled between a closed shop and an izakaya. Two strong flows of chakra knocked her over; the energy screamed and growled in leashed, controlled fury, they spread like ink on wet paper. Two silhouettes appeared at the end of the alleyway on a roof. Behind one of them was several scorpion-like metal tails. The other one's irises shrinked into a madman type of exitement. A giant white bird circled the sky like a bad omen, wings spreaded and claws readied to grap any target.

 Inner confirmed these maniacs don’t know what subtlety is. Though with their level of skill they are allowed to be arrogant and let the world know where they are; but as a prior ANBU operative, Sakura never underestimated the importance of deception and subterfuge tactics. 

Deidara barked a weird laugh as the last glimpses of moonlight fell over his shoulders. Sasori looked like he was done dealing with the job but made no move, instead, he stared her down like she was the one who killed his parents. Or , Inner reasoned, his face just looks like he’s pissed 24/7.

 If that wasn’t a dramatic entrance, she doesn't know what is. 

“Good to see you too. Where are we going, you old men?” She said sarcastically. Deidara made a offended face and muttered, 

“Sasori-danna is the only old man here. I have plenty of youth left.”

That statement reminded her of a certain green tights duo. For S-rank criminals, they do have personalities. Not the funny and pleasurable ones, but personalities still. 

“We’re departing immediately to Ame.” As she scrunched her face up incredulously, they deadpanned, “Should be there before midday.” 

Ame, which is twenty two hours of nonstop running away. 

Unless one of the three could use hiraishin or constant shunshin that require half of a Jinchuuriki’s chakra, then it wasn’t something probable. 

They could never run at a speed like that. 

She doesn't think she can even imagine how the puppet master ran, his heavy wooded body made it look like a deformed creature resulting from one of Orochimaru's experimental bred between human, a scorpion and a weird bug.

 From what she has gathered on missions near Ame, Sakura knew they usually take two days and a camp. Maybe she understood it wrong and they meant midday tomorrow instead of midday today. She asked, “How-”

“Fly.” 

“What?”

Three giant birds popped out in the sky from Deidara's palms.

She refrained from pinching the bridge of her nose, “Right. I forgot that we can fly.” She cursed. 

It was a weird feeling to be on a bird, knowing it could explode at any moment. She sat down, legs crossed and leaned in to brace for the wind. It tugged at her stray hair strands and she savoured the wind outside Konoha.

Sakura didn’t know how to feel. She left the lives she lived behind, no prior warning, no last notes. Lives, not life, because Sakura knew the ANBU and the Hokage’s apprentice are two different entities, bearing different personas.

She didn’t feel any grievance for the village that discarded her team and her like any other failure. Nor any mournful emotions for the team that discarded her once they saw a replacement in power and blindside goals. 

She wasn’t manacled, but in Konoha, she knew she was tying weights on her body and soul. They wouldn’t mind her leaving. She wondered when they’d notice her disappearance, maybe in a week. She was a nobody, nameless out or under the mask. Her kills were unnumbered, her achievements unrecorded. It is the nature of ANBU, it is the nature of civilian born shinobi. She lived behind the back of her higher birth comrades. Her blood bled for them, her blood bled so their flowers could bloom from cracked dried soil. 

She didn’t know this emotion.

She let go of the world—or had the world let go of her?

“Oi, tell us about you, Sakura-danna.”

She whipped around. Hesitating on what to say, she settled with: “I’m sure you know everything you need to know.”

“Lowly members like us don’t know much except for a more extensive report of your Bingo book entries, ne, Sheep ?”

She glared at the youngest—former youngest—Akatsuki, feeling the urge to punch him down from 30 meters height.

“For a fourteen year old, you sure have an attitude.”

The young kunoichi was inclined to retort that in fact, she was three days away from fifteen and there is a possible slip up of her actual age in legal documents, but it will just further emphasize how childish they see her. She quietened down and meditated. She can feel Sasori glanced over, the puppeteer seemed curious if he had any emotion at all.

It took them exactly six hours to reach Amegakure borders. The rain poured in buckets, it drowned down any noises a good shinobi wished to detect. They were unceremoniously thrown down by the birds but landed without a slip nonetheless. The two men approached the guards, red clouds of their jackets shown out like a proud badge. She trailed behind a little, her pace far enough for people to think they aren’t a joint party.

“Akatsuki-sama.” One guard regarded Sasori and Deidara, “Konan-sama wishes to meet you at the gate. She will be here shortly.” They wore ankle-long cloaks with matted wet hair and awkward looking wet weapon pouches hanging. Their eyes looked strained and shone but they did not seem to convey any feelings, the rest of their body language looked slacken and unexpressive. Their posture showed proper shinobi but their impassive faces remind her of a certain place ruled by a suspicious old man. Yet, if any Konohagakure shinobi get wet like this, she wouldn’t be surprised if they would take the resemblance of a mop to an actual shinobi. 

Sakura looked at her own outfit. It wasn’t her combat outfit. No one would be stupid enough to escape the village in an eye catching crimson shirt and green haori—her hair is an exception, pink is unsurprisingly rare but the hood she have covered it well enough. Especially if there are unnecessary symbols anywhere on her body, it will most definitely ruin any hope to not get recognize. Anyone, civilian or not, will recognize the red swirl of Uzushio that embedded every Leaf’s shinobi’ garments. Now that she thought about it, Sasuke should have worn something without his clan crest even if he got a whole group of maniacs for escort. The Uchiha name and its logo was infamous. 

So she wore a standard issue ANBU black top and jounin pants she stole somewhere. Typical shinobi wear but missing jacket of some kind. She covered herself with an ominous looking black coat that reached her knees, again, stolen from her parents' merchant store. A souvenir if she wasn’t at least satisfied with her getting back at the couple who called themselves Haruno. Half their monthly cash flow stash, five outfits, two pairs of boots, three pairs of gloves, twenty dried camping rations, enough papers, ink and brushes to write seven novels the size of Icha-Icha. The last calligraphical instruments was for seals and any jutsu or poison she was to develop and take note of. 

She might get rich and buy all of that for herself very soon, but who was she to resist a little (maybe) harmless revenge? They ought to be glad to wake up to a house still standing and their heads attached , Inner laughed. Several thousand ryo is nothing. 

“Your affiliation and intentions?” A voice pulled her back. 

“Er–” She almost reacted and punched the guard through the 4 meter wall when he lifted his sword to her chin. “I have business here, that’s all.”

“State your affiliation and intentions.” The man repeated, his face emotionless. Two other guards walked closer and scanned her with scrutinizing eyes, his stance spread and threatening like he would advance and slid her neck the moment she dared blink. 

Haruno Sakura of Konohagakure under the orders of Godaime Hokage Senju Tsunade. She flinched at herself and felt relief washing over when she realized she hadn't said it out loud. It was a muscle memory thing to repeat something she had said for years whenever a foreign guard asked. “No affiliation and uh...diplomatic intentions?” It was more similar to her asking them what she could say than answering the question.

Deidara and his laugh in the background made her wanted to punch the idiot back to Kumo.

She huffed when two more weapons inched closer to her face. She worked her sentence again, “Sakura. Akatsuki invitation and intention to integrate into the organization.” There. If that doesn’t work she would question whether accepting her ROOT invitation three months ago would have been better.

Suddenly the men dropped down to their knees in a bow. Their weapons lay on the ground. 

“Haruno-san. A pleasure.” It wasn’t them that spoke, though. A flying figure— Flying, lowered in front of her eyesight.

 Amegakure no Tenshi. 

The Rain’s Angel. 

The woman held herself in high manners. She was beautiful, almost as much as how Tsunade was. The kind of beauty that wore a strong front, that told the world to listen and to fear instead of to love and protect. They regaled in their sharp eyes and commanding tone. They do not bow down to anyone, least of all a man who thinks themself dominant over women. 

Sakura admired that beauty. She wondered if anyone had looked at her and thought the same. Perhaps not. But Tsunade’s first order of business for her as an apprentice was: “You must vow to never bow down to anyone, no matter what. Hold yourself dignified but do not be arrogant. Hold yourself the way I do and I’ll let you under my wings.” Since then, Sakura hadn’t bowed down to anyone. She nodded at her ANBU Commander, at the Sannin and at anyone worthy of respect. 

“Should I learn how to fly at this point? You all seem to prefer that mode of transportation.” Sakura allowed herself to joke, breaking the silence. 

Konan looked like she was amused but didn’t comment. Ignoring the other two Akatsuki, the purple-haired woman gestured for Sakura to follow deep inside the core of the village.

The small houses and buildings looked steady enough to not fall apart like her neighborhood would after a storm. The people here are familiar with rain as much as she was with leaves. As much as Suna was with sand or Mizu was with fog and bodies of water. 

Sakura was curious how the terrain doesn’t seem weird, the earth wasn’t eroded like they should be with water splashing down constantly from the sky. There were rarely any ponds or rivers, trenches included. She can’t help but jealously appraised how competent their draining and water pipe system is. It could be a fascinating jutsu or just pure master village layout. 

Sakura looked around expecting her original companions. The two jerks went off somewhere, not her problem anymore. She’d probably see them soon enough when whatever meeting began.

She halted to a stop when Konan turned her head, “We’re here.”

 It was a building with a dome shaped roof of concrete, something she learned to be a good building structure for heavily weather areas. Saying this village to be a heavily weathered area seems to be an understatement. 

The corridors were dimly lit, like the ANBU Headquarters would like their aesthetic to be. It didn’t feel moist considering the rain outside and how wet people are inside.  Her hair stuck to her face and she can feel the droplets on her eyelashes. It looked more like she had just jumped inside a lake and emerged rather than being out in the rain for ten minutes. Internally, Inner cursed, You’re wrenched.

Figured. 

Sakura made an annoyed noise and used a D-rank wind release to dry off her dripping clothes without a fuss while Konan watched in interest.

They stopped in front of a draped door. The curtain divider was thick and didn’t have much of an artisan touch to it that omitted the atmosphere of the most important building in a ninja village. 

Except, it wasn’t a curtain.

Sakura’s gaze flickered on the Kanji symbols on the ‘curtain’. It was a seal . A big two meter tall two meter wide seal at that. She concluded that it was a variation of a silencing seal, notwithstanding her lack of fuinjutsu knowledge. 

She entered with the Akatsuki kunoichi. There was tatami mat for floors and surprisingly traditional decorations with only vintage looking candles and ten cushions. The zabuton was placed neatly in two rows across from each other. In the further end was a larger zabuton that sat facing the two rows. She presumed it was for whoever their limited-intel Leader is. 

A lean man with red hair appeared from nowhere, not shunshin, not hiraishin.

Sakura smiled. Time for introductions.

The man took the seat on the special zabuton and granted her a look that spoke of equal authority and regards. His eyes were more softened than that of other members. He seemed the most humane. 

“Welcome to Akatsuki. I am Uzumaki Nagato.”

"Haruno Sakura, at your disposal." She greeted.

Chapter Text

Sakura somehow got a seat to the left of the red haired man. 

Konan and some other figures were standing behind him like guards.

It was a beat after his name that she saved herself from sputtering out any unintentional comments about his Uzumaki heritage. She certainly hadn’t thought the leader of the international criminal gang to be from Whirlpool. A dead land, a forgotten name with almost as many remaining descendants as the Uchiha that are known and recorded. The only four that she knew were all in their rights, extraordinary. Three Jinchuuriki of Kyuubi and the Akatsuki leader. That’s one collection, not as prestigious as the Senju with three Hokage but Uzumaki still made an impression for themselves. 

Then with high alert, she felt the presence of too-much, too-different chakra signatures.

 More people were in the room. 

All S-ranked. 

Now if they turn on their end of the deal and eliminate her or use her as bait, she would have walked herself right into it. She’d rather end herself before whatever nightmares these psychos could have planned. 

There was no chance of walking out of this room alive if these people so much as flick their finger or make eye contact.

But after half a second of reasoning, Inner comforted, If they were to kill you, it’s honestly a huge honor they gathered all the members for just that. If Sakura didn’t know that this situation was peculiar, then when Inner of all people comforted her, something was up. There was no way Inner would ever be the lesser evil. Naturally, she was inclined to believe that a) her presence was unannounced and b) this might be her last interaction with the living.

Maybe it was the way these people eyed her for a fraction of a moment, it reminded her of her early days in ANBU. How the higher ups would glance at the new recruits and decide that it wasn’t worth their time. It’s not the only thing she saw, though. There was amusement glinting in some of them. Most members covered up any reaction of her with indifference. 

In front of each person–or, member, because most of them weren’t really human–were a little red rectangular object. They all looked the same. If she had to guess, it could be a manual or map, a document of some type.

Sitting across from her, for Kami sake, was the only one she had substantial information about. Leave it to Sakura to infiltrate the Archives as the Hokage’s apprentice because that day, her entire life, perhaps others too too, felt like a lie. Uchiha Itachi had his back straight, hands on his thighs in a traditional seiza, a fitting posture of a clan heir. Knowing a national secret about him eased her mind a little, until she was aware that she knew next to nothing about certain members, despite extensive search. Sure, she memorized each of their Bingo Book entries and might have stolen scrolls about enemy-nin from Intelligence, but what they knew about her—someone who lives in a legal village with a legal occupation, was tenfold what she does them. It wasn’t even improbable that they knew about her secret developments and well, experiments, either. 

The members who’d show up, nine of them, she counted, didn’t give any pleasurable greetings. In actuality, they didn’t even acknowledge each other, if they did, they were just grunts and incoherent noises. It was unlikely they were in a bad mood if they always have been like that. Maybe being missing-nin automatically tagged them with emotional constipation. She wasn’t looking for that when defecting.

“Welcome, Akatsuki.” Konan spoke up in the stead of the man sitting. “Thank you for attending.” Then an orange haired man emerged next to her, standing imposingly.

“We shall commence this meeting.” He continued, “Deidara and Sasori had successfully completed Operation: Recruit just after Kakuzu and Hidan completed Operation: Iron.” Sakura almost jolted, knowing some eyes were on her.

“Mah, easier than we thought, no fuss at all, Pein-sama.” The blond piped from the end of the room at his seat.

The man, Pein, just deliberately pretended he didn’t hear anything. “Haruno Sakura from now will be Akatsuki’s Medic. Sakura-san, please receive your uniform.”

Out of nowhere, from nothing, there was a pile of clothes infront of her. She observed its neatly folded iconic jacket, it looked lengthy but the material close up seem to be expensive and durable. She can see the red cloud pattern on the corners. It gave her heart a small flutter she hadn't felt since forever. Then Sakura eyed the ring on top. It was made of some mix between marble and ceramic. The face of the ring was a dark blue.

Embedded with the Kanji Ku. 

Sky. 

"Your ring is Void."

She carefully tried to decipher the expectant gaze from Pein and Nagato and realized they were waiting for her to wear it. Right. It looked small enough to fit her pinky. She shrugged and pocketed the thing. That seemed to make some occupants in the room quirked a brow.

"Thanks, I mean. I’ll wear it later. Maybe on a necklace.” The idea of wearing a ring was absolutely vomiting to her. Her father taught her too much about rings as a child, telling her how to know what is fake and what is real, between the purity of the stone and the craftsmanship of the band itself to “Teach you how to not fall for cheap men; find a man who can afford the highest quality ring so you can make yourself his.”   With her mother dragging her around her entire genin-hood trying on rings and other accessories that have to do with the hands. Something about flattering her not-so-smooth hands because the cuts and marks from training made her look unladylike. Not only that, Mebuki loved the idea of trying out new methods. Once she spread skin-eating chemicals on the inside of a ring and made her daughter wear it for a day in a family meeting. Sakura swore she almost had to cut the finger, her middle finger, off because it was so severe. There was still a round wrapping burnt mark around it, not exactly standing out but it caught her eyes every time she put her gloves on. She kept her gloves on.

“It will modify to fit your finger size if you just wear it.” Someone said.

“Eh but what if I like a necklace?” She retorted lackadaisical. 

“Don’t bitch about it.” Was a comment one of the zombie-looking men spat. The nosey one, Hidan?

“I said no.” She might have given in after a while but his attitude made her stubbornness come out stronger. 

He looked offended as if he was the person that made the ring, “And? Listen to your elders. You snotty calf.” he roamed with venom.

“Oi I said I’ll put a string through it and wear it as a necklace you deaf imbecile.”

“Why the fuck would your file even listed compliancy of authority on your characteristics?” He huffed.

She was getting very worked up. Very. “Hey–” and got cut off.

Pein sighed, “Very well. Sakura-san, please wear the ring—”

“No!” 

“With a string as you like.” He finished. “Sakura-san will be regulating through the organisation to complete certain missions with different teams. Any health complications, you can refer to her and vice versa if she has complications with her training or skill, you shall seek to help her.”

She didn’t remember to agree to the former part but alas, it was a tolerable job.

“She can engage in combat and you should not disturb her when she is assigned on a solo mission.” Wait, no, she did not sign up for that. But gods that was the best thing someone had allowed her to . Solo mission? Not even ANBU can give her that. 

“Konan will show you your accommodations in Amegakure. Elsewhere, you will receive a map of our lairs across the nations.” 

Sakura nodded.

Then absolute silence followed. 

Nagato broke it with ease, “Kisame-san, Itachi-san, please report about Operation: Stratus, in summary.”

She wanted to figure out why they refer to missions as ‘operations’ as if it's part of a grand plan. Maybe it was. 

“Status: success. Further steps are prepared. We have seized the largest criminal gang in Kumo, their leader has removed themselves from the political grounds.”

Nagato nodded. “The Kage Summit will happen in two years.” Now that was an information even the Kage didn't know. No one should know either. It is not knowledge, it was a prophecy if nothing else. The man talked with so much confidence she almost believed every word, perhaps she should. Where the hell is this guy’s sources from?

“Itachi-san, please find out where this will happen. My guess is either the Land of Iron or Land of Grass. Neutral grounds.”

The Uchiha made a confirmation sound and the red haired proceeded, “Here are your updated Bingo booklets.”

So that’s what the little red things in front of each of them were.

Curiously, Sakura followed what the others were doing and picked up the thing. It was thinner than the average Bingo Books. She belatedly found out it was thinner because the Akatsuki does not find the need to put entries for any potential enemy below the highest A ranks. It could be arrogance, but it was efficient. The character for “Bingo” was printed onto the leather cover. It was fancier than any average civilian notebook. She let her fingers feel the texture of it, calculating the approximate price of the cover alone. Her merchant parents were rubbing off on her and she hated it.

She flipped through the book like any of her textbooks. It was a deep rooted habit of hers. It gave her the number of pages and what would be roughly mentioned in said book, allowing her to pinpoint how long it would take her to study it thoroughly.
Like any Bingo booklets, the ones closer to the front are less dangerous and ranked lower. It was quite comical to see a handful of Konoha shinobi on it, all faces familiar to her. Then there were other missing-nin, there were all the Kage, there were all the Seven Swordsmen except Kisame and some members of special butai like the Puppetry corps from Suna or the Bomb Corps from Kumo. Some ANBU, too.

She knew her ANBU Bingo book front to back every single line and she also knew everyone listed in this red book was what her old Bingo Book marked “Flee on sight”. Akatsuki have no enemy yet the world is their enemy. Anyone can hire them just as anyone they set out to hunt will be hunted. They can stand on any side but they were never anyone's ally. Like any Bingo book, this one has their international bounty on it but no village’ appointed bounty. Instead, it was Akatsuki’s bounty underlined. They were high. Rightfully so.

If she could just kill one target listed she can probably live humbly until the rest of her life, retire early as well. 

“We lost a few pages from last time, huh.” Someone from her right exclaimed.

“The old Mizukage is one, the old Kazekage another, Pinky’s over here, too.”

Huh?

She looked questioningly. A man in the corner, blue and shark-like, presumably Kisame, boomed with a weird laughter, “You were page sixteen in the old book.” And he left it at that.

Quickly, she flipped to page sixteen. 

[ Baki, M

Senior jounin

Affiliation: Sunagakure - Suna Council and genin mentor of Ichibi Jinchuuriki

Specialization: Futon and Bukijutsu

Code Orange (A rank)

Kill count: 25 ANBU, 4 jounin, 30 civilians

...]

Ah. Inner said as if she understood something. Sakura chided her other self, No, that doesn’t make it any clearer. Me? Baki? The insane guy in the chunin exam? Hah. Another bad joke on Akatsuki. Maybe I should teach them what humor is.

“I give out my thanks for you having come in person for this meeting. We’ll meet again next year.” Nagato spoke softly. Some heads nodded. “Then, dismissed.”

The candles flickered and dimmed.

The room emptied.

Everyone was gone at once.

Chapter Text

Deer held Sheep’s file in hand, it was eleven in the morning. He was supposed to go to the Hokage’s office earlier to ask about her resignation. It wasn’t necessary, no, but he had questions and since the file will be processed by Godaime anyway, he’d only help speeding up the process. Tsunade had personally directed Deer along with other commanders to report about Sheep development and information. Sheep was probably one of the younger geniuses that the higher ups keep their eyes on. Nothing else. Remembering that, it eased his mind knowing he won’t be up for a scolding if he leaves his position.

In fact, he won’t be scolded at all that day. He was stopped at the door because the Hokage had an important meeting with the Toad Sannin, it was a continuation of a meeting they had yesterday, he’d heard.

 Deer was a good subordinate, he didn’t demand to be let in. He recognized the silencing seals on the door, he did not question. He quietly left and went back to the ANBU Headquarters, checking a date he’d have free time again to give Tsunade the file. He wouldn’t be free until next week, maybe he didn’t need to come in-person and the file will be processed like any other files–two weeks waiting time. Deer put it in the organized box at the end of his table. 

Then he forgot about it entirely. 

Shizune was on shift that afternoon in the emergency department. Sakura wasn’t anywhere to be seen on hospital grounds. It was likely the girl went on some genin missions.

She spotted Ino, and they exchanged polite greetings before going opposite directions. She had meant to ask about Sakura. But they weren’t on the same team so maybe she shouldn’t be assuming they know each other’s schedule. She wanted to ask Sakura about a poison project the girl was doing, maybe she could ask about the pink hair when she sees Tsunade. It wasn’t any big deal, she had been meaning to ask how the girl had been faring for a while now.

Then she forgot about it entirely. 

It was thirteen days after Naruto and Jiraiya left the village that Tsunade noticed the frequent absence of her young disciple. Sakura was three days late to hand in her medical reports, not a usual occurrence.

She used the elimination method and thought of possible reasons: Sakura was taking long genin missions or work at the hospital and was an active member of ANBU, but she the next mission for Team Sa was at the end of the month; Sakura hated genin missions and had vowed not to do any more D ranks, so the most rational place she could find the pink head would be at the hospital. 

She glared at the receptionists, “What do you mean Sakura hasn't been here since two weeks ago?”

“She had a shift last weekend but didn’t show up so we presumed she was sick or unavailable.”

“And you didn’t even reach out to confirm it with her–” She suddenly stopped herself. “Since when was she appointed to weekend shifts?”

The woman hesitated and fumbled with her words. “Um. Uh. I- I wouldn’t know that Tsunade-sama. I wasn’t in authority. She worked fine with overnight shifts so they pushed her to the weekend shift.”

“Night shift?!”

“Dr.Ukue.” She flinched when Tsunade clenched her fists. “Third floor, hospital management office.” She quickly added.

Two minutes later, Ukue Takeo‘s office door was banged open, the hinges flying off and landed neatly inside his fish tank. The wood shards scattered across his imperial looking rug. He yelped.

“Give me your files on Haruno Sakura. All of her previous shifts and like documents. Everything.” Then she flicked her hand, and two ANBU guards kneeled in front of her. “Track down Sakura and send her to my office as soon as possible.” 

There was no knock at the door when someone appeared, partially because there was no door anymore. The figure poked in, it was Shizune. “Dr.Ukue, here’s some medical reports–” She halted, taking in the state of the room and the angry Tsunade. “Tsunade-sama, may I ask why you’re here?” 

“Why are you here again?” She snapped.

“Er, you told me to leave the office to hand in some approved medical reports?”

The blonde woman almost slapped a palm to her own face, but she wasn’t about to lose her dignity in front of a  no-good doctor working in her hospital. “Right. We’re going back, Shizune.” Then she looked back at the man now still shivering, “And you, under investigation.” He made a muffled noise.

By the time the two reached her office, it was past midday. The papers were in piles as high as her hips, someone had added two more piles since she left. One from ANBU Personnel Management and one from Intelligence.

There were wine glass bottles on the floor under her Hokage desk. A ceramic saké cup set sat nicely on her table, taking up more space than needed. The infamous hat was draped on top of her chair, people had said she’s treating the hat worse than a lady would her purse. She didn’t deny. 

The two ANBU emerged on the room corners as Shizune found her place behind the desk, flipping over some pages of a file on the table.

“Tsunade-sama, we can not find her, nor sense her chakra in the village.”

The two women’ heads whipped around, Shizune was sure she just got a whiplash. Her neck really hurt.

“Not in the village?”

“Her last traces were two weeks ago, presumably at the hospital.” The ANBU didn’t know about her activities in, well, ANBU. 

The black haired woman put her hand up, interrupting the barrage of expletives about to leave Tsunade’s mouth. She silently handed out a page from the ANBU Personnel Management stack.

[         ANBU RESIGNATION FORM - ANBU HUMAN RESOURCES

Codename: Sheep

Team: Sa

Shinobi registration number: 012601

Gender: Female

Service served: 

• 1 S-rank
• 20 A-ranks
• 14 B-ranks

Time served: Eight months and twenty days

Permanent resignation / Open Entry

                                       Pending Approval: (Hokage stamp)     ]

“Call Deer here. Summon all of Team Sa.” She flopped down the chair and sighed. “Summon Morino and Hound too.” Hound, not Hatake, because the man was expected to show up masked and professional. He hadn’t been Hatake in a while anyway.

In a whisk, as expected, Team Sa with the penchant for being ahead of time, showed up before anyone else. Their captain Otter reported for attendance. 

In order: Otter, Horse, Bear, Ox, Sheep. 

Otter, Horse, Bear, Ox. 

Where was Sheep? 

“Team Sa reporting. Sheep is absent, Tsunade-sama.” He concluded.  

“Exactly the reason you’re here.”

The team exchanged glances. 

Knocks at the door. The Godaime replied, “Come in.” The ANBU shuffled to a corner of the room.

“Morino Ibiki reporting.” The man loomed over the doorway. His impressive height added tension to the air. He was curious, but his position forced him into the clinical state of apathy so he just stared, standing firmly in the middle of the space across from the Hokage desk.

Then with a stir, Hound appeared in standard code uniform. Cloak covering the identifiable silvery mop of hair he had. “Hound reporting.” It's been months, if not years, since he was personally called by the village’s leader.

They waited in bated silence. Then three clear knocks at the door. Deer stepped in. He didn’t have to shunshin since he wasn’t in the rotation, he was a paper ninja. An office job inside a slaughterhouse.

“Deer reporting, Hokage-sama.” He eyed the rest of the occupants in the room. It was an odd group of people. Hound and Team Sa together was probably for a mission of some sort. Morino was a Head of Department, he rarely left the notorious building he worked in. Maybe it was something to do with an important enemy. But for all the rational possibilities, Deer was also there. The only probable situation: internal enemy. 

Traitor.

 ANBU. 

Tsunade motioned her hands and Shizune went to activate the silencing seals. The dark haired woman nodded and slid out of the room to tell the guards platoon to not let anyone in. She finished half a minute later, resuming her place next to Tsunade. The blonde woman heeded her eyes, “All of you have one thing in common that I need information about. I won’t beat around the bush. It’s Sheep. And nothing we will discuss from now will leave the room.”

No one dared interrupt.

“Hound, you are unlikely to know of Sheep.” 

Her head inclination was an allowance for him to speak, “Sheep was a name surfacing in the Black Ops these last few months. I’ve never been on a mission with Sheep but I’ve researched.”

“Have you known her outside of the shadows?”

“No, Hokage-sama.” Came the reply.

“Morino is the only one here to know aside from me. Mind explaining about Sheep? Must have got some information, interrogating her like that without my permission.”

That was a jab. He opened his mouth anyway, “Operator Sheep from Team Sa is a genin in rank.” A good amount of them let out surprised noises, soft gasps. “Her legal name outside of ANBU is Haruno Sakura, fifteen years old as of now; apprentice of Godaime Hokage, former student of Hatake Kakashi.”

Hound froze. Sakura? He didn’t know what expression he was making but he was glad no one could see. No one bothered to see, anyway. He probably was gaping in astonishment, his eyes widened and mind racing hundreds of thoughts. 

“What?” Otter exclaimed. None of the Team Sa members knew her outside of the shadows aside from her first name. It came to no one's bafflement that she was the Hokage’ apprentice but surprisingly, she was also Hatake–no, Hound’s—student. 

“She was last seen, by anyone, in the village two weeks ago on Monday at the Konoha hospital. However, her actual last sight was at the ANBU Headquarters. Team Sa, did you see her?”

"Yes ma'am." They inclined their heads collectively.

"When exactly did you see her?" 

Otter-taichou spoke first, his voice monotone but there was something akin to worry and wonder laced within it, "Approximately 1220 of the same day she was seen from the hospital, Tsunade-sama. Our team was training near the Headquarters, she stopped by and left at around 1226."

Horse and Ox exchanged a glance and nodded swiftly, "That's the last we saw of her. She didn't say anything out of order except for a few comments on our spars. She stated she will be there for our next mission before saying goodbye."

The Hokage breathed heavily then turned to the Head of ANBU HR Department, "Deer?" She asked expectantly.

"She came to my office at approximately 1227 and left only a minute after. She handed in the resignation form. She did say some strange things. It wasn’t out of pocket, but she doesn’t usually talk that way." Now every pair of eyes was on him. “She said she doubts we’d find any better sheeps and that she won’t see me around. She said I would hear about her though. Ah, she also mentioned it was a long day. She never liked small talk.” But Sheep? Traitor? It was as wild as saying he could outrun the Fourth, which was impossible. 

“Has she defected?” Ibiki asked the question all of them were thinking. Hound momentarily recoiled, his fists clenched and jaws tightened. Not another one . 

No, he wasn't sure yet. She might have, for whatever reasons, left and she will return in no time. He hasn't failed another one. Yet. Otter was borderline fuming. He was angry. He was frustrated. 

"Shut up." The Hokage gritted out despite no one was discussing anything verbally. "Sakura will be declared MIA. Team Sa, departing with Hound as soon as possible to track her down. He will be your captain for this mission. Report immediately back when you find any trait. She can either be kidnapped or left willingly." She believed with Sakura’ strength, it was unlikely for the former option to be true. Yet she would do anything to deny the latter. She threw them a stack of Sakura’s files. Hound caught it in one hand.

"Hai. Hokage-sama." The ANBU knelt in unison and disappeared immediately.

"Deer, bring her profile to T&I. Morino, I need detailed notes on her ‘psych check’. Shizune, watch the office, no more meetings today." She left as the black haired woman nodded in confirmation.

What just happened?

Chapter Text

Amegakure was beautiful. 

Perhaps beauty wasn’t the word to describe it, not quite. The rain never stopped. It was some skewed religious idea that there are too many sins of the earth born with every living human and that Kami must have sent rain to wash those sins away. 

As a man murdered, rain will always be there to cleanse it off his bloodied hands. As a man cried, rain will always be there to hide away the droplets of shame and guilt he shed. But no matter how cruel the world was, Ame did not built a made-up illusion and covered their eyes with rose tinted glasses. Their civilians were made aware of the bloodbath that their soil drank and their sky rinsed off. 

Sakura had thought that the games of charades and roleplay Konoha loved were an infallible shield that kept people content where they were supposed to be.

Civilians were happy people who were weak and expendable. Shinobi were angry monsters who were strong and expendable. People were replaceable in Konoha. 

People were replaced in Konoha.

She knew she was replaced the moment her disappearance was made notice. Maybe in the near future, Ino or Hinata or even Tenten will be taken in as Tsunade’s new apprentice. Whoever it will be, then, will sit on the chair she sat to file patients at the hospital. Will walk the halls of ANBU she used to walk and be the Sheep to Team Sa’s formation. Will kill and follow the orders she has yet to be assigned with. It may not be the same person, but she was expendable, and of course, they have stocked up benched potentials ready to use.

It was an ugly system, producing babies that were born already smeared and painted with splotches and drilled of holes. But that was what Konoha wanted, so it was okay. So those children will grow up with imperfections concealed under layers and layers of skins. Their ideation, their conscience and humanity were a set of rules. Those that escaped those rules were seen as heartless and insane. Maybe they were.

But as long as their last name pronounces a long standing lineage, they will be provided a home–a cage–that can contain whatever monstrosity of a fiend they were. 

Hatake Kakashi was a prime example. He saw past those constricted cuffs and decided to wear them, still. He was too old to run and jump over the picket fence anyway. They had labelled him like a wayward cattle, Code Red.

Can kill and can be killed. Too dangerous. Too powerful. Saw too much for his own good. 

Senju Tsunade was another example, she managed to flee decades ago, though. She knew of the lariats used to tether shinobi into submission. She left the noose on her neck, still. Her head, tagged with Code Black.

Can destroy and can be destroyed. Too catastrophic. Too formidable. Too smart for her own good. 

But Haruno Sakura was young. And she knew too much for her own good. She saw the birds that broke loose. 

Orochimaru:

deadly,

unhinged,

immortal.

Sasuke:

violent,

avenging,

unapologetic.

Itachi:

heartless,

secretive,

feared.

They were the escapees. Ones who succeeded. 

She had succeeded too.

Sakura will be unfathomable.

She will be immortal, unapologetic and feared all at once. 

And no one could can stop her. 

In Rain, she smiled. Kunai in hand, legs crossed on the wet ground floor of the small room Konan showed her. 

“So this is it, huh?” she muttered, Inner hymned in satisfaction. There was excitement drumming inside her. Her fingertips tingle in a rare thrilling pattern as if tiny fireworks are exploding from them. 

The metal plate of her hitai-ate glistened from the oil candle light, illuminating from the dusty, webbed corner. She brought the blade down, its sharp, pointy tongue embedded in the material. It skittered a badly played staccato in the first three centimetres then as if greased and soaked, the kunai slashed across the metal like knife through butter.

The line crossed out the Konoha insignia in one long neat motion.

It was more cathartic than expected. 

She was finally, completely, wholly a girl with no homeland.

It felt good. 

Konoha didn't have a Haruno Sakura anymore; though that wouldn't effect them by any means. They could even be happy, but it brought her a sense of accomplishment and reassurance.

“This is it.” She grinned.

I’m on my own now. 

She put her arms inside the sleeves of the cloak and wore them. She wanted to twirl.

Stupid, stupid girl, Inner scoffed, no malice this time. This was her princess dress and the ring, her tiara. She won’t regret this. 

The newly-made rouge nin spent less than a week in the embrace of Amegakure and realized she might have fallen in love with this place the world loathed.

The people barely leave their houses and not out of fear or the mere inconvenient weather, she found out. They just have their underground network of rooms and community. A special quality of the soil at Ame was that they soak the water only to an amount so the ground beneath always stays dry, if too much water was rained then shinobi with elemental jutsu will take care of it.

It gave her plenty of undisturbed time to meditate and study the new Bingo Book. She quickly marked the pages of Konohagakure affiliated shinobi, there were ten in total. All familiar names and faces. Red to Black codes. Then she noted the ones she didn’t want to run into. If given the chance, she would avoid interfering in their fights for various reasons. Three. Hatake, Senju and Maito. The rest were irrelevant. If she did note on the page of Kyuubi Jinchuuriki then it was no one’s business but her own. Akatsuki avoided Jinchuuriki so it aligned with her intentions, thank Kami. They assassinated two in the past but it was just the previous Nibi and Rokubi, their deaths bring more trouble than it was worth.

The ex-Konoha nin thought about the Sannin in the book. Avoid the Hokage, arrange to negotiate with the Snake and track down the Sage before he got to know of her betrayal. The last one was the hardest one, but she wouldn’t worry if it wasn’t possible. For Orochimaru, she needed an ally and his deals were irresistible yet destructive, but if she can keep him two steps behind then it will all benefit herself. She needed experiments and illegal scrolls–who better than the lord himself? The Uchiha he kept as pet was nowhere in the vicinity of what she needed and that might as well be great. Sasuke can do whatever; as long as he's not about to attempt murder on her new Uchiha comrade then it was acceptable to keep him alive. 

Speaking of comrades, she rarely spoke with any members except small meetups with the leaders or leading assistants of Akatsuki. Pain, Nagato and Konan explained Akatsuki and its operations. 

“Akatsuki was created to bring justice. We may not have the reputation matching, but the Hidden Villages like to cover up the transactions so we won’t ever be seen as heroes and that is something you need to accept.”

She almost rudely snickered, “I didn’t even want to be a hero, anyway, thanks.”

“The last time we worked with Konohagakure was in the Third’s reign, after the Massacre. The asassination of some officials, namely. Kirigakure and Land of the Waterfall still hire us frequently, as do some Daimyo.” They’d never admit it, though left unsaid but she heard anyway.

It was Nagato who spoke next, “Our ultimate goal is world peace. It is reachable, it is probable. We save the broken and fix them up, one day, we could have our own nation of the free. Land of liberty. There will be laws that protect the weak, the innocents, there will be help that can be provided to make them strong and let them live in a world they can call home.”

“So we go and invade nations that have civil wars?” That’d be ambitious.

“Not exactly, no. We let the world fight each other first. They can see for themselves that even the mirror sees better than them. That is why we let anyone hire us.”

Internal conflicts. But the shinobi world as a whole and not one single nation. Creating chaos. Confusions. Blames.

Let them ask their questions.

Then provide them answers that we want them to believe in. 

“You have your own character to fill and your own chess game to play, Sakura-san. It is your decision on how to play it.” The red haired smiled. “We can give you godhood. We’ll be the titans reigning oceans and mountains.” Konan and Pain nodded. The latter being there made it even more strange after they described to her the whole Pain creation thing.

Though Yahiko was dead, he was still somewhat alive. His memories and part of his old “alive” self was inside the Six Paths of Pain’s container. They were two entities yet a single one at the same time. Sakura reasoned that it could be similar to Inner. She knew well it wasn’t the case. Because Nagato can not fully control the consciousness of Pain and she can’t be bothered questioning the mechanics of it all. It still felt like having a conversation with Sasori–a full puppet body and no human flesh. 

“I understand.” She exhaled.

“That is good.” Uzumaki replied with an even tone. Then, “Your first mission is working with Kisame and Itachi. Aid them on their missions and they shall aid you on your training. The duration is two months. You may find them in the Land of Tea.”

She nodded. Genjutsu and kenjutsu were the first two skills they were about to teach her, then. The Monster of the Hidden Mist and the Clan Killer, perfectly sane. If she had to judge them by their shared interaction that one time then they were surprisingly the ones with the most social awareness comparing to the rest of the psychos. They knew how to sit seiza for one and didn't throw expletives to her face for two. If Kisame really have a hatred to the Mist then maybe she can chat about some political issues she eavesdropped some weeks ago. If Itachi really hated his brother, then, easy for her because she too did not forgive the stuck up superior complex duck head.

Ino said hating the same person is a cause for friendship and loving the same is the cause for rivalry. She couldn't agree less. She have a chance to be stronger, albeit with famous killers. Sakura might not be the most popular kunoichi or the most adored one but her ability to make friends if she wanted to can rival Naruto if people doesn't know about his unfortunate birth. 

“I’ll take my leave by sunrise.” She agreed at ease. 

Sakura has people now and she will have more, she thought, drifting into a state of half slumber back in the confines of her cramped room. She belonged somewhere.

She had a purpose. Akatsuki gave her a purpose and she’d be damned if she doesn’t follow it. Because what else was there on barren lands with wicked people?

She traced the crisscrossed patterns of cuts that she always hid under her elbow guards.

Wounds and injuries that she wore more like a reminder and a grounding pillar than pride or shame. Sometimes she'd pick at her skin, a little burn, a tiny cut so she could feel alive. Other times they were bigger gashes and bruises of myriad colors, swimming like beta fishes on her abdomen.

She never minded the pain. It was proof she was alive. 

But at one point, she stopped hurting. It was hollow. Caved out and emptied. 

She stopped living, at another point.

She gave her monster scout badges in return for something, anything that wasn't just empty empty empty nothing  , she craved for the pain.

She craved for evidence of her faint, imperceptible existence. It was an objective observation, that Haruno Sakura was just a dim background. But sometimes when they look, if they had looked, they will see how magnificent the scenery was. Sometimes they only look at the people upfront, but behind them, there was a spectacular background too.

But she had beaten it. Beaten her old self, her monster, depression, whatever name they had called it, she don't care. And it taught her that nothing else can be as hard. Not the blood, not the scars, not the wounds, not the cuts. 

She won, and this new thing she was morphing into can be another monster, but at least she wasn't scared of it.

Sakura will be the monster; she was okay with that.

She mended the sprained wrist she didn’t even notice, soothing green sealing the lines that marked the desperation of a frivolous child.

She was broken, that was undeniable.

But Akatsuki will fix her, she will fix herself so she would be fit enough to be what she needed to be. A mantra she had repeated again and again, “Immortal. Unapologetic. Feared.” 

Immortal. Eating lives that weren't her own. Swallow it, savor it, the deaths of those who were born mortal and remained mortal.

“Immortal. Unapologetic. Feared.” 

Unapologetic. Refusal of regrets, negations of grievances. Acceptance of something inhuman. 

“Immortal. Unapologetic. Feared.” 

Feared. The sun merely her decoration, the moon her lamp. Watch them, agonized, in glee. 

“Immortal. Unapologetic. Feared.” 

She had an epiphany:

To be or not to be?

To be or not.

She can be. 

She can be okay. Not 'good', not 'well', because those were luxuries of the optimists, of the propitious. But okay.

She can be just Sakura and they needed her to be the best Sakura she could.

(She had always been Sakura. She will always be Sakura.)

She woke up an hour before sunrise and made way to Ame’s gates. 

Sakura celebrated her fifteenth birthday. 

No candles, no cakes, no song, no parties.

Were there ever candles, cakes, songs or parties?

It wasn’t something worth remembering, but she remembered, and somewhere deep in the nooks of her heart it ached. Not in a a wave of shivering pain, but faraway bitterness that clung to the inder of her cheeks and the side of her temples.

It was a day where Konoha’ cherry blossoms bloomed into full spring.

The lack of pink was soothing, somehow. No puffed eyebags of the colour. No cherry blossom mochi served for arranged dates. No slaps on her face that made her flushed like a fool. No impractical dresses or ruby coloured jewelery. Then she wondered if anyone celebrated her birthday. (No one, no one at all because she found out they realized her disappearance a week after her birthday.) 

By the time she turned eleven, she had made a tradition to observe the sky and imagined what it wanted for her every birthday form then. It was wet, disgustingly moist and rainy, the other birthdays. Here, she wouldn’t know the difference. 

The rain was lesser now. It padded soft on her shoulders like fingers tapping a gentle goodbye. It was more like a spitting shower than stormy rain that greeted her on her arrival.

The medic looked up.

There were specks of oranges and yellows behind the heavy clouds.

Somewhere in Konoha, the sun was already rising. But the uneven, variegated sky where she was now was far more breathtaking than that of the Leaf’s. 

Twenty minutes away from the Rain, she saw the sky in its full glory. It was cloaked with an impressive array of hues, veiled clouds like waves across the wide open view.

Konoha did have an unfair amount of blue skies, but she liked it better this way. Brilliant and aflamed.

For the first time in a long time, she thought the sky looked nice. Just today. 

Sakura was fifteen years old when she knew she had herself to live for. 

Chapter Text

“Discovering anything, Hound-taichou?” Otter asked, hands fiddling with the file of his subordinate. “I’d love to know if you have anything to share.” They were at the ANBU Headquarters, making up a plan before they could dive into a tracking mission with only one tracker. Hound was an infamous tracker, like his name suggested, but he hadn’t been one for a long time. Most of his missions were ambushed and terminated nowadays. 

He slightly tilted his head toward the old comrade but remained silent as he flipped the pages of a considerably thick file about Sheep, no, Sakura’s missions. “Do you know why half of these are redacted?”

“I hope you do realize that out of everyone here you’re the one supposedly with the most information about her.” Ox spoke with something laced in his tone, akin to a sneering comment. The oldest man of the team did not take well to the bomb of an information dropped at the Hokage office. Not that he was feeling particularly resenting or betrayed, he was simply too baffled to divert into any other emotion than irritation.

“What we got from her legal documents is nothing I haven’t known.” Hound commented. “We’re checking her residence.”

“Downtown West border? Taichou, haven’t the other ANBU already checked? It’s not exactly the best place–”

Assuming Horse was warning something unnecessary, Hound cut in, “That is our only starter.”

“–for us, specifically, I mean. They don’t like ANBU operating there, least of all a tracking team.” He finished. The Yamanaka had connections in Intelligence so Horse knew where the no-zone for ANBU were.

Otter turned, “Isn’t it still part of the shinobi neighborhood?” Though the area was nearing the civilian’s side, most of its population were still shinobi.

“Retired ones, yes. Retired ANBU or long term commissioned chunin.”

Hound sighed but ordered the move anyway. 

Most retired ANBU were defiled due to accidents or illnesses that prevent them from performing missions with higher rankings. Their limitations in the physical realm was the end of their entire shinobi career. It is considered undignified to do genin-appropriate missions when you’ve already made ANBU. There were legends that ended there, in that neighborhood, on that road. Where stories about the best laid to rest in shame and guilt and the blur of forgotten monikers. 

They do not take well to the appearance of those who should look up to them, yet never heard of them. They once held power within the ranks, now only useless skin tags to the strength of the village, looked down upon despite their impressive records and history.

People with long term missions had taken a liking to the area too. Most of them priorities the cheapest option since they don’t come home as frequently as other operators, leaving their house empty year round; but if they come back, they still have a place to crash that provides peace and security. Not like the rest of the shinobi area lack security, but not many wanders the streets of Downtown West if they want to avoid running into a former Red-code ANBU. 

Horse, Bear, Ox and Otter under Hound’s command had shown up in front of a run down apartment complex. There were no opened curtains, no signs of the living. They managed to find the place’s owner—an elderly aged man with a large burn on his face who met them with a crane and a missing arm. He seemed bitter looking at them but had presented a small riveted glance when they mentioned a pink haired kunoichi. “Sako? She’s been here for years, since around that abysmal chunin exam.” So she moved in a long time ago.

“Sako?”

Sakura used a fake identity?

“You tried to track her down,” he eyed them carefully, judging their expressions, “and don’t know if she used a fake name? I’ve never seen that hair colour before and she’s the only kunoichi living in this apartment.”

Hound tried another approach, “She’s about this tall.” He raised his hand to about his chest. Otter stepped up, 

“No. She’s about this tall.” He motioned his palm, faced down and positioned it at shoulders’ height. The rest nodded in agreement. Hound turned and stuttered as he lowered his hand.

Of course Sakura had grown. The last time he saw her or any of them,  they were just shy of puberty. He swore he knew how she looked. Theatrical pink head, flailing stick arms and round big, wet eyes. He was never bothered enough to see the way her soft muscles appeared on her calves and arms and how she’d look like she had inferno behind her irises. He never really saw her , had he? Her voice was a mismatch tapestry of what he assumed she’d sound like, a figment of imagination and combination of feminine vocals. Her smile was nothing else other than that one in the photo he avoided looking at. 

Hound realised he can barely describe her at all. She was as intangible as Rin who he last saw a decade ago. 

“She’s part of our team.” He registered Ox saying. But once upon a time, she was part of his team, too.

“Why should I tell you anything? Hound here can easily break into her apartment without my help and I don’t have anything to tell you.”

The old man breathed out heavily, “You’re saying she’s a potential traitor?” He considered the notion and then went to a sealed cabinet in the corner, propping up his crane on the wall. “Don’t look at me like that. I was ANBU. I know how to think.” Then he reached into a box to pull out a paper. “This is my notes of how people that rent here lock their doors. They don’t know I have this. Sako is number 7A but I assume you already know that.”

The paper was folded and burnt at the edges. The man didn’t let them touch it, he just squinted at it then put it back. “She uses a chakra-signature seal.”

“Splendid.” Bear muttered in sarcasm. Before anyone spoke, the old man did,

“Last time I saw her here was more than two weeks ago–she’s never been away that long despite her going home at ungodly hours. Sako left a note and an envelope of cash for next month’s rent. Tell me if you find out anything. I know it is confidential but I am her landlord and I deserve to know if she’s T&I material.”

As Team Sa took their leave, Otter glanced back and saw the old man still looking at them. Later, he wouldn’t know why he did it, yet, Otter still allowed himself to reveal to the former ANBU, “Her name is Sakura. Haruno Sakura.”

The old man gave a tug at the corners of his lips. He replied, “Thanks, kid.” 

Sakura huh? Fitting. 

It took them an embarrassingly long time of three minutes to be able to break into her apartment, especially with someone like the all too perfect Hound on their team. Sakura knew how to lock her doors and the triple seals did not help. It was a C-rank seal, a fuinjutsu level none of them expected. Most chunin used D-rank seals or simple traps while genin don’t even bother using any lock—what for? There is nothing a simple genin should possess that they would fear anyone breaking into their residence. There was nothing Sakura would need to hide. Alas she managed to hide her ANBU identity, and perhaps, much more than they would ever find out. 

The worn down green door creaked. 

Hound entered first, his eyes scanned the space, making sure no one was there then he went to flip the light switch. The apartment glowed in an explosion of light before it buzzed out and darkness engulfed everything again. He tried the switch again to find it broken. Sakura either used it too much or not at all. 

“Blood.” Hound exclaimed in a whisper. Blood . That was the first thing that filled his sensitive nose, instead of the flowery shampoo scent or vanity products. “Blood and ash.” He said again, this time at a volume high enough for the rest to hear.

“There’s some burnt papers.” Ox pointed out as he strode toward the dinner table, right on the line of vision from the door. It was a small pile of ashes next to a cold meal that had signs of molding. “Perhaps a letter, but nothing can be salvaged to restore the content, Hound-taichou.” he announced.  

After he swiftly ordered the team to search every corner of the place, Hound looked down first. It could have been his first mistake, but as he looked down, he saw nail scratches and dried blood and all sorts of broken weapons and ominous brown packages on the wooden floor. He approached the kitchen, smelled the faint air of alcohol which could have been disinfectants, but took it back as he found the amount of empty sake bottles stacked on top of each other. It wasn’t an improbable notion and yes, even though out of all members of Team 7 she was most likely to come into contact with the substance thanks to her Shishou, Hound never thought she’d pick up the habit herself. 

She was fourteen, for Kami’s sake, and with what he’s about to gather, alcohol abuse was the least of her problems. He remembered how the Hokage mentioned the ‘interrogation’ Ibiki did without her permission. Maybe it was justified, maybe there was a reason. Maybe Sakura wasn’t alright and he didn’t know it. He never knew much about her anyway and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Taichou.” Bear stopped by the doorframe, some of his wasps buzzed loudly. “You might want to see the bathroom.” 

“And the bedroom!” Otter appeared. 

“Probably the least messy place.” Horse added and Otter nodded in agreement, saying something incoherent.

The bathroom was another story .

Before they could even see what was inside, the photos of Sakura during Academy days were pinned to the door by razor blades. It was not just any photos. Most of them were Sakura with her parents, their hands squeezing her shoulders or stroking her arms, covering the same spots of her exposed skin in several different scenes. 

Inside the bathroom, there were blood trails and splotches of which they presumed were blood clots, among other things, on the shower curtain. The mirror looked like it was punched several times, some parts with more cracking lines but a big three line split in the middle was clear. Hound picked up one of the small pill bottles. The labels were taken off and the rod-shaped pills were too similar to his own for him to doubt anymore. There were big round pills, similar to the standard soldier pills but they exuded a terrible odor combined with a rough coating texture. Bear examined them and claimed that it was similar to Sheep’s soldier pills she used on team missions.

Hound rounded the closet and found tubs of dissolving chemicals, vinegar and hydrogen peroxide, and several bags of bar soap laid towards the front. ANBU materials, but the amount made him question whether all of her missions were bloodbaths or that she were to dissolve two bear’s worth of corpses. 

“She was cutting her hair.” Bear stated matter-of-factly, fingers pointing at the pink strands splayed across the tiled floor. He inwardly cursed at the state of living she took habitat in. It was a complete mess, something out of a psychopath’s house, no less. 

“Seems she was cutting more than just hair.” Otter muttered, ushering them to see the bedroom, his gloved hands held up some kunai and shards that still had blood on its edges. 

Ox huffed and followed Team Sa taichou while Hound lingered by the bathroom, deciding to pick up the peculiar soldier pills and popped them into a plastic bag. He’ll give it to Tsunade for further investigations. 

The air was so awfully stale no human should breathe in it. 

The bedsheets and blankets seemed like a stark contrast against the entire apartment, it looked brand new. Like Sakura had just only slept in it a handful of times, likely, since the couch did seem like she had spent more time crashing it. The shelves were stacked up full with medical textbooks and scrolls, even experiment equipment like flasks, syringes, droppers and a stone mortar with pestle were set to the side. Her desk was kept relatively clean, perhaps for the medicine experiments, but it was still littered with wrappings of herbs and other trinkets. It looked like she was just here. That she was lurking nearby, about to sit down at the desk to grind some leaves into powder and cook up a concoction of remedy. There still was an extremely thin layer of dust on the table, since the window was shut and the curtains were drawn, there had been no fresh air there for a while. 

“Taichou. I can not find any storage scrolls or usable weapons.” Which would have been alright if she was just Haruno Sakura, a civilian born paper ninja. But she wasn’t. She was Sheep, member of Team Sa and apprentice of the Godaime Hokage. A kunoichi of her caliber shall not live without a well looked after set of weaponry. Additionally, any ANBU would be in possession of at least ten storage scrolls whether for missions or personal use. It was as if she had taken them with her.

“There were no shoes at the entrance either.” Horse remarked. “Barely any house decorations, nothing at all actually.”

“No photos.” Hound said, a little too low but it didn’t escape the ears of well trained operators. 

“Weren’t there photos pinned on her doors? I’ve taken them off to check later.”

Hound titled his head, contemplating something, “I mean– Nevermind.” There were no photos of Team 7. There were no photos of Team 7. He knew everyone on the team had a copy. He knew the kids scurried off after seeing the photos to buy photo frames. Naruto bought a cheap blue one, Sasuke a more expensive looking wooden frame while Sakura purchased a simple red one, himself a green-ish colour one. He knew the photo was sentimental. At least it was to him. The last thing left of the team; the only proof that somewhere along the line their lives had intertwined and they were one unit, together. 

Now they were strangers half a world away with dreams and goals far from being relevant to one another. Hound did not dare to look at his own photo, but he knew his kids did and they, in his wishful thinking, may have treasured it as a piece of a past life. But Sakura did not have her photos here. No shoes, no scrolls, no kunai or seals. He hoped she had brought with her the red framed photo, too, wherever she might have gone.

As they finish collecting everything needed, Bear made a passing comment, “I’m not a poison expert myself, but I work with poisonous insects, there is a lack of actual ingredients to whatever she might be making.”

The others looked, waiting for him to elaborate. Bear picked up some packages, “These can not be mixed to create anything. They only help with the aroma of any paste or liquid medicine. They’re to be extracted into essential oils.” It was the most the Aburame had ever spoken to them, but it was helpful, so they didn’t ask him why he talked so much.

Hound decided it was enough to loot Sakura’s apartment. They had their clues and so he commanded the next step, “Horse and Bear, report to Hokage-sama and present her what you have collected. Ox, ask T&I if they can spare anything other than redacted documents. Otter, we’re going to Haruno Mebuki and Kizashi’s residence, break in and check all rooms, I’ll be the distraction.”

They nodded in unison, “Hai, Taichou.” Then shunshin away, leaving Otter and Hound left.

“Pardon me.” Hound sighed and shunshin away. He reappeared two minutes later, no Inu mask, no silver chest plates this time but the standard green vest and pulled down hitai-ate. “As discussed. I can give you fifteen minutes.”

Otter nodded as Hound, Hatake now, found himself knocking on the door of an ordinary two story house in the civilian neighborhood. He let himself into the usual Kakashi persona–aloof, easy going and casual.

A woman opened the door, he hair a dull blonde in an outdated updo. 

“I’m Hatake Kakashi. Sakura-chan’s sensei.” He greeted her.

The woman had a fleeting look of annoyance, then she turned her head and shouted loudly for her husband. She opened the door wider this time, enough for Kakashi to get a glimpse of the silk dress she was wearing. Expensive, even for civilians. Then she spoke, a raspy voice, “Ah, Sakura’s sensei, ne? Why don’t you come in for tea, I was waiting for someone to tell us where she was.” Weird answer, but he’d take it.

The silver haired shinobi stepped inside the door, “Excuse me then, ma’am.” feeling the chakra of Otter already in the house, upstairs. He had successfully got in.

‘Does Sakura-chan visit home often?’ Kakashi wanted to ask something like that, not being a conversationalist himself, but before he could, Mebuki leveled him with worried eyes. “She’s about to miss the wedding tomorrow, I was worried sick! It's already terrible enough that someone stole four thousand ryō worth of goods from our stores two weeks ago. Papers! Food rations! Clothes! Shoes! The useless shinobi team I hired to investigate came up with nothing!”

“I hope your family will recover from the financial loss, ma'am. If the village could to anything to support, please contact the Civillian Crimiminal Welfare and Humanitarian line, just 500 meteres left of Central Hospital.” He tried to convey sympathy with the eye exposed.

“What to be expected anyways? This village is a dissapointment.”She sighed loudly, fingers woving into her hair, smoothing them. ”So? Are you bringing her here later for the wedding?”

What wedding?

Thanks Kami, Hatake Kakashi was not the worst actor, despite not being multifaceted like other shinobi. He played right along. “Oh, about that, Haruno-san, she might not be able to come now just yet.” He darted his eyes around, seeing no photos of Sakura. Only that of her parents as a couple and some fancy ostentatious art pieces. 

Kizashi walked into the living room leisurely. “Why not? Why are you of all people here? Had she not handed in her shinobi resignation?”

Shinobi resignation? Sakura? That’s quite funny. “Maa, I’m sure she had. She’s just a little occupied right now.” He answered, going along with it. Poker face was one thing ANBU mastered. 

“She better be here before dawn tomorrow. Can you call her here then for us? We’ll pay you plenty enough.” Their audacity to think they can just hire The Copy Ninja to run an errand was truly astonishing. An elite assassin to call someone's children home? The more they spoke, the more he wanted to just get up and leave. 

Sakura’s mother continued, “If you’re here to tell us how bad of a ninja she is, no need, Hatake-san.” As she handed him a fine china cup, filled with chamomile tea. “We’ve got enough of the neighborhood saying that. But our Sakura can finally do something good for the Haruno name.”

He really wanted to leave right now. Or pierce something with the kunai conveniently placed at reach on his right thigh holster. 

After rounds of talking in circles and deciphering implied things by the Haruno, Kakashi can safely say he spent enough social battery for the entire next month. He might just go home and hibernate after this mission. He was a terrible choice, Otter might have been better, but he was probably rummaging through the cupboards somewhere in the house while Kakashi was stuck here with two civilians who, frankly, love using indirect speech.

Ten minutes in and he had had enough.

“We don’t take well to most things, you see sensei (like shinobi, they didn’t say) and Sakura had always been quite a rebel. Never listen to her parent’s best interests. She was so lucky we even let her play in her unsophisticated career despite being good for naught—” The married couple looked up as Kakashi tugged at his headband. They shamed the village system, his reputation, his former student's and almost half the population of the village.

His red eye spinned and spinned and spinned.

They dropped their heads limply on the table. “That should do.” He huffed, standing up to find his teammate. 

He found Otter in a big spacey bedroom, three times the size of Sakura's.

“Uh, Taichou.” He hesitated. “Kami." He stared, "Kami. The deeper we are in this case the more question we have,”

The red paper was unmistakable for any other document. Both held their breath.

[         MARRIAGE LICENCE - KONOHA CIVILIAN MARITAL WELFARE

Full name of wife: Haruno Sakura 

Age: Fifteen years old

Employment status and title: N/A

Citizenship: Konohagakure, Hi no Kuni

Signature/fingerprint: 

Full name of husband: Satou Ichiro 

Age: Fifty eight years old

Employment status and title: Owner of Satou Tradings

Citizenship: Gin no Sato, Tetsu no Kuni

Signature/fingerprint: 

Agreement of marriage: Sixty bars of gold, five silver chests and 5,000,000 ryo granted from Satou Takeo before the marriage commence in Tetsu no Kuni to Mebuki and Kizashi Haruno.

Time marriage shall take effect: XX-XX-XXXX

                            Pending Approval: (Civilian Welfare Department stamp)                               ]

Chapter Text

Her hair was dramatically long, draping over her body, reaching down to the small of her back. It wasn’t straight and glossy like river streams, it wasn’t curly and remarkable at all. If not for the outrageous pink colour, her hair would have looked like that of someone never heard of a comb. Its edges were spiky and they took on a life of their own, unruly and wildly rebellious—almost making it funny when she remembered how she had disliked her boys’ hair, all with gravity defying properties and sharp spikes. Even Kakashi’s mop of silver followed the hedgehog fashion theme. 

She quickly bent backwards and let her pink locks dipped into the tub. The coolness of the water seeped to her scalp, the dye soaking up. 

She knew her hair was issue number one if she wanted to strip off whatever left that can be used to recognize Haruno Sakura.

The length of it was easy to modify using cell regeneration at the base of the root of her follicles. The texture was common, so she forgo any attempts to change it, instead focusing on the obvious way someone would use to detect her: the cherry blossom pink. She never understood how it happened biologically, as her parents possessed dark blond and almost-red heads. Perhaps an undesirable recessive allele, but she learnt to love it sometimes ago when no one had. Now though, the shade has to go so Haruno Sakura is truly, utterly dead,

And maybe one day, when she was strong enough, when she could hear power flowing in her veins and battle cries on the tip of her tongue, then she could be Sakura again. 

Two hours after she successfully turned her hair a charcoal black with rudimentary hair colorants, she was at the borders of The Land of Tea, eyes boring into the set of jewelries at a local stall.

“Do you have a string necklace?” She asked the shopkeeper politely, then added, “No pendant.”

The middle aged woman looked as though Sakura just rejected her best selling items then reached for a box a little far from eyesight. “These are ones I haven’t chosen what pendant to put for yet. But just a string, girl?” She enquired.

Sakura nodded, hands reaching towards the colorful strings. Some were tailored and weaved in bold patterns, others were just knitted thin ropes. Some were spools of various thickness and material. “The white string, what is it?” 

“Ah, I never knew what to use it for. It looks like it was made by plaiting someone's hair, though I wouldn’t be sure if it was human hair.” She hymned defeatedly, “Got it from this old merchant. He said it was made from the hair of a goddess.” Then she huffed exasperatedly as if telling Sakura, as if anyone would believe. 

“I’ll take that one.”

“Eh? Why? It looks so thin and easy to snap and if it was made of hair– Don’t tell me you believe it was a goddess’ hair?” 

Receiving a shrug, the lady just shoved the cord to Sakura, saying it wasn’t important and she had wanted to get rid of it anyway so there would be no fee. The lady was a civilian. If not for her occupation and physique, her willingness to give it to a random fifteen years old girl was undeniable proof of her background. 

It may not have been a goddess’ hair but it was a chakra conductor and many times lighter than the metal options so the choice became apparent. Sakura slid her Void ring into the string and tied it together using reinforced chakra strands then dropped it over her head. 

“Hey darling, why don’t you use some makeup? That black hair of yours would make you a walking dead if you don’t add some colours!” The lady, still in front of her, chided. 

It wasn’t a bad idea. Maybe she should invest in nail polish also, seeing how popular it was for the Akatsuki members. “I’ll consider it.”

But right then, with a dark green outfit and a ragged looking olive haori, with long sleek black tresses and a pair of wooden slippers, she was no longer screaming I’m Sakura from Konoha with her appearance. 

It took her two more hours to cross the border into Tea.

“Good morning,” She said, looking down at her muddied boots–the Land of Tea surely had a lot of good soil—then fixed her gaze at the man sitting at the small table, “Sorry for the dirt.”

“Haruno-san. Do not worry.” The dark haired man stood up, eyeing her new makeover for a second then gestured for her to follow inside the hallway. Kisame was off doing his own errands at gods-know-where and she knew Itachi was better at communicating anyway.

As it turned out, Akatsuki’s hideout in Nagi Island was not the most camouflaged place but instead a small civilian house off in the busiest part of a populated town. She would be lying if she said she didn’t expect anything other than an underground cave system or something with Orochimaru’s aesthetics. Maybe it was just that Kisame and Itachi have better taste in housing than other partnerships in the organisation, but she wouldn’t know. The place was a minimalist’ habitat, which did not surprise her one bit. They were the least flashy people and as she stated, least constipated in mannerism. 

“The one to the right is your room. The one after yours in the shared bathroom. The room across from yours is mine and next to it is Kisame-san’s room.” He opened the door and Sakura was truly amazed at the state of the space. It was quite clean with a window big enough for her to crawl through, despite it being the size of her own bedroom back in Konoha. The bed already had a mattress, next to it was a wooden desk and chair set, perfect for her to display all of her medicine equipment. 

“Thankyou, Uchiha-san.” She politely smiled. “Are there any, uh, house rules?” Do criminals have house rules? 

He seemed to ponder for a while and answered with: “Aa, We usually have our meals individually and mostly don’t bother each other unless on missions. If you cause collateral damage the payment is on you.”

“Fair enough.” She hymned. 

They exchanged nods and she closed the door. 

She can get used to this.

The next morning found her at the local market hunting for some ingredients wearing the inside out black uniform cloak. Sakura was not a particular chef, she had an inclination feeling that Itachi would make a good cook, but she was mediocre at best in the kitchen. That’s not to say she could run on instant noodles like a certain blond or tomatoes like some woebegone. 

She might have eaten nothing but soldier pills and sake for the last few weeks but she will definitely collapse before her time if she doesn’t consume some human food. 

She ended up in front of a dairy and cattle meat stall. 

“Can I have ten eggs please, An-baa-san?” A boy asked just as Sakura was about to pay for her things. With the stereotypical hypervigilant nature of a shinobi, she looked.

The spiky haired boy turned before she could say anything, walking away after his purchase. He bumped into her while eyes remained glued to the basket he was holding. “What–” He stumbled on his words, “Uh, I’m so sorry, um, Miss…?” He waited for her to supply her name.

“Hitsuji.” Was the name she came up with. Great. She had as much creativity in names as her parents. She cringed away when the boy asked again, 

“Sheep?” He looked questioningly then nodded in acceptance and moved on to another question, “I’ve never seen you around here?”

“I was just moving in town. What’s your name?” She asked, despite knowing well what his name was, where he came from and how he lived. She asked, despite how much she had wanted to slap him up the shoulders and crackled about their brief friendship.

“Idate.” He answered simply and flashed his grin, “Ah, I’ve got to go now. I’ll see you around sometimes, Hitsuji-chan!” 

One afternoon, days after she’d settled, the genjutsu master gave her an advice she didn’t know she’d hold onto until the end of her girlhood: “Be any girl you wanted to be. But never once forget who you truly are, for there will be days that this is the only body you could live inside.” 

He’d added, something for a kouhai from an experience senpai, “Use several identities until you make the Bingo Book and get marked as Akatsuki affiliated. Then you can be you again.” 

She laughed. Then she asked him, “When does training begin?” ( When can I start to get Sakura back again?) 

He stood there, still staring. Something was wrong. There was not a reason why something was wrong.

But something was wrong wrong wrong wrong

wrong wrong wrong 

wrong wrong—

WRONG

It was like worms were crawling inside the flaps of her skin and bees were building nests deep in the cavern of her eardrum and tiny fishes were flapping and yapping insider her mouth,

Her skin was melting like wax on fire and the wick was burning out,

Her nails were wet and they were falling out of her fingertips,

she raised a hand, “Kai,” she said.

And–

“Haruno-san. Do not worry.” The dark haired man stood up, eyeing her new makeover for a second then gestured for her to follow inside the hallway. Kisame was off doing his own errands at gods-know-where and she knew Itachi was better at communicating anyway.

As it turned out, Akatsuki’s hideout in Nagi Island was not the most camouflaged place but instead a small civilian house off in the busiest part of a populated town. She would be lying if she said she didn’t expect anything other than an underground cave system or something with Orochimaru’s aesthetics. Maybe it was just that Kisame and Itachi have better taste in housing than other partnerships in the organisation, but she wouldn’t know. The place was a minimalist’ habitat, which did not surprise her one bit. They were the least flashy people and as she stated, least constipated in mannerism. 

“The one to the right is your room. The one after yours in the shared bathroom. The room across from yours is mine and next to it is Kisame-san’s room.” He opened the door and Sakura was truly amazed at the state of the space. It was quite clean with a window big enough for her to crawl through, despite it being the size of her own bedroom back in Konoha. The bed already had a mattress, next to it was a wooden desk and chair set, perfect for her to display all of her medicine equipment. 

“Thankyou, Uchiha-san.” She politely smiled. “Are there any, uh, house rules?” Do criminals have house rules? 

He seemed to ponder for a while and answered with: “Aa, We usually have our meals individually and mostly don’t bother each other unless on missions. If you cause collateral damage the payment is on you.”

“Fair enough.” She hymned. 

They exchanged nods and she closed the door. 

She can get used to this.

The next morning found her at the local market hunting for some ingredients in the inside out black uniform jacket. Sakura was not a particular chef, she had an inclination feeling that Itachi would make a good cook, but she was mediocre at best in the kitchen. That’s not to say she could run on instant noodles like a certain blond or tomatoes like some woebegone. 

She might have eaten nothing but soldier pills and sake for the last few weeks but she will definitely collapse before her time if she doesn’t consume some human food. 

She ended up in front of a dairy and cattle meat stall. 

“Can I have ten eggs please, An-baa-san?” A boy asked just as Sakura was about to pay for her things. With the stereotypical hypervigilant nature of a shinobi, she looked.

The spiky haired boy turned before she could say anything, walking away after his purchase. He ended up bumping into her while eyes remained glued to the basket he was holding. “What–” He stumbled on his words, “Uh, I’m so sorry, um, Miss…?” He waited for her to supply her name.

“Hitsuji.” Was the name she came up with. Great. She had as much creativity in names as her parents. She cringed away when the boy asked again, 

“Sheep?” He looked questioningly then nodded in acceptance and moved on to another question, “I’ve never seen you around here.”

“I was just moving in town. What’s your name?” She asked, despite knowing well what his name was, where he came from and how he lived. 

“Idate.” He answered simply and flashed his grin, “Ah, I’ve got to go now. I’ll see you around sometimes, Hitsuji-chan!” 

One afternoon, days after she’d settled, the genjutsu master gave her an advice she didn’t know she’d hold onto until the end of her girlhood: “Be any girl you wanted to be. But never once forget who you truly are, for there will be days that this is the only body you could live inside.” 

He’d added, something for a kouhai from an experience senpai, “Use several identities until you make the Bingo Book and get marked as Akatsuki affiliated. Then you can be you again.” 

She laughed. Then she asked him, “When does training begin?” (When can I start to get Sakura back again?)

something was WRONG! , Inner screeched. Something was wrong. Her skin felt like it was on fire and her scalp itched so much she wanted to tear her head off her neck.

Sakura pulled at her chakra with madness,

and Inner breathed so fast it was past the point of hyperventilating and she

push,

push,

pushed—

“Haruno-san. Do not worry.” The dark haired man stood up, eyeing her new makeover for a second then gestured for her to follow inside the hallway. Kisame was off doing his own errands at gods-know-where and she knew Itachi was better at communicating anyway.

As it turned out, Akatsuki’s hideout in Nagi Island was not the most camouflaged place but instead a small civilian house off in the busiest part of a populated town. She would be lying if she said she didn’t expect anything other than an underground cave system or something with Orochimaru’s aesthetics. Maybe it was just that Kisame and Itachi have better taste in housing than other partnerships in the organisation, but she wouldn’t know. The place was a minimalist’ habitat, which did not surprise her one bit. They were the least flashy people and as she stated, least constipated in mannerism. 

“The one to the right is your room. The one after yours in the shared bathroom. The room across from yours is mine and next to it is Kisame-san’s room.” He opened the door and Sakura was truly amazed at the state of the space. It was quite clean with a window big enough for her to crawl through, despite it being the size of her own bedroom back in Konoha. The bed already had a mattress, next to it was a wooden desk and chair set, perfect for her to display all of her medicine equipment. 

“Thankyou, Uchiha-san.” She politely smiled. “Are there any, uh, house rules?” Do criminals have house rules? 

He seemed to ponder for a while and answered with: “Aa, We usually have our meals individually and mostly don’t bother each other unless on missions. If you cause collateral damage the payment is on you.”

“Fair enough.” She hymned. 

They exchanged nods and she closed the door. 

She can get used to this.

The next morning found her at the local market hunting for some ingredients in the inside out black uniform jacket. Sakura was not a particular chef, she had an inclination feeling that Itachi would make a good cook, but she was mediocre at best in the kitchen. That’s not to say she could run on instant noodles like a certain blond or tomatoes like some woebegone. 

She might have eaten nothing but soldier pills and sake for the last few weeks but she will definitely collapse before her time if she doesn’t consume some human food. 

She ended up in front of a dairy and cattle meat stall. 

“Can I have ten eggs please, An-baa-san?” A boy asked just as Sakura was about to pay for her things. With the stereotypical hypervigilant nature of a shinobi, she looked.

The spiky haired boy turned before she could say anything, walking away after his purchase. He ended up bumping into her while eyes remained glued to the basket he was holding. “What–” He stumbled on his words, “Uh, I’m so sorry, um, Miss…?” He waited for her to supply her name.

“Hitsuji.” Was the name she came up with. Great. She had as much creativity in names as her parents. She cringed away when the boy asked again, 

“Sheep?” He looked questioningly then nodded in acceptance and moved on to another question, “I’ve never seen you around here.”

“I was just moving in town. What’s your name?” She asked, despite knowing well what his name was, where he came from and how he lived. 

“Idate.” He answered simply and flashed his grin, “Ah, I’ve got to go now. I’ll see you around sometimes, Hitsuji-chan!” 

One afternoon, days after she’d settled, the genjutsu master gave her an advice she didn’t know she’d hold onto until the end of her girlhood: “Be any girl you wanted to be. But never once forget who you truly are, for there will be days that this is the only body you could live inside.” 

He’d added, something for a kouhai from an experience senpai, “Use several identities until you make the Bingo Book and get marked as Akatsuki affiliated. Then you can be you again.” 

She laughed. Then she asked him, “When does training begin?” (When can I start to get Sakura back again?) 

“KAI! ” She repeated almost fervently. Her nails clawed at her skin and she felt it sink inside the socket of her eyeballs. 

Sakura tore her skin from its muscle in strips. 

It was shearing raw pain and Sakura convinced herself it was alright.

And it worked.

Everything that was right was right again; everything that was wrong became right. Nothing about the situation was technically right, but, Sakura decided, they're just semantics.

Itachi chewed over her display of shock, eyes lit with a wave of interest in a sea of indifference. “It has begun the minute you step inside this threshold.” If he was impressed, he did a neat job concealing it. 

“A layered B-rank genjutsu? On your new flat mate? Impressions.” She chuckled, finding herself at the same spot on the first day she arrived, body shaking and fingers twitching. It has been seconds. If she was a girl with a larger ego or a kunoichi with much more pride she would have cared. But she was raised to expect nothing. So she remained, knowing her place, knowing where she would be muted and when she should stay blind. She was standing in front of a genjutsu master—the greatest of them all, the golden goose of his generation—and Sakura felt like she’d rather die in a room eaten by fire than go through one of that again. But given second thought, perhaps she would do that again willingly. "I'll treat that as a training offer advertisement...?"

“You’ve escaped all the layers. I have time tomorrow morning, I can help you try again.” He said not unkindly and she beamed, craning her neck to catch her other teammate entering the space. 

“Hah? Oh hey– What's with the hair?” 

Sakura huffed this time, catching herself after the mental workout, “Why do people keep on questioning my fashion choice?” 

He chortled and for the third time in a day, she thought she could get used to this. Inner agreed. 

“Mah, I’m unpacking.” 

“You know where to go?” The shark man questioned.

“Itachi-nii made sure I knew this place to its very single nail.” She replied sickly sweet and turned her head too early to see the way the Uchiha stiffened or the Hoshigaki raised his brows.

She was petty like that, they’ll see. 

Ten minutes after the sun rose, Sakura was already up and dressed in her training gear. Her black hair tied in a messy bun as she noticed how green her eyes were in the bathroom mirror. It was a blazing green. Greener than her healing palms, greener than grassy valleys in the olden days, greener than jade bracelets her mother would make her wear. It was a striking shade and she thought, without the pink hair, if one recognized her by her irises alone then maybe they knew a piece of her that she didn’t have time to know. 

At the kitchen counter was a boiling kettle, the sound almost made her flinch. It was too much. Too similar to hers. But she is not here, Inner spat. Someone was making tea and for the first time in forever, they didn’t make tea to pour it all over her. She was glad. 

“‘morning, Itachi-nii.” 

“Good morning, Haruno-san. I advise you not to call me that.” His voice was even and relaxed and she was reminded she was hours and hours and days and weeks away from Konoha.

“Enjoy your tea. I’ll have coffee, ‘Tachi-nii.” Then the suffix stuck. “Call me Sakura or whatnot, I don’t care, ne?” She smirked, too bratty of a thing to say in front of a world renown criminal. Sakura loved dancing with Death and messing around with her new teammates, who, technically can’t kill her due to circumstances, gave the same thrill. 

He didn’t say anything else. The next moment her eyes met his, she swore to always aim to look at his chin because his Sharingan spun like windmills and Inner screamed bloody murder.

The next time Sakura awakened she was in the middle of the kitchen, laying in an embarrassing position on the floor with Kisame smiling pitifully at her. “You want something other than genjutsu for a change?” 

“Yes, please.” Her voice was hoarse and a little strained. She really needed coffee. Or a soldier pill. 

“Y’know kid, last night you uh, was kinda loud.” He said casually. She formed the hand sign for Kai and nothing happened. 

For a second, she breathed. 

The air was WRONG WRONG WRONG—Then the world broke and she was in the kitchen again, across from an Itachi sipping on his tea cup.

“Great.” She practically snared, he didn’t bulge.

He dissipated into crows.

Then she questioned if anything was real at all. 

If she was real. If this was her life and this is The Land of Tea. Maybe at some point long long ago, she was strangled in a well crafted genjutsu. Maybe she will complete her life and wake up to the real one. She’d be old and wrinkled—if she reached that senile age—and one day she would form the correct hand sign and she’d break free into a world that could have been crueler than the one she had led. Or maybe in that world she had already died. Was she an Uchiha killed on that unfortunate blue moon? Then Itachi, of course, would spare her mercy and show her a fleeting life of a clanless girl she wished she could have been instead?

What if she woke up and her real life was on fire and she would be gasping for painful puffs of air and she would wish she could stay in this current reality forever?

It all came down to this:

Sakura was going insane. 

She knew this.

She knew this when she was twelve and she knew this when she was fifteen. She was insane . 

It didn’t really matter, now, which was real and which was not. It was hers and she will do whatever she pleases with it. 

Sakura took out her sharpest kunai and plunged it into her heart. 

Two weeks later, after waking up everyday to form the Kai hand sign, (sometimes her world shattered and sometimes it didn’t and she would be disappointed that day) she could claim she was proficient enough to separate reality from illusions. 

She’d also learn how difficult it was to defy her brain as it create self defense mechanisms to not die. Her skin was suddenly too thick for her to cut her arteries. Her brain was suddenly too scared for her to bite her tongue off. But she did it. And it separated her world and the worlds he created perfectly, crystal clear. 

What Itachi did increased her hypervigilant tenfold. For her to recognize a hair out of place, a toothbrush placed wrong or a miniscule dent in the wall. An ant that looked not like an ant or the window with colour a little off. Tea colour too dark or Kisame waking up too late. She ended it all with a new way to die every time.

One of those days he came to confront her, telling her, “Never get out of a genjutsu below A-rank like that. Use your chakra, do not stimulate your nerves.” Stop killing yourself.

“Sure, ‘Tachi-nii.” She said.

He gave in on her silly nickname and did not comment on it further. He was still assessing her.

Another Sakura would have mustered hatred for the Uchiha but Inner had told her that at least he was teaching something. It was more preferred than Kakashi-'sensei'  who didn’t bat an eye because he did not know how to teach. Itachi did not know how to teach, either, as proof presented by Sakura herself. But he made an effort. It was endearing, almost. If he had trained her any other way she would have considered it a genjutsu—after all he was Akatsuki and it was no debate they were lunatics on the loose. She appreciated his…concerningly unorthodox methods on shoving her into an asylum of genjutsu layers simultaneously. 

At one point, Inner didn’t scream anymore and only calmly pointed out the crack of the illusion. Sakura was a fast student. She had needed one demonstration and no instruction for the tree walking exercise and got it in one. One demonstration and no instruction to figure out iryo ninjutsu at record speed. She broke things down to their core and glued them back together when she finally understood it. She vivisected every skill she admired and deconstructed it in her version, sometimes with changes for improvements. So Sakura truly did not mind deciphering every genjutsu technique that was barreled onto her, albeit annoying in difficulty and frequency.

However, weaving genjutsu into fruition was all her work. Out of trials and errors testing illusions on the children around town or some chatty market ladies that reminded her too much of Konoha. She had managed two simple basic D-rank before joining ANBU, it was a requirement, but anything above that was unfamiliar territory. Fascinatingly disturbing to those who aren’t genjutsu type. Those who did understand genjutsu were too close to be fearing themselves. The mind is a fickle thing and muddling with someone’s neuron transmission and fabricating detailed hallucinations have consequences that may not be reversible. Not only can the victim go insane but the inflictor may get stuck in their own arrangement of chakra pulses that permanently affect their own perceptions. It was understandable that there weren’t many brave enough to try B-rank genjutsu.

Sharingan was something else, unsurprisingly, and Sakura’s personal prison cell of reality crisis was mostly preparing her to brace for the dojutsu instead of the more meagre castings non-Uchiha do. Since the illusions have similar bases and the Sharingan-weaved genjutsu were just more sturdy and advanced than normal genjutsu, Sakura mused about getting the upper hand in genjutsu training. Sasuke definitely won’t be helping out anyone with his Sharingan but Itachi was half-forced to help her and thus she has more chances at mastering the impossible than her peers. Last she knew, Kurenai, Konoha’s sole current genjutsu master, can not find one fit for the standard of mentally unbreakable and excellence chakra control. 

Truthfully, Sakura pondered about the day her Bingo page marked genjutsu as an affinity. Far-fetched and likely confusing to her former village, but wouldn’t that be enough reason to be better at this?

Kisame lingered at the kitchen counter, he grumbled at the empty coffee kettle and Sakura smirked. Without the rounds of psychological torture she would have made an unbecoming snort but now that is all she could managed. “Hey, uh, I don’t think I can stand more genjutsu. I wonder if this is one?; not the point. I was thinking, Kisame (she couldn't care less about names and their befitting suffixes) A good blade.”

“A blade?”

She nodded, feeling Inner stretching a menacing grin, “You heard me, blue man. Something my size, can decapitate people with one swing and chakra conductive.”

He was silent for a while then looked at her, “You would have made a good bloody mist swordsman if you were born there.”

“Any ideas?” She prodded, ignoring the what-ifs that her brain conjured at a speed that exceeds anything else.

“I’ve got a link. And an idea.”

“The catch?” 

“Fix my fins.”

“After his lungs,” She pointed her thumb at the man who froze at his mention. “Yes, I might have been in three months worth of genjutsu in the span of three weeks but I’m an excellent medic if you haven’t heard.” She rolled her eyes.

“I am fine.”

“Until probably a year or two from now when you’d collapse in your later stages of the disease and what? I think you know that I know more than I let on.” She hymned. “Oh please, you want name drop or what?”

“Haruno-san,” he didn’t finish. Not a chance.

“Danzo. Shisui." He stopped breathing as the syllables made out, she did not take the warning, "Coup d'état.” She exhaled.

That list should do. 

For whatever reason, the plaster that Uchiha Itachi wore pulverized at every single letter strung on her words.

She knew that barely hanging jaw was an indication that she took a step too far and the great Clan Killer was thunderstruck. A doctor doesn't do things by halves and Sakura was pretty sure she would have been smithereens on the floor if he was fractionally less shocked. 

Itachi's eyes leered and they were wide, still and black. He looked, if possible for a man like him, terrified. 

Itachi was fourteen, or was he thirteen? When he had commit the greatest mass manslaughter of the decade. His blade ran hot across napes and necks. 

Itachi was old-enough-to-do-what-he-did when Nagato came as he layed his younger brother's head on the main road. An offer was made. He left that same night, threats already exchanged with old men who saw in him a perfect scapegoat. 

Itachi was on the cusp of eighteen when he heard his brother was put on a team with The Vessel and a girl.

He was twenty and he can't remember the girl in his brother's team because it didn't matter anymore because Sasuke left and his teammates aren't his problems and there was this girl too young too weak too much reminder of his little brother butsheknew and hedidnotknowthatshedid and how?

How?

      How,

              How. 

                    Howhowhowhowhowhowhow-

Hoshigaki Kisame stood there, glancing left and right at the sudden combust of tension, feeling the unintentional wrath of Itachi's Killing Intent. 

There was little to nothing that the former Kiri-nin know of that could render the notorious cold blood Uchiha killer speechless. Itachi was wise beyond his age and was more composed than most. The blue man at intervals felt like he was the younger one, which, extremely ridiculous. He sometimes seem like he knew much more than anyone else but today, he looked truly shocked, even for his usual lack of expressions.

Sakura was not Itachi. Kisame know this. It was like saying sharks aren't eels. And who was shark and who was eel? The way this girl say names of no-ones and the familiar phrase 'Coup d'état' he heard his entire youth could scare the most unnerving twenty, no, thirteen, years old he ever know. 

Itachi killed sixty plus people in less than two hours, all blood related. Kisame decimated troops and stampedes and tear flesh with his mouth, chewing and swallowing when he felt particularly in the mood. Sakura did nothing of sort. She was not even supposed to be in the same room as him, ever, if not for that day Leader-sama announced this twig of a medic a part of them. Sakura was innocent, in his persepctive. Was she really? She was ANBU. But what else?

It was not his bussiness. Sakura wasn't in the room anymore and finally the other killer breathed. Kisame made some noise on the back of this throat, he wish he had enough chakra to shunshin away. That solo mission was not it. "Uh-" 

Red. Red in black and black in red. A silhouette. Two eyes.

Red was the last thing he saw.

Kisame forgot.

The Uchiha wasn’t about to recover anytime soon so Sakura took it as her leave and slipped away, clenching her jaws. She left her two new aquaintances alone, and they were responsible adults (she was one, too) so they were practically obliged to fix this mess and not hold a grudge.

She fucked up the conversation royally, typical, and so she might just rot around the nursery and count sheep—

Chapter Text

Orochimaru’s lair in Sound was a sizable catacomb system. 

Sakura miraculously got saved by a solo mission to avoid the aftermath of the catastrophic conversation she had with her teammate. It was a simple capture and retrieval mission, hunting down someone with a kekkei genkai that Nagato wanted to look into. Conveniently not too far from Sound, so, she made a detour. Afterall, she had a negotiation that was better sealed as soon as possible. 

It wasn’t easy to just infiltrate the Hidden Sound without any invitation. She came, then, as Hitsuji, a war slave who must speak to the great Orochimaru-sama about what she has to offer. They let her in, after a flash of her fumbling around with a B-rank genjutsu. Itachi made it look flawless and she’d be damned if he never spoke to her again because she definitely needed more training, as traumatizing as his methods are. 

The place was rotten and smelled like death. It was not an unfamiliar scent, but it was something about the limbless elongated reptiles that made her hair raise and her stomach churn. 

She saw the slaves and prisoners of war. She saw not humans but a mad scientist’ lab rats. They squirrel around and cough in fits that send their body into a shrimp. She saw the signs, they were ill. But not ill due to the harsh treatment, but the unsanitary grounds. For a brief second, she felt bad for her hapless victim of an old teammate but then, like a sledgehammer to the head, she remembered how the boy must have made himself a trophy. He wouldn’t settle into submission if he were to dress in tattered clothes and dine with those she knew he’d come to see as more instruments than people. 

She slid inside the main lair after taking out two guards. 

There, on the self-acclaimed throne sat the man whose strike brought down the best of her generation. One who essentially was the tipping point for Team Seven.

He was their metaphorical death personified. 

He did not lose his psyche when she was reminded of the first and last time they saw eye to eye. Maybe they never did, maybe Sakura wasn’t quite impressive enough to earn a single flick of a glance. She willed her storming stomach and tingling fingertips into reign. 

In another world, The Chunin Exam (dubbed due to its infamous failure and the invasion it set), would have been better. In another world, The Chunin Exam would not have been an omen about their generation. But in her world, their reality, in this life that lived through the Forest of Death, she knew none of those other genin had seen horror like that before. Luckily, Team Seven had, for they saw to A-rank threats and meddled with politics before their peers. For they not only saw the Snake Sannin but two Jinchuuriki, too. They were, at base, kids when they entered those wired fences. They emerged, no longer counted as children.

Team Asuma made it out with a member delivered to the Emergency Unit and two others admitted to a speed run rehabilitation program. Team Kurenai made it out with a broken spine, a half dead body and blood coated dog that chewed off someone’ arm. Team Gai made it out with almost unsalvageable injuries and each member with a preposition to retire–none of them did, with them grounded to the hospital for three months. 

Team Kakashi, though, never really made it. 

They ended in that exam and there was that.

Sakura or anyone who participated in that competition with Death, they recoiled at the splayed bodies stuffed with sand like a teddy bear stuffed with cotton. They flinched at the red splattered grass: maroon, crimson, scarlet, cherry wine red. They shuddered at the cold that swept on the nights they knew someone was dead and they could always be next. They avoided even whispers of the name for it took away the intangible value of carefree innocence they should not have to lose so early. 

Orochimaru. 

Alas, she demanded with no trembling that would betray her turmoil, “I won’t beat around the bush, I want the Shodai’ mokuton scrolls in exchange for my assistance in developing antidotes and vaccines.” 

Tsunade wasn’t a specialized poison medic, but Shizune was, and on quieter days the black haired assistant was her resourceful senpai. Sakura also had a knack for it, too, with her personal studying. It was a big promise she wasn’t sure she could meet but she would do whatever it takes to lay hands on what she needed.

“Hm, and who are you really?” How much do your words weigh? The man hissed and his voice seeped into her pores like slimy oil and Inner did not like it. His long tongue slithered out and she clenched her jaws, Inner taunting her not to be a coward.

She inverted her cloak, the embroidered red clouds bright against the candlelight as her necklace got tugged forward into view,  “You have the words of Akatsuki’ Medic.” 

Orochimaru momentarily froze at the shine of the ivory coloured ring but he quickly composed himself, “Bold, little thing you are. I’ve had words about the new member of Akatsuki. Sightings near Amegakure.” He chuckled, “Tell me your oh-so-secret identity and you might have a chance.” 

“Haruno Sakura. Nukenin of Konohagakure.” Sakura ruffled through the pockets and pulled out a crossed out hitai-ate. The snake likely already knew, but she was not seeking violence, so she put on the ways of the Sheep.

“Haruno? Sasuke’ teammate? That’s an interesting development.” He had a chilling smile on him and his personal medic glared at her from the corners of his glasses trims. “Say, Kabuto, what were her descriptions again?”

“Nothing special. Team Seven’ deadweight. Cannon fodder role in team dynamic. No practical potential and an insubstantial loyalist.” The subordinate said mechanically. 

“Might want to reconsider that last one.” She joked. Sakura knew she was punching the fire ants colony but she thought again about what she dared utter in front of The Monster of the Mist and Clan Killer Itachi and decidedly she could die any day now thanks to her mouth. 

The snake spoke slowly, as if he was in a monologue of some great play, “A fellow former Leaf, I see.” He did see, and so did she. Afterall, they both saw the ugliest blemishes of the finest shinobi village. Konoha had always been strong, but those she had wronged became stronger. Leaves fell and she let it slip out of their fingers every few decades—a lesson never learnt. “It is a feat to be one of the red clouds, I do acknowledge. But what is the proof you’ve got to show for your mastery in medicine?”

“Give me two months and I’ll show you the zenith of iryo ninjutsu—Strength of a Hundred Seal, but far more magnificent.” She smiled a saccharine smile. 

 Sakura had been secretly pouring her chakra onto a twisted version of the yin seal the moment she understood the mechanics of how it forms. It was a forbidden seal for many reasons, something too delicate and too dangerous. Tsunade took years to achieve a double-edged sword power that Sakura knew Orochimaru was restless to also achieve. He won’t ever come close. But Sakura had impeccable control of her chakra and a merit of erudition; she could exploit it as much as she wanted. 

Chakra control was the type of talent very few have yet still undermined by the majority. Those who show the slightest of aptness for it were to be medics or messengers who could work in any terrain. They were seldom deadly. 

But Sakura wasn’t them. Neither ordinary nor lenient. Her control far surpassed her own shishou and it wasn’t something the public knew. She was in command of her chakra. She ruled over every tenketsu point, every line of power that ran through her body—she can name them as precisely as she can hold sway over them.

Sakura’ control was deadly. Like a lethal needle or a bolt of high energy lightning. Like a battle axe in her hand turned a suture knife. Nonpareil potential no one really noticed. But Tsunade had espied it, not fully, but she was the only one ever came close to comprehending what the sweet harmless little cog in her machine could do. She feared, though, that Sakura would escape from the mold that wouldn’t have fit someone as terrific anyways, so she taught what would not have wasted the girl and halted when it was enough. Because anymore power, anymore ideas, anymore ambition and Sakura would be uncontainable. Konohagakure dispose of its uncontainable stock cattle. Tsunade did not want to lose her, so she told Sakura of her seal. The absolute quintessential seal that she accomplished, something to keep her disciple off of getting curious on things that she shouldn’t know. But with the Slug Princess’ awful luck, the pink haired girl pried too much and had been teeming with hunger, so she left. 

Sakura was also intelligent. Though Naruto could rant on and on about how smart she was, he couldn’t get it right.

She was almost as wise as Shikamaru was, but the shape of her intelligence was sharper, more morbid and frighteningly close to transcendental. His was the typical pinnacle of strategy and assessment, worthy of the sobriquet genius. Hers was the thirst for something that could swallow her whole, hers was tracing the shadows of Shinigami with her blood, befitting the psychopathic name.

Her intelligence was one that did not stop to consider its moral limits. Her intelligence ran free and wild—it didn't have to stop, she didn’t leash it with a fair conscience and devoted empathy. So it wandered places where most people don’t. And that was where her soul thrive best. 

“Pray tell.” The pale, scaled man squinted his eyes slightly, his golden orbs glowed like a venomous predator observing its promising prey. But if she was his prey then he’d die by the time his teeth sink in her flesh because her shell was poisonous. He was foolish, overlooking her, but he had always been a man more rational than those of his Debut Class. 

“Byakugou no In is imperfect. You don’t need to know the details, ne? I’ve found ways to construct it better than ever done before. A more definite sense of godhood, you could say.” She licked her lips, eyes heeding the man who earned the name of ‘Immortality Chaser’. “Something no one had achieved and no one could either.”

He seemed to consider it with intense contemplation. It was possible. He knew it was. She might have been a no-name child in a list of prodigies and prophesized beings, but she was on the same list as them. There was a reason for that.

Anko made it, and she was just a war slave, a girl he couldn't care less about experimenting with. But Anko lived.

Despite different circumstances, he thought Sakura might, too. She trekked on a path no one have walked before. She paved her road and only she could travel it. It was like Tsunade all over again, stubborn and revolutionary. But Sakura could be revolutionary in her own rights. Without a legacy clan name attached or a grandfather who was deemed a god among mortals. With nothing. From scratch. 

Orochimaru did not know then. But when he does, he'd realize the glint in her eyes was more fierce than the Kyūbi's host, more cunning than The Last Uchiha's own and much more emotional than the Copy Nin. He remembered seeing a similar glint in the eye of his former student.

(He did not know, but it was the glint of a survivor who clawed their way out of the system with two bare hands.)

“When I see it, I’ll give you the scrolls.” His eyes drew up into lines. “I can give you more than that, Sakura-chan, if you could tell me about that little organization of yours.” 

“Unfortunately, that won’t work on me.” It’s not easy to get inside my head. “My clan wasn’t killed overnight by a thirteen year old and I’m not stupid.” The girl stated with a mocking tone. “Give me a scroll. The studies of mokuton bloodline limit by Uzumaki Mito would suffice. See it as a deposit.”

“I haven’t said I accepted, girl.”

“Oh, but I know it is a risk you are willing to take. Nevertheless, haven’t you read all of the Shodai’ scrolls and came up with nothing? It is of no value to you.”

“What value does it have to you, then?” He asked, intrigued. Danzo would have better understanding in the subject but the elder was not a name one would discuss anywhere. There were reasons why the girl chose his place and not Root, maybe she didn’t even know about Root, but he found it doubtful. 

“A small side project. If you give me something now maybe I’ll even tell you snippets of my progress. Oh, I also heard your play-pretend little Sound village is suffering from an unknown epidemic? Even your medic can't cure.”

He winced, if ever so faintly, yet he admitted, “So?”

“I can deliver you a vaccine recipe in three days. Unless you have the guts to seek out either Chiyo of Suna or Tsunade of Konoha? Heard that you made yourself quite their worst enemy.” She was working her jibe. 

She heard a soft ‘tsk’ but he waved his hand for Kabuto to retrieve something in his studies and she felt like winning. He won’t lose anything of great importance and was genuinely curious about what the future holds for Haruno. Human meat shield the time he saw her last, he speculated that she would soon die before reaching the tower. Then he’d say she would soon die in that invasion amidst the chaos. He’d assume she’d be dead before she can see the mess of Jinchuuriki unleashed in the wild. Again and again and again, she did not die.

He had greatly underestimated a pawn and he hoped she was not a part of his game—there will be too many complications if she wishes to interfere with his plans. 

Akatsuki was cleverer and the world should take precautions. He was glad he was one of the first ones to receive such information. Orochimaru also doubts Konoha would be able to track her down; Akatsuki was well-known to either leave a trace of bloodbath or nothing at all and that was more threatening. It was in their fashion and Konoha haven’t made the pattern discovery yet.

The dusty scroll was unceremoniously thrown at Sakura, aiming straight for her head. She caught it with her right hand and slid it inside her roomy sleeves. “I should go,” she snickered and reversed her cloak to its solid black before quietly making a beeline to the exit. 

He watched, quietly, calculating and sank back onto the dark of his madness.

Unfortunately for her, after ten minutes of going straight with no directional aid, she concluded that she used the wrong exit. Top five most humiliating things she have committed in her life just had its newest addition: stomping out of a Sannin’ lair as if she knew where to go.

The architect was like a tunnel maze, she squinted to see the light at the end of it. If all failed, her fists would be as good as a warning for Sound to beware of Akatsuki’ Medic. 

A voice loomed behind her the moment her eyes met the blinding light source, “Who are you?” And a sword was by her neck.

She wasn’t a civilian, she wasn’t a genin either, so she stood unaffected. Her black cloak billowed and Sakura drew her lips to a thin line.

Our life just got worse if that was even possible, should have seen that coming, Inner huffed angrily. 

“Ah, just a visitor.” Her voice was on a significantly lower chord and she prayed to Kami it would not break. 

Her hair was still ebony, her hands scarred and calloused, her outfit furtive, her nails black and her lips were smacked blood coloured lipstick. Passable, if she was anywhere else and not in the middle of one of Orochimaru’ training grounds. 

The exchange was not inevitable, she could have avoided it, but she took the wrong route and standing in front of her was Konoha’ prized avenger. 

“I asked who you are.” He repeated, his blade almost made a slash on her neck but she caught it tightly in her grip. 

Her fingers dug into the metal. She pressed down, hard.

Cracks.

It shattered. The pieces fell in clatters on the ground and she grinned.

He blanched across from the kunoichi.

“Oh, you’ll figure it out.” She was in the mood to annoy someone today. “You know where the exit is?” Sakura tried to stay as aloof as possible to not be seen desperate. 

The Uchiha was on edge, he glared at her in a furious stance.

Did she break his favourite katana? Inner clicked her tongue, That's probably his fault then. 

The boy suddenly snapped up and she looked on reflex. Silly her, looking in the eyes of Uchiha.

His pinwheels spun.

An angry, deafeningly screaming stirred of hurricanes and cyclones. Too different from his brother's who had red spilling like soft waterfall, homaloid and soundlessly macabre. 

Against his expectation, she did not fall flat on the soil. Silly him, acting like god in front of a non-believer.  

She allowed him a second to process. Evidently, she was so acquainted with Itachi’ Sharingan that Sasuke’ version became child’s play.

Ultimately, there were benefits in her weeks of hell aside from the side effects of losing her mind and getting trapped in an endless abyss of illusions. She made a note to thank her psychological torturer when she got back. They need to reconcile because she was irking to punch this boy in the face. 

On the matter at hand, Sakura awkwardly sensed the utter silence that wrapped around them. 

Sasuke parted his lips, his mind seemed to see dots that he could not connect. He knew this chakra feel. He did not know from where.

This girl’s–woman?—face was oddly familiar. Like he had seen her before, or he knew someone who looked similar. But it was not the coloration, no, because there was nothing when he racked his brain for green eyes, red lipstick and black long hair. Green eyes he has only seen in a few people, but this shade was of a little girl he once knew. Red lipstick on a fancy occasion where his mom would put them on. Long black hair even a darker shade than his brother’s, a more looked after version compared to Orochimaru's. Decidedly not Uchiha, she did not have a single suggestive trait. No tell-tale air around every Uchiha ever lived, no regaling eyes, no light complexions or the dark dominant irises.

But those green eyes reminded him too much of what he had already forgotten. An era of his short life that was fruitless and terribly pathetic. It had been a year, maybe some months more than that, and he had forgotten. His old team photo faced down, layers of particles and dust that befell on it made the wooden material grey. He did not dare to look at it. Its own existence he detest but it had always been a reminder that as long as it stayed there, untouched, undusted and unloved then he could continue on this path. Perhaps the others do look at their copies, but he didn't. And the green eyes was something he was sure he saw the night he left. He did not delve further.

The sheer fact that this unknown person remained unfaltered upon his practiced genjutsu was baffling. Borderline offensive. Was it truly possible a Sharingan user, full Uchiha, main house bloodline possessor have inferior capabilities in illusion techniques than anyone else but their kin?

Yes, it was possible. 

But Uchiha Sasuke will find that out much later, when he awoke with the same scenario again and again and again and again and— he finally sat up in an empty training field after a round of Itachi’ signature technique.

He managed to dismantle it quickly and efficiently with the help of his dojutsu, groaning when he felt the strain afterwards. Sasuke knew it was the former heir’ favourite way to traumatize people, himself being an ill-fated boy who got to watch the death of his parents repeatedly as he passed out. It should have evoked him with a sense of admiration, yet knowing someone that is definitely not Uchiha with such competency in the art of genjutsu riled him. Was it a mere stranger or was it his brother’s warning? He did not have time to contemplate.

It was then he realized there were enemies he was unheard of, those who could pummeled him into a pulp before he could even challenge the killer of his clan. He was much stronger now, but mostly in a physical prowess sense. In a kenjutsu and ninjutsu sense. He did not have many test subjects to develop anything better than his supposedly excellence genjutsu skills.

He’d ask Orochimaru later who the girl was, because despite being the best fighter in the lair, he wasn’t so foolish to deny that the snake most definitely knew more and was marginally stronger than he was.

At fifteen, Uchiha Sasuke would do whatever it takes to be the strongest ever lived. 

At fifteen, Haruno Sakura will do whatever it takes to be the most powerful—she had not really lived, had she?—ever existed.

Chapter Text

The five years of Konohagakure Ninja Academy education was spread evenly with thick lessons of history. 

Yet there was a blatant lesser mention of any clan-specialized abilities. The Sharingan, for example, was mentioned offhandedly as Konoha’s most prized possession, even more treasured than the Hyuga’ dojutsu. Clans liked to have pieces of themselves hidden, information that are only known by long acquaintances with a clan member or from high authority figures.  

Most civilians weren’t privy to such information or particularly interested in something that could never be theirs to have. Sakura saw the lack of mentions, the vague descriptions and blurry show of her classmates’ stories. She knew how important those knowledge were and she wanted it . 

The pink haired girl has a prodigious memory: everything she sees, she remembers. The talent was praised highly if it were possessed by a Yamanaka or a spy. She was neither and thus all she remembered, stayed stashed away in her brain archives.  

The Leaf pridefully stated that they have at least a clan for every military department, proving their invincibility in battle on all fronts. Sakura knew this, it was from question seven of the exam in her third year. 

Academy students spent two months studying the Founding Era, the consecutive point in the timeline after the Warring States. 

Everyone had known the name Senju Hashirama since before the Academy, it was a thing every citizen could boast about—their perfect founder, their almighty ruler, their godsend savior, their absolute hero. Sakura, like always, went to the Central Library that hosted the space for more than a thousand books and scrolls on the Founders. She had liked studying and researching on any topic they were doing before exams. The accessible section of the library to civilians was loaded up with propaganda and poetic takes of the village’s founding, which Inner decided it was infuriating but understandable. Civilians do not need to know the more unsavory perspectives and complete tale of ugly battles that finally led to the construction of Konohagakure a good eighty years ago. 

It didn’t matter, for the shinobi world. Because the dead stayed dead and there would be no need to know how their ancestors had lived. The foremost thing was the abilities their predecessors harvested, not how they had loved and bled and died. Sasuke once quoted it as an excuse to fall behind top ten highest grades on the history exams. 

That was when Sakura started to pay more attention to the forgotten ones that were buried behind their achievements in life. 

Legends easily become overwritten by newer counterparts, wars erased off of its existence when no one made it out alive. There were names she heard in passing when young. The names disappeared mere days after the death of those people. Sakura remembered being six and hearing the moniker Shunshin no Shisui, she remembered people calling him the greatest asset of his generation. 

Until she never heard of him again. 

She remembered no one really mentioned the Fourth, Namikaze Minato, even when the Third was their ruler. It didn’t make any sense, how it had been a decade and counting when no one became the ‘new’ Fourth and no one took the Fifth spot either. The Fourth was dead and he stayed dead. His famed Yellow Flash epithet was all they made of it. The man that he was only lived in the buried memories of  those who choose to remember. Only a boy in a mask and a cold engraved stone did, so that was where he stayed. 

She remembered the texts with Senju Mito, the Mistress of Sealing who came to the Leaf and lost everything she had ever known after. The first Jinchuuriki of Kyuubi, the woman who fought and was forgotten when she died. No one talked about her, not even the kunoichi Sakura knew—granted she did not know many. Senju Mito stayed inside the corners of the paragraphs about her husband; elsewhere, she did not exist. 

Dead people became irrelevant so there were names Sakura would hear once and never after. Their entire existence was a blip not needed to be known about for future generations. She knew she was part of those names. 

Some people, like the Senju brothers, made their imprints so deep it became history instead of a piece of it. They won’t be forgotten. 

There were six aisles dedicated to Hashirama and Tobirama in the library, four of them to the Shodaime himself. Only less than thirty of the scrolls were about the mokuton kekkei genkai. 

The information provided was unnecessary when it came to her exam, but Sakura did not care, she just wanted to know more . 

The Mokuton, a legend that held little truth from the tales of the papers. It was not possible. It was not an element. Barely a bloodline limit (why was he the only Senju who could grow trees with a flick of his wrist?) So what was it? 

Sitting across from her bedroom door, Sakura unraveled the scroll Orochimaru had given her. In quick succession, it showed off the faded ink and a layer of dust.

[Extracted from Uzumaki (later Senju) Mito’ memoir of the mokuton studies:

‘Wood Release was a multi-purpose ability, deemed the most fearsome and versatile kekkei genkai. Though it was a supposedly inheritable trait, there had been no confirmed inheritor before or after Senju Hashirama, the sixth generation Clan Head of the Senju. 

Records from the wars against Uchiha stated that Hashirama-sama was the only one who used wood techniques while his kin possessed fine weaponry skills. No other Senju had fought with wood. Speculations were divided into two oppositions: that the Senju credited all mokuton users’ work to the Clan Head or that it was never a bloodline limit from the beginning–but instead a mutation of sorts. The latter was the less popularized theory, mostly discussed among my people, the Uzumaki. 

We need to know more or see more samples to finalize our understanding of this kekkei genkai. I was able to see a wooden statue the Senju Head gave us as a peace treaty offering and study it in person. The wood made from mokuton was identical to that of naturally grown trees’ and it was practically not possible to differentiate them. I was told it was more sturdy than normal trees and does not particularly belong to any species of organism. They have bark that doesn’t flake and looks much more structured and smoothed when grown by Senju Hashirama. I’m not sure if it could produce flora or any type of fruit. The trees usually do not grow much more than when Hashirama-sama was finished molding it. It stayed and I fear I won’t live long enough to see whether these trees would last the damage of time like their counterparts could. 

The extent of the ability was never truly known, similar can be said about the Sharingan’s later stages in which Uchiha guard its properties like their deepest secrets. 

—

*Note: Though I suspect neither the Senju nor the Uchiha truly understood the mechanism of either mokuton or Sharingan respectively, both remained untouchable.’ ]

Untouchable to whom? Inner scowled. The rest of us? Kami-sama? Shinigami? Each other? 

Though true to Sakura’s hypothesis about the suspicious nature of mokuton, the short text did not help much. Mito was just an Uzumaki at the point of writing this down, a faraway princess with eyes of an outsider. Sakura knew that after marriage, Mito did not further strive for understanding of her husband’ abilities, proven by the lack of texts produced by the woman by that time. Nidaime was a probable source to research, but he was more focused on developing his own jutsu than that which his brother specialized in. 

She hasn't really thought about the first notion of the speculations about Senju discrediting their own clansmen. It was probable, both theories. 

Aside from The Senju Forest at the borders of Konohagakure, there was no other ‘living specimen’ that was said to be produced by the Shodaime’ wood release. Tsunade once drunkenly told Sakura about an ancient Senju shrine in the heart of the lush greens that houses a collection of memoirs from the clan heads. She even recounted the memories of being dragged there by her grandfather and what the area looked like. With little prodding, the last Senju told Sakura that it was similar to the Uchiha tablet, the most sacred place of the clan. Tsunade only knew in passing about the tablet. But at the shrine of Senju, she knew well enough to paint a scene for Sakura to imagine. It was a shrine with walls written in crypts that Tsunade could never decode, along with scrolls that were sealed by her grandmother, Mito herself. 

“No, it wasn’t a secret. The shrine was just forgotten. I think I might be the only one alive who has been there.” The Hokage gulped and slammed her sake down, “Grandpa said the place was very special. Old man lied. I swear all there was to read was gibberish. He said I don’t understand and that’s alright ‘cause few do.” 

Then Sakura draped the green haori over her master’s shoulders and chuckled. She will remember this. “Hai, Tsunade-shishou.” 

But she had several issues in accessing the area. Firstly, she was no longer welcomed anywhere near the Leaf’s borders even if the forest was situated a hundred clicks from the village. Secondly, she was having a joint mission coming up with her current teammates to Iron with extra side missions along the way.

From the Land of Tea, they would need to cross Noodles, Waves and Fire before going through the Land of Rice which then borders Iron. Noodles and Rice were not much problems. Land of Waves, due to her personal experience, will not bring forth nice memories and so would Land of Fire. Their route will stay sharply away from the main tracks and of course, away from any Hidden Villages. This means Sakura has no chance to slip away and find the exact spot where the Senju Forest would be, unless she trusted her clone enough to do the task by itself. It was not a safe option, knowing by this point Konoha was likely in a search for her. Team Sa was likely engaged. 

In a week, her MIA status would expire calculated from her approximate time of departure, unless the Godaime stretched it for longer. Her leave was sudden and there were no possible traits. All things that smelled like her were disposed of; her apartment won’t have much lingering scents of her if they found it too late. Even her tracks to Ame were by flying. There would be no evidence of her paths or accidental remnants of DNA. Not only can it completely tilt Konoha off its kilter when inspecting her departure, they would need to make many more false assumptions upon her disappearance. Kidnapping or enslaved. Voluntary or forced. The chances are high for either and Konoha won’t have time to pour it's everything for a girl that’s most likely dead. They'll give up sooner or later.

Knock.

Sakura snapped up, eyes sharpening to the door. She reaches her pouch.

Knock. 

Knock.

It was softer this time. Sakura stood up, her black hair strands hanging over her vision. Her legs spread in a defensive stance as she raised higher, bracing for action. 

“Itachi?” She staggered when his chakra momentarily got released from its suppression. 

People like him make chakra suppressing a permanent thing, masking the signature with a deformed and insect-level amount of chakra or to nothing at all. By only releasing it a fraction, it was equivalent to a normal shinobi’s chakra flare. She made her way to the door, Inner mumbling Kami save us, at least he’s decent enough to knock.

The door clicked and Itachi was standing several steps away from her. He looked impassive, like always. “Hello to you too.” She stated flatly.

“Haruno-san.” Then he proceeded to stand there unmoving in the hallway. Sakura sighed and reached her hands up for the kai sign just when he looked up and blurted out, “It’s not a genjutsu.”

“Uh…sure.” She checked her surroundings again, dropped her hands and watched him. “Right. So, is it about the last time we spoke?”

“My apologies for the influx of genjutsu.” She nodded and blinked twice, his words came in her left ear and went through her right. It’s not like he was overly sincere with the apology anyway. He opened his mouth and close it, struggling to find the words before she interrupted, 

“‘Tachi-nii, honestly, I think we should not have this conversation at my bedroom doorway. You mind the tea table?” She asked awkwardly, hands gesturing around. He nodded and moved out of the way in small steps.

As they sat down on the zabuton, Sakura became aware of Itachi's seriousness and how stiff he was. She drew her lips into a straight line and sagged down but not yet easing. She eyed the clock in the corner. “So, what do you need me for at one in the afternoon?”

“Haruno-san, I need to know why and how you come across such information that you have disclosed.” He did some gestures with his fingers, activating a room-wide silencing seal. The kunoichi furrowed, the only one who have the adress, or key, was their other teammates. And he's most definitely on a mission out of Tea. It was either extreme paranoia or he wanted to kill her after they talk to keep his secret. There was no way.

She did not dare to wander near his eyes, settling by his chin. “You mean the Massacre? Do you need me to remind you again that I was the Hokage’s apprentice and her personally appointed ANBU?” Sometimes boldness win.

“I’m pretty sure the Hokage doesn't know this herself.”

Sakura froze. Ah, really? Inner face palmed, If Naruto’s obvious Jinchuuriki status was a simple gag order then this is the kind of bring-it-to-the-grave information. Damnit. 

She flashed her teeth and quickly shut it for his lack of reaction. 

She can not get out of this. 

“You see, I was a curious girl.”

“A curious girl.” He repeated.

“—who asked a lot and no one answered. So I found it out myself.” She swiftly added, “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Please elaborate.” 

“Let's just say that I still don’t understand how stupid everyone was when they looked at the Massacre and thought it was normal. Go around and ask, every fucking shinobi will say an Uchiha went berserk one night and that’s it.” His silent request for her to continue, “My little self’ hyper-fixation was History and Psychology. That explains itself why I think the whole thing was questionable.”

“Aa.” He allowed it but still drilling his eyes into her head.

Her lips twitched. Just how much does he want to know about her thought process? Knowing him, then everything. “The Police Headquarters existed. Only a few Uchiha were stationed that evening. Even Uchiha Fugaku, the Head of Police, was not in office despite me hearing that he was supposed to be there until eight everyday—Sasuke told the class in a presentation once. The Massacre happened at six thirty. His corpse was found in the Uchiha compound. That meant he probably knew.”

Itachi's eyes widened moderately for her reasons. “Maybe he came home early that day.” He argued.

“Kami, Itachi. Then explain how even though there were at least thirty ANBU operatives on in-village patrol every day, no one was able to intervene? I’m not about to believe you single handedly slaughtered a hundred people before any ANBU got the notice.” She tsked loudly, “There was no Uchiha being out of the village on the exact same day. No one on long term mission. Very few situations required the presence of all members in a single night. All situations must be initiated under the Clan Head's orders."

"...That would be a strange coincidence."

"Indeed. I broke into the ANBU mission archives pretending to be Tsunade-sama and inspected something. After the Massacre, the Third did not conduct a single investigation. All he ordered was for the bodies to be disposed of and your status updated as a missing-nin. Does that sound even relatively sensible to you when an entire noble clan was wiped out unexpectedly?”

He slightly furrowed his brow. “No, I suppose not.”

“Everyone was wary of the Uchiha. I was seven, I remember my parents and adults discussing how dangerous you guys were. A little digging, I found that every older generation of ANBU have heard of Danzo and his myth called Root. He apparently tried to forge you and uh, Shisui, was it? Into it.” Itachi flinched at the name, “But somehow right before he could Shisui suicided. More illegal digging and I retrieved some plans about the coup in the Uchiha compound, using highly complicated encryptions, too.” 

Sakura was fourteen and did not know what she was getting herself into. One suspicion led into the next. A clue slowly made more sense when she found another. 

Nothing about the entire situation was logical. There were glaring blank spots in the story and Uchiha Itachi’s own profile that she found was too similar to her own—too many redacted lines. It was a string of buried orders and secret missions and things no one knew. She followed the evidence from the Archives to the Hokage’s personal mission folders to Sarutobi Hiruzen’s personal residence to the abandoned Uchiha compound. 

It took her three weeks of sneaking around, doing things behind the Godaime's back in a risky gamble that would win her knowledge. She had to make up several excuses and practiced C-rank henge as well as competent genjutsu during that time in order to get where she got.

It was a rewarding investigation project. She gained a state secret or two and improved her own skills in the process. 

“I put two and two—and a lot of assumptions—together. I guess if someone really wanted to know then they could.” She said the last sentence sheepishly.

“Not unless you are both ANBU and close to the Hokage.” He blinked then remarked. “You are more intelligent than they let everyone think.” They , he had meant Konoha. “Or you let everyone think.” He amended. 

“Take the brains from the Nara and the conjectures of Yamanaka instincts.” 

“Hn.” Again with his monosyllabic responses. A pause, then he breathed a heavy breath. “I made sure to erase Kisame-san’ memories from the conversation.”

“Wait– Why? The Massacre, how much of a secret is it?” Why would someone as uninvolved and uncaring as Kisame be excluded from the vague list she gave? She gaped when her mind linked several things at once, “Hold up, you– don’t tell me you’re still under an order—”

Itachi was surprised at the rate of her conclusion. Sakura was too smart for her own good. It brought him back to the first time he read her profile from Konoha. The 'mediocre' description was a nicely done lying job then. They missed a genius. Perhaps they didn’t and they feared what she could become. Looking up, he caught her disbelieving expression, unlike her usual fake face of anything but. 

“Oh Kami. How did I miss this!” She half shouted and the table beneath her palms were cracking. “You are– there could only be one reason why you’re a missing-nin if not because you need to leave after that stunt!” She heaved and her next sentence came out as a whisper just above silence, “Are you a double-agent?”

He simply nodded, unsure of what to say or if he needed to knock her out and kill her. Now that would get him in trouble with the organization, they just recruited her weeks ago after all. 

“And Tsunade doesn't know because the person you’re reporting to is…Danzo?” It was more a statement than a question. He confirmed for her nonetheless. “Itachi-nii. That– That is insane. ” 

She snorted then cracked into a full laugh, hands around her stomach. It was unbelievably hilarious, not really, but she didn’t know what else to do but laugh. “That made so much sense .” She wheezed in between chortles. 

“Haruno-san.”

She grabbed onto her shirt and tried to even her breath, her voice still shrilled and high, “Please. Call me Sakura, I goddamn hate my last name. Besides, I’ve known too much for you to be formal, ne?”

“...Sakura-san.” She gave him an unimpressed look, her arms came up to cross infront of her torso. “Sakura.” He sighed.

A chuckle. “Okay. I won’t tell anyone. But don’t you dare smuggle my information to that creep.” 

He pull his lips into a straight line. Regretfully, she knew too much for her to be anything but dead and he found her useful enough to actually help him. Sakura didn’t care for people siding and it seemed she didn’t give a mind to him possibly destroying Akatsuki inside out. She probably just thought of leaving by the time the others get killed.

 Itachi clenched his jaws, to tell or not to tell.  

But tearing down Akatsuki wasn’t what Itachi was planning to do. Not after his brother left Konoha, he doesn’t really have a reason to do whatever Danzo wanted anymore. Orochimaru liked Sasuke too much to give him up to Danzo and the only reason Itachi kept the deal with Danzo and the Third was because they promised stability and protection for his little brother. Now that Sasuke doesn’t need that stability and protection anymore, now that the Third was long dead, there was no reason to play martyr. He had liked politics, but he wasn’t as patriotic as some people might think (not that the general population believed in his loyalty anyway). 

He'll tell.

So, five years after that night. A year after he hatched his new plan, he finally let someone else know.

History have its eyes on us, now.

A terrible lengthy silent later, the clan killer spoke, 

“I plan to eliminate Danzo as soon as possible.”

Sakura gawked. “WHAT?”

Chapter Text

Udon no Kuni, or Land of Noodles, was a popular tourist destination with its production of all types of noodles and the variety of flavours the citizens used with them. It was the nearest country from Tea accessible by Nagi Island. 

Sakura found that her two teammates did not care about getting caught since all they did was reversing their cloak and put on a fashionable statement that was their headwear. The straw hats were exceptionally large with strips of white fabric on its trims to cover the face. By the time they made it to one of the bigger restaurants in the country it was past midday. With little insistence from Kisame, the three decided to have lunch together before departing for Waves. 

“We’ll take a boat to Waves, their daimyo needed someone to clear up loose ends from the mess two years ago. Apparently, the previous guy, Gato, was killed by some rando.” Kisame chuckled, throwing the scroll to Sakura.

“Momochi Zabuza was the name.”

“Huh?”

“The ‘mess’, it was one of my old missions.” She sighed. The Waves mission was a stepping stone in the little time Team Seven had before its separation; their first C-rank, their first A-rank, their first kill and their first brush with raw brutality all in one package. A failure that on paper was marked success. That mission was Sakura’s first impression with missing-nin and something in the back of her mind snapped. It could have been Inner who soundlessly expressed a vile desire towards the profession. At the end of it, the pink haired genin wasn’t scared out of her mind like they had expected. She stayed a kunoichi, and with an option she realised was possible, she knew she could always just run. 

Sakura wasn’t broken on that mission to the Land of Waves, no, she was just never whole from the beginning.  

Kisame tapped the table while waiting for his serve, “Momochi? I’ve heard he died in a hole somewhere, so that’s what.”

Don’t mention the sword, Inner reminded. Sakura knew about the things she should and should not say. She also found the trip to Waves more useful than not, after all it wasn’t everyday she could loot the weapons of a corpse when it was not war. She wanted the Kubikiribocho and she will get first class training for it. Letting Kisame know of her motives would not work very well for her so she pulled her most hopeful, innocent face, “Well, would you have time to train me?” She could only fool one man out of two seasoned shinobi and it better be Kisame.

“No.” Kisame shook his head. “Your taijutsu, though executed well, needs much more work before you can be at a level I can teach. Your kenjutsu is piteous.”

His assessment was rational and correct, no matter how it affected her new realisation of using the Kubikiribocho for the weapon choice. 

Sakura did have decent taijutsu. Her styles were deprived from Tsunade’s own one, with extra mimicking moves after watching Gai and Lee’s training. It was a well-rounded but flawed set of movements that she was working on and had been gliding down her priority list when she focused on genjutsu. The Academy kata was beaten out of her by her own Shishou on their first spar, with it being reliable only to genin and no one above using it in combat due to the elementary defences. 

Sakura’s taijutsu was considered B-rank, mostly depending on Tsunade’s special techniques. Her kenjutsu was rather a disappointing mark of below D-rank with no experience beforehand. Her best weapon was the average kunai. People could say Sasuke was their marksman of the generation but only because he had been throwing darts and blades since three. Her first time picking up the kunai was at the Academy lesson, she had been competing with the clan kids who had prior previews. Her most prominent show of accuracy was frankly during the Forest of Death, saving Naruto’s life in a nick of time with a single blade thrown from a five metres distance and managed to catch his jacket at the right angle, dangling him up on a tree’s trunk. 

She wasn’t as good at it as she was with chakra manipulation, but her intuition was competent enough for use. However, it was far from scraping the bottom of the average pool with Kisame’s bar.

“Pretty please? Even ‘Tachi-nii gave me an introduction to genjutsu—” if the nightmarish experience could be called that, ”So why don’t you just, I don’t know, hurdle me into intense training?” 

“I have better things to do than train stamina for a brat.” 

“Like catching a shitload of fish and twirling on water like some dancer wannabe?”

“I understand Hidan’s displease with your attitude now.” He kept on slurping on his noodles while talking after he referenced their first meeting where Sakura went on a rampage of verbal brawl with the organisation's greatest linguistic cursor. The Uchiha, with his clan raised speech and courteous demeanour, seemed to agree with the sentiment. 

Kisame finally looked up, “Still a no. Minus one point for the insult.”

Sakura huffed exasperatedly, relenting to the squint of eye from the swordsman. “I hate you.” She spat.

He didn’t seem concerned but rather pleased he could ruffle her feathers. Great, the man  was fooled. She might sound like a whining brat for him but he won’t suspect grave robbery and that’s enough. Who’d thought a genin would try snatching the legendary weapon from a dead Seven Swordsman burial site? That genin is a missing-nin and she thought it was reasonable.  “Alright, I’ll ask again later. You have fin rot by the way.”

At his confused expression, she threw a note at him.

“Still don’t understand your chicken scratch.” 

“That, my shark team mate, are the general ingredients to make the salve to treat your special case of fin rot. I need to study it better because you clearly aren't a fish.” Unless I’m in another genjutsu, Inner hymned. 

“Fin rot?”

“Fin rot. Not even the usual kind. Now you both can do the mission while I go and gather some herbs. Waves have a very medicinal forest area where I may or may not be able to find cure for both of your conditions. You bunch of terminally ill.” 

Itachi looked up, now. He knew she was partially lying. His condition wasn’t treatable by any expenditure that he had known of. 

Sakura knew better. She knew she could prolong the lifespan of the two missing-nin if she tried. Her recipe for Sound’s epidemic was almost finished. Even Kabuto couldn’t figure it out, despite being a medic of expert skill set, surprisingly he was not as quick as her on diagnosing and finding new cures. 

Kisame asked dubiously, “You’re not going to use that as extortion and bribe me into giving you training are you?” 

“Hmmn.” Neither a yes or no. “Anyways. Won’t we just get this over and done with? Why do I need to follow you two when I barely have anything to do?” Sakura understood that the reason she was sent to aid them had little to do with how useful she is but more towards assessing her flight risk. Itachi subtly let her know that she was being kept on eye on by the organisation but Kisame made it clear she was being babysat. 

It was easy work to get into Waves with their borders now fully opened to foreign visitors. Then around right after sunset that they started looking for a place to stay. 

Sakura registered the bustling town she had spent time in several years ago, back when instead of colourful lights that lined the streets, it was dead bodies. Now Waves was a successful trading hive and the population had almost doubled. Restaurants and accommodations were few and sparse compared to the number of spice shops and textile stores planting themselves left and right of the main roads. 

Most people there were civilians, she could even say that all of them were civilians, judging by their garments and walks. Her three-people party was depressingly sombre in clothing, granting them some curious gaze from onlookers. Some children even stopped in their tracks to eyed her up and down. The missing-nins ignored the stare and Sakura wondered if civilians’ curiosity was much more welcome than hostile shinobi towns choking with paranoia.

The only inn they found in the midst of other businesses was close to the capital, in the same suburb as Tazuna’s house, Sakura noted. It was close to the shore and a fair distance from the bridge that connects Waves with Fire. 

“Ah, I’m sorry miss, we’re fully booked.” The woman at the front desk announced with a bow.

“Every room?” Sakura inquired, internally cursing the entire country. She’s not about to sleep outside like a hobo. Or on a tree like some undomesticated mammal. Like any other shinobi, and ANBU, the teenaged medic had slept in much more undesirable places with gross things flanking her in her rest. But she liked to uphold her standards when possible, hypocritical to say when she once slept on a deteriorating couch every night for months straight. 

The lady nodded apologetically. Sakura heard one of her teammates grumble and swallow her own complaint down. They were promptly, voluntarily, kicked out of the place when Sakura tried to practise genjutsu on some staff, making Itachi intervene. 

“We may find camp in a forest.” The black haired man suggested calmly. 

“Or not.” Sakura blew that idea down at once. “If I can pull some strings and guilt trip a civvies family.”

Her plan, although not a good one when having to expose her identity, worked. Tazuna did not see it coming when a fifteen year old kunoichi and two tall, intimidating men showed up outside his door when he was waiting for dinner. Sakura barely made an effort to remind him of the terrible mission and how it had totally been his fault. At least, she posed minimal danger (in his opinion) to be in his house so the old man moved out of the way to allow them in.

Tsunami was more than surprised to see Sakura again, the older woman was fond of the girl since she was the only one helping with house chores and ate much less than the boys, a good thing when the country was dying of famine. With the borders opened and the bridge finished, their household had an abundant amount of food to serve their unexpected guests to a nice stay.

Itachi and Kisame didn’t protest much when they got their shared room since the house only has one guest room. Sakura blearily recalled when the four members of Team 7 managed in the space over at least a week. 

At dinner, they were treated with a copious amount of seafood, much to the former Mist’ delight. The two men figured to stay quiet while Sakura did the talking.

“So, Sakura-chan, are you on a mission?”

“Yes, Tsunami-san. Just a few things for my teammates to do mostly. We’ll leave in two days.”

“Then I hope your mission will be a success then, shinobi-san.” The woman smiled, regarding the two men. The two returned her with awkward nods. 

Itachi had impressive table manners, as expected from a noble clan heir. Looking at him eating made Sakura think she was at some expensive restaurant and not in a rather rustic common people’s dining area. Kisame had as much manners as Naruto, meaning he had no shame chugging down bowls after bowls of seafood stew. Luckily, none of the hosts seemed to mind. Perhaps they thought every shinobi team would have someone like that. 

“How has Inari-kun been doing?” Sakura veered the conversation away from her, eyeing the eleven years old boy. He had called her pretty when they had their reunion conversation.

The boy clearly lost his hostile, tough shell personality in exchange for an open, extroverted one. 

“I’ve made great progress being grandpa’ apprentice and all, Sakura-nee-chan! Sometimes I swear he’s a slave driver. Free labour, I guess.” The boy jokingly bewailed his job. His grandpa smacked him by the shoulder in retaliation.

“That’s good to hear you have a set out career path.” She commented in amusement, chewing on her rice.

“I sure do!” He said excitedly, then rambled on and on about the woodwork projects and all the bridge planning he had to do. At one point, he stopped and asked a question she had been avoiding the entire time. “So what about Naruto-nii and Sasuke-san?”

She can sense her two teammates becoming interested from their end of the table. “They’re doing fine. Naruto is loud as always.” Sakura dearly hoped the blond was loud as always, she hadn’t known if he’d changed. She hoped he hadn’t. “And Sasuke-kun is still a gloomy boy.” The understatement of the year. He was more murderous than gloomy, but aren’t they synonyms? For her book, probably.

“Well I hope to see them mature sometime in the future then.” This time it was Tazuna that said, he added, “Your sensei? He’s still putting up with the brats?” 

No, he’s not putting up with any of them. ”Yep, though he had been getting away with it since we’re all growing up. New ninja responsibilities, you know.” A lie through her teeth.

“We really wanted to come see the chuunin exam at Konoha last year to visit you but we were so busy with the new life after the bridge was done. Did your team participate?” Tsunami asked innocently.

“We did.” 

“Wasn’t there an invasion though? It was so famous. On our paper's headlines for a whole week!” Inari perked up, “Were you okay?”

Sakura was mildly startled to find him genuinely concerned, “We were fine, no worries Inari-kun.” They were in fact, far from fine. “I wasn’t very involved anyway.” She was in the line of fire.

The boy then glanced at the two men. “Ne, ne, shinobi-san, were you two there?”

Itachi, who was not busy with stuffing his mouth with squid, answered him like the pre-teen was his own little brother, “No, we were both on a mission during the invasion.” 

The rest of the meal passed without fanfare and Itachi insisted on helping with the dishes when Kisame lunged into the shared bedroom to rest. Sakura really wanted to help but Itachi seemed to have it handled, with him being exceedingly good at the chores. She sat back to talk with the old man and his grandson, telling them unrelated anecdotes of Konoha before she left. Gladly, they were civilians, so none of them paid any attention to the three’ lack of hitai-ate and their unconventional clothing choices. The family might just have thought the long dark cloaks were part of their stealth. 

Sleeping in the same room with the two deadly criminals was somehow not as bad as she’d anticipated. Sure, Kisame had a chainsaw-esque snore and Itachi slept like he was a corpse aside from the occasional coughs, she thought they were much better than what she had to endure with her old team. Their chakra were dimmed and almost flickered out even if she knew they were sleeping lightly. 

Sakura settled in her corner of the room and started to draw for more chakra, her coil humming in a strange tune. She needed to do it more often, her seal was eighty percent finished. 

The seal Sakura worked on doesn’t use the same technique from the one of Tsunade’s. 

To accumulate chakra, instead of creating a reservoir to pour chakra into, Sakura let the stored chakra circulate through her body. It wasn’t kept in the same place, she made sure the chakra seeped into her veins and flowed through every tenketsu. It was a way to directly enhance the chakra distribution throughout all of her chakra pathways. There will always be an amount of saved up energy located at all points in her body, making her entire anatomy the seal itself instead of focusing it on her forehead. Since it was an experimental form of fūinjutsu, she had no definite way to tell whether a symbol or marking would appear on her skin but if following her theory, there won’t be any. 

Additionally, the reason Sakura was able to grow the seal only in a matter of more than a year had more to do with the type of chakra she absorbed.

The Byakugou, for example, rely on the normal chakra type that can be gathered through physical and spiritual energy by meditating and training. This seal, however, was an agglomeration of both that chakra and the special Dark Chakra formed from the negative emotions of the heart. There was no particular drawback from Dark Chakra, it fed on people’s negative emotions and transformed it into a type of energy that Sakura can store.

In a large village like Konoha, there were endless sources for her to increase this chakra. The inspiration for this was from her personal research on the Land of the Sky, a country fought and lost to Konoha during the Second Shinobi Wars. Though it did lose, Sakura did not miss the flinch on her Shishou’s face when the name was mentioned. They were a force to be reckoned with and like any history enthusiast, Sakura spent months figuring out their secrets to the power that her Hokage feared. 

Her control played the most important part on this, similarly to the Byakugou, and if it was to be damaged, there would be great consequences. Luckily for Sakura, her control was at the top percentile, higher than that of the highest and nothing shy of immaculate. 

This use of Dark Chakra, though, cut off the symbiotic bond with the Byakugou allocated summon of Katsuyu, the slug of Shikkōtsu Forest. This meant Sakura will have to find a different way to access the summon or would need to forage for another one. In the meantime, she moulded the energy around her and felt a swirl of it in her fingertips, her lungs, her shoulders, her being. 

Just a month and two weeks more.

It took her two more hours filtering Dark Chakra before meeting the crash of slumber. 

The next morning, she woke at 0600 sharp to an empty room.

Kisame was having his big breakfast while, she quoted him saying, “Itachi went off to scout mission parameters and come up with a reliable plan.”

She excused herself for a morning run and that afternoon the kunoichi was left alone to wander the forest where Naruto told her he’d met Haku several years back.

The herbs were rare to the more forest-dense area like Fire and she took an hour taking as much as she could. Afterwards, Sakura made sure she had no followers before going to a little corner of it where she remembered Team 7 buried their two opponents.

There was a prevalent but low rank genjutsu, likely casted by Kakashi, over it to avoid people seeing the giant sword that dug to the ground. Sakura made quick work dispelling it.

“Good to see you again, Momochi-san, Haku-san.” She said, conversationally. She wasn’t rude enough to just walk over the dead with no greetings and snatch their weapon. 

Sakura respected the fallen in a way only some do. She had wanted to be one of them for a long time, but she never did. She considered them wealthy, as they got to have the bliss of not knowing more cruelty of this world. The pleasure of ignorance that was granted to them by a place that only knows how to take, take, takes . At death, they were wealthier than the daimyo and the prosperous countries and the opulence businesses. They had the riches of not knowing and to Sakura who knew too many things, in some ways it was worth more than any amount of ryō. 

To her, it was two affluence corpses and a poor soul taking. To them, it was just two dead shinobi and a girl who wanted something she could not wield. 

“I’ll just,” She pointed at the sword. “Take that off you.”

It was heavy for her bare strength but with some chakra reinforced grip, she pulled it out briskly. “Now I just need to borrow this for the foreseeable future. Don’t worry, I won’t use it without permission, from uh, Kisame.” 

The sword hadn’t been her ideal weapon. She wanted the security that she was in possession of it more than killing with it. Like an obsessive pottery collector finding valuable things to have but not to use. 

She didn’t know the type of weapon she’d prefer. With her completed seal though, she’d figure it out soon.

Kakashi never taught her anything, not even simple wielding of common weapons that Asuma taught Ino and Kurenai taught Hinata. Bukijutsu was considered a last-ditch attempt at fighting for his team; they had no need for it when his students could use Rasengan and Chidori. His students weren't her. 

When knowing of his female student’s apprenticeship, Kakashi had said Sakura was a healer in a team of fighters. (But she fought, too, and he didn’t look) He said that’s why they she didn’t fit. 

He didn’t want to say that none of them fit, but he knew it was the truth. They were broken before they were together. So chipped and damaged that they can not be mend. Team 7 wasn’t kintsugi and they were shards of different glass vases, of different colours. They weren’t mosaics either, these pieces of glass do not make a nice picture when each was slicked in blood and crusty with mud. 

Sakura sealed the thing into one of her bigger scrolls and returned to collecting herbs. She found herself not caring to make up an excuse or proper reason like ‘for safekeeping’ or ‘trade it off for some money’. 

Haruno Sakura was alright with robbing the dead, and she can’t remember much to say whether her younger self would concur. 

Today Sakura stole from the rich and gave it to herself.

Chapter Text

Words of her disappearance haven’t reached the borders of Waves. Maybe no one bothered to search here or they already did that and left with nothing to write home about. It was also possible they hadn’t made the effort to search too far from Fire, thinking she left and died in a ditch. 

The other workers didn’t seem to remember her as much as Tazuna and his family did. She was just a strange girl standing on the sidelines reading tomes while they worked. 

Sakura finished two books during the time she took guarding Tazuna under Kakashi’s request: Hidden Mist Village’s Monsters and Shinobi Criminal Psychoanalysis. Ironically, the books did not help her in a mission against criminals from the Mist. They were lengthy and complicated texts with heavy descriptions that would have made other twelve year olds gag. But Sakura was just confused when she finished reading. The day she returned after cheating death at that bridge, Sakura started to understand the things she read. 

The months following her first misranked mission, she devoured the entire section about criminology at the library under the flimsy henge of her teacher. 

It’s an interesting thing, psychology. It gave her an understanding of the killers she called teammates. Of their presumed mind space and ideology. Like dissecting a brain in the autopsy rooms Tsunade let her in for research. Like looking at a puzzle and understanding how it worked. 

Inner was scared. 

Inner was hardly ever scared, but she was, once, when Sakura can diagnose her psych ward patients but she can’t diagnose herself. She was neither sociopathic or psychopathic and that revelation changed things. It changed her conversations at her first Psych Eval, her second, her third. It changed what she answered and how to make those answers sound normal, sane. 

Tsunade gave her a personal check-in before ANBU, before her first Psych Eval. It was a set of questions developed by the Hokage herself, drawn from years of studying neurology with experience of a woman who saw a few too many things. Thirteen years old Sakura was not prepared. She can barely make out what she had said, but later, she found out she was doused with a drug that has amnesiac side effects developed by Shizune.

The apprentice never knew what her Master wrote down during that session either. Whatever it was became redacted black lines that the Head of Torture and Interrogation would questioned about. 

Something was wrong with Haruno Sakura and it had been wrong for a very long time. She’d put a bet that the Godaime had only cracked the surface. It had been enough to stop teaching Sakura new things in fear of her becoming something larger than what Konoha could contain. 

Sometimes Sakura, the fifteen years old one, wondered if Senju Tsunade was scared like Inner was. Sometimes Sakura wondered if she was scared of who she was.

She had two choices once upon a time. She could either run, run, flee or she could stay and be left behind. She found out about her sensei’ flight risk in the summer that he left her (he left her, not Konoha). He seemed like he should run, could run. He never ran. Not in his first five years as a shinobi, not in his twentieth. He will fall one day, doing something he devoted his living for and extinguish in a corner of earth where no man will weep. All potentials repressed, all possibilities subjugated, he must not be stronger than they allowed him to be. By now the Hatake had stepped past the mid-life point of a shinobi lifespan, and she pitied  him in the way that the world knew he could be more but he would never be if he kept on coming back to them.

Team Sa could have held a candle to Team Ro.

Maito Gai could have been the greatest taijutsu master ever lived.

Kato Shizune could have been a Kage-level kunoichi.

Shiranui Genma could have tapped on the Yondaime Hokage’s prowess.

None of them did what they were capable of, none of them think they ever could. A genin thought she could. Sakura thought she could. She ran. 

Akatsuki thought they could, so they told her to run with them.

The organisation may have known about her mental status, they seem to know everything. It wouldn’t be surprising if someone like Nagato sat down and investigated every potential member’s psychological files. 

Sakura had been exposed enough to say that Akatsuki members were far more complicated than the psych ward patients she tended to in Konoha. They act completely in character but somehow still unexpectedly. They all were broken but broken in the way that worked perfectly well. 

By the end of her stay in Waves, the second time, Sakura reflected that perhaps it was why she was with them. She was broken, that was old news but she was always on the run, always hungry for more, like they had been. Chasing after divinities, no small mercies left to give. 

Packing up to leave Waves, her team crossed the bridge she saw being built.

The Great Naruto Bridge saved a country from days that blood clung beneath everyone’s heels, from days that desperation replaced hope. The stones became a connection between two worlds, one of prolific beauty and one of malnourished sufferings. People here just referred to it as ‘The Bridge’—the blond boy’s story was only widely known through the celebrations in the early days of sake and victory songs. 

Waves was a small country with a countryman who grew so hapless he called upon three children and a jounin of Leaf to protect a perilous ambition. This day she will leave knowing that ambition was paid to those people with enough cowardice to hide behind outsiders. 

“Thank you for seeing us out, Inari-kun. Can you promise to not tell anyone we rested here? I’m afraid I’ve got a few bad people tailing me.” Sakura furrowed her brows, mint eyes pleading.

“No problem Sakura-nee-chan, no one will know you were here. I swear by it.” He grinned, “After all that is the most I could wish to help you. Good luck on your travels. You too shinobi-san!” He waved his hands animatedly, a smile on his face. The three missing-nin gave their languid waves back, Sakura raised her hands highest of all. When his figure was almost swarmed by the rest of the throng, the carpenter boy screamed on top of his lungs, “Tell your team we are thankful again!” 

They weren’t her team anymore, hers were with her, but Sakura nodded anyway. 

( That day Inari will come home to a knock on the door, a group of masked men towering over. A hooded Inu mask studied him and he felt as if the black holes for eyes were choking him alive. They asked if he’d seen Haruno Sakura.

He thought they were trying to capture her—he wasn’t wrong—or worse. 

He said no. He asked why.

They wanted to search his house.

He didn't let them, but they did anyways.

Inari asked again, "What are you looking for?"

They left. 

He heard a whisper from another cloak, “We need to give up, Taichou. It's too far out anyway.” before the door slammed shut.)

Sakura had never been to Iron before while the other two said they had operated there a few times since joining.

They were in the midst of winter, the white dusted capital was the most snow she'd ever seen outside of Yuki no Kuni. The trio wasn’t stopped for questioning by the samurai border patrols with how they didn’t look like shinobi at all. The weather was a great excuse for their cloaks that would have raised brows elsewhere.

That afternoon in Iron, while on the task to acquire bribing material for her to demand training, she encountered a white snake. It was the length of her arm, as thin as two fingers with scales opalescent and intricate. Its eyes were an amber gold, a sheen of green at the right angle. 

The reptile hissed. The samurai land wasn’t known with any type of snake, though she supposed if there were, then a white coloration would be a great defence mechanism. But there weren’t. It wasn’t natural for any nearby countries either. But like many other things—like rats, like snakes. Like humans. Unnatural things happen in labs of experimental procedures. 

Nothing’s new.

The medic crouched down, her frame covering the white creature. “Well? Speak.”

The thing stared at her unblinkingly. Then as its tails wrapped around itself, “Orochimaru-sama requires you to keep up your end of the deal.”

“Is that so? Any gifts your master has sent?”

The snake did not answer. 

She heaved, rummaging through a pocket inside her long uniform. Tossing the snake a three-times folded note, she rolled a glass vial on the ground and the white snake slithered across, snatching then swallowing it in one fluid motion. It peered up at her, not shyly. “Orochimaru-sama required your presence in the borders of Hot Spring. An inn called Wangetsu, two nights from now. Do not bring company.”

Sakura’ mission will be finished in three days. She would need to send a clone. “Tell him I’ll show. Tell him he better bring me good compensation, that single vial took more time than I would have liked to develop.”

One moment it was there, the next it was not and while she was still training on breaking genjutsu at least once a day, Sakura stalled in doubt. It couldn’t have been a genjutsu, a poison then? Likely. The Snake and his attendant were as obsessed with poison as Sasori. Speaking of, another quest added to her list: Sasori’s poisons. 

Sakura focused on the tree nearest to her. Dots of colours swarmed the corners of her lids. “Fuck.”

Sakura fell to black.

She woke up in the cold ground of the inn she remembered her team took shelter at. Her back is chilling cold and her feet a glacier. She was half conscious when one of her teammates threw her over their shoulder like a sack and threw her to her room when they arrived here. She was in the same position as she was yesterday evening.

“Sakura.” It was Itachi, a hand resting inside the opening of his black coat standing by her door frame. “We trust you know how to dilute the poison in your system. I need to leave immediately; please refer to Kisame.” The sliding door shifted and she could feel him getting away from her room.

“Shit.” The kunoichi cursed loudly. Her body reacted uncomfortably to the numb hypothermia sensation.

Her door banged right open, as if it wasn’t politely closed seconds ago. “Shit is right. You’ve slept for too long. You missed the first half of the meeting we need to spy on.” Her head was pounding with every vibration resulting from him talking. 

“Shut up.” She groaned and pushed her Dark Chakra coursing through her veins, all the tenketsu blooming to be opened again. “Give me a minute, old man.” She filtered out his retorts and sat up. 

Itachi was supposed to investigate any moves made in regard to the Kage Summit meeting site while Kisame and her go to spy on the Konoha-Suna-Kiri Alliance meeting. An Alliance Tsunade fought tooth and nail (and lost) to give Sakura a place in. They were finalising the enlistment of members who are in participation.

The inter-village squad meeting was a secret to Iron due to their wariness towards shinobi in general. The Konoha representative was its Head of Intelligence, Nara Shikaku. Suna’s representative was the Sand’ Princess Temari while Kiri’s was Byakugan Killer Ao. The group was an initiative taken by a former association between three villages to hunt Akatsuki. Sakura and Kisame managed to get their hands on the list of members that was nominated by each village’s respective Kage. They’ve already discussed the first few things thirty minutes ago and now were taking a break before working out the prime members.

Each member will be handpicked by the representatives under agreement of their Kage. Sakura reached for the dull green file first, one she’d seen in the second drawer of Shishou's desk. 

It was coded in an A level cipher, fluently applied in documents from the Head Administrative Office, T&I and Intelligent Dept. As much as Sakura had disliked the political training she received alongside hospital work, it came in handy when she was able to access high security archives. Although lacking in physical prowess and ninjutsu abilities, learning was something she thrived at. Perfect memory served her a great tool for controversial things like Tsunade’ twelve steps sake vault password, fifty line sealing for the Senju Shrine and an A-rank coded page. 

[ KONOHAGAKURE CANDIDATES - 

NOMINATED BY GODAIME HOKAGE, SENJU TSUNADE

Jiraiya - [N/A, allied in terms, reliable intel source and should be contracted under Konohagakure authorised message only] 

Hatake Kakashi - Jounin // Tracker & Ninjutsu & Genjutsu

Sarutobi Asuma - Jounin // Ninjutsu & Bukijutsu

Hyuuga Kō - Jounin // Dojutsu & Taijutsu

Yamanaka Inoichi - Jounin // Analysis

Inuzuka Tsume - Tokubetsu Jounin // Sensor & Taijutsu

Tenzō (Yamato) - ANBU // Mokuton

Aburame Jun - ANBU // Poison & Infiltration

Uzuki Yugao - ANBU // Tracker & Kenjutsu

Nara Shikamaru - Chuunin // Logistics

Haruno Sakura - Genin // Medic ]

“Fun. You were on the list to now go against yourself.” Kisame laughed.

“...and was crossed out. They’re going to cross out a few more. Promising, actually.”

“Promising as in they could have a chance of killing us?”

“Maybe, if they play it right they might. Not all of us of course. Half of these are prodigies of their generation.” She sighed, feeling almost sorry that the only two kunoichi left are absolutely not going to be considered for the finalised members. The strongest teams never have any place for women.

The mokuton ANBU member was unheard of. There was no record of anyone having the First's abilities, if they had she was suprised the man haven't been famous. She’ll note to research him personally.

“Nothing to be worried about from my end. There’s new names, actually.” He scanned the Kiri list again. “Yeah no, as much chance as the Leaf.”

Then they checked the Suna list, nothing special. Kankuro and Temari were both on it, among other prospective pillars like Baki. Sakura clicked her tongue, “We’re going to kill the ones on the list?” Quite disappointing, considering she knew many names personally. Knew, not loved. She will kill any of them if need be.

“Don’t think so. At least not me and Itachi, we’re the pseudo Intelligence and Infiltration division of Akatsuki. You might, if you get deferred to the others. Sasori and Deidara are usually tasked with these things.”

Their small number was made up by quality instead and while all members were assassins everyday of the week, only few were ordered to directly kill the organisation’s targets. The rest just kill for a bounty. 

It was nice being with the more inactive pair during her time getting used to Akatsuki. Sakura had plenty of time for herself, doing research and experiments. It was probably the first time she was content with staying in the rear, avoiding combat. She needed to figure out how to access The Senju Forest as soon as possible. There won’t be as much free time when her initial period staying with Kisame and Itachi ran out. 

“Kid? Hey kid.” She registered her shark teammate rustling in the background and set the files back, at the exact locus where she picked it up from, deep inside an expertly sealed box in the corner. 

“Hmn?”

“They’re coming.”

In a flash, both nukenin disappeared.

Following the plan, Kisame will watch from outside the window and cast building-wide genjutsu while Sakura utilised a high level henge to mingle with the Konoha entourage. In a familiar green flak, she recognized herself to be one of the extra chuunin, a no name, bland looking boy with nondescript chestnut hair. An older boy who took the same first-aid course as she did a year ago. He stood guard quite uselessly outside the door with four other chuunin she had never seen before. 

The shinobi shuffled inside the room, all looking wary of one another. Allies which they were, but friends they were not. There was a rectangular table, different from the typical well-liked round ones where Hidden Villages use in meeting rooms. 

Twenty minutes in and the Leaf still stubbornly argued in the stead of its candidates.

“Why would there be anyone ranked below jounin?! We could never win if we keep this up. Our targets are Black Coded shinobi.” Ao spoke, his voice stern and demanding. Everyone present knew that they had no chance themselves so any names that didn’t mean ‘perfect warrior' will not be allowed. It would be accurate saying the three great Elemental Nations are biting off more than they could chew. Operation: Fumetsu-goroshi, or, Immortal Killing was a game of painful waiting and suicide missions, risking the death of a land’s fiercest protectors. 

Placing names of nobodies on the same list as the greatest shinobi Konoha had ever produced was a shame to its own reputation.

Shikaku picked up his ink pen and twirled it twice, “There will be nothing wrong to allow Konoha to use more of its forces for our Fumetsu-goroshi team formation. There is only one chuunin and one tokujo on our list, they are exceptional additions that my Hokage had approved of.”

“Exceptional? Because one of them is your spawn and the other one is in your cohort?” 

“I evaluated them fairly and concluded all the names remaining on Konoha’s list would suffice.”

The one-eyed Kiri-nin didn’t seem to have heard at all, “We will cross out the Inuzuka and Nara, same with Uzuki.”

For the first time in a while, Temari interjected, “Nara Shikamaru can stay. He had proven to be a great asset in battle strategy and logistics. Aburame can be crossed out, my Suna list will carry the poison specialists.”

The fuck? How stupid are they? Inner groaned. I would have kept the entire list, it's not even about patriotism anymore, seeing who’s ninja is stronger. By then Shikaku had relented, glancing down at his paper one last time, he eliminated Uzuki Yugao, Aburame Jun and Inuzuka Tsume. They lost a tracker, an infiltrator-spy-specialist and a taijutsu sensor. Temari smiled, satisfied with the arrangement while Ao was fuming in his corner, lips quivering but not angry enough to say otherwise. He may have let it go since Konoha had fulfilled its list of six members, but the meeting was far from finished. 

“Say, how pathetic is Konoha to have put forward a genin of all people?” He laughed, relishing in the bristle of Nara’s poker face. Sakura put some more chakra into her enhanced ear, it started to hurt.

“She had been crossed out before this meeting. It is irrelevant.”

“Smart move from your tree huggers. Though putting a mere pawn there in the beginning is already showcasing the world how enervated you are since that Crush.”

A nail tapping the wooden table. The Sand Princess looked up, “That was my brother’s doing, Konoha didn’t have enough wit to save their shit face.”

Stupid, saying that to the most intelligent man in current state affairs. Sakura withheld an exhale. 

“I didn’t agree on the matter either, Temari-san.” His gaze was sharp and cutting. “I’ve demanded she be removed before we even get to our top twenty. Needless to say, Hokage-sama planned this as her apprentice’ debutant.”

“Oh? Hasn't she ran away? Coward for a leech.” Ao chuckled when Shikaku clenched his jaws, “My intel travelled fast.”

Temari looked, mouth snapping shut. She was taken aback by the information but silence herself out of habit to listen more to the situation. The Hokage’s apprentice, run away?

Temari's information on the genin was limited, only in passing had she heard the Godaime Hokage taking in a student almost a year ago, some genin from the same age as her little brother. She was gravely dissapointed to see the Haruno on the list. There was no place for girls in dresses and debutants, no matter how much Temari wish to see more kunoichi on the frontlines. Fumetsu-goroshi is war declared on gods. She did not want to see another death of a female in the profession, a death too young, too useless. There is the matter of pity and a matter of anger, but her hatred proved superior above all. Haruno Sakura is no one. Haruno Sakura will never be named again.

Looking back, Shikaku was talking, voice grim and tired,

“She won’t have made it anyway, she will return when she deems herself grateful of what was given to her,” Sakura froze. What was given? Entry level fighting and restless hospital rounds? Always being back-up and not even put forward for the next chuunin exam? An empty, sumptuous title with shadows always falling behind a woman who carried the world on her shoulders? “After all, the girl have got no where to go and she took her teenage rebellious phase too far. My Kage made a mistake and it did not affect our final decision.”

“No great loss.” The blue haired Kiri representative remarked.

Konoha’ Head of Intelligence titled his head in agreement, “So it seems.”

Sakura bit her tongue. No great loss. 

Chapter Text

The pretty ring wasn’t just for decoration, it took Sakura more than a month, during her job at Iron, to find out. 

The heads of Akatsuki can summon any member at any given time in a static-like state back to their lair in Amegakure. They don’t do this often, not even to give out missions. The last time they contacted her was before the meeting with Orochimaru by a paper crane, a product of Konan’ doing, to inform her of her B-rank solo track and capture. The job was a success, the body scroll was delivered by Itachi, who happened to have a space-disposition seal available. 

Sakura’s report on the Alliance’s conference was precisely well written, thanks to her practices when Team 7 was in business—the girl was always the one to write those essays, never her boys, Kakashi only skimmed what she wrote and handed it in. It wasn’t like any of them could have written something coherent or have decent memory storage. Now though, she had to repeat the information of her recent mission orally in front of Uzumaki Nagato. 

“And what is your opinion on the listed candidates?” The red haired man asked, turning the leaf of the copied listicle outlining potential threats of their enemies. Red marking lines for the sources of apprehension, those who possess enough power to intimidate gods. Hatake Kakashi was one of them. 

“Kisame and I both agreed that those they put forward have a good shot and should be handled with caution.”

“Would you happen to know their team formation?”

She stopped and pursed her lips, “I assume each team will have a tracker, two kekkei genkai and a ninjutsu user. But they also have shinobi specialised in logistics and analysis, so, they would want to put those in a separate category. At least that’s how Leaf would like to do it.”

Nagato nodded and Sakura felt a tinge of approval equivalent to Tsunade’s hand on her shoulders. As all things are, she was just fifteen. 

“You can ask for research time.” The man suddenly spoke, his hands weaved together, resting on the desk. She blinked. “Sasori likes to develop his poison, Kakuzu likes to compile accounting papers of his income, Itachi likes to keep an eye on his little brother. They all ask for leave often.”

She parted her mouth, wanting to ask if he knew what she was up to: madly engrossed in projects and impossibilities, obsessive ambition of ancient weapons and drafting bargains with demons. 

He was interviewing her, after she already got the job, that is. An interrogation led by a Yamanaka and not Ibiki. 

The topic of the Konoha-Suna-Kiri Alliance was dropped without much left to discuss. 

The atmosphere shifted into a more formal and consequential intonation. Sakura had an unpleasant feeling about the direction of this colloquy. 

Looking at him again, the kunoichi quit her wondering and accepted that she may have known many things but this man knew the universe. She doesn’t know what it was, but his ringed violet eyes were like optical illusions that see to millions of different realms, spinning incessantly in contrast to his stone cold features. She chewed on her tongue and caved in. 

“I would like to finish my time at Iron early to sort out some businesses. A week would suffice.”

“Very well. You may take one week off duty. Please inform your teammates of this.” He smiled softly in a customer service way and turned to face the glass that oversees the village in his barred office. “Would you then be able to present the organisation of your findings?”

“If I succeed.” She took a step back, ready to wriggle out of his hold back to her physical self in Iron.

“Sakura, one more thing. We do not meddle with snakes and play with trees.” He warned, eyes dropping and fingers tapping on the window pane.

If she had a less emotionally draining life and more freedom of facial expressions without the multiple personality imitation, Sakura would have gasped. Inner yelled an expletive somewhere in her head. 

She was not poetic, but her literacy grade was parallel to her history grades and if she were to compare, the leader of Akatsuki would be the one who watches life from an omniscient point of view. He knew her time with the Sennin, probably Itachi’s ploy and even Hidan’s cult secrets. Someone else would say being terrified is the appropriate response, but the monster Sakura nurtured only empathised when it was allowed to contemplate. He couldn’t know everything, how could he live, then, if he knew more than anyone? How could he bear the weight of knowledge that crushed nations and worlds? 

“We have an agreement.” She treaded carefully. “He provides me what is favourable while I return it with some contrivance in medicine, help that surpasses what his own medic can offer.”

“Who did you come as? Haruno Sakura or the Medic of Akatsuki?” She can imagine philosophy in it, but there wasn’t time to delve on the wisdom of the observer in the profession that required gallops and runs.

“I came as a girl whose doings muse his pastimes and is better kept as ally than made foe.”

“What do you wish to achieve?” A simple query. A thousand ripostes. 

“What no one had.” Sakura swallowed her saliva and said more than what was needed because this man knew it anyway. “Mokuton and the complete seal of Dark Chakra. Then a weapon, a summon, too. I want to stand on the same ground you do.” 

The young girl did not recognise the naivety in that statement so she smirked, a hand on her hip and leaning to one side. Nagato was above his immortal subordinates, he commanded them and ruled them like the emperor amongst kings. She saw no display of strength and power, only the straight back, poker face and compliance of mass murderers that employed ‘-sama’ to his suffix. She does not fear humans, but if she had, this is who she would bestow the absolute of that emotion to.

“...I look forward to your future. Your service to self is a service to Akatsuki; we will give you anything we could to assist.”

The teenager smiled, “Thanks.”

The leader turned to her again, changing the subject, “I’ve talked with Konan and Yahiko.” The ghost boy, referred to as his living name rather than the half-puppet his soul resided in. “We would like to keep you from the mainstream attention of the public. It would be best if you could limit your interactions with shinobi—it is good calling that you have hidden your most apparent characteristic.” Nagato inclined his head at her long tresses.

“Of course. Wouldn’t Orochimaru share his intel about me though?”

“He wouldn’t. As you said, you are to be kept an ally and not an adversary. As much as I have warned you, you won’t be the only one who gets involved with the Snake. One of us has a spy on him.” 

“We do?”

“He does, not me,” Nagato did not say who he was and she had enough on her plate not to get herself into more balls of yarns. “I do not intercede with any of the Legendary Sannin.”

“Right.”

He seemed more relaxed than at the beginning of the conversation and nowhere near wanting to label her a traitor for getting in touch with the famous man whose name was in every crime scene. “You may take your leave. Konan will contact you for your next mission.”

“We’re taking a walk.” Sasuke’s bad choice of a mentor exclaimed, already halfway out the sliding doors of Wangetsu without his personal medic tailing closely behind. It was a rare sight to see him unaccompanied. 

“Humor me while we do this, Sakura-chan, and I promise you would be satisfied with my arrangements.”

“How thoughtful. I don’t have much time, you see, so I’d hear to you if we do this quickly.” Came the black haired girl's clipped reply. She had taken precaution and told her teammates that she would go to Hot Spring borders, in the situation if she was led to a trap. Any trap doesn’t worry Sakura, but this was him. No preparation could ever win if she was pitted against the world-renowned lunatic.

In the end, Sakura herself did not learn Kage-bunshin, a technique to be acquired solely for the purpose of meeting up. It was ridiculously chakra taxing, more than she could handle with an incomplete seal. It was the only type of clone that can retain memory while being summoned, a Forbidden Technique if used in larger than two quantities, only be wielded by people with supreme chakra reserves. She paid attention to what Naruto was doing with his hands so theoretically, she could always try. The hand signs weren't hard to replicate but the jutsu was not meant for someone who can’t handle something sucking on their power dangerously fast. 

“You don’t look that busy.” He said.

“Oh, but I am, I’m sure you are, too. You happen to not have anything better to do than taking a walk, of all things?”

“It takes us only an hour South from here, crossing the Land of Fire.”

Naturally, it wasn’t the best idea, “We’re both defectors of Konoha, in the case that it slipped away from your mind.”

“But Konoha doesn’t look for us. I’m a flee-on-sight, you’re an indefinite MIA.” His face morphed into a creepy mien, “They don’t know about this place, or the road there. Only Tsuna does. Why did you think I came alone?”

“What?” The fact that Kabuto wasn’t there did not register as a concern so she focused on the former detail. 

Tsunade was the Hokage, she had access to locations Sakura was sure a spy master wouldn’t know of. Orochimaru was another thing, whether he knew by himself or by the Senju Princess’s telling, she couldn’t guess.

Subconsciously, the two had already left the Wangetsu Inn and made their way into the woods. There was no trail or pathways, indicating the rarely taken road. Vines and trees native to Hot Spring covered every inch of her environment.

“Did you think I gave up on mokuton just like that?” His amber eyes reflected the sunlight, his hood pulled over his head but not entirely covered. She could see the wide, wild grin. “I succeeded, girl.”

Sakura creased her eyebrows, mindful of her step next to him, two metres away. 

The man was never the most terrible villain or the worst antagonist in her story, but he had come so close to claiming that title. His own forces were evinced to be of matching threat to the entirety of one village. She should have known he doesn’t ever give up on his quest for power. 

He had his hands in every conspiracy back in her ANBU days. There wasn’t and won’t be another criminal like him, not even her leader. It wasn’t farfetched to say both of them had met at some point in the past either. Orochimaru was quite the lord of illegal rings, his network must be massive. He was one of the first missing-nin, wading the path for future names to rise against their own motherland. 

The not-really-man was the exemplar of sin and container of diabolism. He collected his fame, his reputation, his name. He was the version of her shishou who got away and never came back. It would come to no one’s astonishment that he had business with anyone considered a “felon”.

So she tried to find logic instead of losing into the incredulousness of the situation. If he had the mokuton, then he was great at keeping a secret. If he himself didn’t, either one of his test experiments does or he was bluffing. She didn’t like any of the options. 

“How?”

“An experiment. Unfortunately, I found out about it when it had long escaped by clutch. It belongs to Konoha now.” He said with no deep regret in his tone, only the coldness of someone who refers to a child as ‘it’. “You must know my method is unorthodox, taking a man’s cells and integrating them into another. I could do it to you, if you fancy the chance of one in sixty.” His moon lids eyes were lined the way a snake would.

“No thanks.” She felt her stomach twisted, it was a disgusting thing to do, notwithstanding her own surgeries on cadavers and living rabbits.

Taking a walk with a psychopath is on the list of things she would do once and never again. It was a source of entertainment, but there were lines he crossed that she, in all her insanity, dare not cross. 

The man of nightmares advised, “Have some sympathy for the devil.” He understood that to be the paragon of power, there are things need to bygone, limits need to be broken. That after all this time, he was not the devil. Only once she too understood, then she will harvest the essence of imperative cruelty and its magnificent vigour.

“It's the nature of your game.”

The trees in the surrounding area are getting denser, taking a resemblance to Konoha’s forests. 

Wait. Inner yanked her head. What’s the name of the mokuton user in the Konoha list again? Tenno? Tendo? No, did he have two names? An ANBU. Not even mentioned during the meeting. Tensho? Ten— 

Sakura came to a standstill immediately. Her consociate only walked slower, his spineless neck turned 180 degrees like an owl. She staggered from the thought, “Was it…Tenzō?”

His lips stretched from one ear to another, “Bingo.” He clapped several beats. “Back to what I was saying, there is a place.”

“You mean?” She couldn’t just say ‘Senju Shrine’ if he was in fact, not leading her there. It would be disclosing unwanted secrets.

“Tsuna was quite a loose lipped rebel. I went with her and Jiraiya, once, half drunk at your age. The Senju Forest is a haven of trees.”

That wasn’t right, “The Senju Forest borders Konohagakure, in the middle of Fire. We’re at the borders.”

“Who told you so?” 

She sputtered, remembering every textbook she read about Senju and the only living Senju stating resolutely the approximate placement of the forest. Censorship was exactly Konoha’s type of game, but why? Because of the shrine?

“What about the script? You were there too.” He did have the mokuton, not really, it didn’t phase him much losing it. But her solution wasn’t messing directly with biology the way he chose to do, so she asked. Surely the key wasn’t ‘go and do some experiments with the Shodai’s DNA samples’ . Orochimaru said it himself, his solution was unorthodox, meaning the ‘correct’ way was not what he did.

“I failed that. As she did. As Jiraiya did. As Mito did.”

Sakura was the surprised one now, trying her best to school her widened eyes, “Uzumaki Mito failed to decode the script?”

“She only sealed the scrolls with her famous fifty-line composition. Nidaime was rumoured to have only cracked half of the wall scripts before his death.” His gaze grew more condescending. If the greatest shinobi he knew could not, there was little chance a fifteen year old girl could do it. 

He was manipulating her into thinking it would guarantee the mokuton in her hands in exchange for things she could do for him. She would never get the mokuton and he would get what he needed. The Snake increased his pace and applied an extensive moving-barrier genjutsu in a five metres radius to hide them from the outsiders. The medic noticed and let the jutsu fall over her instead of dismantling it—she was competent enough to recognize an invasive or dangerous illusion.

Orochimaru turned out to be a conversationalist, despite the talks with him never being about trivial matters. He had given her plenty of valuable information. She had given him none and she knew he would get back somehow and dreaded what he wanted from her.

“I made good use of your vaccine recipe, even Kabuto was taken aback by some ingredients.” Praise wasn’t what she anticipated so she only gave a monosyllabic acknowledgement, “Blame my curiosity but have you completed the seal you touted?” 

The girl lowered her head, hiding her face behind the covering of the wide brimmed collar, her black locks framed her posture. “Not yet. If you want to know so badly, I can give you a hint.” She grinned treacly.

“Indulge me.”

“Alright then.” She exhaled, knowing one way or another the secret of her seal won’t be hers to hold, “The seal I’m working on doesn’t gather yin chakra.” 

He had a marginally surprised look on his face. “...Senjutsu?”

“Ah, no. Thanks for thinking I could achieve that though. I’m flattered.” 

Sage Mode was not something she had time to research on. It was interesting, but the only living sage known to mankind was Jiraiya, her old teammate’s perverted mentor. It was terrifying power, she knew, but not something she would deem interesting as her research—she wanted something people don’t know what to expect when faced off against instead of something she can name-drop and move on. Something when placed in a war will stump her opponents, they won’t have any information on it. 

“The secret ingredient,” Sakura raised her palm upward, and a surge of chakra formed there. It swirled in feral, black and volatile. The cackles weren't like lightning but more like an ink bloomed on a wet page. It swarmed into itself while simultaneously reaching out in a hungry manner. Some tentacle-like strings were pulled from the surroundings and wiggled as it lashed out just a hairsbreadth from her face, “Is Dark Chakra.”

This time the pale Sennin had an expression that was close to Itachi’s stupefied look. If people catch this moment, it wouldn’t be degrading at all and his being was still as horrifying as normal. But to gauge such a reaction from someone like that man, she was closer to her epitome than she thought. Sakura giggled slightly. 

It was chilling to see such shock on someone who was physically incapable of that emotion display. Sakura loved these looks, it was her top tier comedy. 

She retracted her chakra and dropped her hand.

“That is…anomalous. Colour me surprised.” He settled, mumbling, “Pure Dark Chakra. I’ve looked into it, Land of The Sky. Unbelievable.” Now she was concerned, really, when the man who was the dictionary definition of unbelievable said she was the one being unbelievable. 

“Well, there you have it. Are we there yet?”

“Not so fast, girl.” His tongue slithered out. “I do have a request for you. I will pay handsomely, more than just the Senju Shrine.” 

He was scheming, like she always does, but she chose to listen. Her hand positioned near enough to her pouch where she put her poison-dispel vials in. “Alright. What do you want?”

“Straight to the subject, like Sasuke-kun huh?” Sakura’s fist was a moment away from smacking it into the middle of his face. It wasn’t feeling bad for the Uchiha, but he hurt her damn pride. There is no comparison between her and that boy . 

No hitting! don’t waste your energy, Inner chided.

“Hurry before I change my mind.”

Orochimaru just smiled his creepy trademark smile and continued, “A mission, not now but in eight months. In return, you will get more things on Dark Chakra. We share evenly.”

“A mission?” She repeated, assessing the man’s movements.

“To The Land of Snow, Sora-nin are probably preparing to invade them.” 

She was not having it but before she could call him out that Sora no Kuni had been deleted off the surface of earth decades ago, he was already on it, “They’re out there, my intel does not fail.” There was confidence in that, “Their ancestors buried something underneath Snow and well, they wanted it back. I need things on my immortality research. Perhaps it has to do with your seal.”

“Perhaps.” She allowed, “Why not send someone else?”

“Oh, I am sending someone else, but you are not to reveal you are coming on my terms. My subordinate’s mission and yours does not align. Do not come as who you are. I will send a file on who you could henge into.”

“I won’t agree beforehand, but that is to be considered.”

“Glad to hear.” The conversation concluded with a short remark.

She sighed. He was strangely...cordial, for a man like him. Not that she could ever tolerate him, but her skin prickled at the lack of physical blows and cutting insults. Something was wrong. There was always going to be something with hers and her old team mates line of luck, but she can't put a hand on it.

Fifteen minutes later, Sakura was traversing the thickest forest she had ever seen. Branches left and right, grass grew taller than her thighs, evergreen and hay hue. Canopies were so wide it was almost dark in the forest, only freckles and light spots of sunlight was caught slipping through. There were even ferns, which was most definitely not native to Land of Fire.

The ecosystem wasn’t like The Forest of Death, which was her expectation. Instead the insects were their supposed normal sizes—she wasn’t one to say—with none of them she could name. There doesn’t seem to be predators, only insects and birds. The faint chirping could be heard overhead, a melody she had not heard before. 

“We are here.” Orochimaru’s raspy voice and exaggerated simper sent her chills but she ignored it in favour of looking around to see the same thing. Trees, trees and more trees.

Okay, there were some skulls and human remains scattered here and there, some hanging on a trunk, too. It blended perfectly into the thick foliage, difficult to spot but once seen, she can see everything else.

They didn’t littered much on the ground so she just stepped over them like her guide did. Most of the bones looked like they’re ancient enough to finally decompose but somehow preserved well enough to still exist.

He raised hands and performed a complicated series of signs, thirty one in total, at breakneck speed. Sakura could only memorise a little more than fifteen. She needed to see it again.

“Hey–”

“Don’t expect me to come in with you. I can’t. Only real humans can enter; it prevents people sending Kage-bunshin to attempt breaking in again and again.”

“Wait, you aren’t the original body?” She shrieked, pointing at him. 

“An admonition from me: Just as every cop a criminal, and all the sinners saints, as heads is tail and one man's truth another man's lie.”

He disappeared in a show of smoke. No polite goodbyes or mention of leaving, even if it wasn't his style to do things that way. Maybe he led to to her demise before she could put the (not very reliable sourced) knowledge he shared to use. But he asked for a favor, a mission, had he not? He expected her to get out. But,

Sakura was in the middle of nowhere, miles away from civilization in the ‘unknown’ Senju Forest that was decorated in bones and she knew no jutsu to send help. She hasn't even learned Hiraishin to get herself out. The geography was lost on her, the place was likely not even mapped out yet. She packed no more than rations for two days of camp. There are no animals to hunt for food. No water source she could track. 

This might as well be a trap. She could be hallucinating for the entire hour and not knowing.

She didn’t know if the seal was locked from the outside as well as inside. 

She could permanently rot here.

“OROCHIMARU YOU SON OF A BITCH! WHEN I CATCH YOU OROCHIMARU," She heaved and trembled in anger, her voice a lower growl this time and Inner gave her the proper words, "I will personally eviscerate and then flay you, I will make wine of your snakes—”

Chapter Text

There was a shrine in the bosom of the forest they called Senju. The trees had been there for a millennium and it will be there for millenaries more. 

There was no fructuous soil that grew it, no running river that fed it, no sun for little stems. 

A sky-tall banyan tree stood, its arms and fingers stalked, infesting and plaguing the topsoil and piercing it like needles on a cushion pin. 

There was a boy. He was four, heir to the noble Senju clan. His hair cut short and his bangs straight in line with a smile yet to be worn down by wars his father fought. Wars—the only inheritance Bustuma will leave for him. He remembered his mother and the tales of the forest. Of the shrine built so ancient it had seen the birth of their people. 

He was five when he went to battle in red armour. 

Hashirama of the Senju House was a genius. Not like this prodigious brother, no, his genius lied beneath the boy he was and the man he will become. It never quivers and rarely does show. It is complicated and undecidedly righteous nor foul. His genius gave himself up to the cradles of nature and let it swallow him whole.

He spoke to the banyan tree, the statue, the forest. He asked if they could grant his clan peace.

No one spoke back.  

He pleaded for power, the day his four years old brother died. 

He was nine. He pleaded for power. He swore he would do anything. 

The shrine finally rumbled in its old age with history written in between the rings of its banyan trunk. It gave him a root, a flower and a fruit. It asked him, what did Death fear best?

He replied, “Death fears leaves best for no matter how many fell from the flow of time into its hands, there will always be more—thus there is no end. Roots grow, flowers wilt, fruits rot. Leaves only die when its tree does, while root, flower and fruit will die on its own.”

The being only judge. 

It gave him a purvey and demanded for everything because he did not answer. 

Hashirama awoke with a soul sold for power in return.

He met a boy the next summer and killed the same boy fifteen years after. 

He fought more wars than any of his horsemen, he gave more lives to the Shinigami than his one-time Uchiha brother. 

Senju Hashirama never told this story. 

“The shrine was inside a tree.” The Godaime said, arms swinging around with a small ceramic sake bottle in hand. “There were steps, stones, like a tsuchi jutsu architect—some shits those fucking Iwa-nin would do in their free time for fun, you know? I mean, it wasn’t them, they were busy with their second Tsuchikage drama. It didn't even seem like he was from Iwa! What kind of rock disappears into nothing? That’s more of a Kiri stunt don’t you think? Like—”

Stopping her side-tracking rambles, the youngest apprentice drew soothing circles on the back of the green haori, “The shrine, shishou, we’re talking about the Senju shrine.”

“Ahhhhhhhhh.” A weak nod.

Shizune had excused herself on ‘drunk duty’ for the day, catching up with piles of administrative folders. There was only Sakura and Tsunade in the Hokage private quarters.

The blonde women hiccuped, “Yeah well, the shrine looked old. He said it was older than Senju. One of the first established clans. Another bullshit point for him I guess. It was not even close to the point of crumbling apart.”

“What did the shrine worship? Did you light incense?”

“This and that. I don’t know, some worldly trees? The freaky statue? It was mighty creepy. And I've been teammates with someone who took creepy as a personal motto.” Her head was drooping. Sakura shuffled closer and quietly said,

“What else?” 

“You’re lucky I’m in the mood to talk, Sak’ra.” An incoherent mutter can be heard, “The tree, the banyan tree, it talked. Or at least my delusional grandfather insisted so. Grand-uncle was studying the writings on the walls in one of our visits. He had an exemption, ‘cause grandpa allowed it. It was only for clan heirs.” Senju Tobirama was hardly ever mentioned in her stories so the fourteen years old mustered even more focus. “Secrets to the mokuton, he said. Grandpa forbade it when he knew, they even had an argument. Don’t tell them,” She giggled, oblivious to the fact that they were all dead, " But I eavesdropped and apparently the writings can only be read by mokuton users. As if it could talk anyways. Grandpa showed me a scroll. It was green. There were two names on it, Oo–, Osuki Sura? Akura? And his own. He said if the forest approved, mine can be on there, too. He told me to use my chakra, seriously, me! Somehow it was muted? Something disrupted the flow. Tsk, tsk.”

“Use your chakra?”

“Yeah. He said to place my hand on the statue inside the shrine and asked if it spoke to me. I swear, the look on his face was gold when my grand-uncle and I asked him if he lost his mind. In the end I did it and nothing happened, which, of course. First, the trees, okay I can see why, because of the mokuton. But a statue? Inside a shrine in that murky forest? Hah.” She hiccuped. “Ppft, Heh, heheheee, HAHAAAHAA THAT WACKY STATUE. HAH, TALK? HAHAA—”

The pink haired girl sighed deeply.

“Also! Memoirs! I was,” Burped, “given mine when—-” She looked up, hands reaching for the next bottle. “Ooh, this one is flavoured. What is it? Can you read? It’s quite blurry—”

The banyan tree stood as it always had been. Its leaves shook slightly, a miniscule tilt of a branch. 

There was a tug at her core. Sakura forcefully obstructed her absorption of Dark Chakra. Somehow, too much of that was here. She could not understand the reason why there was so much of it permeating the air. There was no human to bear the hatred, the anger, the pain for her to filter into pure chakra. There was only lingering and opaque doldrums belched by sticks and stones.

The shrine was less histrionic than she would have imagined. 

Konoha has separate cultures that differs from each other in religious beliefs. Many clans would worship a certain deity, civilians would pray to Kami, Nara to their deer god of strategy and wisdom, Uchiha would bow to Amateratsu. Folk religion was perhaps the most popular one there was, and Sakura in all her Haruno averages, was from a family like that. She had only seen the red myojin torii a few times in her childhood on the off chance her parents fancied the annual festivals or she got a mission to aid some monks.

There was a myojin torii here, too. It acted as guardian for the shrine nestled inside the banyan tree, just beyond a few stairs of stone slabs. It wasn’t a bright red of new paint or dull brown of well-kept wood. 

The gate stood, its two pillars the perimeter of two adult armspans. It had a strange eggshell shade with decaying yellowish hues on some spots. The surface of it was not smooth and sanded like how pillars were supposed to be. It was lumpy and dimpled, dented here and there with a rather organic look. 

On the lintel, the character for Ki, tree, was all vines wrapped together with baby fronds. The letter was grown from the material instead of carved or embedded by men. There were thin lines of roots climbing and twisting.

A seal half the size of her torso was attached to each beam, designed with complicated lines and borders in scarlet ink. The characters on them were so tiny, as fine as a hair strand. Senju Mito’s work. Likely a protection seal.

At a closer inspection, Sakura saw it. The medic was not a medic if one can not recognize it. 

Sakura had seen it first when she was nine and was tearing apart rabbits, dogs, rats. They were mammals. So was Sakura. Within the bounds of the things they shared like perception, inevitable ends and factors that kept them breathing, there were structures biology favoured. Reconfigurations reused by more than one species, reminders that humans were just another one of them. 

The dark spongy substance was wedged in the inner core of the column, almost leaking from a deep cut on the side of the torii. 

It was marrow.

Sakura stepped back unintentionally, her heel in contact with a small stone. Her red lips parted, “ What is this place?” This was not what a sacred place should look like, not in the traditional Hi no Kuni standards. Gathering herself, she created a simple clone. “Go inspect.” She ordered.

The clone walked to the torii and attempted to go through it to reach the actual shrine. It failed. Without her permission, it poofed away and her chakra spiked as if something had poked it.

The kunoichi tried again, yielding the same result. 

The problem was with her control. It had never been like this. Her chakra slipped like sand through her fingers when she took it in her grip. It jumped from her and operated in an unnaturally stubborn way, swaying and escaping when she released it. 

Sakura tried to summon medical chakra. It flickered and dimmed then completely faded out. 

She felt almost static, as if it wasn’t her body and the skin suit she wore took on a life of its own. She could move, but it wasn’t really her legs moving or her arms waving. It was numb.

“Shit.”

Now not only was she stuck with several survival issues thanks to Orochimaru, she also lost the ability to command her chakra. It was the most effective method used to incapacitate shinobi. She had never been on the receiving end of a chakra paralysis, which as she just learnt, was unbearably uncomfortable.

Without many other choices, the girl warily closed the distance. Her hand touched the gate and—   nothing. 

Another step. 

She realised the seals did not stop her from entering. It wasn’t a barrier seal, then. Tsunade-shishou didn’t even mention the existence of the bone gate, for whatever reasons. The woman had lied about the location (or, the snake had lied, one of the two) so she wasn’t much of a dependable source anymore.

She finally noticed the house structure, encased in the embrace of the tree. It was only as big as the wardrobe in her parents’ house with no door. Inside sat the statue Tsunade had brought up. She didn’t know what to visualise when the most fearsome woman she knew described the thing as ‘freaky’. 

Sakura immediately agreed upon landing eyes on it.

It was a peculiar humanoid creature, not some divine animal like turtle or lion or dragon one would expect at sunch place. The statue was the size of a watermelon, it sat crossed legs with two hands in front of its chest in fists. Its arms and legs were bound by shackles. It had…nine eyes. They were all closed behind lids and distributed evenly across the upper half of its face. In the mouth was a scroll. A green scroll.

It wasn’t the only intriguing object though. There were more scrolls, mostly a dark brown colour with kanji on them, indicating names. They were separated by the structure of the small house. They were memoirs. All twelve of them. Two for each Senju Head, one of their life and a second of their wisdom. Each scroll had its own storage space, standing vertically on the middle wall that was filled with crypts no one had understood. 

The pair of scrolls on the furthest right belonged to Senju Hashirama, she remembered her Shishou saying. 

The kanji that labelled them was Jinsei, life. All the other ones ranged from ‘war’ to ‘honour’. The first two scrolls on the left, however, were titled Owari, end, on its cover. 

There was a fifty line seal composed by none other than the fuuinjutsu master Mito herself. It was written on the floor of the small deity house. Sakura had researched them back in Konoha. She didn’t get very far, being only genin with the ability to create basic D-rank seals like explosive tags or storage space. 

Quickly, she got out a notebook and started to draw them down, all details included. It wasn’t the normal ward-seal patterns, not the ones she was familiar with. There were some sigils that didn’t belong to any language, shapes that were more abstract than mathematical. She even sketched the statue after deciding it might come in handy later. 

Sakura needed a fuuinjutsu master. She knew one, and he was not a friend. 

No matter. 

Breathing in, breathing out. Sakura raised her hand, palm down and reached towards the statue. She needed to confirm something. 

The Shodai stated the statue spoke, as did the tree.

The banyan did not speak to her, which was already foreseen. She was not of Senju blood, anyways. But he asked his granddaughter to touch the statue, thinking something might happen. It could be the gift of mokuton, for all she knew.

Again, nothing happened. She channelled her chakra, it was capricious like before, but she kept on pushing more onto her fingers as it made contact with the stone. 

A moment. Nothing.

More, try better, Inner demanded.

She pushed.

The wind whistled. The eyes on the statues opened. It had no irises, only white void.

“You have come, Haruno. Sakura. Medic. I want this medic.” 

“Kami!” She jerked back violently, both legs leaving the ground and stumbling to the edge of the tallest stair step. It was like someone talked inside her ears instead of into it. She shook her head, spinning around and taking in the entire environment to make sure there was no physical jumpscare.

The black hair girl stared at the statue, fingers flinching, poised and ready for a hand sign or bolt right out of there, direction be damned. Communicate, Sakura. Communicate. She can not leave this place, not yet.

She had seen more bizarre things as a medic, a Debut Class graduate, a Hokage assistant and especially a member of Team Seven. She had seen all types of animals talking, a cat kingdom, floating sandy eyeballs, a man peeling his skin off with tongue longer than her forearm. There was a lot Haruno Sakura had seen, had known and had discovered. It was not everything, but those events had made her more calm in face of things like the metaphysical. She had seen stranger things, and so she chalked it up to her terrible luck infected by her old genin team. A talking statue inside of an ancient secret forest? Just another afternoon.

Sakura closed her eyes and opened them again. “I’m here for the scrolls. The mokuton. The power of life force I wish to own.” 

“You must leave. You came, you leave.” The deep, scratching, androgynous voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere around her.

“No. No, I don’t think so. I am here for mokuton and I am not leaving.”

“You will forget, child. You will forget this once you leave. You must leave before you don't.”

The girl who died and never lived only stood to argue with the power and their plans. She heed no advice of gods when the gods she knew were only mortals who sold themselves. “Are you the statue? What should I refer to you as?”

“I have no names, child, for I am life and death, apocalypse and renaissance intertwined. Do not mistake me for the mere container of the first child’s grandmother’s flawed creation. You will be forgiven and you will forget once you leave.”

“Orochimaru…did he remember you, then?” If leaving meant that, how did he know the way to the Senju Shrine?

“He, like his mortal friends, can not remember me. It isn’t hard to find the forest, once you come with Senju blood with you.”

Sakura wasn’t a careless defector of Konohagakure. No missing-nin worthy to survive was. The fifteen year old took two samples of Tsunade Senju’s blood and DNA of several prominent figures of the village. They weren’t for use—she was not a mad scientist, she was wiser than messing with the living’s parts—but trading chips. Sasori, Orochimaru, Nagato, any of them were as likely as one another to value such specimens. She carried it with her, only to be used in desperate measures. 

The Snake seemed to also be in possession of Senju blood and he had probably guessed Sakura did the same.

“I will not resort to what he did.” To slaves and infants taken away from hospital rooms decades ago. Of astronomical ambition and immoral answers. “What is the right way to capture the power Senju Hashirama held?”

“No two men can carry the same power.”

“I am not a man.” She stated, teeth grinding.

“Answer me, then. A root, a flower and a fruit; what does death fear best?”

Sakura thought.

The three symbolisms could be a variety of things. On one interpretation, the root could be the foundation of things while the flower is the coming of things and the fruit, the conclusion. On another view, root would refer to the connection of everything, flower would be ephemeral beauty while the fruit would be greed and hunger. There were three options, each of them not fixated on a single meaning. But what does death fear most?

“Tell me, child.” The voice boomed and it vertebrated in her heart, rattling in her lungs.

There was no indication of choosing an option. “Death. Death feared itself best.” She exhaled heavily, bracing for anything.

“The first child said death fears immortals, the second child told me death fear leaves best. You did not answer, like they too hadn’t.”

“My answer is death. For Death, it fears itself because it is the end of all things. It will be the end of itself. The demise brought by one's own hands.”

“What to do, then, if you are Death?”

“I will die and thrive. I will revenge the worlds that perished under other worlds. I will be unstoppable. Someone so strong can only be self-destruct. Then I will not go alone, I will keep them with me in the Pure Lands for if I fall the world shall, too.”

“What would you do to achieve that?” A question easily answered by her predecessors.

Sakura smiled. “Anything.”

There was no stopping the child who chased immortality, who played with death and danced with deities who paraded in human skin. Because Sakura wasn’t an idealist, she was no politician. She was a fighter forced to perform on a stage of the velvet-curtain theatres. She fought with books and love and hoped to blend in with the women who walked beside her. 

There is no molded morals for one like her. It adapts and shape-shifts into what it must. She can weep and she can break but she only ever do what she wanted. There was no time in her short life to ask permission from people who wouldn’t be alive for longer than her.

Her soul was deeper than any cliffsides or valleys like most of her teammates were. Even one as Sasori in his wooden body or Kakuzu in his sewn together limbs, their soul digged deep. A hole to bury the living. Filled with black gore and sweet nothings, filled with tremendous emotions and sad eyes that saw avalanches of sins. 

She was born with many failings and a few gifts that shielded her from the rawness of minced meat and crushed craniums. She is seldom guilty, but does it matter when life is so fleeting?

The medic attempted to restart cold dead hearts and ashen grey hands at a young age. She hugged grief and anger next to her hand-grenade heart because they were the only presents her parents had given. Her mother’s vexations and her father’s woes were all she ever knew.

Sakura adapted. 

The being listened to her. It had been long since someone denied its question and yearned for something beyond this world’s realm. For the first child, he had with him: envy. The second child toted spite wrapped inside virtue. She, third child, bestowed fury. 

It asked of her only so much she could give, only so fair the exchange, “I want your secrets, the sickness you foster, your favourite addictions, your violent causation. I want your nightmares, your paralyzed sleep, your silent sedation, your morbid fixation. Entreat me, offer all you are and all you have been.”

Sakura did just so.

Chapter Text

Uzumaki Mito was fifteen when she found out about her marriage to the Senju heir. 

She was among the greatest kunoichi. Trained with arrows and bows, inventor of the first form of chakra storage in an unassuming purple diamond on her forehead. Her fingers composed the most intricate fuuinjutsu to which will be admired generations to come without her name attached. 

She will learn, one day, that no man will pay her tribute. 

She had a beauty that captivated any spectator; with ember coloured hair and dark, onyx eyes that were lovelier than Whirlpool night skies. A red rose with thorns to be stripped, guard petals to be plucked and spiky leaves to be trimmed once taken by hands of those not her gardener. 

In simplicity, she was just a girl born to the land of barbarian makings and raw untamed emotions. A girl that had always wished for a life (a love) larger than what she had. 

Mito did not have choices. Her father chose for her the one easiest to live with. Her father chose for her a saviour.

It was her eighteenth birthday that her wedding commenced. It was her forty-eighth birthday when her motherland was erased from the map on the wall of her husband’ study. People said she was fifty-eight, but she wasn’t, because they also said she was twenty eight at marriage. 

They said she looked so young and it must have been due to her people’s fame of longevity.

She did not ‘exist’ for ten years. A gap of her timeline no one was aware of. A decade unlived. 

Hashirama added ten years to her name for she was too smart for a girl, too fierce a fire, too calloused those hands.

(Mito died at seventy but got buried at eighty years old and no one ever knew.)

“I need you to create a memory altering seal.”

Mito was eighteen, dazzlingly beautiful, an angel on this place of hell. She looked up from the ink bowls on her floor, the stacked up crates of paper rolls and asked her husband, “Why would you need such a thing?”

He stepped in front of her, hand wiping across the just-dried parchment on the string. It left a smear. He ripped the paper from its place, shredding it into uneven pieces and threw it at her face. “Did I allowed any questions?”

She licked her cracked lips, “No, Hashirama-sama.” It came out weak and breaking.

“I need it as soon as possible. One on each side of a torii gate. Once one step in, they will not remember the event that happened afterwards. You are not an imbecile, figure it out.” He fished out four scrolls from his overcoat and tossed it on the floor where she sat. “That is my brother’s. You do not tell anyone about this. Am I understood?”

“Hai, Hashirama-sama.” She nodded, hand caressing the leather binding of the scrolls. They looked like something her brother in law would spend his time on meticulously. 

She had found interest in the genius of the brothers, minds she could match on. Challenges of her own intelligence, people that thought themself better even after seeing her inventions and abilities, even after hearing of her bloodline. She did not admire them, as one should, with dignity and grace of every Uzumaki she represented. 

Hashirama was terrifying. He was nothing close to sunshine beams or soft feathers her father promised. He was war and death overtaken, he was her killer if she went against his will. She was smart enough to abide by his rules and stupid enough to do it for the rest of her life. Stupid enough to draw him seals after seals because he allowed her to research anything she liked, all facilities provided. 

“Very well.” He praised and disappeared into the shadows of the empty Senju compound. 

His request was not impossible, if given time, for someone like her. 

She had her entire nation hostage under Senju and she could move mountains and diverge seas if it meant she could protect them. Mito will do anything to postpone the downfall of Uzushiogakure—a land in the palm of her husband who has all capabilities to crush it in mere hours. 

She would murmured to the moon, “For somebody I thought was my saviour, you sure made me do a whole lot of labour.” 

Mito swallowed thickly and opened the first scroll. 

(Tobirama will find out and demand an explanation. He accused her of stealing his works out of fear and jealousy. She stayed silent and he finished with her room in disarray and her life in shambles. 

She told him his published work was mediocre and he was hoarding the things that could advance society ages ahead. She told him he was a coward. So was she. 

He never apologised, nor did she.)

One day, her husband came to her bed chamber with a gallon of liquid ink in beautiful glass bottles. “A gift. Use it for the memory seals.” He said with a kind smile, and she was not so illusioned to believe that he ever cared. 

She accepted them and in the dead of midnight, the married woman cried into the envelope of her thin silk blanket in hiccups and plenary despair. Her hands trembled as she pinched her skin to see the same shade of ink stored in the hand-crafted bottles.

It was gorgeous scarlet ink.

It was gorgeous scarlet blood. 

( “Only the blood of Uzumaki can become ink”, her mother whispered to her when she was twelve, body snuggled into the warm cotton covers next to the fireplace, “Our women use the blood of their fallen comrades in desperate times. We don’t do it anymore, but they said the grief of the seal-maker and the blood of her people give every piece of fuuinjutsu extraordinary properties.” )

Mito cried and wailed and wept one last time. She found out about her mother and sisters’ mysterious deaths a week after. She did not cry then because she could not attend the funeral. 

Her family was with her, right there, displayed on her table in pretty inkwells. 

The red haired woman would pen a letter never to be sent, she would ask her long dead mother, “If our love died, would that be the worst thing?”

Mito spent five years—the same amount of time Tobirama spent on his Hiraishin—to complete the last of her duo seals that was half her body length and wider than the bed she was granted in the corner of her bedroom that smelled like miscellaneous calligraphy supplies, crisp burnt papers and sundries. She never knew what they were for, but she took too long and so she apologised.

The world never got the chance to witness her magnificent work, either. Historians will say she retired from her career and rested her brushes after getting married. Mito was not there to correct them.

In another unlucky winter morning, her husband would tell her to become a vessel or else he would release the ninth monster to trample over Whirlpool.

She obliged.

He will tell others she did it on her own accord to help him gain more advantage for a battle of brothers in the Valley of The End. A battle he won.

She would no longer be a woman, much less human. She was a storage, an object, a container of something they feared. She was the first. There was no one like her before. No person with masses of horrible, apocalypse-born monster inside themselves. It screamed of squenched anger and forces of nature, it looked at her like she was its jailor. Red ruby eyes that unleashed hell fires and cat lined irises that were pointy as its claws. If she had her ways, the creature would better be her killer than the man who pretend to be her husband.

This thing is no crueler than men.

The fox hated her, for it also hated her husband. Mito wished she could have told it they were too similar to be in pain of one another's company.

Mito kept the fox silent.

Uzumaki Senju Mito commissioned a man named Kakuzu to assassinate her husband.

The man failed to kill a god.

Uzushio fell.

She didn’t have to do it the second time when Hashirama died in battle many years later due to illness. He had been trying to find the best healers to save him, but the best will not be born in his time. No medic was there to save his failing body. 

They said he was his own end, he was too strong of a mortal. 

Gods did not get killed by humans, they killed themselves out of glory and greed, or by other gods who came too dissatisfied with them. 

The kunoichi with a belly-made-cage will live long enough to hold her grand-daughter and kiss her plump cheeks and name her Tsunade. 

She will also live long enough to meet a girl with a devastatingly similar fate who was called Kushina. Mito will kiss this girl like she had her grand-daughter and tell her, “We came here to become the vessels of the Kyūbi, but before that you must find love and fill the vessel with it.” and hoped sincerely that this girl would fall into a fate unlike hers. 

Kushina will have choices. She will get to choose them herself.

Namikaze Uzumaki Kushina also knows a truth: Mito did not love Hashirama and he made her do too much labour.

Sakura’s then best friend, Yamanaka Ino, gave a speech in her fourth year at the Academy on Warring States history. The story of a woman named Senju Mito and her monumental love for her doting husband. A princess and a Clan Head, war hero, village founder. A match made in heaven for two lovers of older days. 

Ino loved romance, Sakura did not, not after seeing the example of her parents and her grandparents and her aunts and uncles’ failed marriages. To the blonde, it was a happy end between the great, just and holy clan and their ally kingdom. A typical children’s bedtime fairy tale. 

No one really knew what happened or how Uzushio was destroyed, but they were taught that the village was a friend of Konoha. Konoha kept them alive in the swirling red on their green uniforms.

Senju was glorious and supreme, and the books said they had loved her sister village a lot. Sakura could find fault in that statement. What kind of ally is it to ignore the suffering of a friend? Weren’t they related by blood, if distantly? How could Senju allow Uzushio to be wiped out? (Sakura will not know about the name Uzumaki, not until she research about the Yondaime and his wife, to which she will come into a horrifying realisation about her place in Team 7)

The pink haired child saw a few portraits of the village’s first First Lady, stunning face and serious expressions. She doesn’t smile in any of the pictures and it made her even more regal and strong. The first woman to be revered not only for her beauty but strength and resilience in accepting one of the Bijū. She was the name every kunoichi knew, every man shinobi forgot.

The Senju remembered Mito, calling her their foreign mother. Yet, there was only one Senju left, and this Senju called her grandmother, with love. 

One would say Haruno Sakura gave up her soul and sanity for an unknown deity. One would be wrong. Because Sakura had a broken soul and equivocal sanity, something no god would be eager to take.

But this one, this…god, will take whatever left remained inside this case of a girl. 

Sakura woke up expecting someone inside her head to snap her back into complete consciousness. A reflection of oneself, the split of the mind. Some called it coping, some said it was a sign of madness.

“Inner?”

No one answered.

It was wrong. No one told her that. But it was.

Inner wasn’t there. 

Who was Inner?

What Inner?

It was empty and searing hot.

She saw black.

Sakura woke up again, lying next to the shrine. She looked over from her prone position to see her fingertips. It was dark, blending a finger joint into the paleness of the rest of her hand. It hid the black nail polish she wore perfectly. 

She could feel something eating her away, nibbing and corroding her body by the second.

“Third child.” She flinched mildly, less reactive than the first time hearing the voice.

“I would ask what you have taken, but I assume you took everything you can.”

“You will kill for me and die when I see fit.” The voice seemed disinterested in her sentence.

“I will not die when you see fit.” She said, loud and angry, “I will die when I deem myself unable to continue. I will decide when I die.” It was an arrogant thing to say, from a mortal.

“The first and second child had not been able to escape my clutch.” It reprimanded her.

“Were they medics? Were they healers? Doctors? The best of all of those?” The kunoichi asked. “I am very good at doing the impossible, after all.” And she was.

“...”

She didn’t bother asking if she had the mokuton. She could hear it. Them. The trees. They did not speak of human language, but she heard them like a mother understanding her baby’s cries for hunger. She closed her eyes. 

She felt the wiggles and grasp of the roots underground, overtaking the soil it occupied. She felt the branches growing and reaching towards the sun. The thrumming of the forest’s hearts, they beat steady and low, in a rhythm she was sure had not changed for a very long time. 

Sakura opened her eyes and looked at the banyan tree. It will not grow bigger than it is, she knew it. 

She looked at the trees on the other side of the bone gate, over the stone steps. Those trees, though, will decay. They will rot when time comes.

She saw a songbird with a yellow underside and grey wings. The bird will fall and it will decompose in this forest then become food for those who would eat. She knew it, like it was a fact rather than an assumption.

She looked at the grass. A patch of it will be burned on the top into hay one summer some years later when the tree that covered the sky has one of its large branches fall down. 

She couldn’t really see death. She just knew how things would end. It was almost natural, like an instinct. Like how a turtle gravitates towards the waves after hatching, how birds know to fly when they can, how a scorpion knows how to use its tail.

Sakura felt the death inside her and in everything around her except the tree. Death was everywhere, festering and contaminating anything that is part of life. 

Sakura was acutely aware of life, too. It grew everywhere, small insects she was unaware of to hundred years old trees. She knew how many trees there were in the forest, how many birds were on each and what branch. How many leaves will be on them, how many seedlings will be carried by the birds and how many will grow, be grown, grows. 

Life is the other part of death. They are one and the same. They are two different entities. Sakura was a fusion between both. 

The girl asked a tree to grow. You can grow, she allowed it.

And so it did. From nothing, a brownish solid stem poached the ground near her unmoving form.

She sat up to watch it. Its leaves increased in size. Faster, she hastened.

The leaves fell to reveal other ones, they grew and the stem was now a wooden trunk, thicker than a chair leg. 

The kunoichi felt tired. It ate at her like how rot mottled the trees. That was the most she could do. 

She could wield the mokuton.

 It was fascinating. 

“Mokuton, huh.” She muttered. The possibilities were endless. There was a price and she has paid and will pay more, most of which she won't know of. 

Sakura withdrew her notebook from before, the same one she used at nine, the same one she used to sketch earlier. 

[  OF MOKUTON STUDIES RESEARCH

Mokuton = Life enabled by the user (?) — Time manipulation for trees to grow? Could it be pushing the seed/soil/tree through time? // giving the trees one’s own life force to increase rate of growth?

- If following the time manipulation theory, then conceptually, one can decrease someone’s lifespan like they do with a tree, pushing it forward in time — relevant to cell regeneration (more research on it)

- If it was chakra control, then it must not use ratios different from mud and lava (?).

•  Fine control of weather and earth nature 
• Possible, explain the non-inheritable issue
• Some kekkei genkai that combined produce: mud, lava (with fire?),
• 99th percentile control (achievable) ? Yin + Earth + Water (too easy to deduct)

Senju Shrine . NW Konoha? No exact location—Senju Graveyard for clues? (need to bypass Shishou)

… ] 

She saw the layers of the tree. The phloem, cambium and xylem pressed together. She could perceive the way the phloem and xylem transport fluids and nutrients that was converted from her chakra while the cambium produces more phloem and xylem at unnatural speed.

It got to her height and consumed half of her storage when she commanded it to stop.

Perish, now, she told it. The roots started to go into an unhealthy shade (she was never a botanist to say so but she knew anyway) and the leaves fell at once as if a gust of storm wind had swept through it. The tree turned into dust in half a second.

A fraction of the chakra that was lost returned to her, as life the life force of the tree had been transferred when it died. The rest seeped into the earth and became part of the forest.

The sweat greased girl touched the torii and repeated the process, testing.

There was a crack forming on the opposite side of the cut she saw marrow peeking from. It became wider as she told it, crumble, fracture, die. It mended itself when she allowed it back to the state it was.

Not only grow, she can kill.

Then it hit her in sudden clarity: Sakura was not Death. 

She was time. 

The secret of the mokuton wasn’t the deity, the shrine, any of it. It was realising that it had been time all along. 

In due time, things will grow, things will die. Hashirama was not a medic, but he was said to be able to regenerate cells. Cell is life, sure, but what about non-living objects? Wood that has turned into furniture, they can not “die” but they can disintegrate through time. There was no record of it, but she will have to try.

If it was true, that she wasn’t just fiddling with life and death but with time, then it opened doors to incomprehensible things. The amount of power time held was larger than life. Astronomically larger.

It encompassed everything. Without time, there was nothing. A long time, a short time, it was still time. The world was created and ended in time, not in life or trees or death. 

“You are faster than them.”

Her eyes widened, forgoing the mind-reading. “It is time then. It had always been time. You, whatever you are, is the embodiment of life and death. I am time. I am your keeper, like they had been. I kill for you, like I should be.”

“You understand.”

Theoretically, she could achieve almost anything she wished. “There must be limits.”

“Limits are not to be broken when it regards life and death and things in between. You need to seal your name on the scroll.”

Sakura ignored the second phrase and stared at the banyan tree. Die, she told it. It did not die. “Then I will break it. I fear no limit.” She remarked. 

“Fear isn’t the issue.” 

She stood up, patting the dirt off her clothes. “I am not them. Not in the ways it mattered. I will not die and I will return.” She reached for the olive scroll. The statue gently uncapped its mouth. There was surprisingly no dust on it, as if it was maintained well by a librarian or bookkeeper. She unrolled it, cream leather surface and tree bark binding. “...this isn’t leather.” She felt the texture of it. She should have felt nauseous, but it seemed she was too inhumane for even that.

Sakura should have seen this coming, after that torii. It was strangely smooth and unspoilt even with pores visible.

It was human skin. She was sure.

A surgeon knew skin.

It was skin.

On the top of the material, of the skin, was the name Ōtsutsuki Ashura. Below it was Senju Hashirama. They were a particular brown that she was too familiar with.

The kunoichi took out the kunai from inside her cloak. 

In the way she had done it three years ago on the day of her Academy graduation, she slashed it across her palm without a wince. She took the same kunai and dipped it into the wound then started carving her name. 

Haruno Sakura.

What a delicate, pretentious name. The teenager could only admit it was felicitous.

The liquid sat on the skin and slowly dried off. 

There was a sharp sensation on her right wrist. Sudden and sharper than a senbon.

“Fuc–” Similar to the time she got her tattoo in the ANBU Headquarters, it was burning and scorching, unlike a normal tattoo. 

Sakura screamed and there was nothing that came out. 

It felt like her entire wrist was smashed, frozen and then thawed with lava. Her entire body was spasming, her arm convulsing the way a seizure would look like. Her heart was overflowing with blood, her lungs were punched from the inside. It seemed her pain receptors were overloading to the point of being fried.

There was the sound of taking in air and she finally recognized it as herself heaving. Her other hand came to sloppily hold it closer and dragged it upwards to her line of sight, trying to see the area that pain flared from.

It was her name. In the same lettering and front she used when carving it onto the scroll. It was so painful she lost her grip on the feeling. Every line of the characters was embedded onto her skin, blood trickling down until her right hand was slicked with it. Covered in it the way Sasuke’s hand was after the fight with Haku. 

She was on the ground again, at the foot of the shrine, gasping for air. “Kami damned this.”

Her knees were debilitated but enough to carry her nearer to the base and lean onto it. 

She hauled herself up excruciatingly. The sole of her feet was cauterising, aching ceaselessly. Sakura returned the scroll into the waiting mouth of the creature and reached for the other scrolls on the wall— 

She was yanked viciously and landed on her back, her head hitting an edge of the stone step. She hissed in agony. “How did I forget that?” There was a seal. 

If the two seals on the bone gate did nothing then this one inside the house structure certainly does and she was fortunate for it did not kill her immediately. If it had, then the hassle of what just happened would have been pointless. 

Sakura felt soft moss growing around her.

“Mito-sama, I’ll come back with your seal cracked.” The nukenin promised, grinning fanatically at the ground where lines of dark red were painted. “Just you wait.”

Jiraiya would never have seen it coming.

Chapter Text

“I’m back.” Sakura called to the occupants of the shared flat. 

It was noon, typically around the time when Itachi had his tea and Kisame came in to snack on whatever was left in the pantry. The shared mood was usually relaxation and some calmness of weary killers who sought rest after an early wake or overrun mission. 

In contrast to the expected ambience spirit though, Sakura felt angry. Not rage, but just angry in a petty, annoyed way. 

She was led to the Senju Forest, which was cool, but left there with barely any warning whatsoever. The snake Sennin had even intended to lead her there to die, which by far was a creative way to make an attempt on her life. Then it was the godly tree. It spoke in life and death and the inbetweens. She didn’t feel like keeping up with that conversation. Going home, however, was her second priority. Tracking down Jiraiya was her third. Her first would be writing up her theories and notes on the limitations of the so-called mokuton. 

“Oh, you are. Mind giving me the fin rot balm?” The shark man emerged from the kitchen, mouth still chewing something. He reeked of seaweed and nasty saltwater. 

Sakura took a step back to avoid the stank. “I think maybe an ‘oh hey Sakura-san, hello how are you?’ would suffice.” She stared at him unimpressed. “And if you could muster an ounce of politeness and get me fish oil then I’ll make it for you. For Kami’ sake .”

Kisame just stood there with a constipated face, then trying to ease her temper, “Well, Itachi-san is in the living room, I think. If you need him to harass, that is.”

Apparently those weren’t wise words, and he realised just so. The bulky blue man retreated silently with a sheepish grin. He wasn’t scared of the pipsqueak, but an angry Haruno Sakura wreaked havoc. He’d prefer to have his day off out and about with some peace, thanks. “Good day!” Then slipped away.

“Good my ass.” She sighed, then unnecessarily yelled, “Uchiha, your brother chose a scum of a mentor! What kind of man does that?! It was a fucking graveyard! I would have been here two days  earlier if it had not been his despicable mean of uninvolved kidnapping—”

“Hello.” The last resident of the place appeared. He looked a little sleep deprived, but he always had, so she ignored it. “I assure you I did not recommend him to seek tutelage under Orochimaru at all. It was merely his choice.”

“You’re the closest person I could blame for my unfortunate relation to that damn snake!”

He stared then suggested calmly, “Well, you could try to relate harder next time?”

Bastard. Sakura felt her nostrils flaring in anger, which hadn’t dwindled down when talking to her cross-generation teammates. What ever happened to respect around here? “Fine. Whatever. I need to steam off. No, ‘Tachi-nii, not with genjutsu—” Itachi looked like he was going to ask so she stopped him prematurely, “I have theories I’d like alone time to develop.”

“Understandable. I recommend you get an assistant from Kisame with your taijutsu before your next assignment to another team.” He said, not unkindly. 

“How compelling. I’ll do that when I don’t feel like gauging people’s eyes out when I look at them.”

It was either his automatic reply or that he didn’t know what else to say, but Uchiha muttered “Hn.” before leaving her to her own device. 

Upon entering her room, Sakura took a seat on the floor and scrambled to take out her various coded notebooks. The red leather one reminded her suddenly that over the past few weeks she had completely forgotten about Konoha. 

She picked up the book and flipped through the first ten pages where she noted the tracking teams of the village that could be on her tail. This red book was meant to be used as her personal guide to deflect and escape in the case that Konoha was actively searching for their missing medic. She quickly opened it and jotted down her estimates. The tracking team’s progress would be her time limit. 

[ Team Sa—likely sent by the Hokage. Hatake might have been involved, though not exactly a definite choice. 

First scout: within The Land of Fire’ borders. 

Second: possible refuge countries; Wind or Waves? 

Waterfall, Grass and Mist will be last on their list. 

They would have reached Tea in several days, assuming their search was initiated after my first week of leaving. If not, they wouldn’t even bother to search so far, unless the Hokage really wanted me back. 

Twenty days to get marked MIA. 

Thirty three to get marked KIA. 

The search has possibly already been stopped.]

Her greatest worry was not her appearance, but rather, her recognisable chakra signature. It defines a person. It is extremely personal and no two people can possess the same signature—even twins have vastly different ones. This was entry level medical theory. A fatal flaw of an average shinobi against sensor-types. This was how the Nidaime became so fearful: knowing who is who, where they are, what their chakra circulation looks like at all times. 

While chakra suppressing was the skill ANBU personnel got drilled in the most, when facing a seasoned sensor, any effort in concealing was futile. 

Sakura, ever the curious child, has done sufficient research about this topic of chakra signature. She understood it on a biological and metaphysical level, how the intricacy of chakra veins entwine with the average human’s nervous system. Sakura wasn’t a sensor, though. This prevented her from doing any sort of practical experiment. Her hope was to improve the invisibility of her own signature when suppressing it and not expand her sensory field as a non-sensor.

The way chakra works was that it needed to be in a constant flow state. It must be moving, changing, always. Even the tiniest notch or shape present, a millisecond pulse in the flow can be a distinctive telling characteristic for sensors. Some sources even claimed if a sensor was great enough they could even identify a person’s elemental affinities based on the frequency and amount of abundance, or lacking, of chakra type that person has. 

Konoha produced excellent trackers and sensors and while not the best, still were incredibly dangerous. Being a fugitive from Wind would have probably been easier. 

Sakura knew Itachi liked to cast a light genjutsu over his 20 metres radius to distort his chakra signature. She knew that Kisame preferred to mix his signature with the Samehada’ stored ‘meals’. They were both lethal missing-nin who had been in the profession for more than a decade, explaining their mastery at hiding from plain sight much to her envy. It wasn’t easy to know that they do these things, either. It was plainly through close observations and assumptions of her teammates' modus operandi that she found out how they really combat sensors. 

Sakura was in trouble if she couldn’t find a way to actually conceal her signature instead of constantly suppressing it and praying no good sensor was in the vicinity. 

Her proposal? Chakra syncing. 

It was something still in development, a botched project that her former shishou took an interest in a few decades back. 

Chakra have wavelengths, in which frequency became the key idea for a sensor (or anyone per se) to imagine and recognise different shapes, yin-yang levels within a person’s core. 

If one can hypothetically sync their chakra to an irregular frequency or at least change it from its known course, they can match their signature to anything. This was very close to that of a Sage’s training, which Jiraiya had informed, so it would require a terrifyingly precise amount of manipulating chakra flow and immersion to the surroundings. The pink haired kunoichi had been told that Tsunade had attempted this before but never got a chance to actually develop it outside of just concepts. She even stated it was a ridiculous notion, one a drunken Kage didn’t have time to muse with. 

There was little that could stop a civilian born shinobi to crawl their way up through the failures of clan shinobi, and the medic-nin was no different. 

Slowly, she reached for her Dark Chakra store and pried it open. It hasn't been used on any occasion, only sitting there waiting for its completion. It wasn’t like she would use it, she just needed the specific frequency that her normal chakra signature can achieve when influenced by the erratic flow of the Dark Chakra. 

There weren't many words to describe it, but Dark Chakra was an entirely different category than that of elemental releases, similar to the mokuton. This means it wasn’t a mixture of any of the five primary elements. While the mokuton turned out to be a product of time engineering (which Sakura found out she was subpar at, so rigorous training was needed), Dark, or Yami, Chakra seemed to be a reference to dark energy. 

Dark energy was an unpopular topic of study and has only been relevant within the walls of the Redaku Astronomical Research Institute. Their proposals claimed that dark energy was what they called the unknown influencing force that drives the expansion of the universe. There wasn’t much proof of what it exactly was, but most astronomers agreed it existed, which was the case for dark matter too. They both contribute to an enormous amount of reality where visible matter paled in comparison, but weren't really observable. 

Dark Chakra was mostly myths until that one time Team Sa was sent on a retrieval mission near the old site where the battle between Konohagakure and Sora no Kuni happened some odd years ago. 

A newly minted ANBU like the Hokage’s apprentice took every out-of-village mission as the most valuable lesson available. After all, her first one of this nature showed her the full picture of the brutality of the shinobi world. 

“Team Sa, we’re departing at 0400 hours sharp. Destination: Keiseo region, near Shiruku no Sato. This is currently a wasteland after the Second Great Shinobi War. Mission type: retrieval. A-rank. Mission objective: Find and retrieve materials pertaining to the history of the former Sora no Kuni with a special focus on their engineering and technology advances. High crime area. Possible physical engagement with medium risks. Duration: five days, excluding travels.” Otter finished summarising the mission scroll. They had just completed their previous mission the day before.

“Seems like lightwork.” Horse off-handedly commented, bringing his grimy Yamanaka blond strands up for a spiky bun. “Back to back missions this last week had been hell.”

Sheep agreed. On Monday, it started off with an S-rank that dragged all of them into a near-death experience. Somehow most members made it out unscathed except Sheep, the new girl, who while formidable, wasn’t experienced enough to manoeuvre the fight. She ended up with a sprain and bone deep bruises. Nothing the Godaime couldn’t fix up though. That didn’t mean she was good as new for another round. The A-rank right after ruined everyone’s eating and sleeping schedules too. This one? It sounded like a cakewalk.

“Finally the Mission Assignment Office showed us mercy.” Ox sighed, bone weary and feeling the soldier pill crash. “Wonder why we even had so much on our plate in the first place.”

Otter looked up at this and  proposed this theory: “It’s probably because Hound got chained at the hospital last week. Not like it could stop him roaming around, but it surely stopped his ANBU mission intakes.”

The team chuckled and patted each other on the back for the successful mission they just had, exchanging goodbyes in favour of meeting up early the next day for another A-rank. Sheep didn’t bother reporting back to Headquarters, it was mainly Otter’s responsibility anyway, and she really needed a shower.

Team Sa’ kunoichi was ready by 0349, packing with one storage scroll for dried meals and camping equipment, one for clothes and weapons and another for her first aid kit and field note. Storage scrolls all have their different properties and uses, most with a certain weight-space capacity.

With a trick learnt from her weapon-specialist friend, Sheep managed to seal all three in another tiny package—a mini scroll, smaller than the handle of her standard kunai. 

Hair camouflaged and mask on, she made her way to the ANBU entrance.

The mission began without fanfare, most members seeing it as an opportunity to relax after the string of action packed days. Quiet conversations started and ended, tents set up and put away in silent cooperation. It was efficient. It was distant. 

By the time they reached camp before entering Keiseo, Sheep had already drawn up enough things that she specifically wanted to uncover. Dark Chakra, for instance, was fascinating. 

On the mission, much to her relief, Otter ordered them to scatter and work solo within each area to maximise efficiency. 

Keiseo was massive, nearly the size of Konoha. It was mostly unmapped, but contained a vast amount of ruins where Shiruku used to be. The Second Shinobi War had forced the village to relocate to a neighbouring flatland zone due to the large-scale attacks that the Land of the Sky favoured when going against forces of the Leaf. It was such a long time ago that many groups of bandits and criminal organisations decided to take control over the lands, hostile towards any civilian and shinobi daring to even pass through Keiseo.

Team Sa, perfectly tuned in to their villain personas, put up a great show as a close-knit group of mercenaries travelling throughout the Land of Fire. It was one of the very few missions that required them to act. Sakura was terrifyingly natural at it. Maybe she understood civilian criminals better than her clan-bred teammates. Otter could attest to that, also being one convincing character. Though in the end, maybe both of them were just more aware of social cues than the others.

“Alright, I’ll stay near the borders. Sheep, get a look at the centre of the region, there should be a big ruin there, possible bunkers. Horse, follow the mountain trails and cover North. Ox, you’re South, try near the streams. Bear, you’re on the East, there should be temples of sorts. We can round together and search West, since it’s near open water and there’s active criminal activity there.”

The group replied in one unanimous “Hai, taichou!” and dispersed. 

Luckily for Sheep, the place that she was tasked to cover was where she stumbled on a fail-safe underground bunker that had questionable labs installed by none other than Sora, with the symbol of Soragakure engraved in several pieces of equipment. 

Assuming Team Sa wasn’t the first team that Konoha sent to this region, she was positive the place has already been scanned. Most potential biochemical threats were neutralised and there was little trace of what exactly was being experimented here. A dead end.

Using a simple scanning technique, Sheep found a mass of objects just under the floor, which was already underground. “That’s just great.” She hadn’t even explored her Earth Release yet. This was going to be a pain. 

Two hours of poking and touching things in very dimmed light later, a safe was found. It was metal, extremely rusty and seemed like it had been broken open before. The last team, or person, that inspected this space seemed to have little time, so their search was rushed. That much was clear looking at how much was left inside the safe. Well, there were some ripped blank papers, which when compared to active ingredients, scrolls and seals, was insignificant. When one had a limit on what they could bring back to the village, empty notebooks and papers were far down the list of priority. 

Sheep knew better. 

Having a best friend who's shadowing in Intelligent really opened one’s eyes. The Yamanaka heiress taught her girl friends anything she could when it came down to basic intelligent tactics and psychological processes. In exchange, Tenten provided weaponry physics, Hinata with tenketsu theories. Sakura, in return, gave them bushcraft first-aid training. It was useful while it lasted. 

Yamanaka Ino had glossed over most specialist areas, like material usage and statistics, but instead focused on building mental stability. Haruno Sakura might not have asked deeper, but Sheep had, and she made sure to remember the most important intelligence rules. It was helpful in political training sessions with Tsunade and ANU retrieval missions. 

One, there were no such things as meanings on the words’ surface. All talks and negotiations that are governmental use deliberately simple words to insinuate heavier subjects. Simple words for the population, insinuations for opposing figures.

Two, written records should not be trusted. Forged signatures, faked identifications and hidden clauses of a law weren’t rare occurrences. They were meant to be traps, tests and challenges. Papers weren’t always made from the same tree, she's learnt. 

Three, ‘no leaders exist without a hassling senile group of twenty elders poisoning the system’. In Tsunade-shishou’s words, quoted exactly. What she meant was that when orders were given and laws passed, it doesn’t rest squarely on the shoulder of one entity. 

Now, her second note was good to remember when rummaging through blank, scattered pages inside a safe. 

Typical papers were written in ink or lead. Shinobi-coded documents were usually written in invisible ink; some labs were able to create different recipes that required different conditions to read them. High security records like letters between allied parties during wars employed chakra-activated ink. This could be tailored to the person’s chakra signature or element, with signature based locks being harder to create. There were even rumours that countries like Iron developed blood dependent ink, since samurai didn’t rely on chakra like shinobi did. 

The ANBU picked up a paper and examined it under her medical palm jutsu. It didn’t seem like an invisible ink issue. Perhaps chakra? Sheep channelled a moderate amount to the paper from the tips of her fingers. 

The moment her chakra was in contact, the paper blew up. 

“Argh!” She clutched her hand and immediately started working to knit the burnt skin together. It was a nasty explosion, not too big, but enough to rip through her gloves, skin, sleeve and front part of her cloak. “Too much chakra? Wasn’t this the normal amount?” 

She tried again, this time with a smaller zap of energy, more controlled.

It blew up bigger than last time.

Sheep cursed and decided whatever was used on these papers were sealed meticulously, containing possible important information. The type of information that one would bring to a grave to avoid endangering their country. She quickly shoved them into a pile and into her personal scrolls. Sheep wasn’t about to announce to her team she found clues of something potentially life changing. If it was really about Dark Chakra, it could change her fate significantly and irreversibly. 

The agent went on and brought back to her team five test tubes with chemical residues, two nuclear energy reports and small strange looking gadgets. It was deemed good enough. 

She never told anyone as she got back to Konoha, sixteen blank papers inside her scroll.

She never told anyone when she destroyed two of them trying to reveal the content.

Sheep never told anyone when she realised the activation for them was a concentrated point of almost pure yin chakra with just only as much yang as needed for the chakra to take shape. 

The papers were written in crypts of ancient tongues. It took her three months in her bathroom and two visits to the Senju library. 

Sheep never told anyone how she found out about the notes on Dark Chakra made by elite researchers from Sora no Kuni. She kept them. She learnt them. She used them.

Even if Dark Chakra was similar to dark energy in properties, dark energy doesn’t have any form of appearance. In contrast, Dark Chakra can manifest in a physical form if given even a smidge of yang, mostly taking the shape of a volatile, tendril-looking mass of purplish black. That alone disproved Sakura’s theory of the connection between the two. They make for great comparisons though, but since they were extremely elusive, there weren’t many existing materials to study either. 

Back on her problem with chakra signature, Sakura allowed some of her Dark Chakra to enter her flow. The effect was instantaneous. Her chakra, if it was a living thing, would have been writhing and seizing in what could be called a fight or flight reaction. Her core treated Dark Chakra as if it was an infection, pushing it back out to where she sealed it inside a contained space in her heart. She forced it out, physically resisting her own body using yin chakra.

Sweat sheened on her skin, eyes blown wide and throat choking on something she can’t taste. She wasn’t sure if it was the pain. It felt like hollowing her core, pulses of chakra flooding the same little Dark Chakra over and over again to dominate her veins. But Dark Chakra was like a virus. Like it was living. It didn’t kill her, but it always came back stronger to try again—establishing dominance, that is. 

At one point, blurred between one too many self-inflicted pain reducing genjutsu and the next, Sakura felt the Dark Chakra seeped into her flow. Slowly, just like that. It became part of her original flow, giving herself a different frequency. A fraction faster. “It worked?”

Her blackened fingers twitched. Sakura felt every part of her as if she was nothing but a soul detached from her physical body. 

A kunai lodged near her head. 

“What—”

The swoop of Samehada came just a second later, aiming for her neck. She barely dodged it from her position on the ground by rolling over awkwardly. She had never felt so much like a flopping fish.

Her paranoid looking teammates stood at her doorway, Itachi with his Sharingan on and spinning, Kisame ahead of him with his trusty sword at her throat. 

Two ‘kai’ later and the kunoichi stood up, eyes stubbornly glued to her feet. “If one of you could tell me why the hell I was ambushed in my own bedroom, on a day off, by my two supposed allies? If there was an order to kill me can’t you wait a damn day?”

It was the shark man that said the next thing, “Uh, kiddo, you mind letting him check?” 

“Who?” She stupidly looked up.

Itachi was now in front of her, eyes black and void, thankfully. “Your chakra signature. You don’t have Sakura’ chakra signature.”

She blinked at him, confused.

It took her a moment.

Oh.

Oh. 

She did it. She changed her flow—consequently her signature.  

“Oh.” She said, because she wasn’t coherent enough. “Right. Um. Well. Let me explain…?” She tried again, flashing her teeth in a sheepish smile. 

Sakura wondered, not for the first time, how many parts of her were really hers when something as integral as chakra signatures could change. Maybe people change not just on surface level. 

She didn’t know how many people from her old life could recognise her or each other.

Chapter Text

“The T&I Department is Konoha’ most prized possession, why is that?” The Godaime Hokage asked pointedly, arms crossed, leaning against the damp concrete wall, its coolness seeped through her clothes. She almost shivered. But a shinobi does not shiver. A Kage never shivers. So she didn’t, only picking on her red nail polish to ignore the way her spine chilled, by one way or another. 

Ibiki looked on, staring blankly at the corner where the wall meets the ceiling, not a speck of spider web found. Slowly, he replied without looking at his village ruler, “We have the lowest probability of failing an interrogation within the Great Elemental Nations. Sixty-five percent success rate, thirty percent death rate and only five percent fail rate, Hokage-sama.”

“Our thirty percent death rate made us brutal— Do you know what I lead my village with, Ibiki?”

“Fairness.” He answered, hands keeping still as a force of habit inside his trench coat. Then, “Virtue.”

Tsunade picked on her nails, “What did sensei lead his village with?”

“Discipline. Power.” It was a fair assessment. Many people, the Jinchuuriki for one, would give the dead man kind words like “honour” and “care”. Ibiki did not allow that much ignorance when he answered the Godaime's question. He was promoted from tokujo to team leader, then Deputy Head of Interrogation, and soon after, his current chair of Head of T&I. He has been in this building for far longer than his Fourth and Fifth leader has. He had been here since the first few decades of the Sandaime’s reign. It gave him enough knowledge to know the things said and done in the shadows of a great village. 

Neither one moved from their position. The question hung between them, Which way is better? To be fair and virtuous or disciplinary and powerful? 

“Never is it kindness.” She dipped her head as he raised his eyes, tracing words and blackened lines on the papers spreaded out on the table. The documents of someone no longer with them. “Konoha isn’t kind, but we pretend to be. I pretend to be. That is why the world despite us. Your Department is the greatest irony to the mercy we present.” 

“Wouldn’t that be ANBU?” The scarred-face man asked, almost gently. Tsunade wondered if Ibiki felt his men were too cruel, even when weighed against the department that did dirty work on par with top criminals.  

The Hokage of the Leaf didn’t reply. 

She smiled bitterly and told one of her generals to investigate Yamanaka Ino. The girl in place for a daughter she lost. 

She needed a pawn. She’s going to get one. Wide-eyed, blond hair child with more of the grief she herself can understand. The grief of an heiress from a respected clan, of a daughter who carries a legacy that was never given to girls. She could understand that. Teach the Yamanaka the ways of a ruler. She couldn’t teach a civilian girl how to do that.

Tsunade didn’t understand Sakura’s grief. She tried, she really did. Sakura’ anger was justified, always was. Her fierceness forged from survival needs but Tsunade was born with it. She was born a brash and loud child. 

Haughty laughs and trips around the village perched on the shoulders of her grandfather, body pressed against her grandmother’s warmth was among the things she lost growing up. The brag of having a god as her family, being able to pick at the white fur on another god’s blue armour. She grew up with the Sage as her confidant and the greatest defector Konoha has ever made as her friend. Now this is similar to the pink haired child, she supposed. 

Sakura had a Vessel and The Last Uchiha as teammates. The highest ranking jounin of the Leaf as her teacher. But compared to Tsunade, she had no ground to stand on. Tsunade had the name of gods as hers and she wielded it with no hesitation. She had the blood of deities—golden, green tinted—that flowed through her body. Sakura’s blood was plain old blood. Red, sticky, warm . Those, in the end, were all just metaphors for something much bigger than who they were. 

The village forces the children into believing that to which parents a shinobi was born into was of little matter. 

It didn’t matter that you were born clanless, you can always be Namikaze Minato. It didn’t matter that you were a refugee of the fallen Uzushio, you can always be Uzumaki Kushina. But Minato was loved by the Third, the Sage, and he was half samurai, at that. But Kushina was under protection of the First Lady, Mito-sama, and her clan had seals that surpassed any technology.

Or Gai would pose a better example, but not really, because his father had been a legend. And Gai’s father’s father had been from a line of taijutsu specialists.

Or maybe Tenten, a new generation kunoichi, has much more to say. But her sensei did not abandon her. Her boys had appreciated her in their strange ways, but they made her feel able, and nevertheless, her team only had space for one clan kid. 

Ultimately it came to this: A shinobi is never greater than their bloodline, who and where and what they were born into matter. Their birth will haunt them for as long as they breathe and generations more, notwithstanding what they have made of themselves in their career. 

It didn’t matter that Senju Tsunade took office, it mattered that she was Senju. There have been two Senju before her who sat on the same throne. 

It didn't matter that Uchiha Sasuke defected, it mattered that he was an Uchiha. Uchiha can not be trusted, the village had said. The Senju said. As the Hyūga did.

“...which in turn, changes my chakra signature into a different frequency. I do ask that you two keep your tongues about this and swear it on your life—not that either of you particularly have a zest for living.” Sakura slowly warned. Her threat held no value to veteran killers, but of the small blip of Dark Chakra she told them, it was unwise to underestimate the kunoichi’s words.

“The most effective way to identify shinobi from one another is chakra signature. You very well just demolished that method.” Kisame lowered his weapon but remained in his defensive stance. 

She didn’t look a sliver guilty as she spoke, “Oops. My bad?”

The shark-man shook his head “It’s either a very thought out alibi or you’re actually not lying. And I honestly hate both, whichever it is. Itachi, you confirm?”

Itachi nodded once. That felt strange, the air stiff and the wood grain on her soles enlarged by a terribly small fraction. Sakura felt her skin prickled.

“I can force a Sharingan-induced binding contract of confidentiality on Kisame to help.” 

Sakura cocked her head and stared at the black haired flatmate unimpressed. “Genjutsu? Really? Why?” She was getting better at detecting his fake worlds. 

“I was merely attempting to give you secrecy on choosing what to do with him.” It was the generosity of Itachi and she didn’t know if she was grateful for it. 

“You’re only helping me because I’m helping you with Danzo, correct? And because my confidentiality relates to yours.”

He blinked slowly. “Hn.”

“Kami, alright, only if the situation calls for it. Now let me out, I can’t break A-rank Sharingan genjutsu yet you jerk!” She threw her hands up in time for the illusion to dispel.

Over the shoulder of Kisame she heard a small confirmation, “She’s telling the truth about the Dark Chakra.”

“If you two are scheming behind my back you’re ending up as Samehada’ next meal.” He grumbled, half-believing the way his Uchiha teammate had trusted the medic easily. Kisame’s statement was more like a joke, the blue man knew he couldn’t beat the two combined. He couldn’t be sure he could beat Itachi alone, either. 

Sakura just shrugged and stood up.

“Sure buddy. I needed some leverage for chakra concealment too.” Dusting her (clean) shirt, she rolled her eyes and started shoo-ing them out the door. “Oh and, I’m changing it regularly, so stop barging into my room on our day off or I’m castrating both of you.” She glared at them again, fingers jabbing directly at their eye level as she kept her eyes on the chin of the Uchiha. 

“Who said I wasn’t already castrated?” Kisame deadpanned. 

“Are you?”

He waited for a beat. “No.”

“Thought so.” She sighed exasperatedly. “Hey Tachi-nii, are you free later for training?” 

Nowadays, when she trained in genjutsu with him, the Clan Killer just let her do the illusion casting and told her to fix up any loopholes she made in the process. 

Her genjutsu detection and break-out skills were fast approaching B-rank compared to her initial “below D-rank” genin status. It was impressive what a month and a half of training with a genius Uchiha could do. If she started to develop her theories on a tailored genjutsu, Itachi had commented she’s not so far from A-rank like she’d think. Most shinobi, Kage alike, weren’t exactly the best genjutsu users. Itachi himself was one of the best aces of Akatsuki purely because of his unmatched genjutsu kekkei genkai and intelligence. 

“I have two hours before I need to leave for mission.” He replied.

Sakura perked up. That’d be enough. “Give me five minutes!”

“You guys are way too excited to psychologically torture each other for my comfort.” Kisame looked at them like they had chewed on his shoes but gave up and left promptly. Between the creaks of the door and Itachi’s murmured agreement, she heard Kisame whisper about how masochistic Konoha people were. The kunoichi glared daggers into his retreating back.

Back in her own space, Sakura sat down and picked up her brush again. “These men...Or is it just missing-nin? Whatever.” She rolled her eyes the second time. 

Concealing chakra with the influence of Dark Chakra had been more fascinating than anything. It made her insides feel twisted, nausea overtaking her system for a moment. 

Her chakra core was affected. It’s not damaged, but it didn't seem exactly natural. She bet a skilled sensor would be able to flag it if they had time to really feel out her signature right now. Luckily, sensors mainly targeted large scale radius, meaning they will gloss over any unrecognisable signatures instead of analysing which signature is whom, like flipping through a book to find words that they needed. In this case, her signature would be a word that looked oddly similar to the language the book was written in, but if inspected, one would realise the word actually were total gibberish. It’s a perfect imitation of the words around it. It blended in perfectly just because the person flipping through the book only focused on the words they needed. Anything else blurred out, becoming irrelevant. 

There might be drawbacks, which the pseudo-scientist have yet to experience. Her nausea and mental unease could be chalked up to being the side effects, but there could be more than that. Dark Chakra was a foul business and she was a very adamant businessman. She’ll see this through, ramifications unaccounted. 

Her fingers were another issue. They were blackened at the tips. Her nail beds looked charred and burnt into charcoal. It had been like this since she took off from the Senju Forest. She was debating coming back, but she had taken everything she could. The power, the scrolls, the emptiness sweeping over once the whole ordeal was over. She didn’t want to think about what she lost in exchange, she couldn’t remember it. 

Her fingers hurt. It had been hurting. It didn’t, miraculously, lose the flesh that clung onto her bones. The texture was strange, boney and diseased, but definitely fingers. Sakura theorised that maybe parts of her were rotting as a result of time being her power. Or, it could be that she was turning into something else. The thought terrified her, for a moment. There wasn’t much she could do now. The darkness of her fingers forces itself upon her, it made her hands feel heavy, and sometimes in between the days and weeks, she swore it had tentatively rose up from just the nails reaching for the first knuckle. 

Dark Chakra coursed in her and she wondered what will happen when the “mokuton” and Dark Chakra combined. They can obviously co-exist, evident that she haven't been blown to pieces yet.

Sakura tomorrow can worry, but today, she had training to do. 

Sakura had a week left at her current hideout. She wouldn’t admit it, but she’d miss her flatmates. They’d usually have breakfast together, courtesy of Itachi’ passion for making egg dishes (she had never eaten so many eggs in the span of two months) and share an occasional dinner if they’re on missions. At the flat, each member mostly catered for themselves due to their varying appetite. This worked well for her, how she’d rather have a big breakfast and no dinner than the opposite.

Itachi had been giving her genjutsu training three to four times a week if he had been free. Kisame just taught her the general ways of using bukijutsu and taijutsu. On slow days, she’d even managed to convince him to share the snippets of his life back in Mist, where things had been as brutal as it had been monumental for him as a shinobi. 

“I grew up in the heights of the Bloody Mist Era, as people called it, so there was little time for anything but surviving. You know some stuff about that?”

“Yeah, I read about shinobi of the Mist and other things when my genin team encountered Zabuza.” She chuckled between heaves, hands and knees holding her body up from the wet sand. Sakura had just sparred with Kisame on water. Her taijutsu had improved immensely, and the rate she had managed to heal field injuries increased too, for that matter. Getting beaten up by the blue missing-nin was among the things that were equally painful and helpful. 

“Ah, him. Not my problem anymore, it seems.” Kisame clicked his tongue and leaned back on a rock twice his size. “Back to the point. Before I deserted the village, I wasn’t a bukijutsu specialist.”

Sakura looked up, eyes stinging from the saltwater that got in. “Oh? Huh. I haven’t heard of it. Let me guess, you were Intelligence?”

He seemed a bit deflated at not being able to surprise her with the information.“Got it in one. Was it obvious?” 

“Well, most people would assume you were a frontliner, with you being in the Seven Swordsmen position and all. But, there must be a reason for you to be in Akatsuki’ Intelligence duo with Itachi-nii.”

“You’re not half as stupid as they said hm?”

“Oh fuck off.” She glared into the distance. “You weren’t exactly a cypher, were you?”

“Nah, I was the bodyguard, but I was the one that carried the scripts. We met that guy from Konoha once, you know. What was his name? The guy that was ANBU top interrogator?”

“Ibiki? Morino Ibiki?” Sakura started to remove the sand layer caked on top of her wounds. Thank Kami they only sparred in taijutsu. She hissed softly and wondered if the “mokuton power” could help the healing process instead of traditional iryojutsu. 

He nodded and smirked at the memory. “Something like that. He was just a kid and I scared him shitless.”

Sakura laughed out loud, clutching her stomach “Are we talking about the same person? Every other shinobi in Konoha right now would call you crazy.” People really were pissing themselves on The Chunin Exam when he came into the room. The man was terrifying, eyes hardened and lips pressed in a way that no one has seen before. His skin was nightmarish, as Ino would have described, and his stature imposing in the way it was more threatening than it was arrogance. “Wait— what did you even do to scare him?”

“I completed my mission.” Kisame answered vaguely. 

She slowed her breathing. “...right.”

“I killed the entire cypher team.” He elaborated.

She blinked blankly at him for a second. “Aah. I see.”

Awkward silence was what Kisame expected, but then Sakura rolled over and laughed again. “Ppft– Serves him well looking so constipated all the time!” 

“You’re not wrong. Is laxatives illegal in Konoha or what?”

Sakura kept on hollering despite the blood clots building up around her wounds. There were no cuts, just punches so hard and teeth so sharp it pierced through skin. She looked not much different from the fishes that he hunted. 

The air tasted like coastlines, iron and crashing waves. For a moment, all she focused on was the quiet chatter between two killers and the aches of her bruised, beaten body. Yes, Sakura would miss these two, just a little. 

The Senju Forest took more of her than she originally thought. She hadn’t even noticed that the drain was more than that sharp, unbearable pain when her own name was etched onto her wrist. More than the physical exhaustion that left her body shaking in the nights afterward. 

It has been a week since the forest and the nightmares came every chance it could, even in her waking moments. They weren’t the nightmares she had back before she defected. These left her ripping her hair out and digging at her skin. They felt more like one of Itachi’s techniques, but she knew they weren’t that. The nightmares were the sensation that crept up her throat, pressing her heart and squeezed it crushingly to her lungs. 

It was like time was collapsing on itself inside her and she was choking out the infinite moments of divergences that she couldn’t see.

Alas, they were just feelings. 

Ashura stood in the forest where in a thousand years, a nine years old boy would and after him, a fifteen years old girl. 

The banyan tree spoke to him, the human who came to the forest first. He sought to come close to that power which Indra possessed. Maybe they were those eyes, or those unhesitating blades. Maybe it was the chakra that flowed erratic and wild, untamed.

Ashura wanted more than that. 

The tree told him he reeked of greed and envy. All he cared for was achieving things beyond this world’s realms and he’d pay any price for it. 

“I speak to you not out of curiosity, boy. I speak to you because I saw you coming. They will, too, the children.”

“Are you speaking of the future? The people who you wish to grant power to, like you have told me you’d give me?”

“You are the first child. You are. You are. They will come when time is due. None of you shall seek each other.” The tree spoke in its baritone voice and Hagoromo’s second son shuddered in his youth.

“What is it that you wish to take from me?” He asked, cautiously. He knew he’d lose himself the way his brother did to get that amount of power.

“What is it that you offer me?”

“Take my eyes, take them aside.” He replied, not fearful, but tired. “Take my hands, they’ll understand. Take my heart, pull it apart. Take my brain or what remains. I’ve grown tired of this body.” He brought his hands palm faced upwards and gestured towards the tree. 

“A cumbersome and heavy body.” The tree—thing of the forest—continued as if it had been some scripted scene. In a tone that reflected the humanity Ashura had, empathetic in the way only a pretender could. 

“Shall that suffice? Does it meet your taste?”

“I don’t need your mortal flesh and your human woes. I will take what I can, take not what you offered me. I’ll take all of it and then some. You won’t remember what I took, O first child.”

Ashura blinked. 

The world titled and for the next time he was reincarnated, he came back. The one after that, he didn’t. In that third time his soul had been in mortal skin, he didn’t come crawling for impossible power. That place was reserved for a girl. A friend and a foe at once, the tree had said. Not meant to be there, but had came anyways.

Chapter Text

The sweeping in her stomach was one thing Sakura could not get used to. For someone who can manipulate time, it was like she fell ill after a teleportation jutsu just for comedic purposes. While her shunshin had improved to a chūnin’s level, it was not to say she had completely mastered the displacement part and still got caught unaware when it wasn’t her that casted the ‘illusion’ of teleportation.

“Mornin’ Nagato-sama.” She wanted to yawn but refrained. 

Nagato nodded, pleased that she was less surprised by the summon via the ring than last time. It wasn’t her physical body that he called forth, but just a projection of her consciousness, a very useful trick to keep contacts with his members. “Your time with Itachi and Kisame is coming to an end so I’ve arranged your next post.”

Sakura straightened her back and looked at him with undivided attention, “I’m listening.”

“At first, Konan had proposed Hidan and Kakuzu, but there had been some…complications with them and their mission so I’ve decided that Sasori and Deidara would better suit.”

“The art freaks?” 

He hummed in agreement with a slight tone of reprimanding for her referral of his subordinates. “They’re currently in our lair near Demon Desert, an island off the coast of Sunagakure.”

Demon Desert is known as Suna’ equivalent of The Forest of Death in Konoha, an extremely hostile natural environment used as The Land of Wind’s best chūnin exam location. It was rumoured to be where the next chūnin exam’s Round 2 would happen. To even come near there and have a lair, far away from civilization was something Sakura couldn’t understand, but also fit Akatsuki’s profile extremely well. Of course out of all places they’d have lairs in the most unexpected, inaccessible areas. Or, it could be wisely taking measure of collateral damage incase a posion master and a bomber would like to test their toolbox.

“I see. Is there a specific time you’d like me to leave by?”

He made a sound of consideration, “By the end of the week, as when convenient.”

“That’s fine, enough time for me to wrap things up. It’s been great staying in Tea so I guess I should say thank you for letting me go there first.”

Uzumaki Nagato smiled one of his tender smiles and asked, quiet but not unheard, “How are things with your exploration?”

She knew what he was asking. There was no use to dance around his words, that was not something she’d be willing to play with her leader. “Things came to fruition.” She replied.

“Would you share it with Akatsuki?” 

Not that there was much success to share. The issue was that Sakura had not exactly tested her new abilities yet, and it’s a little unnerving to start putting something like time in action. She has tried to grow plants from seeds, which was okay, but didn’t make the grade with how fickle it was to command time. It had been instinctual in the Senju Forest, but outside of it, time slipped in her hands like water. “You must understand, Nagato-sama, that I have not harvested the fruit that came to be.” She said, carefully.

“An arsonist doesn’t feel the embers on his feet.” Sakura wasn’t sure if it was a warning. As she found out, people like him and Orochimaru loved to speak ominously, and with metaphors, where and when they wanted. She usually just spoke in the same manner in spite. He didn’t give her a chance to say anything else, “Are you able to do it yourself? To harvest the fruit?”

“I’d say I can, but knowing that we don’t have all the time in the world, I’d appreciate it if you point me in the direction of the Toad Sennin? For some seal questions.”

“I could, but it is unsafe to do so as an Akatsuki. Sakura, if you desire to walk the path, you must do it alone, Akatsuki can not back you for your misdoings. You could try your luck with Sasori, he’s got some background in sealing too.”

It shouldn’t be surprising, but the kunoichi was glad she knew this extra information about her next flatmate. “I’ll try him, but I still think I need Jiraiya’s whereabouts.”

“If it is a seal about mokuton, you won’t have much luck asking it from the man who’d rather kill you when he found out what kind of purpose the seal serves.” Nagato advised.

“Sometimes it’s better to try. Say, have you heard of one of us contacting him?”

He seemed to weigh whether to tell her or not, “Yes.” He settled,”We have more on the Sennin than they do on us.” 

“Perfect. I’m assuming you could tell me who?”

“Seeing as you’ll find out eventually, I’ll let you do the work.” Nagato granted her a soft smile and she felt like he just splayed her skin open to have a read at her mind. “I also have an upcoming mission that you could do, or Itachi, but reconnaissance is of the essence.”

“May I know about it?”

“Fumetsu-goroshi, what do you know about it?” It was the project that the Alliance made to attack Akatsuki. Sakura just had a mission about it not too long ago, but in truth, it had irked her that she probably knew the least when it comes to the intricacies of Akatsuki compared to her seasoned teammates. 

“Immortal Killing. I only know what you think I know. An attempt to tear our organisation down. I just gave you a report about it a week ago. You have something to counter it do you?” She sounded almost exasperated.

“We have a counter project.” The Uzumaki stated calmly, ”A covert action operation. We won’t need it for a while, but you and Itachi should be prepared for the call.”

To her, it was as simple as Nagato spelling out the fact that he wanted an agent to shred Konohagakure from the inside out. A mission only his Konoha-born shinobi could do could only relate to infiltrating their birthplace. 

“Are you only targeting Konoha?” It was exciting, she had to admit. It wasn’t everyday that she got an offer of sorts to go back and rework the Leaf’ structures as an enemy.

“No, Sasori had agreed to do the same for Suna.” 

Sakura lifted the corners of her lips and stretched them disturbingly wide across her face. “And Kisame? Did he say he’d be in for Kiri?”

Nagato waited a moment, “Kiri is the weaker link of the three villages. Kisame will be fine as he is in his position. Not unless Mist proved to be more of a threat than we’ve originally decided.”

His blatant observation had given Sakura an interesting narrative. It was true that Kiri had been suffering from a civil war in the last decade and had recently resolved the issue, overthrowing their last Kage to then promote Terumī Mei as its Godaime, but tension remained. Most Hidden Villages still viewed Kirigakure as an underdeveloped village, desperate and violent in its image. In the very short time that Terumī had been head of state, even an average Konoha-nin (one of its worst enemies) had to agree that their reputation had elevated significantly. It was even good enough that both of their leaders agreed to form a three-way alliance to defeat their neutral enemy force. 

Perhaps Akatsuki was too threatening for them, so much so that despite the shared bloodshed history, the Fumetsu-goroshi initiative was as supported in Kiri as it was in Suna and Konoha. 

With a reforming political climate and shaky economy, Kirigakure was hardly a problem compared to its new friends, which Nagato had just agreed he’d better have them destroyed before the whole initiative succeeded. 

“That makes sense.” She replied. “Well, let me know when you need me. Though unless you want me to go in as a civilian, then you’d have a better bet of sending Itachi. I haven’t got the proper…skills that you’d need in case things go haywire.”

“Given Itachi’s occupation, I wouldn’t assume he’s in a better position to take it on either.” The way Nagato had expressed his knowledge of her genjutsu mentor’s secret spy service so casually had made Sakura wonder why she even thought Itachi’s whole shebang went unnoticed. Obviously their leader had done a thorough check before letting Itachi join, or that Itachi had ratted himself out to gain trust. Afterall, he was one hell of a suspicious figure.

“Well, just give me some time. Also, would you happen to need me to assume a fake identity before making it official who I am to the world?” 

“You’ve caught on.” He seemed satisfied. 

It didn’t escape Sakura that for the past several months working for Akatsuki, she has only been tasked with missions in remote areas and they tended to not cause any mess that would attract the public's eyes. She knew that Kisame and Itachi had done works that added to their bounty in broad daylight.

Sakura had thought that maybe she wasn’t skilled enough to go out there and represent Akatsuki, so her missions made it harder for her to be noticed and put inside the Bingo Books. 

Naturally, this would mean that Akatsuki wanted her as their little secret. Since Konoha hasn't found out about her yet, her status would be one giant question mark instead of an enemy. Sakura promptly became some hidden resource that Nagato can use as an advantage the moment she defected. 

“So?” She nudged his answer.

“Make sure you aren’t identified as a woman. That would make things complicated for us and easier for them to discern your identity. Other than that, don’t wear your head protector–”

She self-consciously looked to where her crossed-out metal band hung around her abdomen, covered by the layer of the infamous Akatsuki uniform. “Noted.”

“And make them question whether you are one of the other members or actually a new addition. I’ve instructed Itachi to help you disguise yourself with sufficient genjutsu.”

Sakura remembered her first interaction with the Clan Killer. She had asked when she could get Sakura back. It seemed like someone had much bigger plans than that and it would take her much more time to walk out there with her real name. “I need to stay away from people but if I don’t, keep an illusive but low profile. Got it.” 

Glad that she had understood, Nagato exchanged some notes and specifications about her next post in Kaze no Kuni then sent her off. 

Team Rō remained as the undying symbol of ANBU aces even as they swapped members in and out, even as they got disbanded unceremoniously just a year or two after the Massacre. There was no competition for them, not when Hatake Kakashi was leading. 

Sure, there were legends before them and after them. Like Team En, established in the golden age of the Second Hokage, who was the founder of the shinobi system as they know it. Team En was the first team to receive an ANBU S-rank mission, perhaps they were the ones to invent that new mission grade themselves. Team En consisted of people who went on to be legends in their own rights, each with an abundance of lands and wealth, highly regarded and known despite their works in the shadows. They had served the first two Hokage as the appointed guards and they have never failed to prevent any assassination attempt on their leader. 

Nonetheless, the mantle was passed the moment the Second Great Shinobi War finished and Team En decided they have been too long running for them to go any further and not destroy themselves, risking unsuccessful assignments.

Team Rō took on without much struggle, partially because the Copy Nin had already made himself known as the ultimate wildcard and Weasel was the youngest ANBU recruited in the history of the organisation. Too bad Tobirama wasn’t there to witness his brain child becoming something much more than what he’d first drawn up. 

Then there were Team Ki and Team Sa, both regarded as the “third generation elites” who practically kept the ANBU funding filled.

Team Ki used to be a shadow to Team En because one of Team En’s members ended up leading Team Ki for a while. It was a show of favouritism that no one was really against—after all, they were the elites for a reason.

Team Sa was not quite as good, but that was because their buntaichō ran the missions with lives put on top of mission success (a rebellious mindset, but none of the members complained). So since the day it was founded, Team Sa had not lost a single member. Until Sheep. 

Sheep was an anomaly. She was hand-picked by the Godaime; strangely, the Senju woman hasn’t picked anyone else since her Kage inauguration. She seemed almost opposed to the idea of ANBU and only found merit in it because her great grand-uncle had made it, and he was to be respected. 

Sheep was invaluable with the medical skills that she brought into the game. ANBU didn’t provide free medical check-ins unless they were amongst the top personnel. Team Sa was miserable back when Otter first took the buntaichō title—he was merely an independent ANBU, sometimes on and off with Team Rō, but never belonged to any teams. ANBU Otter had no experience. Then Sheep came, with her punches and her green palms and for a while, Team Sa wasn’t doing so bad. They could see why Godaime had picked the girl. 

Their missions, as elites, were mainly high B to A rank, and, since the very beginning, Team Sa have had five S ranks on their records. Two of which Sheep went on. One of which she was gravely injured. The other time, Otter thought he’d done sending his team straight into the mouth of Shinigami. Then they came back, they always do. This time, Sheep wasn’t there to take a team mission, and Otter wondered when things started going wrong. 

There were no traces of Sheep anywhere. He could hardly say he made progress, even with Hound-taichou as his partner for the mission. 

Blurred between days running in deserts and rain, Hound admitted that if they failed, this would be the first tracking mission that he’d ever failed. 

Otter laughed and told him one fail mark on his record wouldn’t be the end of the world, he’d still remain as the most fearsome jounin ANBU of their village. 

Hound didn’t look pleased at the offer to lift the mood, but he didn’t say anything. There was guilt in that, Team Sa would note. Hound had never appeared anywhere without his huge ‘guilt tumour’, as they call it in ANBU. One is bound to develop that or psychopathic tendencies. Sometimes both. But this mission took a toll on Hound in a way that was much heavier than any of them had expected, even the man himself. 

They made it through Waves when they were done with Wind and got tired of Fire. 

The Naruto Bridge reminded Hound of simpler times, when his three wards was just the Sandaime trying his hand on matchmaking, fumbling with the pieces but ended up with the most suitable team one could find. They were so incredibly different that between his existential crises, he feared how much they could achieve. They were complimentary in the way that the Sennin had been, and he questioned if Hiruzen-sama had seen himself in the young Hatake. 

If Kakashi had spent some time trying to figure out everyone’s chakra affinities, it would have been so much easier. Easier for what, he doesn’t know, but it would have meant he knew a little bit more about his students. Team Sevens were meant to work, with the way their personalities were simultaneously compatible and contrasting. Someone once said it was an unlucky number, or a lucky one, he wasn’t sure. It either was prophesied or the greatest irony Kami has arranged. 

His team ended early, for the number 7. The earliest.

Oftentime he forgot he ever passed a genin team. They were ghosts. Shadows. Fragments of schizophrenia or something, as a shrink would have suggested. But he couldn't have made it up...right? One of them was literally the Nine-Tails host, the other one the (second) Last Uchiha. The girl was a genius, too, but too bad she wasn't a Jinchūriki that needed restraint or Sharingan that needed protection. 

He remember telling her she was his favourite female student. Sure, it was his shitty attempt at comfort, but he tried. He knew he would never take on a new batch like most jounin sensei do. The sensei that ended up not taking another batch usually went through a traumatic event with their team, their team became legendary or similar situations. Debut Generations usually stay together for a long time especially.

Curse his luck, but the name Hatake Kakashi was not a child-friendly label and with the abysmal fortune that followed his four men cell, they should have died on their first "C" rank. They've been traumatized, so he waited for their glory.

He found himself, years later, at the edge of a village, chasing after the nonexistent path his pink student had maybe taken. She's ANBU, he didn't get it. Not the part whether she was strong enough for it, but the part where her mental constitution was suitable for the role. Any rank can be ANBU, but to be in an elite team, one must be at least an exceptional tokujō in the field. Sakura failed her chūnin exam (invasion notwithstanding, he still couldn't wrap his head how the Nara kid of all people got the vest). 

Which was more suprising? That Haruno Sakura lived? Or that she killed? 

The thoughts shook Hound to his core and he knew, deep down, Sakura killed way before she made it to his team. The way she shrieked at spiders and cockroaches but not, never, at cutting necks with kunai. She wept at a torn dress but not corpses of infant, babies, women rotting on the streets of Wave. He had known she lied. He never knew about what; but he didn't dare ask further - the last two times he was ordered to take care of a kunoichi they both ended up slaughtered. A hole through the stomach with love that shone in their eyes. This time he wasn't ordered to take care of his only female student. He left her be and prayed she lived. He didn't even believe that she could, but he had hoped she would.

“Our last bet, Land of Tea.”

“What are our chances?” Otter questioned lightly. “We’ve searched three countries and twenty territories in the last four days.”

“If she had left for Iron we might as well give up now.” Ox breathed out, his bones creaking as he bent down to collect his kunai. He missed the small ointment containers Sheep would give him while coaxing him into using proper vitamins and medications for his ageing body. “If she wanted to return, she would have, it’s been at least three weeks since she disappeared.” He wasn’t irritated nor was he sad then. As simple as it is, ANBU does not grieve for a teammate that might have just vanished off the face of Earth. That was not something provided in their fringe benefit. 

All Horse contributed was a grunt and some choice words: “If it was any other shinobi they would have been marked KIA by now.” 

“We follow protocols after we follow orders. It doesn't matter if she should be marked KIA. The Hokage had ordered a five-days search with an elite ANBU team.” Hound said, not minding whether anyone was listening or not. “She wanted Sheep back, and fast.”

No one said much else.

Otter would have really preferred if Hound wasn’t the one replacing the fifth spot in the mission. Hound was his own league, it wasn’t fair. 

ANBU would be in serious trouble if they took any more time on a retrieval mission with extended dates and exemptions only because Tsunade had loved a civilian girl like her own daughter. 

There wasn’t much time left until another kunoichi was declared dead. 

“Alright. Off you go.” Kisame crossed his arms and with his teeth bared, sending a quiet goodbye. 

Itachi just looked at her, still sitting at the table nursing a cup of steaming chrysanthemum tea blend and nodded, as if he too, shared the goodbye with his teammates. 

Their allergy to talking etiquettes didn’t phase her like it should. 

“Off I go.” She echoed, and pulled the hood over her newly dyed hair. It’s an umber brown this time, dark, but not as ebony as it had been. “Kisame,” She turned back, hands and eyes still focused on adjusting her shinobi heels,”How many times a day? When? What else?”

“Twice. Before contacting water and after water is dried off. More if I swim more than once a day but I should not use too much. Avoid water that has algae in it. Train to breathe from my nose instead of my gills. No more than one jar a month.” He answered automatically. She had beaten it into him—more like testing Itachi’s genjutsu lessons onto the poor guy—to make sure he knew what he’s doing with the six jars of ointment she made. 

“Because if you use too much not only would you lose feelings on your skin, your skin will also smell like someone pissed on it.” He looked gagged but didn’t say anything further. She rose to her full, staggeringly short height of a shinobi and looked over to the Uchiha. “And you?”

Sakura could see the visible restraint when Itachi nodded slowly, about to let out some monosyllabic noise. The noise didn’t come and he met her terrorising gaze to answer, almost timidly. It was a sight to behold. 

“Three cups of the tea blend a day. Eat two or more servings of apples, beets and tomatoes along with whole grains daily. Breathe deeply and avoid pollutants. Drink pills once a day before sleep. Contact you every two weeks for a progress check.”

Kisame made an indignant sound at the back of his throat. “Wait, he gets a progress check and I don’t?!”  To which Itachi just replied with a calm sip of tea.

“He–” She pointed to Itachi, “is on the verge of lung failure due to a mutation that affects chakra pathways and is on track to keel over before his twenty second birthday. You–” She moved her pointer finger to Kiri nukenin. “Are thirty one. That’s practically retirement in the shinobi world.”

“Excuse m-”

“Have you looked at ‘Tachi-nii? He’s having a midlife crisis! You’re in the twilight hours and he’s barely afternoon. Poor guy deserves to experience the joy that you have at your wizened age.”

Kisame just stood there unresponsive. Was she joking? 

Itachi seemed like he was stifling a snort. But, of the years they’ve been working on missions together, the shark man has never seen a snort coming from the Clan Killer. Utter nonsense. Then, he started to wonder if he was in a genjutsu and pulled his hands inside his cloak to try a kai. It didn’t work. Kisame tried again.

“Kiddo have you ever thought you are the one that needs medication? Unless you spend your free time mulling about rebuttals and how to make them sound as offensive as possible. Or you’re terribly good with words, or genjutsu, which I doubt.”

Sakura chuckled, “That’s offensive, old man.”

She clasped the scrolls onto her belt and with one look back, she performed a practised shunshin. 

There was only so much a villager of the Leaf could have been through (always at the centre of conflicts), but the ramen bar uptown just four blocks away from the Hokage Tower seemed to have been there for the better half of it. 

Teuchi opened the humble place at the young age of twenty three after winning the noodle making tournament, the largest culinary event in Hi no Kuni. For civilians like him, these are the things that gave life that thrill of competition and pride. The udon and ramen shops within the bounds of Konoha could not compete with the recipes of his mother’s. This was the legacy he carried, and one day he would pass it down third hand to his daughter. He didn’t want to know of the legacies shinobi carried. Those were fearful, taboo. 

It was during the shifting of power from the Sandaime to the Yondaime that Ramen Ichiraku started attracting shinobi. Mostly, they were just genin. If they were anything above that, he wouldn't have know. It wasn't until much later that they would have the green flak jacket as a chūnin status display. (He had seen two friends who stumbled in drunk, one blonde pigtails the other white low pony. They looked strong, but they laughed so earnestly he imagined they were civillians. They talked with such sadness about a lost friend, such anguish about a teacher that shoved them into the front lines. They mentioned the children of rain and the mythical Hidden Eddy with so much laments. They didn't come back, but he doesn't forget a face. He'd come to see the blonde woman's face etched on the cliffside and gave out 20% off coupons on her inauguration)

Teuchi heard from an old friend or two that the children were from the fourth Debut Class. He didn’t even know it was a thing. To him, it was an exclusionary, elitist idea. It might have some merit, but it was nothing more than discouraging the civilians to join the ranks and promoting clans for their political images. 

There were only three teams, as he and Ayame would count when their customers were sparse and few in betweens. Three groups, best of the generation, potentially the most successful warriors. One of them was even assigned to the Yondaime before he became Hokage! It didn’t really matter, though.

He remembered a team, numbered seven. The kids were Ayame’s age, if three or four years older, but she was kneading noodles and watching over stoves while they jumped over rooftops and threw daggers for entertainment. If he had been younger and still dreamt of shinobi, he would have felt angry. The way they look down on civilians was appalling. Weren’t they protectors? Did they truly understand what they were protecting? Why were they never grateful for the ones who clothed them and fed them and made sure they have a standing economy to chew off of? 

People like him were always taught to be grateful for shinobi. It was given when one decided to ask for the guardianship of a Hidden Village. 

As if civilians were sheeps and the shinobi were their shepherd dogs. 

Though, the longer he observed those who came and went, the more Teuchi understood. They were both sheeps alike. Some were born to be made into lamb, hogget, mutton and others born so their fur could be shaved off every now and then. 

The teams were neither of those things, they paraded in a show for clan heads to present their heirs and geniuses. Then there was Team Seven, a Nohara, Hatake and Uchiha combo. Numbers got mixed up for the man in his late 30s so the Uchiha kid had told him to refer to them as ‘Minato Team’. He chuckled, wondering if they’d have his head for saying the first name of the man who was his farmer so casually like that. 

He still knew them as Team Seven. He didn’t remember any of them individually because he has at least twenty new customers everyday, but he familiarised himself with short bobs, orange goggles and silver hair over the two years that they were together.

Then one day, they stopped coming for their monthly ramen meals. He’d come to find that he missed their bickering and childish teasing. Those were the only times he got reminded that shinobi were just children. 

Teuchi heard news that the Third Shinobi War had broken out. He stopped thinking about the genins and the chunins and all the shinobi patrons he had welcomed into his store. 

In the aftermath of it, the ramen cook could only attend mass funerals and memorial events, eyes fleeting over names he heard once or twice. Some of them had small descriptions of what happened, others were left for the imagination, their bodies were never recovered.

As some names came to him, he’d remember the noodle orders they would have liked. The man shot with water bullets didn't like green onions. The boy that loved extra fishcakes was beheaded dunes away. The middle aged woman that went missing in Water who always asked for less salt and more pork slices. Who had a daughter who didn't come back, either.

Teuchi clutched his daughter’s soft hands and told her,”You serve your customers and sometimes their order stays with you. Ayame, just make sure you don’t mix up your patrons and the ones not coming back for a meal.”

In the quietness of his room and the simmering of five a.m. broth preparations, he’d thank Kami for how glad he was that he never became shinobi. That Ayame never got the idea inside her head. 

He had seen things that died—anyone at his age had. The first time, he saw a pig gutted alive. The second, his brother. The third, his wife. They were accidents, for the most parts. He knew he wasn’t the killer, and that was the thing he whispered as the bubbling of pots became almost unbearable. Teuchi was merely watching things unfold, like he would be for the rest of his chef career. Sometimes it felt like waking up from a dream only to realise he was still asleep.

His life was mundane to most people, but this cycle of watching people come and go was surreal in the way that it was almost existentialistic.

They chose that life.

He chose this one. He was sure he didn't want to escape this mundane.

Teuchi have seen a Hokage and his First Lady slurped his handmade ramen and chatted about miscellaneous things. Have seen the way Kushina-sama dotingly picked away at the dust and hair caught on the Hokage robes. The way her husband would cradle her hands in his and they would whisper to each other about motherhood and fatherhood and how their kid would be so much like its parents. 

Four or five years after that rainy afternoon, a few years more after he stopped seeing Team Seven, he caught sight of the boy. Blond spikey hair, tragic blue eyes, hauntingly a resemblance to the Fourth. Teuchi doesn't forget a face, and that face is sculpted four times the size of his shopefront in hard stone.

How could anyone not see it? The round shape of his eyes were Uzumaki Kushina’s and the whole colour scheme was their Yellow Flash’s carbon copy. 

So he asked Ayame after he’d offered the first free meal to a stray kid, “Do you remember the Yondaime?”

She looked at him and hummed, one hand with chopsticks to stir the noodles and the other one held a soup ladle,”Barely. I remember his wife though. Kushina-sama would come in and buy two bowls to bring to the Hokage Tower almost weekly. They’d have our special with extra fishcakes.”

“Have you seen that kid around?”

“You mean Naruto? Everyone know about him. Many people hate him though, something about him being the reason Yondaime, his wife and hundreds of people died that night when that monster attacked.” She sighed, taking out the ceramic dishes for the next customers. “I think civilians hate him more than shinobi do, for some reason.”

At the back of his mind, he knew that if someone he loved had died that night, his daughter, for one, he might find it so easy to hate the orphaned boy. He would have denied the kid, would have kicked him out. 

But the matter was, Teuchi didn’t know. Not that he’d gone back on his word now that he has already offered Naruto ramen, but it made him feel uneasy. He couldn’t imagine what the boy had done to deserve that treatment. He was noisy and somewhat annoying, but what kid isn’t? They were meant to be the age that demands for attention, always running around and screaming like the world belonged to them. 

The further they entered their relative peace era, the more shinobi he’d greet on his shop front. Sometimes he’d even get the chance to see people from different lands. Travellers, chūnin on mission, old couples and lovebirds that have just proposed. All kinds of people, kind and greedy and pitiful. That was when he slowly realised how no matter who a person was brought up to be, they were still human. The difference in their worlds and the treatment of governmental policies meant that there was bound to be discrepancies.

Segregation between shinobi and civillians wasn’t something he’d see as an issue in the Fourth's Era compare to back then, in the first thirty years of the founding of the village. Those were trying times. Things weren’t good when he saw his first Team Seven, but things weren’t much better when he saw his second, either. 

Naruto waltzed into his usual seat sometimes after the genin promotion day and demanded a bowl of ramen with an Uchiha and a long haired girl in tow.

He introduced them as Sasuke and Sakura. Then twenty minutes later, came someone Teuchi thought was dead. 

The boy he hasn't seen hide nor hair in the last decade. He introduced himself (again) as Hatake Kakashi, their sensei. This time, Teuchi remembered. He gave a normal smile and brought out Hatake’s order. The same one he had years ago without being asked to.

"It's on the house."

The jōnin seemed mildly taken aback but picked up his chopstick and ate like it had been the most natural thing in the world. Like he was just there to sit between his Team Seven on a monthly date. This time, he showed up as a the sensei with less of Yondaime-sama’ charm and more of his own aloofness. 

Teuchi didn’t ask for Hatake’s teammates. 

Then, like all the genin teams eventually do, the second Team Seven started to disappear.

First, as The Chūnin Exam approached, he saw Naruto and Sakura once in those two months and gave them free special bowls—his treat. Naruto accepted with much waterworks while Sakura just smiled and declined. 

Then afterwards, Teuchi would ask his daughter and they’d come up clueless about when exactly had the Uchiha stopped coming. He hadn’t remembered when the first Team Seven’ Uchiha started disappearing either. 

Then Naruto left. He said his goodbye as he drank the soup of his “favourit-est ramen ever -ttebayo” and promised he’d be back, stronger. Then he’d show everyone: Kakashi, Sakura, Konoha 11, Teuchi, Ayame, the village. He'll show them his strength.

Sakura stopped coming. 

It was during rush hours that he overheard some shinobi gossip.

Team Seven has failed. 

“They’re gone. Disbanded.”

“Might as well be dead.” Someone added.

Teuchi didn’t ask. He never does. He kept on remembering his ramen orders. He didn’t ask more. 

“Someone’s at the door.” Itachi exclaimed in his breathy voice. The more Kisame actually thought about it, the more it had made sense that his freaky-eyes flatmate should receive serious lung treatments. 

“Why do I have to be the one getting it then?” Besides, the group of people– no, shinobi, were roaming two streets away. “Uchiha is famous for their paranoia, among other wonderful attributes,” as Sakura had helpfully supplied before she left.

By the same way that Itachi had gotten away with house chores and other labouring tasks, he stared at the former Kiri-nin until the latter relented. “Well why don’t you do us a favour and cast an wide range A-rank genjutsu or something? Neither of us would need to show.” 

“It would have worked, if they weren’t a team of elite Konoha ANBU. We'll have a better bet if we could approach them.” 

“What? Way out on Nagi Island? There’s barely anything here for them to investigate. They’re after her aren’t they?” 

Itachi confirmed his suspicion and stood up to attempt sensing the signatures. Kisame saw the cue and started feeling out for the chakra. “We’re also assuming that these people firstly, aren't actively hunting Akatsuki and secondly, aren’t using…whatever the hell the chakra signature changing technique that the brat used.” 

“I’m pretty sure Sakura invented the technique, so it’s impossible for someone to replicate it so soon.”

He sighed, “Everyday you and her kept me paranoid more than I need to be. Oh, there they come, should we leave?”

“Probably. It’s best to stop their efforts though, as Nagato-sama has instructed.”

“If you say so.” Kisame reluctantly agreed that a confrontation needed to happen. It won’t be a fight, but maybe a very elaborate genjutsu or convincing acting. It gave him headaches, the whole Konoha-on-their-tails mess. “I have a plan to make it fun.”

Ten minutes later, the duo found themselves going for a weirdly stupid plan that had as much chance of failure as it does success. They were gardening, on their front lawn. They have plants, yes, most of which Sakura had summoned out of thin air to give them as parting gifts, in small pots that lined their walkway.

“Oh hello there!” The high pitched voice that Kisame adopted sent chills down Itachi. He didn't even look like Kisame. His blue skin was now a normal, sun-kissed shade. His grin with canines but nothing too indicative of his Hoshigaki clan. Now he looked like a normal, sharp-teeth boy around fifteen.

The Uchiha, on the other hand, changed his hair colour and face features to make him look like an older version of Kisame’s fake identity. 

There were only two operatives that showed instead of the group of five that they'd definitely sensed. The other three were either scouting the other houses, or their house. Good thing high grade criminals learn to never leave identifiable belongings in their living quarters.

The man in the Hound mask, Itachi noted, came closer. “We’ve heard the villagers say that you two live here on the outskirts of the village. Have you ever seen a girl pass by this place?”

No courteous greetings, just ANBU doing their job. It seemed that they wanted to get the information and put the target into a memory-altering genjutsu afterwards.

“A girl? What do you reckon brother?” He deflected the question to the person standing just behind, hands still snipping the overgrown leaves of the vines.

“Don’t think so, not recent at least. Do you want to invite them in for tea? They seemed like such hardworking folks.” The sheer fact that he, who was supposed to be a civilian, would invite shinobi-looking men into the house was the most absurd thing to say, but Itachi didn’t back down. “There have been shinobi passing by this place all the time. We’ll be more than happy to be of help. After all, we owe much to them.”

This time, Kisame was increasingly concerned by the act his teammate took up, it was as if Itachi was reciprocating the weird persona. 

“Yeah guys, do you want some refreshment?” He went along with it. 

The question, as intended, prompted the two ANBU to be on high alert. They seemed to flared their chakra momentarily to make sure their other teammates knew. “Who are you? What are your intentions?”

The four people stood, two of whom reaching for their weapon while the others stood stock still. 

“Ooooooh look! Gotcha!” Kisame suddenly laughed, pointing at them and looking back at his ‘brother’. “We fooled the shinobi! Brother you should come closer–”

Hound and Otter seemed confused for a second. That was enough time for Itachi to get their attention with an even louder laughing fit. 

He opened his eyes and looked at Hound through the mask. Both of his irises red, “We're no one you’re looking for, gentlemen.”

They seemed to be in shock before completely shutting down.

The genjutsu set in.

Kisame released his made up appearance. “See? That was so much fun.”

“I don’t understand why you’d enjoy extra steps, but now we have two ANBU in front of our door.”

“You can send them away. Do that zombie thing.” He flapped his hands and gesture it away from their residence.

Itachi seemed utterly unimpressed but motioned to make the two shinobi move jerkily in the opposite direction.

“I’m never playing pretend with you ever again.” The former Kiri slapped his flatmate on the back. “Sakura would have loved my plan. You obviously are shit at enjoying your job. I thought Uchiha are drama queens?”

No reply came his way. 

Chapter Text

The solo mission gave her a breadth to catch up to some old hideouts that Orochimaru supposedly abandoned. While not yet reaching Suna, the sand dunes were higher than she’d have liked them to be. They’re much more prone to slippage compared to snow or soil, which she won’t have to see in the next hundred clicks. 

Mission objectives stated that the Wind Daimyo court had required Akatsuki protection of the vase he’d so desperately wanted in his collection. A-rank in a normal village system, and Sakura knew Konoha or Suna would have charged a fortune (in which the majority wouldn’t even end up in the shinobi pockets). 

Wealthy civilians loved the idea of using lawless mercenaries rather than registered shinobi. On the higher price end, they could get discreet and high quality shinobi. The job will be done with no records to speak of, able to bypass laws and the organization would be the one responsible for the illegal side of things, not their clients. 

After some research, Sakura knew the small entourage tasked with transporting the rare vase were mostly royal guards, chunin and some scientists. Well known in Wind country but not so famous that they’d draw attention. Sakura has read about their works. Dr.Otama and Dr.Reiha were leading researchers of organ transplant surgeries. These would be illegally acquired organs, in whatever ‘vase’ they used, to go to their experiment centre. 

Seemed that the ‘vase’ wasn’t so much of a pottery masterpiece—here comes the perks of hiring Akatsuki. The organization will complete missions at all cost and wasn’t hesitant in unnecessary kills, no question asked; derails or lies of omission by clients wasn’t punishable. The kind of efficiency ANBU had, but far cheaper for the greedy head of states that wanted their goods delivered as soon as possible. 

The important part was, neither side truly knew who they’re working with. Akatsuki knew they were commissioned by the Wind Daimyo court, but whoever actually placed the order remained in confidentiality. In return, they would not know which of the Akatsuki members were sent and what their methods were. As long as the objective is fulfilled, the sum of money would go straight to Konan to process and be sent back to the correct nukenin. 

It’s not a bad system, all things considered. Brilliant, really, for the sketchy politicians. 

Akatsuki have gained a good reputation in the black market. Surprising or not, there were ‘handlers’ who could be intermediate contacts with Akatsuki. They’re figures of the black market strings, handling cases and working under order of Nagato, or his representative, Konan. 

Akatsuki wasn’t scared of messing with politics or leaving a hefty amount of collateral damage. They operated in a way that most Elemental Villages assume they were doing it on their own accord for some grand scheme, which was comical, because like most criminal groups out there, they can be hired. Too bad the clients that got to hire Akatsuki were chosen carefully, and only if they meet all criteria listed by Konan they could get a chance of consideration from their Leader. 

The mission in Suna was the first of its kind that she had. More than just bodyguarding (not when the people she’s guarding didn’t even know of her), she was meant to rob them. The group were heading towards River, which is not where she was supposed to make sure the ‘vase’ would arrive at. These people were royal guards, but not her client’s. 

Contrary to misinformation spread by civilians, deserts weren't the worst terrain to hide in. Yes, there’s no trees, no caves or bushes to hide behind. ANBU training had taught her some useful water jutsu for this exact purpose. Optical illusions are well versed by suiton users and genjutsu users alike. To be both would be unfair, and Sakura wasn’t a master at either, but she knew enough to make it work. 

In a low voice, she whispered, “Suiton: Ketsuro no Jutsu”

An amount of water molecules present in the environment ceased its movement in her drawn out area. 

“Suiton: Shinkirō”

The molecules moved as she manipulated it to stack in layers in front of the group. A certain amount of air molecules stayed at the bottom, while some rose to be higher and cooler. Sakura made sure her presence was absolutely concealed, her chakra tuned into that of a bug’s frequency. The distance between the party and her was at least one kilometre. Only a jōnin or Hyūga could really detect it at this point, and even if they did, only the Hyūga would realise she wasn’t just some bug, but a human.

While there was a much shorter version of her three-steps technique, Mujin Meisai was a B-rank jutsu made famous by the Second Tsuchikage. That meant rigorous training as a suiton user, something she’d rather not spend time on even with her mild affiliation to the element. The two suiton jutsu she employed were mostly dumbed down copies of the Second Hokage’ releases, but not too sloppy that it’d be D-grade. Kisame helped in refining the techniques, though he noted that as long as she wasn’t going against specialised suiton users, she should be all fine. 

To the third step of her plan, now that the mirage was created and the clients seemed to have spotted the enormous lake that appeared out of nowhere. The illusion gave her time to map out her next move, as the targets became confused and disoriented. 

Time to do some hard earned genjutsu. 

“Yakubutsu Genkaku” 

The group of eight were rendered drugged under illusion. They moved as if their bones were detached from its joints, their muscles uncaring for the rotation of their limbs. Making the victims feel like they were under the influence of substances was her favourite technique. It’s crude, according to her Uchiha teacher. He preferred much more “sophisticated illusions”, thanks to his advanced ocular abilities. 

She used to practise Yakubutsu Genkaku in bars across Tea country. It definitely wasn’t strange when a sober guy became quickly intoxicated in a drinking precinct after one drink. Most would assume he had a small alcohol tolerance instead of some underaged brat who smuggled herself into bars to practice genjutsu on unsuspecting patrons. 

Carefully making sure she wasn’t doing lasting damage to their cerebral, the kunoichi forced the chunins’ senses into the feeling of blacking out, then repeated the process with the guards and scientists. It’s better to eliminate the shinobi first. 

She slid the kunai across their carotid arteries. The cut was jagged and she made a point to sharpen her weapon when she got to the Demon Desert base. Red liquid splashed out from the openings and ran down the collars of the men. The sand was dyed a crimson hue, darker than Sakura’ genin dress. Messy jobs wasn’t her fort, despite her penchant to deliver almost animalistic blows in ANBU, but it sure was a great way to make sure none of them rose to wake. 

Slowly, with mindful steps that wouldn’t disturb the sediments under her feet so much, Sakura approached the luggage fallen over during her swift attack. The ‘vase’ was inside a large wooden crate, heavy enough to pass as porcelain or ceramic, wrapped inside insulated materials with utmost care. Of course the idiots at the borders would believe, with some bribes, that this was a large, ornamental decoration instead of checking inside. They would have found two adult hearts and three children’ lungs attached to Konoha hospital produced chakra monitors. 

Sakura was among the first group of medical practitioners to see the trials and experiment reports of the monitors. It was Tsunade’ largest project yet; Dr.Otama and Dr.Reiha were scientist delegates from Earth sent to purview the completion of the project. The approval of how safe it was depended on the test subjects’ reactions and close review from international medical associations. As it should have taken another year for the official products to be manufactured and distributed to waitlisted hospitals, there should be no reason whatsoever that one of the purview scientists got the chance to smuggle a few monitors outside the lab in Konoha. 

If it had been a few months ago, Sakura would have made a dead sprint to her Hokage to report it, but at this moment, she couldn’t care less. It’s not like she needed an organ transplant when she could always consult her human-puppet teammate. With that in mind, she sealed the wooden crate into one of her scrolls and made way for the Daimyo castle. 

The hideout that Orochimaru left behind was very old. It’s three hundred clicks West of Demon Desert and twice the distant South from the Capital city, where she had just completed her mission at. 

There wasn’t much she could loot from in the scorpion-filled bunkers. They were reasonably small but probably enough for up to twenty of the Snake’s little subordinates. A relic from the Third Great Shinobi War, she would have guessed. 

The walls were covered in so much dust it must have been even more than the Uchiha clan grounds. There were maps plastered on the wall, ink worn down and faded until the point of almost illegibility. The word [RŌRAN] was in the largest print of them all, perhaps the title for the maps. 

“Rōran? An abandoned site or what?” She muttered, pulling her field note to jot down the few things that she could read. “Kami, why is he everywhere in this continent?”

The disloyal sennin seemed to have played every career possible. Full-time scientist and S-rank criminal, part-time and casual archeologist, researcher, cult figure, slave owner and transformer. There were probably much more than that, but his poor career choices weren't very relevant to know. 

For “Rōran” to be worth his effort, it must have been an interesting place and not too far from where the bunkers were. She’d look into that later. For now, she had a meetup with her flatmates. 

Three more hours at her top speed later, the kunoichi reached a stone structure where Nagato had instructed her to go. 

The place was desolate. There was no one inside. 

Three rooms, one bathroom (mainly for Deidara, assuming that Sasori didn’t require such accommodations) and a kitchen that resembled some cavemen abode more than anything. The light switch barely worked, the water taps were rusty and webbed. She felt like a princess made homeless, considering the neat and tidy place that Kisame and Itachi managed to keep. Whatever this place was, wasn’t in habitable conditions. She could live, but it felt like some prisoner of war treatment rather than criminals at the top of their games. 

Tired and chakra depleted, Sakura picked the room furthest along the corridor, the only one with no personal belongings that seemed to stack up in mountains in the other two rooms. There was some sort of hidden room behind the wall of the first room, but she wasn’t curious enough to poke around and get trapped in some Black Code’ basement.

The shower had one bar of soap. Dirty and blood crested. The brown haired girl decided she was fine with just a rinse of the potential bacterial transferring water. If any of her old wounds get infected, that’s on her and she would get a chance to experiment with some new ointments. 

Patted dry and clothed in her spare red shirts with comfortable loose shinobi trousers, Sakura made way to her room and casted a B-grade protection genjutsu to ward it in case her new flatmates would be as paranoid as her previous ones. 

There was one bed, a mattress that seemed more than just rotten, a desk, a chair and a wardrobe. What would renowned murderers have in their wardrobe? Two sets of Akatsuki cloaks and ten identical outfits, she bet. Oh, and maybe twenty stock-up bottles of nail polish in their personal bruise shade. The medic had no need, for the flesh under her nails were already stained black by whatever side effects of the ‘mokuton’ were. 

Well, she owed herself some meditation. Her chakra pools (one with the normal chakra flow and the other for Yami Chakra) were pathetic. The central one was almost drained out, but her Yami pool, which was unused, took way too long to reach its full potential. That was something unexpected. 

The Senju Forest's impact on her body had slowed down the Dark Chakra significantly. The seal that was supposed to take only two more weeks now moved at the pace of desert snails. There was a block that Sakura could not detect. It’s frustrating. At this rate her little promise to Orochimaru on showcasing him some cooler Byakugou dupe would be for nought.

She was quite, as they call it, fucked. 

“Whose chakra signature is that, hm?” Deidara eyed the end of the corridor and turned to gauge a reaction from his Suna-born teammate. “Oh come on. You know something don’t you, Sasori-danna?”

“Not interested.”

The blond clicked his tongue in a half-annoyed, half-amused way, “In my godly presence or in the possible intruder of our base?”

“No pest would infest this place and you know it.” The puppet’ mouth scraped together in a raucous, screeching tone. “Go check it.”

“What!? Why meeeeee?” He moped, hands already unclasping the bag that stored the huge scroll from the mission from his shoulder. 

Sasori was making way towards his bedroom when a hand reached out to grab a piece of his cloak. Gently, because while Deidara have come up with dozen of suicide techniques, he wasn’t so uncaring to the lethal poison that coated the metal tail of his teammate’ creepy body. With as little force as possible, the blond missing-nin pushed the puppet master to the door of the last room where the chakra was emanating from. 

The energy was strange, almost inhuman, but not so much of a mutation chakra or one with kekkei genkai. It was almost too still to be from a living being, but that would mean the source of the chakra was in deep meditation or they have casted an Itachi-worthy genjutsu. The duo doubted that the Sharingan freak would show up so far away from his own base to visit them. This intrigued Sasori, so he made way past his own room to where the explosion kid was standing.

“Hey at least if you make me do it you better see what we’re dealing with!” Deidara whispered hastily and hid behind his counterpart, not at all taking the situation seriously. “Knock knock who’s there?”

A sigh in front of him proved that one didn’t need to be human to be tired of his antics. 

Suddenly, the chakra vanished. 

“Please don’t interrupt when I’m meditating, I do hope you could do better than Kisame-sensei and ‘Tachi-nii.” A voice piped up from behind them. 

The oldest shinobi reacted first, his tail moving at a speed faster than the time he took to turn around, aiming instinctually at the target. Deidara took his time to attack, opting to whip his neck around in a sharp pop and send a few kunai flying past Sasori’ shoulders. 

The figure performed a quick cartwheel and bent over from the deadly weapon, throwing some shuriken to deflect the barrage of kunai. “Shit, calm down!”

“...Haruno Sakura?” 

She stood up gingerly and felt the way her ankle ached with the dodging she did. One quick pulse of healing chakra fixed the matter. “Yes, dumbass, in the flesh. Have you not heard from Leader-sama?”

“Who are you?” Sasori asked, not threatened or concerned, but he sounded like he was frustrated at a puzzle. “I mark signatures, Haruno’ haven’t got whatever you have. And your pool is much less pathetic than her.”

“Okay, ignoring the fact that you meant it as an insult,” Sakura rolled her eyes and pulled out her ring still dangling from the white hair braid and tried to summarize the same thing she had explained to her last flatmates: “Surprise! I can change my chakra frequency.”

After a second of painfully suspecting glares from the pair, she leaned against the wall and tried again, “This is why I should have asked Nagato-sama for some special certificate of identity proof. I actually need to catch up on accidentally frying my chakra pathways, so you two can go and process this information. Away from me. In a mature and genjutsu-free way, mkay?”

“We were so excited you would come!” For some reason, Deidara readily accepted it as fact and moved on to verbally assault her. “Danna look! Free medical! Fucking finally hm! I broke my wrist yesterday but it was more painful than normal. Does that mean I broke it hm? Also, do you have any eye drops? The fucking sand storm was godawful for both my eyesight and hair.”

Not wanting to engage the two young shinobi in whatever stupidity, the recipient of the words disappeared into his room.

Blue manic eyes inspected her and Sakura punched his nose to test his guards. 

Two bloodied nostrils and a bomb later, the kunoichi could confidently claim that she was enjoying being a pain in the ass for as many of her teammates as possible. It’s refreshing and satisfying–no wonder why all the members of Team Seven seemed to have mastered it except her. 

The hunchback puppet made its way to the living room and warned, “Stop with the brawls. I can not withstand this place collapsing in on itself you imbeciles.”

Sakura considered a rebuttal but knew that there was no way she could outmatch the master of poison, even in a ‘no-killing’ fight. 

The complaints instead left the mouth of her questionably fashionable teammate, who argued to save his dwindling intelligence in the judgement of the Akasuna no Sasori. Not exactly keen on being murdered by S-rank criminals in the middle of virtually nowhere, the medic silently dragged herself back to her room and ignored the expletives the loudmouth threw after her.

“Do you understand, boy? Your quest for peace is tattered and worn. It rested on the backs of the people who do not yearn for true law and order. Your pawns do not care about your mission, they are only bind by extrinsic prizes, not sworn loyal.” The masked man said, his eyes ruby shone, his posture intimidating.

Nagato breathed heavily, hands clutching his impaled stomach. He wasn’t careless to be taken down by a hit, but this Uchiha (or something of the kind, with Sharingan spinning) possessed a jutsu that could teleport both of them into a void. There was no echo, no particular structure or shape of chakra that he could detect. The blow that came was unexpectedly fast, more than his purple ringed eyes could track. “I am not swayed by your incessant talking, stranger.”

A laugh, “Uzumaki, have you forgotten I was the one that blessed you with those eyes? They’re imperfect, you see, so far from the potential you could achieve.”

“Who are you?” There was an inkling feeling, but no one would be crazed enough to assume the living of a Konohagakure Founder.

Silence was thundering in its wake. Afterwards, less glorified and more so ghostly, in mangled strips of children's skins and blades that was washed in blood, Madara talked about himself. The state of godlike sempiternal, the fear, the death, the very essence of a constant: “I am, I was, and I will be.”

The Akatsuki leader took a careful look at the person that had surprised him in his chambers and drew a guess, among the very few times in which he had done the act of guessing something, “You are the same man who came to me at the end of the Third Shinobi War,”

“Who else do you think could lead you to greatness? You owe me, so as I come, you better pay your debt in full.”

“Impossible.” The man choked, another rod of condensed chakra struck at his shoulder. He coughed violently. “U- Uchiha Madara.”

“I saved you.”

“You cursed me.” Nagato rasped. 

“Boy, you’re misunderstanding this. Hanzo's death was of my design, you were never meant to walk away from that fight as alive as you are now. That old cretin wasn't supposed to be dead until much later.” The cloaked legend chuckled ruefully, taunting the Leader with his friend’s death and the governmental usurping that he had led. 

There was no pain greater than the loss of Yahiko that he had experienced, so Nagato didn’t lower his gaze, nor did he scream in fury about the outcome of what happened. He had come a far way from it, he had seen and heard and lived long enough to know that answering the provocation of Madara of all people wouldn’t be of benefit to anyone. 

Nonetheless, he asked, “What is it that you desire?”

“I need no glory—they left me unsung, I fought in troubled times no one alive today would know.” His tone was factual, as if he’s informing a child of his feats,”I have seen wars that you couldn’t imagine, tended to the origins of this system that you have been born in. I do not require a mortal's help, but I ask you to reconsider the methods of your plan. It isn’t ill intentioned, but it is flawed and terribly unattainable.”

The Uzumaki descent slumped back, his arm supporting his torso to let out a quiet: “Enlighten me.” 

A rumble of a laugh came first before a response, “Have you ever heard of the Infinite Tsukuyomi?”

Chapter Text

[ Konohagakure no Sato is a political vertebration of an unbuilt utopia. 

A bitter after taste of alcohol that the Elders had among other victuals, leaving them drunk on elitism. 

Driving clans into extinction, starving civilians off historical literacy—everything done and made for a seat at their hierarchical table for a buffet that never ends.

When I look for kindness now, humankind just lets me down. ]

Senju Tobirama was a critic before he was shinobi. He was a writer, poet, and war general. There were little philosophical debates that he didn’t start. Evolutions. Regenerations. Divinities. All him and his. 

He was a cynic. He didn’t believe in Konohagakure. Nor did his elder brother, though the Shodai was far better at pretending. What Hashirama envisioned and Madara proposed were botched attempts at a totalitarian state that would thrive on martial law. That simply wasn’t as peace-seeking as he had hoped it’d be, nor was it morally practical in the long term.

The mokuton-blessed brother had died before the official inauguration of his predecessor. The work had already been passed over when he was at his heights.

The Nidaime Hokage changed every possible aspect of the shinobi system to his adjustments. He had wanted to build that utopia his dying brother couldn’t. A complete dominance of the Senju Clan as it should be. Yet, while he was Senju, he didn’t bore mortal skin to challenge the Shinigami like Hashirama. 

The Shodai wrote a manifesto centred around a socio-political philosophy called ‘The Will of Fire’ and endorsed it with such reinforcements that for a decade or two the village was known for its conservative and often violent image. It wasn’t desirable, but by the time the war drums of the First Shinobi War began thrumming, Konoha had already claimed a reputation tainted with superiority and smothered in waking nightmares. 

The Second (Hokage, Senju, brother, all him never being first ) constructed an Academy for both clan-bred children and first-generation shinobi. He filtered them. Made sure the good soldiers stayed together like a set of shogi. Coined them the Debut Class. The rest, he threw them into minefields he called ‘Careers Chunin’ or ‘Specialist Departments’. 

Tobirama created ANBU. Two divisions. Teisatsu, formed of the greatest trackers, led by main bloodline Hatake, Hyūga, Aburame, Yamanaka and Inuzuka; and Nikuya, five-years trained jounin, born and taught to be used for only one or two missions. Disposable. Efficient. Exclusive. It was almost heroic. He commissioned the first model of the veterans’ Memorial after them, to make it seem like he had sent all those clan machines to die for a just cause. (This model of ANBU did not survive past his death. No one knew how he managed to keep it running.)

He announced his official team, named after himself (he didn’t know, but his student took on  this tradition obediently, as three-men cell teams started to carry the name of their leader generations onwards). Tobirama’s students, Sarutobi Hiruzen, Mitokado Homura and Utatane Koharu carved out their glory from his name. They ate it like ripened fruits and it filled their bellies with such power they had craved for more even after his death.

When Senju Tobirama perished in battle, he knew he had the future shaped exactly the way he wanted it to be. The clay was placed in the kiln. There was nothing else he could have put fingers on. His Senju men will do what needs to be done. 

Senju Tobirama died knowing he’d have more than just two of his kin to wear the hat. There will not be a single Hokage that the Senju did not plant.

The deified brothers never really saw eye to eye, even less so that Tobirama spoke of his sister in law highly. There wasn’t much to be said about an Uzumaki slave. A cunning woman that was neither on his side nor his brother’s. 

“I put my faith in a sinner’s town.” Mito told him during the funeral of the husband not many understand why she loathed. “My blood, my face, my woman’ woes—it is Konoha’s, once belonged to Uzushio’s, and I can not change it.”

“Uzushio is Konoha, now, Uzumaki-san. I made it so.” He replied, knowing the weight of his words and the admission of his hands in the fall of her birthplace. “You sacrifice one another for tradition.”

The First Lady scoffed at the sheer ignorance and the ten-years-old assumption that she commissioned her family to be killed for some bottles of ink. “We”, she corrected, ”We’re sacrificing one another for tradition.” Because at the end of it, Mito became Konoha, and Konoha sinned. 

He made sure she raised his grand niece—her granddaughter—with the ways of the Uzushio, so Tsunade would inherit this meal as her birthright, even more magnificent than the ones that came before her. To have the seals from that wasted, sentimental woman and the forbidden techniques he himself created. 

(Senju Tsunade was more a gambler than a true ruler, but she led the village, almost half a century later with the eyes that people fell at their feet to beg small mercies for. This was what her ancestors couldn’t witness, but knew would happen. Three seats by the Senju, and the rest, Senju-chosen. She was raised to be sentimental like her grandmother, but calculating like her grandfather. Afraid of blood, but not death. Never death.)

When Hiruzen sat on the seat his mentor once did, he didn’t believe in Konohagakure no Sato. He knew it was a stem of the Uchiha doing. The Senju would never propose such an idea, despite how much they made it seem like they did. He knew Tobirama well enough to grasp the horrors of the Founders but not enough to go against it.

The Sarutobi clan made themselves the icon of the Will, absolute loyalty bestowed like a worthy exchange for an unrealistic dream. 

About eight years after the Yondaime’s passing, Hiruzen and his worlds-old genin teammates drafted a plan befitting a true shinobi village. A massacre for an exam. Like Kirigakure did, but they can do better. This was what Nidaime wanted but he was wiser than acknowledging it could work. He knew it couldn’t, but the Sandaime wanted to prove him wrong. (He didn’t. Five of his ten Commanders disagreed, and the honourable Hokage didn't go through with it.)

The Sandaime ruled for more than anyone ever did (and ever will). He let things fall and never bothered to build them up. He was just brutal and revered enough to survive what he did and made it out. It was only natural, he reasoned, that his end would be drawn out by his own student. And his student’s end by his student’s student. Wasn’t that an ouroboros of a joke?

There was a mission the day after Sakura arrived. Fast, of course, they were the assassination squad of Akatsuki, like Kisame had mentioned. 

She was stirring what she recognised as Iwa congee, a dish Deidara insisted that he cook for her—since Sasori doesn’t eat, he never had a reason to find food for more than himself. Now that there’s two living humans with a stomach that required nutrition intakes, he was happy to do something extra.

The med-nin hadn’t known he was particularly good at cooking, but he sure looked passionate for a chance to eat something that wasn’t shinobi rations. 

She looked up over the steaming bowl and saw the self-proclaimed chef gobbling the congee down.

The third occupant of the lair sat on a side of the table polishing his mechanic pieces. His hunchback posture raised questions in a medic viewpoint, but not too curious to the point of asking. Fortunately, the ex-Suna did the talking for her.

“We’re leaving in twenty.” Sakura looked over at this, noticing Deidara still focusing on his breakfast. Sasori didn’t seem offended by the lack of attention, like this had been normal, so he continued, “Page thirty-one. Last sightings North East of Wind, near Claw borders. Traveling with an Iwa Hunter-nin group, total four, minimum Orange Code. Threat level: unconfirmed. Duration: three to four days round trip.”

The kunoichi reached inside her cloak and pulled out the small red book. Its leather material was cool against her skin, smoothed down into a comfortable cover. A quick flip to page thirty-one revealed a Red Code Iwa jounin. Unfamiliar name and overall mildly impressive stats.

[ KESHOU Nishimura - M

Rank: Jounin (Intelligent)

Code: Red

Affiliation: Iwagakure 

Type: Ninjutsu, Fuuinjutsu

Kekkei Genkai: Crystal Release

Height: 1.68m

Appearance: Blue hair, green eyes, visible 20cm long scar across shoulder blade, visible 5cm scar above right ear, visible third degree burn marks on both legs, semi-visible burn in lower back.

PoB: Hana no Kuni

Notes: 

• Have encountered Akatsuki twice

• Complete blindness in left eye

• Presumed asthmatic conditions

• Escaped prisoner of Orochimaru        ]

“Burn and scars. Seem right up your alley. Don’t tell me the Akatsuki that this guy encountered were…you two?”

Deidara looked over her and down the page where the ID of the target was plastered on, “Holy shit that motherfucker again? ” He grumbled loudly and started a string of cursing Sakura assumed to be from an Iwa dialect.

The creepy noise of wood grating together was a sign the puppet master had something to say, “We are not killing him, this time. Not that it stopped you from trying the last two times.”

“Anyone care to explain?” Sakura deadpanned, slumping back on her chair. The frame of it dug into her back as she took in the information. This dynamic was going to be a lot to get used to.

“He’s got a bunch of apparently really important information about Earth and political exchanges between all the countries in that region hm. Leader-sama said he’s a double agent of some sort? The Fire Daimyo ordered a kidnapping, hm. The thing is that he’s always backed up by a bunch of escorts, not only from Iwa but their allies too hn.”

“...And you hate him because you can’t get him?” 

Her two teammates expressed grave indignation at this (As much as a wooden puppet and a theatrical individual could get) 

“No, well, yes– who does he think he is hm!? It’s his mouth! He kept on taunting Akatsuki-”

“No, just you.” Sasori interjected.

“And it’s worse because this rando did his research! He’s so high up in rank that he practically has all the clearance so he snooped around and literally stalked every possible thing about my life before I defected hm! He hated my guts and acted like I killed five generations of his bloodline and then sent the village into a civil war but also responsible for some twenty years worth of personal angst hm. I’m not even fucking twenty yet!” 

Sakura looked over to the only calm one in the situation just to get a nonchalant: “Keshou is concerningly obsessive.”

“If that’s in your standards then I take it that it’s bad. ” What has she gotten herself into?

The explosive expert violently shivered in his seat, hands clamped down to the bowl like it was the last thing he could hold onto in life. “I can not see that asshat again!”

“Orders are rather unfortunate for your case, but we have two options.” Sasori stated firmly.

“Kill him or kill him you mean?” 

At Deidara’s pleading eyes, the ex-Suna stayed unphased, “Eliminate or Recruit.”

“FUCK no-” The wails of the blond could be heard a long way from the structure, Sakura could attest to the frequency. 

“Sakura-danna, we’re killing him hm? Please tell me we’re ending that guy.” His pleas fell on deaf ears. 

Two blinks later, the medic stood up, made sure her bowl was finished and turned to see the men where she left them,”I’m getting ready, fill me in on the Crystal Kekkei Genkai on the way there. Chop chop boys.”

“Taichou! Hurry up could ya?” The burly man bellowed from his place behind his captain.

The man in question turned around with a grim face,”I don’t feel particularly good.”

“You’re not fucking jinxing shits again, man. That white haired pervert and the weird orange thing is definitely going in my list of top five freaky mission encounters.” An Iwa ANBU piped up from a few branches ahead. Just a night ago they had run into an absurd amount of chakra being released in the wild and after investigation, was put in a semi-harmless but S-rank seal that took forever to get out of. 

“What even was that thing?”

The leader, Keshou, glanced at his escort entourage—for a jounin, this was excessive, but for him, it was justified—to throw them a simple answer,”That thing is a Vessel.”

“Wait, like Jinchūriki? Like there’s a Bijū inside that kid?”

“Yes, what else Jinsei?” The front ANBU rolled his eyes.

“Ohh is that why his chakra was weird Keshou-taichou?” The sensor asked, mainly to himself, to earn an agreeing nod from the Intelligent based ANBU. He was hailed to be a rival to Inoichi Yamanaka, another famous secret-intelligent shinobi affiliated with Konoha. Both of them made jounin in the same year, and hold the most guarded information of their nation (and their allies, for analysis purposes). Both have massive targets on their back, on opposite sides of the same leaf in most BINGO books. Their whereabouts were most likely kept to a minimum, and only travel in groups, with a failsafe suicide plan ready to be followed the moment things go haywire. 

The position was delicate and required absolute loyalty. For Nishimura Keshou, it came easily. Offered up to him like a royal title. A lower class upbringing to a chunin shinobi family from Hana no Kuni didn’t promise much, until his country became a bid in the game of hungry governments. Taken in during the aftermath of a massacre when his parents decided to stay instead of fleeing to Fire like how most of their neighbours did, he was made to pledge loyalty in turn for protection. In turn for trust. He took the seal tattoo and the invisible shackles like a prize won, now someone part of something greater.

“Ambush!” Someone shouted. “Strike-slip fault!”

The Iwagakure team took off to the branches, away from where they were previously standing. The warning was an Iwa-specific way of talking about several types of doton attacks, but in Iwa ANBU, it was a code for “assassins from underground” . The issue was, their enemy came from above.

The sick whisper was like a pint drop, “Boom.”

There was no time for reaction, no preparation in advance as the ANBU team scattered.

The area above the ground exploded in a ten metres radius. Smoke filled the sky.

Deidara laughed, satisfied with his idea of a prank. Giving the target group no time to recover, Sakura dove down without sparing her teammates a mind, right fist held back behind her ready to strike.

The moment her punch met the ground, it broke in lighting cracks, sound waves rumbled.

As the attacks subsided, there were blurry figures of Keshou and his team crouching, using earth domes as shields but subsequently failed due to the ground quite literally breaking apart. Their attempt to find each other was quickly scraped out by Sasori’ puppets, which began to isolate each member and push them in opposite direction of each other. 

“Kesshō: Toge no seichō”

Crystal thorns speared the uneven soil, growing from around the blue haired shinobi outwards, faster than the flings of senbon. The pink rock-hard material took form on top of each other to make sharp, large needles, chasing its prey relentlessly. Sakura made a high jump for Deidara’ clay bird, gripping on the side of its wing to toss her body over and roll on it. The bird moved higher, outmanoeuvring the thorns. Either that the blonde was too focused on the enemies at hand or just didn’t care enough, he hadn’t seemed to give a thought to his female counterpart behind him.

“Deidara.” Keshou seemed to have gained enough vision to make out the white object and its owner. His tone was raging. It was you went unspoken, but the angry spark in the man’s eyes signalled that he had found out the culprit that screamed the warnings minutes ago. No opponent should know of the terminologies used within the shadow ranks of Iwa, except for its own.

Deidara made use of where he came from. Sakura supposed it was a great idea to have nukenin from a village go against that village, since they would have valuable information on fighting styles, codes and strategies. 

“Shitlicker!” The missing-nin replied to the call of his name, irritated. “Served you right, hm!”

There were faint fighting noises in the background, where their puppeteer teammate occupied the other targets by himself. The medic debated if she should join the fray when it seemed he was handling himself fine. She needed to conserve chakra, too, so waiting the fight out could be an option no matter how boring it could draw on. In her experience until now, most Akatsuki didn’t have a hobby of making the kills taking longer than necessary.

In true ANBU nature, the shōton user wasn’t there for small talks and exchanges of profanities. He quickly moved through hand seals as Sakura recognised him ending with Boar and Ram, “Kesshō: Rokkaku Shuriken Ranbu”

At first, it looked like sparkling glitters thrown out until green eyes squinted to see the incoming jutsu—flying crystal shards reflecting sunlight. Shurikens materialized in the shape of snowflakes and spun with such velocity that on the outside one can only observe it as a normal shuriken in a rapidly increasing speed of rotation. 

Both Deidara and Sakura descended the bird and dodged the thrown weapons with their own taijutsu. It wasn’t much of a struggle on the brunette’ part after the hell practices she went through with boulders (Tsunade) or water bullets (Kisame). Stray crystal shurikens pierced through the surrounding trees let the former Konoha-nin know how lethal the kekkei genkai could be. No wonder he was Red Code.

“Cease!” Hoping her scream reached Keshou, Sakura yanked her teammate behind her with his collar. “We have an offer for you, Keshou-kun. I’m Akatsuki, for goodwill and harmony.” She smiled good-naturedly but belatedly realised it would have been extremely suspicious and creepy, the method she was going for. She just parroted what was said to her months ago by the art duo, which was ironic. 

“Hey no, that's only if the first clause doesn’t work hm!”

Disregarding the aggressive protests, Sakura waited for their third teammate (also pseudo-taichou) to come and do what he was supposed to do. 

It didn’t take too long when Sasori made his way back, stringing the ANBU bodies and dragging them on the ground. The last standing member of the Iwa team bristled slightly, but kept his serious composure at the sight. “I’ve never seen you before, new face.”

The statement directed at her was not surprising, knowing he was an infamous information gatherer, an asset of secrecy and walking government scrolls. If anyone, he was to know the most aside from his Kage, about a criminal association as notoriously dangerous as Akatsuki. Orochimaru had shown that he had heard of her sightings in the early days of her recruitment, but that was not shocking for a man like him. Keshou seemed to have an idea of a tenth member, but of course, didn’t have a clue on her identity. 

“Just because you’re cute, I’ll tell you hon.” Sakura winked and heard the fake vomiting sound of the young teammate. She had earned top marks in kunoichi classes too, and it would get really fun if they worked in real life. 

To be fair, the guy wasn’t ugly, nor was he particularly pretty. He had the most average Hana no Kuni face she could imagine, where her parents hailed from themselves. Unusual, flower coloured hair and skin on the paler side (the type that burns instead of tan in Suna sun) to the point of looking sickly in some lightings. Small stature compare to other nations, also. It wasn’t the beauty standard where she came from, unfortunately. “You can know me as the Medic.”

“Those eyes are oddly familiar, but I do not know you.”

“No, you don’t, Keshou-kun. But they are the eyes of a Hana child. Same as you, whatever weird genes you got that gave you the kekkei genkai.”

Tired of not being able to partake in the conversation, Deidara spoke up: “Wait you guys are related? I thought you're Konoha. Aren't your family from there? How does that make sense?”

The confusion in his voice was as comical as it could get and Sakura fought her chuckle down, forgoing the fact that he just revealed her previous affiliation.

Exasperated, Sakura turned to the questions,”As much as I am disappointed in Iwa education because of your lacking knowledge of inheritance biology and how immigration culture works, no we are not related, just have the same ethnic origin. Like how Nagato-sama is from Uzushio in Fire but Ame raised, which is in Water? My parents are from a village in Hana but I was born and raised in Konoha, which is in Hi no Kuni.” 

“Wait what? You’re not a real Konoha citizen like Itachi-danna? And Nagato-sama isn’t from Ame?”

The dumb follow-up asks due to missing social education reminded her of Naruto, so Sakura sighed and explained,”The Uchiha clan have been of Konoha since its formation. Like the Hoshigaki to Kiri. Same as the Uzumaki to Uzushio or the Keshou to Hana. For your information, my family immigrated by the time of the Third Shinobi Wars, we were part of a civilian clan in Hana.” 

“...right.” The disinterested reply was a little annoying, but she could live with it. Sakura almost forgot the other two at the scene, who were discussing the mission itself.

“–and incase of refusal, we will eliminate you.” She heard the former Suna-nin informed.

“Sounds off you’d choose an Intelligence officer, especially when you've already got someone from Iwa that probably doesn't do shit. I am trained as loyal as a Konoha dog.”

The kunoichi leaned leisurely on one of the trunks still standing. “You wouldn’t be talking if you were loyal, Keshou-kun. There is a failsafe suicide plan officers like you must follow once your last line of defend is dissolved. You would have retreated long ago had you could, or wanted to. You are curious, unlike Konoha dogs. They’re violent and trained to bite, are you sure you know your stereotypes?” 

“You don’t have much to lose, do you?” Sasori said casually.

“I haven’t got much to gain, do I? Working with lunatics like the Iwa-born wimp who cried because he ate his clay and choke on it. And, impressive, kunoichi. Where’d you get her?”

“Son of a bitch can’t we just kill him already?” Deidara’s patience was running short. 

“Can’t kill me now can ya? Remember that time you wet your pants on your first mission out of the village? Not even the most pathetic Waterfall brat does that.”

“Deidara.” Sasori warned before anything could leave his mouth. “You are to be a political strategist assistant, Keshou Nishimura. We’ve got the greatest information bank and countless spies across the world; your only use is limited, and your value doesn’t mean as much to us. We recruit you out of mercy and potential, not necessity.”

“I am not dissatisfied with my village.”

“And you’re under Iwa, be serious right now.” The explosion-obsessed man brought a hand to his temple. “Have you seen the pay rate? The free benefits? I get free medical care and flexible hours and no tax in Akatsuki, brokeass.”

“You were only poor because you weren't special enough to be paid more.”

“Oh? Come talk to me when the person you’re working for actually approves of your lifestyle and gives you freedom of speech.”

“I don’t go around blowing shits up in my free time, wanker.”

“You–”

One of Sasori’s metal tails flapped and hit the ground, gaining the attention of the bickering shinobi, “Enough childish nonsense. Your kekkei genkai is dying out, you know this, Keshou. Your training is limited, but after being part of the Snake’ slave trades, you didn’t make it into the final rounds, and managed to not catch his attention. You escaped.”

The silence that followed proved the credibility of the assumptions.

“I can consider, if you help me achieve my goal.” It sounded like he was caving in, but Sakura knew better. It was not a sign of agreement, it was a sign of seeing an opening he can utilise. The glint in his eyes was the same as the men in T&I she remembered. 

“Well wouldn’t you let us know?” Sakura gave up on her womanly ways when the target didn’t seem even an ounce affected. 

“I need…support in locating someone.”

Deidara raised an eyebrow,”Missing a lover, I see.”

“No one you need to know about, dimwit.”

After the mind games only Sasori had the patience for and a few B-ranked genjutsu Sakura carefully weaved in that time, the crytal man revealed that he needed more about the traces of a certain family member called Keshou Guren, now still working in the ranks of Orochimaru's made up Otogakure. 

This, by far, was the most sentimentally dramatic reason someone joined Akatsuki by, declared the lousy blonde. The thing was, Deidara missed the point entirely and his two teammates weren’t about to point out about this particular “recruitment”. The fact that they weren’t recruiting at all was something he was oblivious to, much to the other two’s amusement. 

Keshou will be more of a chess piece than a player—it was unfortunate his good face couldn’t save him. He was not going to be a pillar, merely just a small supporting beam.

Keshou will not be Akatsuki. He will be of Akatsuki if he choose to completely betray his village.

He was a full child, wise enough to be content with what he had, but stupid enough to have never really wanted more. Akatsuki was hunger and thirst. The difference meant keeping his colour Red as Akatsuki took on the Black.

Keshou Nishimura was wicked, not starved.

“I have chosen, Akatsuki.” He exclaimed, surety laced in his tongue.

Chapter Text

There was something about the young. 

They were angry. 

Restless. 

Ready for flight. They could not, did not want to fight. 

There was nothing much to be scared of this time, Ino thought, when her world ended at thirteen, in that arena. They were so young. Still so young.  

Sand this time, instead of Leaf, pines and freshwater fishes swapped out for scorpions and dunes. 

Ino had nothing to be scared of. 

But she was scared. 

Her fingers trembled in no pattern, her palms sweat like she was sitting in the room of her first chunin exam. 

Ino had been sixteen for two days when she was informed she made the selection for the next Chuunin exam. She had broken two fingers the day before in a sparring match. She had been violently sick with the flu just a month ago. Ino remembered the taste of strawberry cake on her tongue. Her wish as she blew on the candles. The new headband coloured purple that her mother had customized as a gift.

All just for them to be over with a single announcement.

Ino was freshly sixteen when she found out she was sent into a death match, unprepared and injured. 

“Ne, what if– what if we don’t make it out alive? What then?” Her voice was quiet, drowned in the wind of Konoha rolling hills. 

“We can’t change it. It is what it is.” Shikamaru, quick with logical reassurances, could not oppose the weight of an end looming above their team. He was then, without an answer. The chunin vest like skin around his ribcage was a reminder of his abandonment to their formation, even if unintentional and only in rank. “It could be our turn to begone, now."

“Shika, don’t say that.” Chouji finally spoke, hands empty, head lolling downwards and lips pursed, “Please don’t say that.”

Ino wasn’t looking at them. She was fixed on the horizon, fingers ages-away from twirling her blond locks, “Six out of Nine left standing. Tell me that’s not crazy. Lee was hospitalized last week from a misrank mission. You broke your arm twice last month, Chouji. Five under-18 shinobi went missing or died in the last three months. One of them is Sakura. Tell me that’s the same in other villages.”

The Nara heir didn’t dare speak. They knew. Understood the severity of what this generation meant. Of what this village stood for, the statistics they were made aware of the moment they took on their heirship. 

“Do you think, to Team Seven, they escaped? Is that how they see it?” Akimichi wondered aloud. 

“I hate to say that you’re probably not wrong.” A sigh,”Statistically speaking, we have had unimaginable death rates in young shinobi within the last ten years. Of course, private information means that, except for Intelligent and Commanders, no one should know—Team Seven is no longer relevant, but their irrelevance could afford them freedom, something they might have unintentionally attained.”

“Have you guys heard about what the Council wanted to do this time?” The kunoichi asked her boys. At their head shakes and silent affirmation for her to continue, she chuckled bitterly.

“Well, they wanted our team and Team Eight to merge with the Alliance team and become aces for their Fumetsu-goroshi project. Bunch of bullshit, that is.” 

Shikamaru lifted his head, “I’m on the project already though?”

“They wanted to withdraw your profile from the project, put you back with us after we finished the chunin exam. They’re sure both teams of our Debut Generations will win the green vest back. They wanted us in training, Shikamaru. They wanted war on Akatsuki. And we’re paying for it, because apparently we aren’t front-line material so we don’t deserve the mercy of dying first.”

Chouji sat straight up and turned to his friend, “What’d your dad say, Ino?” 

“He had no voice in the Assembly. Neither did Shikaku-ojii-chan.”

“He’s a Commander! He’s their Head of Jounin and Special Tactics, what do you mean they don’t listen to him?”

Shikamaru clicked his tongue,”Those fascist bastards have too much food on the table. They don’t even listen to their own Hokage. Deemed she’s too naive for war.”

“Even though Tsunade-sama has fought in two wars and at least six major battles and came back a legend, they still dared to disrespect her.” The Yamanaka chimed in. “Maybe Team Seven knew a thing or two about avoiding all this mess.”

“You old geezers, you shut up this instance!” The Godaime’s voice echoed across the room. “I refuse to send my young to die before they reach jounin! This meeting is ridiculous and if you think you could go somewhere with it then you are sorely mistaken and need to go back to your little dementia ward to receive proper care. I am a Senju first, a Hokage second and a doctor third. Your cognitive health is too far down my list of priorities.”

“Dishonor! This is a dishonor to your grandfather, Tsunade!”

With a small pressure on hands, the table cracked, loud and obvious to grab the attention of her audience, “You address me by my proper title, or do not at all. Am I understood?” 

Mutters rose from the old generals as her Pillars sat in serious contemplation. Their opinion was rejected multiple times (despite their title, experience and status in the field) by the Council of Elders, which was still an archaic governmental system to use in this era. To avoid being labeled dictatorship or totalitarian, Tsunade could not disband the Council, or take away any of their members without sufficient evidence of misconduct. She knew they had it all covered up.

The Slug Princess stared at her assembly, “Fumetsu-goroshi will proceed as it has. Team 8 and Team 10 will enter the Exam. These remain separate things.” 

“They will not, Hokage-sama.” A voice rose. Shimura Danzo objected, as usual, and stood on business with his twisted opinions that somehow always gain favours of the elders much to everyone else’s chagrin. “The young generation are our best machines. They are the things that will win us this war and show other countries that we remain the most powerful of them all. An empire, as they said.”

“I have no need for the image of this village when it comes to trading with the well-being of my tools, Danzo-sama.” 

“You must remember, Godaime, you are not absolute. We are under martial law and have been since our founding. There is a protocol for these things.” He waved for an agent, masked and dressed in tactical black, a non-ANBU, a ROOT. The agent shunshined to Tsunade in a blink of the eye and handed the document to her with no respect in movement or gait. 

The blonde looked at her assistant and after receiving a confused gaze, turned back to Danzo, “What is the meaning of this now?”

“A warfare law passed by the Nidaime in his first year in office. This is what you must do, Hokage-sama, you must follow what the laws tell you or you risk committing treason against your own village, title or no.”

This, she knew. This, Tsunade has heard many times. That her status will not save her. That her appearance won’t save a country and her hands can not heal the world. Her name holds a value they do not dare to cross, but as Senju, she was entitled to owning most of the Konohagakure land plots. She was entitled to the building they constructed for her grandfather. She earned this, legally. But this bandaged man still had the guts to tell her she has trespassed treason? The village is hers more than it is his. He only possesses the power she and her sensei gave him in ignorance. 

She’d entertain him, turning to the paper to search to its content that he was so adamant for her to read (she has read all laws passed by the first two Hokage that there was no reason she made a mistake in her argument).

[ XX/XX/XXX 

THE OFFICIAL COUNCIL OF KONOHAGAKURE

PROPOSAL OF LAW: 

TO ALWAYS UTILISE CHUNIN RANKED PERSONNEL INCASE OF A CONFLICT WHERE SUITABLE

ON THE LAW:

• All chunin who is part of the Konohagakure Army must be able to service themselves as appropriate in wartime and conflict, no matter the death rate and/or required field experience 
• All chunin who can be use must be use if jounin personnel are low in number
• A chunin can replace a higher ranked shinobi in appropriate situations if it help reduce jounin/ANBU fatality rates or collateral damages
• A chunin can therefore, be trained at jounin level to perform jounin mission even when they are not applicable for a promotion

APPLICABLE TO: All active and non-active chunin shinobi

PROPOSED BY: Hokage appointed assembly

REVIEWED BY: Senju Tobirama

APPROVED BY: Senju Tobirama

[STAMPED]                                                                                                                    ]

“I’ve never seen this before.” That wasn’t possible. She knew every law by heart when she took on the hat. This was unfamiliar to her, which raised suspicions.

Utatane Koharu chuckled, “Oh Hokage-sama, are you accusing us of faking documents?”

More than likely, Shikaku thought, calculating the moves of every person in the room. He was silenced, along with all militia Commanders, in order to “keep peace and order in the meeting”. It was either the rise of Tsunade’s dictatorship or the fall of Konoha in the hands of the Elders.

While he was head of the Fumetsu-Goroshi project, they still casted him aside when it was brought up to be discussed. 

To be completely honest, he did not want to see through the project. It is ludicrous at best and he saw some merit only in taking his son off the official team until those bastards started saying to put him back after jounin training. 

They were killing immortals because they feared what Akatsuki could do, without even knowing what the organization’s objective was. It was a flimsy excuse to make them feel good about themselves in the name of making Leaf a shiny new hero again after the Great Wars.

Inoichi, on the other hand, has been fuming in his seat, but sat composed and detached like any well-versed Yamanaka would. They wanted to draft his daughter to an exam she barely made it out from just more than a year ago. Then some genius wanted to have her go through an ancient out of date training regime just to send her into suicide missions for a game they didn’t want to get their hands dirty in. Six children saving the world. Nine, if counting Team Gai, which was proposed as an addition for backups. For what? Chances of them succeeding weren’t zero, but far from the percentage he’d be sound with pushing his own kin into. His Nara friend seemed to follow a similar train of thought as they found each other eyes tired from their inability to voice their contributions to the Hokage. 

“I have never seen this before, I repeat, if you are weak of hearing. That does not mean I accuse you of anything.” She bit her lips,”I can verify this is my grand-uncle’s Senju stamp and holds permanent validity.”

“So you admit our plans are the correct term of actions?” Mitokado Homura asked. 

Admission is submission. Senju do not submit. “I admit nothing.”

ROOT were still watching. The Hokage felt uneasy. “Then you agree. We need the Debut Generation to do what they were made to do.”

“They weren’t made for anything, Danzo-sama. Look at what that led me. Last I checked you called me an inappropriate leader with no battles to speak of?” She smirked, red lips stretched thin,” We ended the war —my Debut Class. Most of us died on that battlefield and you did not bat an eye. Elders, I have lost not one but two Debutants of the latest cohort, and you did not bat an eye. Now you want the rest of them to go after Flee-on-sights before they even reach chuunin?”

“They have the potential.”

“So did Sakura!” She shouted at them, anger beneath her fingernails, but she broke, calm and smaller this time,”So did Uchiha Itachi. So did Kaito Dan. You sent them to die, all of you. Even my Commanders and I can not excuse ourselves from what we’ve done.”

The men around her flinched at her outburst as her generals mulled over what she’ve said. 

It is correct, Yamanaka thought, We’ve sent them all to die because we never got to see their full potential, because we feared it. 

Homura was displeased with her observation and did not hesitate to voice it, “A Hokage do not let emotions blind your decisions! This is why we need women back where they belong!”

“This isn’t about emotions, Homura-sama. This is about the perfect chakra control that Sakura harnessed that even I can not compare. This is about Itachi passing all Kage-level tests when he was in the Academy. This is about Dan’s creation of spiritual and psychical combat techniques that no one had done before.” The Godaime slammed her palms on the documents she had just read.”You wasted generations of geniuses for six clan kids that have never been to war, asking them to fight a war.” 

Homura raised his voice, “They will fight as we tell them to!”

“They will only fight if I order them!” Huffing, Tsunade laid back on her seat. “Fine, then, let’s take a vote. Each of your eight council members and my eight Commanders. All five Department Heads under Konohagakure military. Voting envelopes will be sent out later today.”

“That is useless, but I suppose if you want to waste your time then proceed at your will, Hokage-sama.” Danzo commented as he receded to the exit. 

“Bite your tongues.”

It was the summer before Sasuke left, the last summer Team Seven was still Team Seven. 

Naruto was off with Jiraiya for a mission, Sakura was informed, and Sasuke with Kakashi-sensei to train some special techniques with. 

It was the summer before Sakura marched to the Hokage Office and asked something that changed her life, ”Please take me as an apprentice, Hokage-sama.”

The woman draped in green haori took one look and dismissed the genin. She looked like a frail, sad animal. She really wouldn’t have taken in any apprentice anyway. 

Sakura insisted. The rest is history.

But before she was anyone's apprentice, Sakura started at the hospital. It was just volunteering. On and off. Part-time. She’s still a genin earning minimum wages, still living with her parents. Still part of Team Seven.

Dr.Ukue, the person in charge of staff management, had put her up for night shift the day that Naruto returned for the last round of the Chunin Exam. 

Sakura heard Ino got an internship at Intelligent. Team 8 continued on their normal missions, a few B-rank here and there, none of them made it to the last round. Neji has been training in the Hyuuga compound for the last few weeks. His team, Lee and Tenten were off on a new training activity their sensei made up.

“I only came to cover Shizune-san—it really is tiring to do night rounds all the time. Do you like the night shifts, Haruno-chan?” A nurse asked her as they changed the twentieth bedsheet after tending to some surgical ward patients.

“I guess so, Asuka-san, I’ve gotten used to it.” She replied, voice still hoarse from the screaming she did at Inner, ”You got a 9 to 5, so I’ll take the night shift.” Sakura wanted to say the same to her genin team. They’ve got the day shifts, the field training, the missions. She’d take the night shifts, the dirty work, the sleep deprivation. And she’ll never see them again if she can help it.

“I suppose if no one does it then you’d have to do it huh. Shame.”

“Hai. I’ll do room 20B now.”

“Alright sweetie. Thanks for the help here. See you around?”

The pink haired girl smiled, “You can trust to find me on night shifts.” 

A song was playing quietly on the hospital radio, intended for staff more than patients to hear. It was a new release from some travelling civilian music group. Konoha really weren’t known for their music, after all. 

Sakura hasn't seen her teammates for the last five shifts. 

The exam finale was in two days. The invasion was in two days. But she didn’t know, so Sakura kept on walking to room 20B. 

“You are rotting, I told you you’d be rotten—”

Sakura slapped her palms over her ears. The voices were just imagination. Her madness came alive. Nothing more than that. “Nothing more than that”, she reassured herself. 

There had been the same voice inside her head for the last few days. It was getting unbearable.

It has been three days since they “recruited” Keshou Nishimura. He’s on the loose, a missing-nin for his village. Althought it is only on technicality, he still need to go back to his Kage and pretend like none of this ever happened. What better job for an Intelligent officer than a mole?

It’s not like Sakura didn’t appreciate an actual human that understands basic etiquette, but Nishimura was not any more normal than her two teammates. He’s a temporary tenant, as she’s made aware, thank Kami above.

He pointed at Deidara,“So you’re explosion-crazy” the finger moved to where Sasori was sitting,”You’re puppet-crazy” then it landed on the kunoichi,”You’re what? Genius-crazy?”

“As much as I am flattered, Keshou-san, that title already has its owner.” She replied, hands picking the dried blood on her knees.

“Uchiha?”

“Bingo!” The blond screamed, smug that he already knew the answer. Making that guy guess was his favourite game.”To be fair, Sakura-danna could definitely measure up, but Itachi-danna is like, a whole other level. Like creep up on you and make you live an entire liftime for you to realise that it's only been five seconds and he have a kunai in your stomach kind of level.”

“—You’re dying, child, deader than time could save—”

The kunoichi bent down further and whispered hurriedly to herself, “Shut the hell up!”

“Not that I need explanations, but okay.” The newly minted missing-nin deadpanned. “What are you then? Their intern or what.”

“I think you remember that time we met when I explicitly told you I was a medic.”

“—Your waking is a mercy not a privilege”

Keshou eyed her suspiciously but accepted it. “So you’re medical-crazy. Hey! Stop looking into the air when you’re talking to somebody. Kami, are you the crazy-crazy type then?”

“Stop putting us in your crazy categories!” Deidara butted in, hands on his hip,”Besides, your congee is burning up black like your unwiped asshole!”

“My congee is perfectly fine you dick! Your balls are probably more bruised than my ass is dirty!” For a man whose name was made known by his intelligence, he never lacked any colloquial insults.

 Sakura tuned out the two and saw Sasori muttering under his breath about stupid teenagers. Mind, Keshou was the second oldest there, definitely not a teen, but he got rounded as one anyway.

Leaving the ex-Iwa shinobi to their own devices, Sakura retreated to her room once more. There went her lunch. That congee didn’t look that appetising so she didn’t really regret leaving the kitchen. A soldier pill would work just fine. 

“—You’re deader than dead”

There was no good giving in to your psychotic episode. Sitting down with her theories and equations, the medic waited.

She felt it. 

Movement. Anger. Hatred. Swirls. Anger. Spike. 

“That’s our new tenant.” Sakura reached out again.

Explosions. Rise. Expand. Anger. “Deidara.”

Quiet. Drip. Slow. Hush. Empty. Empty. “Sasori.” She gasped. 

There was much to be improved on, but she's found a way to make Yami Chakra work the same as normal Chakra would:

Use an initiation jutsu to open her reserve, send meticulous amounts to specific Yami Chakra channelling veins. Use just enough Yin and Yang combination for it to form outside of the body. Then, using genjutsu to create a growing chakra web, use this web as transport for Yami Chakra to metastasize the area. Her current limit is within an eight metres radius. Not too bad, but will not be helpful as a combat technique. 

If she could improve the radius, there are several ways it could go. She could either use the Yami Chakra to infest the area and collect chakra signals (like she has just experimented with her teammates) or use it defensively. 

“Now that’s wicked.” Sakura laughed, loudly, madly. The things she could achieve with this technique could stump Tobirama. 

As her genjutsu chakra web expands, so would her Yami Chakra, which will be latched onto the illusion itself. She could do an Itachi-favourite trick and physically harm the person through the genjutsu, but it’s easier said than done. It’s still too erratic for fine control.

In theory, if she could use Yami Chakra that has made itself a part of an established illusion, she could guide it to enter someone’s body, effectively shutting their systems down and instigating an internal attack. Like cancer, but it destroys chakra-pathways instead of cells. It leads to the same result, of course. If a man is dead by the end of the blow, it did not matter if the attack was gentle or violent, not to shinobi. 

The Yami Chakra depletes very slowly, to her excitement. Unfortunately, its growth rate after the Senju Forest had seemed alarmingly slow. It was painstakingly slow, actually. She had even increased her daily meditation from three to five hours a day, swapping some REM cycles out for a chance at gathering more of the black energy. It only helped to reach a slightly faster pace, but nowhere near as fast as before. 

It was as if her mokuton was drinking away at the Yami store. The problem wasn’t an external receiving pathway, or the absorption rate, but her ability to keep the Yami Chakra that entered her body. They just kept on getting drawn to her core, and it was like catching a waterfall trying to fix the problem.

“—Deader than dead”

“Shut up.” She told no one.

There was no fixing it. 

Her body was trying to make space for both Yami and mokuton at the same time. 

The blackened fingertips had never looked so much like decaying wood rods.

Sakura was convinced she could still smell the Senju Forest and hear the echoes of the shrine.

Shaking her head, she heard a bird by her windowsill. A cactus wren. Small little thing with mud brown feathers. 

“Would you die? Would you die when I make you?”

The bird stared at her. Deliberately. Purposefully. 

“—Deader than dead”

Flutters.

Flurry of wings and desperate screeches and nail-long claws scratching—

The bird fell off its branch. 

She felt it. There. Right there. The newly dead carcass. The silence. In her mouth: the life force she ate and chewed with her teeth until it was reduced to a bolus. 

Sakura swallowed the wren’s life and her stomach was full. 

Chapter Text

“How’d we do that? Killing the mastermind behind half a century of every crime ever listed and unlisted?” It was late summer in the shade of a café in the Land of River. With Wind borders on the left and Fire to the right, it was a pretty good spot for a sit down with her old flatmate. All things considered, another healing session and discussion was due. 

Itachi didn’t look at his fellow Leaf defect. Not when they’re disarmed and non-hostile towards each other. He’s getting soft, he realised, but he was still wary. That wariness was entwined in his cells, it wasn’t going anywhere. “We need a little more information first. Maybe a few allies.”

Sakura nodded,”Allies? Fair enough. He does have a brainwashed army.”

“I assume he has much more than that.”

“Well, he has the mokuton, I mean, he used to have it.” She clarified.

”I think I remember. A guy from ROOT. Kakashi-senpai took him in for rehabilitation into ANBU.”

“Yamato. Or, well, Tenzo. He was under ANBU when I was still in it. I heard he’s not particularly fond of anyone, and has a huge flight-risk on his head.”

“You think he’s still afflicted with Danzo.” Itachi wasn’t asking. He was stating.

“Possible. You know well that Danzo could do a lot of things. That includes releasing moles into the ranks.” They both considered this. Sakura spoke again,”There is a perfect place for him to plant a mole, just coming up.”

“The Chunin Exam?” The sharingan user was a genius and exceptional information gatherer afterall. He kept up with the news. 

“Read my mind right there ‘Tachi-nii.” She grinned widely and shoved the rest of the grapes into her mouth. “Team 10 has got a hole. A gaping hole called Nara Shikamaru.”

Itachi supplied the rest, “The only person who made chunin from Konoha in the Crush.” He raised the tea cup to his mouth and drank it leisurely. He’s got time. 

“They’d have to put someone in. Preferably a proficient genin. Someone who won’t bring them down. Someone who would be able to work flawlessly despite any challenges or handicaps. Someone quiet. Doesn’t cause trouble. Loyal.” The kunoichi waved the watermelon skewer in front of her face. “Someone like ROOT.” She stabbed the next piece of fruit and popped it on her tongue to chew. 

“That’s very probable. They’d be disqualified if they didn't have a full three men cell team. A disposable mole who they could easily fake IDs for will be more than convenient. I can’t send my summons to spy on the Exam. I’m being watched.”

Sakura remembered the conversation with Nagato. With his plan to turn Konoha-born against its own. To turn her against that wretched village. Nagato was watching his Konoha subordinates. She agreed, “More you than me huh.” 

“We’re rendered useless. Though the Exams will be a distraction for Konoha from its own political climate. My summons gathered that it's quite a frenzy at the moment.”

There wasn’t much they could do with both of them being on mission during the Chunin Exam period. With Suna hosting, it was likely that the genins competing needed to cross the desert at one point. 

The great failure that was the previous Exam will mean that many chunin-level shinobi are still not yet promoted despite their experience and skills, so this year will prove to be a much more competitive edition. 

Itachi then told her about his plan to track the ROOT mole right after they leave Konoha. Not only will he be able to spy on the inside of the Exam but with luck, able to find out the base of ROOT as well as any other related information. 

“I am not the only one with caution for Danzo. Most of the Konoha Pillars and even the Godaime are against him. They’d be tried for treason immediately if they made a move. They need external help.”

Sakura knew that Akatsuki had been hired by Hidden Villages before. It’s strictly on a need-to-know basis and most officials who hired them kept the commissions as their greatest national secret. Konoha, while less involved, have also hired the elite mercenaries in the past. It wasn’t likely they’d hire Akatsuki directly, but what better organization to take down their worst internal threat? 

Konan had the black market cases flowing in her favour, taking the ones that Akatsuki excel at like massacres or even an invasion, as well as capture and interrogation, something other groups may refuse. In Akatsuki, standards do not exist. Sakura didn’t know if Nagato oversaw all the cases, but with Konan in charge, there was hardly any mercy for anyone. She had yet to be commissioned with women or children targets, but Itachi had assured that they wouldn't start giving her those until she reached seventeen. Unless circumstances arised, of course. Again, with Konan, if Leaf ever wanted to hire an assassination of the ROOT leader, it was more than easy for the case to land in Akatsuki’ hands. 

“Do you trust Konan-san to maneuver it the way we want?”

“No.” He was confident with his answer. “Konan works in favour of Nagato, not other members. Nagato has to see why the collapse of ROOT is preferable and important first.”

“Well…about that.” She spared him a coy smile. “I may have talked with our dear leader about something relevant.”

Itachi swiftly pressed the knuckle of the finger that he wore his ring on, hard enough to hear a ‘pop’. It’s similar to if a vein would have burst in his hand, but the liquid that expanded under his skin was green. A bright green. Then, he gave her the sign to continue.

“What the fuck was that?” She hissed at his hand. Not when she had just done a full body examination and treated him for most of his shallow injuries half an hour ago. This better not be another one. 

The shinobi sitting across from her just calmly explained, “An eavesdropping seal. Everyone gets one when they wear the ring.”

“Holy shit." She laughed drily. New information. "Why am I not forced into wearing it then?”

“You’re too new and too young to be defective. Though since I’m the one in charge with putting on these seals for newer members, when I put the seal on you I disabled its function with a small change in the sequence detail at the end. It looks like it’s working, but it’s just genjutsu.”

The brunette let the silence between them stretched as her eyes bore into his. “You? Where? And who put your seal in then?” 

“I’ll only give you the brief answers, but first, yes, me. Second, when you first came to Ame, I put it on you at the gate—”An indignant squawk came out of her at this,”and thirdly, when I came Nagato put it on me himself. I have a way of reversing the destruction of the seal before he notices, but it’s something you don’t need to know about.”

The teenager let that sink in for a moment. She refrained from demanding him how exactly he had planted the seal on her himself, but she had a clue or two with his “first” meeting with her in Tea. It suddenly hit her that all the other times they’ve spoken in confidence only contained information that Nagato was already aware of. This is the first time Itachi took this measure because he knew they were discussing something without the knowledge of Akatsuki.

 “Okay. Fine. Moving on. Nagato-sama said that he was planning a move to counteract fumetsu-goroshi. From inside out. He’s talked through this with Sasori, but I assumed it’s a secret between them for now. He wanted me to infiltrate Konoha.”

The Clan Killer wasn’t surprised. He knew he wasn’t fit for the role. Consequences of him being found out would be far more unpredictable than if Sakura were to be. “I’m still feeding Danzo information. A few of them are false, but I’m not actively helping him in any way. He will know if I try to infiltrate.”

“Yeah, but if we could use Nagato-sama’ plan to benefit our own, dethroning Danzo as well as crumbling Konoha’ forces at the same time?”

Itachi looked up with a rare glint in his eyes. He saw merit in this plan. “You need to gain the trust of the village.”

“You need to remember who I was before I leave, ‘Tachi.” She was a lot of things back then. She knew how to get under their skins. She knew how to get in the good graces of the Hyuga House, how to impress Senju Tsunade, and how to be respected by Team Gai. Haruno Sakura understood the inner circles of ANBU, knew where to prod and where to leave alone, just because she’s experienced the consequences and rewards of her actions first hand. She let her own image shrunk and contort, just because it painted her as harmless. Like a Sheep. She could do that again. 

“Very well. I will aid you in any way during the mission if required.” 

“That’s– That’d be great, yeah, thanks.” 

Not that she wasn’t grateful, but to have the support of none other than Konoha’s most infamous nukenin aside from Orochimaru was an honor she didn’t think was possible. Itachi served no master except himself, in the end. If by his judgement that he could not help her, she’d be abandoned during the mission, she knew this. Most members work with Akatsuki instead of working for it, after all. She might need to get serious with keeping this particular murderer alive now that her life would be dependent on whether he chooses to provide assistance for her later on.

In a moment of spontaneity, Sakura attempted it again.

This time it was a vulture. Much larger than the wren. It was alone. Something seemed wrong, but she wasn’t really familiar with the species to see why. It was sitting on a branch of an almost-dead tree. Its head bobbing, tilting to level its eye to see her. 

“Hello there, birdie!” The medic waved at it and pulled time together, in a bunch. She has started calling the ‘mokuton’ Jikan instead. For 'time'. It seemed appropriate. “Well, I’m a little hungry, you see.”

The carrion-eating bird kept looking at her with its beady black eyes. “Die when I make you.” She hadn’t really paid attention to how she did it the first time with the cactus wren so it proved to be an issue replicating that. Sakura let Jikan slip out of her hand (while that does sound metaphoric to any poet, she was in a much more precarious situation). 

Unlike the Yami Chakra, time had its will. It moved in spirals as well as linear lines. She was actually grasping at the fabric that constructed time and not time itself because time was not something to be touched or molded. It’s only the condition it exists in. Like this plane of reality. Like the vulture, the tree, the savannah. 

She let Jikan puncture the feathers with invisible maggots and flesh-flies, let the air stall inside the creature’s windpipe and the blood vessels explode with pressure. She could hear a ring in her ears. The life of the vulture. Its thrashing, the grumbling.

Sakura was tired, really; the very existence of the vulture consumed her, shifting and wailing so her skin was no longer human and her feet turned into talons and her lips into beaks. 

She didn’t experience the vulture’s life. Maybe she did. But in its last moments, its ascension had felt like her own, the pain of being torn apart and covered in every thread of the universe that suffocated her before time ate her alive. 

It tasted bitter and acrid, she noticed. The pungent sharpness of it pierced her tongue. Like tiny needles. She swore it was much more pleasant with the small bird. She chewed and chewed and desperately wanted to spit it out. There wasn’t any particular resemblance to food though, only the clump of what had been the life of something. 

The carcass of the vulture lay there, untouched. Like it had never died. But also as if it had died a long time ago. She saw the rot, the melting of its meat, the way it is swarmed by other organisms and the way its bone is left with pieces hanging on what was once a large bird. 

“No. No. No.” A force hit her by the temple.

Right.

That was her hand. Her right hand.

She looked up. 

The dead vulture lay there. 

Sakura breathed. The air reached her lungs and she felt its inexistence. The air wasn’t yet born, it wasn’t yet there. 

She gasped.

Breathed in.

Out.

She needed to train to gulp down this air.

Gasp.

Breath.

The dead vulture lay there, untouched. 

Deidara gave his oldest teammate a pointed look,“Can we permanently kick him out please.” 

“He’s out of our hair for now. Though one of us has to be with him when he’s off tracking down that girl to make sure he’s not turning on Akatsuki.”

“Like he has the gall.” Sakura commented off-handedly. Feeling the heavy look the blonde nukenin gave her, she turned to his direction,”What?”

“You!”

“Hell no! Are you crazy? I’m absolutely not doing that! He’s literally fine on his own with a tracker!”

Deidara visibly deflated, “I’m still teaching him the ropes but that fucker just wouldn’t listen. I’m so glad he’s going back to Iwa.”

“For now.” The kunoichi reminded him. “He’s back because we need him to do his job as a spy idiot.”

“Argh can’t he be transferred to another base or something?" Sakura has been the first case of a member moving in between bases over the months. While similar, the nature of her status was wildly more permanent than the crystal guy. There’s less than ten established Akatsuki bases throughout the lands and only four of them are active. While each member has their own hidden lairs, it’s more common that they retreat to their shared flat for sharing mission information and the like. 

After throwing a round of expletives over his shoulders, Deidara stomped out of the base in search for fresh air and avoiding combustion, or as he coined it: a flight to keep surveillance. 

Given the golden opportunity to talk with her puppetry teammate, she swirled around to find him already making way to his room.

“Hey! Sasori!” 

Dead-set on ignoring the girl, he marched forward despite her screaming. 

“Tsk grandpa, come on!” Drawing a kunai, she let it flew out of her grip and sunk itself onto the wall just by his face.

The nickname seemed to have garnered a minute change in decision as Sasori abandoned his retreat,”Say that again and you’ll be the next puppet in my collection, girl.”

Whilst he had no right to attack her, she knew well that he could. She only survived because he’s staying away from trouble with Nagato. Kami, the only reason she made it this far was because every member respected Nagato and therefore his choices to some degree. 

Showing her palms up as show of no ill-will, Sakura cautiously approached the dinner table and took out a chair for herself. She sat down, maintaining eye contact with the seasoned killer. “Someone told me that you know a thing or two about sealing?”

He didn't reply. But she could tell he was silently asking her the purpose of her impromptu talk.

“Because this could help your puppets and you reach immortality.”

He chuckled. It was dry, like wood scratching its own material and low, like a mimic from a record device inside a living doll. He knew his weapons well, he knew she didn’t. “My puppets are immortal. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Would it intrigue you, then, if I say this seal is the greatest of all and not even the Nidaime Hokage has managed? That it is such a masterpiece that one has to wonder what it was protecting all this time?” She knew Sasori from the little moments on missions together. He was cold and calculating. He seemed to always strived to benefit himself and had no qualms about leaving his teammates behind. 

But if Sasori did value something, it was knowledge. By curiosity, he had become what he was now. His thirst, like hers, shaped him into something unrecognisable. His puppets never stopped being refined after a fight. His most used techniques that he returned to for exploration and further developments. 

Slowly, and with more human than wood, he asked: “Who wrote the seal?”

Sakura smirked. “Uzumaki Mito, the greatest master in her field of course.”

“Where did you find it?” His voice, even if rough and monotone, spared a hint that he had personally researched the legend before. No fuuinjutsu specialist has got to where they stood without Konoha’s first First Lady. 

“Shhh grandpa, if I tell you then where’s the fun?” Her giggle almost startled her with its suddenness and the way it bubbled in her throat. The sound that came out was high pitched and psychotic, even. “Tell you what, Konoha has got a lot of secrets, and Mito helped hide some.”

A mutter that sounded like ‘fucking tree lunatics’ rumbled from the ex-Suna shinobi and he regained his composure, taking the seat across from Sakura. She didn’t know the mechanisms of his artificial legs, but it dawned on her that she had never thought about this shell of a puppet, crouched like some severe case of kyphosis, sitting down. Aware that his patience drained faster than she could punch him, the medic reluctantly set it aside for when they’re friendly enough. Friendly enough for questions about the abnormal curvature of his physical build. Was he disabled when he was human or what? 

Sakura continued in her high, sing-song voice,”Yay! Here’s my notebook, I’ve copied it as exact as possible, but I’m not as skilled as a professional fuuinjutsu master so you’d just have to deal with it. Don’t worry, I paid meticulous attention to the little flicks and the bends of the curves.”

“You better not be wasting my time.”

After handing the pages over, Sakura sat idly, sagging on the back of the chair. She’d allow her old-timer teammate a few moments of comprehension, so until then she’ll take her time to check in with her Yami Chakra.

“Damn it really increases the more I kill.” The hushed whisper wouldn’t have escaped Sasori, but he was too engrossed in the famous fifty-line seal to care.

“Haruno Sakura. Why do you have this?”

“Well I was on a walk—”

“No, better question. Who are you?”

“Haruno Sakura, your assigned medic–though we only have one but still–and devoted teammate. And fellow missing-nin?”

She felt the moment his poisoned tail met the space between them. “Don’t lie. I’ve seen enough people do it that it sickens me. Who are you? This thing should never have been in your hand.”

A deep sigh.

They both waited for the other to speak. Neither did. 

“I looked the future in the eyes, Sasori, and it’s mine. It is mine because I choose the worse of the evils. Every. Single. Time.” Her teeth almost gleamed red under the buzzing light of the desert base,”I choose you for this instead of Jiraiya. You because you’d make it hard. You’d give me clues and make me run around to fix up the puzzle that you can’t solve, so you get the puzzle, and I get the memory of the pieces in my hands. Because Jiraiya is the lesser evil and his righteousness disgusts me. He’d keep the puzzle because it’s best for the village. I’d be empty handed.”

“You’d prefer my unsavoury methods instead of his? For a chance of knowing?”

Curiosity killed the cat. “The cat died knowing.”

The Red Sand Killer seemed to have given up on the discussion and continued to read over the array again.

After a moment, he spoke,”This seal foundation is from Uzushio. Do you know what happened in the war that ended it, kid?”

“...Konoha happened?”

“Exactly. Mito wasn’t designing just a seal. She was setting up a story. Crane your fucking neck here so I don’t have to repeat myself in respect of your idiocy.”

“I have a normal neck, if you haven’t noticed. So would you just excuse this human to come over-”

Completely tuning her into the background, Sasori didn’t stop from drawing his conclusion, eyes tracing the symbols. “Two bases of components. Water and wood. Water and wood. Wood is drawn connected to death. Water connected to the dragon. Dragon to? Dragon. Water. Water tower. It circled back to death.” Sakura and half make out what he was saying. She could clearly see the water and wood bases but every point he took after that sounded like nothing to her.

“Death seal, but it’s drawn under the space seal. Death and space?”

“Wait. Did you say water and wood?”

Despite how exasperated Sasori had become, he nodded with the least effort possible so that she would move on and leave him alone on figuring it out.

Sakura didn’t relent,”That’s the Shodai and the Nidai. The Shodai brought death with him, either she cursed him to die young, foresaw it, or took it as someone else’s death. Or his downfall. Water is the Nidaime. Water to dragon. Either means descend into the throne or a hint to a few of his suiton techniques. Dragon to dragon, correct?”

“Yes?”

“Does that dragon line also overlay the original death fuin? The one that's connected to the wood?” The medic used her pointer finger to draw it across the page for visualisation. “That mean that Nidaime either took the Shodai’ throne or he had received it directly?”

“No. The overlay is a transition. It means they were in it together. The legacy of Hashirama passed onto Tobirama. Same throne, but a new king.” Sasori didn’t seem angry that she had taken off and ran wild with her speculations but he was more than ready to correct her false deductions. He came back to the Dragon. “It led to water. Water tower? Water cell. Land?”

“Like Kiri? Land of Water?”

“It’s irrelevant.”

“We don’t know if it is.” 

Sasori took a second to consider her idea of Kirigakure’s relevance in Uzumaki Mito’s seal and shot the idea down immediately, again. “No.”

Mito was leagues ahead of anyone in fuuinjutsu. She had flaws though, but only enough flaws that the Nidai took months, if not years to solve. Two criminals had no chance at winning the game.

“Do we at least know how to repel it?”

“Do you at least know its usage?” He shot back.

“Protection of some sort? Like a ward, but also like a storage seal?”

“Where did you get this?”

Debating about whether it was a good idea to tell Sasori about the Forest, Sakura made up some excuse. Lies are better with some truth in it. “I might have found a hidden Senju treasure and need this seal broken to get it.”

His posture betrayed nothing, but he still spelled out his demand, “And what do I get out of it?”

“Maybe a scroll or two from the royal line of the Senju Heads?”

Still sceptical of his new teammate, Sasori asked again of her intentions. “What do you get out of it?”

“The first and last scrolls of the collection. That’s all I need. The rest is yours.”

“If those prove valuable to me I’ll take it from your hand before you can blink, kid.” It was temptation. He was as much of a researcher of the dead as the Snake was. Sasori, while harbouring a vendetta against Orochimaru, agreed upon the common ground of uncovering knowledge of the long gone scientists. Geniuses with ideas that couldn't be made happen because of morals, ethics or fear. Sasori didn't need to worry. If he wanted a banned jutsu, he had no need to ask why it was illegal, only if it served him correctly. As long as it was what he wanted.

Offering him a grim smile and a stare under her brows, Sakura mulled it over. There wasn’t much choice for her. The Toad Sage was almost untraceable. Not only that, if she had acted as planned and did somehow find him, she would risk Konoha and its allies discovering her identity. It was not yet time to play with the Sages and gods. Meanwhile, she played with immortals. Body inside a puppet-shaped casket, even.

“Deal.” She said, “Help me solve it and we can negotiate the prices.”

Sasori’ crouched head nodded. 

“How’s it feel to be God’s favourite?” Sakura asked. Her head lolled and her eyes rolled upwards. This little girl with cuts and bruises she pretended not to have.

“How’s it feel to be God?” Dan, her sweet Dan, asked as he limped over the red-dressed girl. His shirt was crimson and dripping. He clutched it like the flow could stop. It could not. It did not. 

Tsunade answered the only way she knew how,”We don’t know. We’ve never known different.”

Her grandfather was there, behind her instead of infront. Red armoured. How much she loved the red on people. How much she despised it. Terrified of it. 

“Tsuna-chan, we’ll eat them up like cream and pie?” Like cream and pie. Cream and pie. 

She heard herself reply,”Like cream and pie.”

Nawaki donned his red shirt. The Senju heir robe. “Nee-chan, was I the cream and pie?”

“Nawaki!” She screamed after him.

His tone was accusatory, his pout looked more like anger than sadness.  “They ate me up. Because you’re God’s favourite. Not me. Never me. You made it out of here, nee-chan, I never did.”

“I had no choice!” She argued. Drowned in grief and alcohol, there had been nothing else to do except leaving. Did she leave? She asked herself. Yes, it was a long time ago.

“Your choice was babies in big man suits or happy people who ignore the issue! You chose that happy! My death was never an issue because you chose that happy!”

“I’m here now. I’m here now, Nawaki. I left. But I’m back and you’re still not here.”

“I don’t care if you returned, Nee-chan. You left! You’re one of them now. You returned to be one of them. You’ve become the mirror of the people you hated most. You did not love the god. You did not love our grandfather. But you are their god now. You’ve become him.”

Stunned to silence, the last Senju turned around to see her generals before her. Her commanders. Their faces blurred. 

“Nee-chan.” Nawaki tugged her sleeves. Since when did she wear her red robe?

“Don’t worry about it. Our names will be in the vote.”

“ Tsunade-sama?”

“Nee-chan?” Her little star boy. Her perfect, fiery brother. Her dead brother. No. Why is he dead? Her boy. Dead. Dead.

“Tsunade-sama! Tsunade-sama!”

“Nee-chan.” His face morphed into feminine features. Tsunade blinked. It was Sakura. 

“Shishou?”

“Tsunade-sama!” 

“Tsunade-sa—”

“I heard you!” slamming the bottle on the table, the Hokage forced her eyes open out of spite. Right. She just took a nap. “What now?”

“You’ve got a meeting in twenty.” Shizune held back any complaints and got started on tidying up the guest space in the office. It was six in the morning. “Today’s the day.”

“What day?” 

“Oh Kami Tsunade-sama. You’ve been staring at the calendar for the last month and now you ask what day? The search team’ due date back. Sakura– She’s–The day, today,” Swallowing her own saliva, the assistant started again,”The day Sakura’s officially presumed dead?”

The Godaime looked over at her calendar. The date was marked with a red dot. Tsunade chewed on her cheek. There wasn’t anything left to do.

“Right. Yes. Inform Intelligent we’ve lost her. Keep personnel updated. Arrange a small funeral service tomorrow and let her parents do what they want for it. Is she able to be put down at the Memorial?”

“She wasn’t on a mission. KIA is only for members who are actively serving.”

“What about the ANBU Plate?” The memorial wall that stood inside the large ANBU Headquarters was carved with each of their dead soldier’ mask and span of service. No identifiable information, just the call-sign of the animal mask and the year, in number.

Shizune nodded. “Applicable.”

“Get it done.” 

Chapter Text

A week. 

Only a week working on something other than missions with Sasori had her pulling her hairs out—there was not a single progress on cracking Mito’s seal. 

The seal became the two ronin’s shiny new puzzle (more like torment, in Sakura’s opinion) and the puppeteer was driving her crazy with all questions about Konoha’s culture, religion and history. It was just her luck that she actually wanted to help and did remember everything she was taught in the Academy. Sasori was sure that Mito created a story through abstraction and it had something to do with the Leaf. 

The First Lady was familiar with the livelihood of Konoha people, but there had been no reason for her to weave such details into a seal meant for an irrelevant purpose. It was a protection and storage seal at once. To keep something inside, away from prying eyes, whatever is written inside the memoirs of the Senju Heads. While she was Senju in name, the Uzumaki princess had not been known to be a follower of the clan’s traditions nor beliefs. This meant that her usage of symbols resembling Senju crests and the subsequent Early Konoha characters were quite unexpected. 

“And did Senju have a deity during the Warring States?” Sasori asked, still scribbling at his notebook with his back to her.

Sakura swung her legs over the edge of the window where she sat and took a moment to remember if her shishou ever mentioned something of the kind. “I’m pretty sure Senju worshipped The God Tree before Hashirama’s time. After that they branched out quite a bit, adopting from immigrants that moved into the settlement of the village. The main house had their own thing going on, they believed in this weird creature that has nine eyes— Actually, I sketched it down so I can show you how it looked.”

With a subtle jerk of his wooden head, the medic understood and went to retrieve her notebook. Opening it to the page where her teammate had forcefully ripped the leaf out (which had her copy of the seal) and had it pinned on the wall, she flipped a few pages right and found her drawing. 

Sasori peered over from his desk and looked up at her. Sakura stared at him, confused at his non-reaction, “What?”

He continued to burn holes into her, if that was even possible with his synthetic glass eyeballs. 

“Show me the creature you described, Haruno, not a kid’s scrawl.”

The kunoichi wrinkled her brows and turned the page to her line of sight. She then used her other hand to point at the drawing and make circling gestures around it,”...I’m showing you right now.”

“You understand that it is completely scribbled with no coherent shape whatsoever?”

She took full offence on his degradation of her artistic skills, “Uh, I think what you meant to say was that ‘oh I see, very interesting looking, thank you for showing me’ perhaps?”

“I would if I was actually grateful and can make out whatever smear you did on that wasted piece of paper.” As if his tone couldn’t get more deadpanned, the inclination of his head emphasized his exasperation. 

“You’re kidding. Here. Nine eyes. There’s the face! I took a drawing course when I was in the Academy damnit!” The thing was, Sakura was one of the best at relaying images in her cohort. Her sketching skill far surpassed the other girls in Kunoichi class even if she was nowhere near a proper artist. Besides, she’s perfectly aware of what is on the page, knowing well that she was also the same person who copied the complicated seal line for line.

“Haruno. I can’t see any of the eyes. Or its face.” 

Sensing their third teammate by the entrance of the lair, she craned her neck out the doorway and bellowed,”Oi Deidara! Grandpa has a little trouble seeing. You mind helping us out?” Then quickly duck the half-serious attempt at chopping her head off by the iron scorpion tail.

Despite being completely left in the dark about the Mito Seal Decode Project (as Sakura coined it privately), the blond man was carefree and ignorant enough to not notice. Not that he would be interested if he knew about it, anyways. 

“Ehh? What’s the matter Sasori-danna hn?” Deidara poked his head to the kitchen area where his two flatmates had made their fortress of scrolls and books. With a few quick strides, he reached where Sakura conveniently shoved the notebook into his face.

“Do you see the sketch?”

Taking a look at Sasori, then Sakura, then back to the page, he sighed. “I know I’m the art expert here but what the fuck is that supposed to be hn? At least add some colour or shapes maybe.”

The comment promptly earned him a smack upside the head. “Deidara! Be serious.”

“Kami okay! What am I supposed to say? There’s a blob of black ink on here or something hn.” Out of his usual style, he was at a loss for words on the subject. Was he meant to make up an image and hope that it’s what Sakura wanted to hear?

“What?” At her confused and mildly frustrated glare, Deidara shrugged his shoulders, trying to convey to her that he was, in fact, not lying and would very much like to know what was going on. 

Taking a double look at her own sketch, Sakura was even more lost than her counterparts. Last she checked she was not showing symptoms of schizophrenia, brain tumour or blindness. She can make out the creature that clings to her mind every so often after leaving the forest. It can be mistaken for a tailed beast at first glance but the amount of body deformity and likeness to that of a human figure gave it an unsettling image. She knew she had it on her page. She can string the picture of it clearly in her mind, conjuring it better than some vivid imagination. 

“If you two can’t be quiet I advise you to leave.” Disinterested in the result of the conversation, Sasori had long tuned them out and focused back on his work. “And stop looking at me like I burnt your house girl, it’s not going to help me see your…drawing any better.”

Sakura levelled him with irritation,“Oh fuck you Sasori.” 

“What is even going on? Ne Sakura-danna, do you wanna go spar with me?” There were practically stars in his eyes as he waited on her disinclined agreement. Usually Sakura preferred to go through her rotation of meditation, figuring out Jikan, helping Sasori with the seal or going on some random mission Nagato assigned. At one point Deidara had coerced her into going outside the base to spar with him when she got too fed up (a part to avoid her destroying the structure, a part to get some exercise with someone who wasn’t a creaky wooden machine). 

While the practices mostly consisted of taijutsu-focused techniques, they were not above exchanging their signature jutsu—Deidara with his clay and Sakura with genjutsu or iryojutsu. They might not admit it outwardly, but it had been mutually beneficial for them to spar in their freetime. Sakura got to practice dodging explosives as well as avian threats and her teammate got a taste of all the different illusions that Itachi taught her. 

“Fine. Fine.” She conceded before dragging her weight outside, throwing a “Let me know if you got anywhere with that.” to an ex-Suna nin that definitely did not hear her. 

Haruno Sakura was born like any civilian. In a cesarean birth, painful to the point of passing out, tearing her mother apart. But frankly, despite the effort to let herself out early, the daughter of Mebuki and Kizashi was almost labelled a forever sleeping baby. She didn’t twitch as the doctor held out her head, hands rocking her back and forth under a practiced warming jutsu. No wailing, no brief rising of the skin as it accommodated the outside world for the first time.

Her mother was glad. “How lucky, we can pretend it never happened.” 

“We wouldn't have to pretend if you got it right the first time.” He rumbled absentmindedly from his seat across her bed, eyes still gluing on the magazine he found in front of the door.

“I can’t imagine a daughter wouldn’t sell, she’d be worth a lot if she's got a face, Kizashi.”

“With what you look like I highly doubt it—though if she’s anything like your sisters maybe we’d have more luck. Not that it matters now.”

The nurses scuffled around with the IV bags; doctors in the operating room were still trying to wake up the underweight baby girl. It was a Thursday afternoon, the Konoha Central Hospital was not understaffed, there were empty rooms across the wards. It was spring—on the eve of Konoha’s New Year festival, most people stayed home and only border guards and long-term mission takers were active. There are few reasons why there should be any patients admitted beside the Emergency Department. But a couple rushed through the doors and made themselves the first maternity case of the day. 

It took the iryonin two hours to steady the heartbeat of the infant. 

“Thank Kami. Oh baby, we thought we couldn’t save you.” Dr.Yuno whispered, patting the baby soothingly,” You were as difficult as that Uchiha boy aren’t you?”

“That was incredible, Yuno-sensei!” The student doctor exclaimed excitedly, his hand shuffling the health stat and notes of the Haruno baby into a folder. It was the beginning of his rotation in maternity. “As expected from someone of your caliber.”

“Oh don’t flatter me now Ken-san. It’s not my hardest case yet. We wanted her to live more than her parents did, that alone saved half her life.” In truth, Yuno was an attending obstetrician during the birth of the Yondaime’s son, but she was under classified orders—and managed to survive the night—along with the baby and a midwife. Ten people lost their lives in that room. From guards to medical shinobi alike, if not for her luck in being noticed by Hokage-sama and chosen (shunshinned) for the task of returning to the hospital to chart and monitor once his son is admitted. “Sometimes you lose many people trying to save a life. Sometimes the maternity ward isn’t just full of babies and pregnant women, it’s the survival of history. Miracles.”

Ken was silent for a moment before he asked, “Have you held a lot of miracle babies?”

“Mhmm. I’ve held heirs and the orphaned and the unfortunate. This one, here, this one I knew would fight it alright. I’ve never seen a baby with more beautiful fingers.” She admired the thin stubs carefully, checking the vitals the final time before delivering the baby to the civilian couple. ”You go and do great things with those hands and say hello to my miracle babies okay?”

The Haruno didn’t sign her birth certificate until they were sure she’d make it past a year old, and finally gave her a name other than ‘girl’ and ‘it’. “ Sakura” , as it turned out, like the turf of pink that rose from her head, was the most effort they’d wanted to put into an unwanted offspring. 

She was soon put into the Academy. Wholly unimpressive. Easily overlooked (if not for her alien-coloured hair). 

But Sakura does not know these things. No one recounted the story for her. There was nothing worth mentioning about the beginning of her life. Therefore, it was by correct assumption that there had been nothing to be known. 

Fourteen years later, Sakura met Dr.Yuno, now Head of Maternity Ward. The woman smiled at her, ”You know, I delivered a Haruno baby a long time ago. Beautiful name, you think?”

“Ah- Yes, Yuno-sensei.” The genin wasn’t going to argue with the fact that her last name was nice or not; it was a mark of the lower hierarchy, of weakness. She wasn’t going to tell the woman that she was the only Haruno born in the last two decades in Konoha Central either. “You have an amazing memory.”

There was no way to know or to recognise a grown up baby, but Yuno had always been able to tell apart her miracle babies (not because they were special or extraordinary, but because she sent them to their families with more than just a well-wish, but a prayer of protection, too).

“I wonder where that baby is now, eh? I never learnt her first name. Well, are you interested in obstetrics, Haruno-chan?”

“Tsunade-shishou told me it’s one of our strongest wards, but since we have low birth rates and shinobi mostly prefer private midwifery services, the Konoha Central Maternity Ward mostly tends to civilian patients, thus it doesn’t have much funding, even though there are much potential from our practicing students.”

“What an attentive student you are! Come on, follow me. My old resident doctor will show you around. Ken-sensei!”

A man in his early forties turned around and walked towards them with an easy smile. “Yuno-sensei! What can I do for you?”

“This is Haruno-chan, Tsunade-sama’s apprentice. You go show her around the rooms and equipment. Be back here in thirty.”

“My pleasure.” He seemed to have a flicker of confusion or rather, a blurry recognition of the name, but didn’t press, ”Haruno-chan? My name is Dr. Tomoaki Ken. Nice to meet you.”

It had been a month since she left Tea and Sakura completely forgot about the Kubikiribocho she took from Zabuza’s grave until Deidara started flexing about his one-time-use clay swords. 

The Kubikiribocho was still inside one of her scrolls and she had no idea on her next steps with it. At first it was meant as a bribe for Kisame to show her a good swordsmith but weaponry ended up a low priority for her after everything that happened. 

It could be good for emergencies, she reasoned, and took it out of the seal to test its length and estimate her moves to suit the blade better. The handle was heavy on her grip.

“Well, that’s enough bukijutsu for the week.” The legendary sword drained more chakra than she anticipated, and it left her huffing on the ground, sweat slicked. “Guess my non-Kiri bloodline is not helping today.” 

For better or for worse, she’s got more pressing matters to attend to, one of which is her Yami Chakra “byakugou” imitation. It was maintaining a steady feeding on Sasori and Deidara’s negative energy, but even with all their sulking, it wasn’t enough. Additionally, when she let her Yami store collect too much, her teammates do notice the drop in their Yin energy. It wasn’t as discreet as she hoped, and it wouldn’t take too long for them to start suspecting her, though Akasuna was already half-way there with his trust-issues. 

She needed a structured feeding system so her Yami Chakra could increase before her Jikan circulation started to sabotage it. The quickest way to collect negative energies was through absorbing life forces from Yin-rich people, mostly women, desperate creatures and “immoral” humans. These would have been easy to find in the wild, but only when she had a reason to go out to the wild. 

Missions have been coming in at a slower rate—Konan told them that they just need to keep quiet for the moment; most Suna clients (and their neighbouring regions) have grown more wary as the Chuunin Exam approaches, so they haven’t been commissioning anything much from Akatsuki. 

Sakura and Itachi had exactly three weeks before the Exam started. Maybe there’d be more things to feed on then. She recalled the last time she had a discussion with the Elder Uchiha.

“We both seek revenge, even when we actively avoided it previously. Maybe we’re not so different.” He remarked, not completely serious, but enough consideration was laced into the words.

She hummed in response, ”I know we’re not the same.” She added, understanding that their drives are different. Him more an act of protecting a lineage, a history, and hers more selfish than anything. 

But who is to take the blame? Neither of them were in any mind to put accusations on one shoulder, even if it was the man that thought himself god.

“It’s always been Konoha.” The reason, the beginning of it all. 

Sakura joked cheerfully as she gulped down the last of her drink, ”Well, maybe we could even convince Orochimaru to join this angsty-ex-Konoha-nin club.”

“Sure, if you don’t mind some limbless reptiles as delivery-boys.” He jabbed back.

Shaking her head, the medic focused, she’d have to make a visit to Orochimaru to ask for some more favours. Conveniently on the way to the Senju Forest as well. 

“Results from the vote is back, Hokage-sama.”

“Hm? Nara Shikaku?” Caught off guard, the Godaime spun on her hair to face the Head of Jounin and Special Tactics who was taking his time inspecting her piles of paperwork. Shizune must have gone out to get them lunch. “...And?” She waited for him to finish. 

It was rare to see the man who valued his time solving puzzles rather than explaining them actually showed up for a talk.

“He was right. You lost by a landslide.”

“Fucking hell.” Tsunade rolled her eyes. She hadn’t been paying attention to that, what with trying to organize ANBU now that Danzo had made a firm stand on having an official, entirely separate division that served only him. “You’re here to tell me this when I could have found this out later when I already have lunch? Kami.” She was ready for some punches, but decided against it,”...Since you’re already here, spill.”

The Nara sighed deeply, hands shoving in his pockets and eyes straying away from her face, as if he saw something beyond the window. “You would have already known this, but of course, there was foul play.”

“Which of my Commanders did the bastards bribe this time huh?”

He seemed to consider his next words, but with her raised brows, Shikaku relented,”He threatened to order an assassination against the Hyuuga, Yamanaka and Akimichi heirs. All undocumented via private self-destruct messages to the Clan Heads.”

Biting her nails, she inquired, “Does the genins know?”

“I can’t guarantee they don’t. But they are already finalised on both the Fumetsu-Goroshi Project list and the Chunin Candidate list.”

“Fantastic. Really.” Tsunade gritted her teeth.”Tell me I get to choose who’s replacing your son in Team 10.”

“There are a few capable genin, but Danzo seemed to be pushing one of his own.” With a quick handsign, he summoned an Identification paper that his Department had been able to investigate. “It isn’t much, but I regret to say you won’t be able to find a more suitable kid. He has this all planned out.”

Squinting at him dubiously, The Godaime reached for the paper and scanned it,” Sai ? What is this, he couldn’t even afford a last name?” She huffed.

“We need to be able to monitor him.”

“I know that, smartass. We can’t be losing any more personnel though. I can send some of my trusted ANBU. I would also be there, but what I can do is limited.” 

“That is enough, Tsunade-sama. This is all what us Commanders could ask for. We value our young.”

She smirked knowingly,”I don’t doubt that. I do, however, doubt how far you are willing to go for that. I am politically bound. My time is not forever. Get ready for the hat, Nara.”

Chapter Text

“Meet Southeast of Fang border at 0600 in three days?! Why do I have to get this mission?” Sakura whined helplessly as she rolled up the scroll that was delivered to her mid-spar with Deidara. The blond one, on the other hand, seemed more than glad to not be called out to meet his greatest enemy—Keshou Nishimura himself. 

“Yo I’ll be taking the next three days off and going to some towns near Suna to top up some supplies.” He informed her with a cheeky smirk. She knew he was going on a shopping spree to get new kunai and clothes, something the medic herself desperately wished she could do. 

After relaying the deal they made with Keshou to their Leader, the Wind trio were told to stay put until Pein could get Kisame or Itachi to go scout for information about Keshou Guren. In their usual effective and timely manner, they’ve managed to get a rough idea of the base Guren was currently stationed in and other information about her conditions under Orochimaru. 

The knowledge, reported in the neat handwriting that Sakura was sure was Itachi’s, was to be personally delivered to Keshou Nishimura. In turn, he had to give Akatsuki information about the next Kage Summit and anything Iwa had on Kirigakure and Konohagakure. The (now three-way) spy was useful to collect the more delicate details that Itachi’s crows and Pein’s eyes couldn’t.

It seemed terrible that out of all the members Nagato could have called in, he chose one that was probably geographically the furthest away from the meeting place. But Kakuzu and Hidan was wrecking havoc somewhere in Waterfall and she knew better than to ask what Itachi and Kisame was up to (the Uchiha more than likely keeping an eye on Danzo and the shark man chased down some leads on the rest of the mystical blades “just in case”). Sasori on the other hand was sent out yesterday for an assassination of some Daimyo heir. It really was between her and Deidara, who was definitely the worse option. 

“Ne Deidara—”

“Hey how come everyone got a nickname except for me? Sasori-danna is oji-san, you even called Itachi-danna ‘Tachi-nii.” He pouted, crossing his arms and levelled her with an almost-intimidating stare.

She had never had the honorifics problems where the person insisted on having one (instead of telling her to use their actual names) before except for when Naruto asked why she couldn’t call him “Naruto-kun”. Sakura sighed deeply. It’s the loud idiots with blond hair again.

“Fine, fine. How about Deidei?” It had a ring to it, but she could admit it sounded ridiculous, so Sakura laughed hard at this. Maybe a bit too hard.

The ex-Iwa shinobi squinted his eyes at her and scowled. “That sounded soooo bad, hm.”

“Dei-chan?” 

He shook his head dramatically.

“Let’s see, ‘Dara?”

This time his scowl deepened, “Why don’t I get an actual respectable name?”

“You're practically my age, if not like a few years older. What do you want? ‘Dara-nii?” Sakura huffed, rolling her eyes the umpteenth time since she started talking with the younger one of the art duo. 

He seemed to seriously consider it for a moment, then nodded fast. “Yes! Hm! That’s it! I’m the big bro!”

“...you just want a little sibling don’t you.” She already knew the answer.

“Hey I heard people with younger sisters get to bully them all the time and even share hobbies! Like I could make you do explosions, hm.”

Sakura gave him her most unimpressed face. The scorching sun was not helping her mood in even trying to match his energy. “That’s cool, sure. Now I gotta go pack or I’ll be late to catch our favourite little Iwa-spy.”

“DON’T YOU DARE EVEN MENTION HIM WHEN I’M HERE!” 

“Third child, third child—”

“Oh for the Shinigami’s sake!” Sakura hissed. 

She could hear it calling for her. Incessantly. The closer she was to Hi no Kuni, the louder and more frequent the voice was. The trip from their base in the desert to where she needed to be takes more than just three days on foot, so she needed to be at her top speed. 

Now Sakura really envied the winged members of Akatsuki. She also envied all the ones that don’t have voices in their head talking to them in a condescending way. Probably all of them except maybe Hidan. She didn’t know how his whole cult thing worked. 

“Come to me, honour your power, let me taste the lives you’ve collected”

The kunoichi was more than ready to ignore yet another ridiculous demand from the supposed (banyan tree) god— Until the earth beneath her feet rumbled while she was on the slope of a mountain.

The force almost knocked her off her heels with the suddenness. Flocks of birds in the area fled skyward, squawking. 

“An earthquake?” Sakura scowled, crouching down to create momentum to jump up to one of the higher branches of the tree nearest to her. 

It was rare to catch a quake in the Land of River, though to be fair she was about to cross into Fire, where they were a normal occurrence. Not so much in this area, from what she's assumed. “This better not be some freaky premonition.” She muttered. 

“Closer, come, third child”

She would have smacked whoever the voice belonged to, but figured she’d just end up punching herself. The mountain shifted, then the shakes subsided until it became unnoticeable.

Something still wasn’t right. Her shadow was falling weirdly.

Sakura looked East to West, hoping to catch the sun but found it…North? 

“What the fuck.” The medic has not turned or faced another direction during her journey once. She was making a bee line to Fang, and since using public paths weren’t recommended by Nagato, she opted for the more rural, dense forests with the plan to cut straight through them. 

“Hungry, we are hungry, feed us third child”

“Hey you!” The brunette screamed at the bark of the tree she was standing on. Without context, she would have looked mad. “If you’ve got any modicum of civility you’d know I’m busy! If Jikan– or time manipulation– or mokuton, whatever you call this, is so important right now, why didn’t you choose someone else?!”

“You came, you offered, you paid, you stayed, now you do it all again”

She continued to glare at the tree, not responding to any of her verbal assault.

“Now you do it all again”

Knowing she wouldn’t get any answer clearer than this, Sakura gave up with an annoyed huff. Fine. Maybe a little sidetrack to the Senju Forest before the mission wouldn’t hurt. She hoped she wasn’t going to miss Keshou, lest it become her first failed solo mission and Nagato never assign her another one again. 

The problem was, she didn’t know where the Senju Forest was. Sure, she knew the approximate direction from Wangetsu, the inn she met Orochimaru a while back, but she couldn’t tell left to right when the mountain had quite literally just shifted beneath her feet. 

“Listen. Listen well. Listen to the soil, the earth and the leaves”

“I am trying to.” Sakura snapped. Closing her eyes, she let herself focus on every sound nature had to offer. Curiously, everything was oddly quiet in her focus. 

It had been more frustrating than she imagined, so Sakura reached for Jikan. She let it seep into the air and stretched its claws into distances far from what she could have sensed with Yami Chakra. 

“Listen. Listen. Third child”

She scrunched her face and balled her fists tightly. 

There was nothing but white noise— 

The white noise. 

She gasped, not noticing that she hadn't breathed out for the last two minutes. “It’s the white noise isn’t it?” 

“Walk now, listen, walk”

The “white noise”, which she was sure wasn’t voices, were made up of all audible frequencies, compressed into constant power spectral density. Now Sakura really wished she had heard comprehensible voices instead of, well, frequencies. Picking them apart was impossible. Grouping them was an equally idiotic idea. 

Jikan flickered. 

Her fingers twitched.

She had to walk. To the white noise.

Let it consume her until she reached the steps of the shrine she kept on seeing in dreams. It has haunted her everyday since she walked under the Torii gate. 

Without thinking, really, she took a step. One step broke into two. Two into three then twenty then fifty. 

Sakura could hear the blood rush in her ears and she ran. Not because she was chased, but because she was chasing. 

The ground on her soles felt like soft rubber, bouncing her further forward. Foliages closed in on the path behind her, but the Akatsuki didn’t pay it any mind. Something had called for her, beckoned in a tongue of ancient powers; and like a good machine serving its owner, she sprinted at the calling. 

It was a sunny morning when Mebuki and Kizashi found out their daughter was dead. 

“If you’d need any fund from the Hokage to arrange her funeral, Godaime-sama is more than happy to–”

Kakashi was cut off sharply by the Haruno patriarch,”What the hell do you mean?! I told you to bring her here weeks ago! We’ve missed not only the wedding but the last notice from her future husband as well.”

“Haruno-san, I’m sure the death of your daughter is more important than that…?” The Copy Ninja asked, hoping for a moment that someone cared for her like she deserved. More than he ever did. 

“Give us her body then! Deliver her corpse here and perhaps it’d be worth a pretty ryo, at least some families still want their old son to marry.” Mebuki huffed as she muttered the last part to herself, hands on her hips.

Sometimes Hatake Kakashi wondered if the parents of Team Seven were really that different. But they were, he knew they were. One couple would trade their lives away in a debatable feat of heroism, another cut down by their oldest son, willingly or not, and the ones in front of him couldn’t care less if they tried. 

He started again with the patient he didn’t know he had, “Sakura’s death significantly impacted the Godaime and therefore would benefit from a commemoration service, which would be directed by her parents and caregivers, who happen to be y–”

“Who’s dead?!” A shout echoed behind him and the silver haired shinobi found himself in between the Haruno’ house and the approaching figures of Team Asuma. 

Sarutobi ushered his three kids to keep on walking but gave his colleague a glare that meant somewhere along the lines of ‘you better explain it to them after this’.

It took the former sensei of Team Seven a whole ten minutes to finally be released from the interrogative demands of the Haruno. Taking a corner after the block, he came face to face with Team Ten.

Asuma didn’t even let Kakashi begin,”I heard from the Jonin meeting this morning.”

“Wait what? Asuma-sensei! You didn’t say anything.” Ino screeched. “Tell me I didn’t misheard him just then.”

Resting his hands in his pocket, Kakashi started walking towards the Hokage Tower, throwing back an offhand comment,”I guess we’re not making any excuses for lateness now. Come on, the Hokage told me she wanted to talk to the Seventieth cohort.”

At the tower, they met with Team Kurenai who were just called back from a C-rank. 

Kakashi reluctantly became their escort, wishing to instead be in his apartment catching up on a nap or by the ANBU plaque saying hello to another genin he failed. 

Tsunade looked up from her documents to meet the group of nine shuffling inside her office, “Oho? Can’t believe you’re on time, Hatake.” 

“What can I say Hokage-sama, desperate times call for desperate measures.” He joked lightly and let the attempt fall flat. The door clicked shut behind them as Shizune rounded the room back to where she usually stood next to her master.

“I don’t have enough alcohol in me for this.” The blonde woman grumbled under her breath. “Ahem. Good to see you all, Team Ten, Team Eight.” The groups respectively bowed to show their respect.

Tsunade continued,”As of this morning, one of our genin, who belonged to the Seventieth Cohort, the one you six graduated from, will no longer be part of your ranks.” 

Shikamaru glowered. Hinata gasped, hands on her mouth in reflex.  Akamaru seemed to have picked up on the somber atmosphere, whimpering as he curled around Kiba. 

“She has been confirmed missing about a month ago and was put as MIA. An ANBU Team was sent out under my order for tracking, but yielded no results. Today, Haruno Sakura, former member of Team Seven, is declared presumed dead. Due to successive absences of more than a month with no trace or proof of maintained loyalty, under the Konoha Court jurisdictions, she can not be considered a part of the village anymore.”

The silence in the room weighed heavier than any mountain the Senju had lifted with her bare hands, and she allowed them space. Allowed them to grieve, if they were, for her prized apprentice. After all, Ino’s profile was being processed and sooner or later she’ll have herself a new one. 

“...what.” The Yamanaka gaped, fingers clutching at her skirt, not knowing if she should burst out crying or yell at the Hokage.

The rest of the children exchanged apprehensive glances while the three sensei stood back. They knew this would happen, Kakashi most of all. It doesn't mean it’s any easier a pill to swallow. 

Hyuuga, the gentle girl that she was, wrapped her arms around herself and mumbled reassurances with broken gasps—a panic-reducing exercise Kurenai had just taught them last week. 

“There goes the news. Go home and cry about it, brats.” The Godaime said, not unkindly.

None of them knew the pink haired child enough to cry over her, not like Tsunade, or Kakashi, who ended up knowing her the most. They had no body to see, and nothing left of her to hold. But they were never going to hold her anyways. Most of them haven’t even held a proper conversation with her, aside from the girls. 

Ino and Hinata realised they knew next to nothing about Sakura, each of them busy with their own clans, dismissing her over the details of her personal life. She was a friend, they could admit. Sakura was a friend to them, but Ino, with her T&I training, knew there was something deeply wrong with her. It wasn’t the forehead, or the paced out looks she sported every other sentence, or the ridiculously soft skin that looked like it was scrubbed smooth from another layer instead of diligently lotioned like hers. 

Haruno Sakura was an odd little thing. Creepy, when she talked about the human body, but at a glance, there was nothing significant about her. The nature of her ‘presume dead’ status was suspicious, but none of them dared question. A cover up, the Nara heir would guess.

The six of them, those left of the Rookie Nine, used to feel competitive or jealous towards Team Seven. Their ridiculous colouring, their almost-manic show of power under a fearsome mentor. Now, in the hollowness that followed a young kunoichi’s death, they pitied the three. 

Naruto will come back one day, his entire Team Seven gone. But he’d have to realise that while he was gone, Sakura’s Team Seven was broken beyond repair. He wasn’t there to pick up the pieces. There were no pieces left for Kakashi when the first group of kids he ever passed left him alone in the shadows of a village he found more unfamiliar day by day. Everything he had known of it is no longer his. 

“Hokage-sama?” Hatake Kakashi asked tentatively, breaking the unspoken lament; the other jonins there had never heard him so timid.

“Hmn?”

Gulping down an invisible stone, he finally talked about something they’ve all forgotten:”Do we tell Naruto?”

Tsunade blinked, slightly taken by the question. It wasn’t exactly unprompted or random. One of the first people to know about a shinobi’s death would be their teammates, then their parents, then their mentors and colleagues and everyone else. But as the team was dissolved a year ago, they were not legally forced to let him know about her status. 

“No.” She said decisively,”We keep it within our active ranks only. Take this as your first personnel update announcement from me, because it directly concerns you. Otherwise you’d hear it from the Shinobi Bulletin at the mission office.” She flitted her eyes through each of them.

“Yes, Hokage-sama.” They answered unanimously.

“Now scram. Get some training in, the Chunin Exam isn’t going to take itself.”

The Senju Forest never sleeps. Ashura and Hashirama could attest to that, if they were alive. Alas, they weren’t, and Haruno Sakura won’t find out until she loses her sight on the passing of reality. 

The creatures that dwelled in the Forest do not leave, as no more should be allowed within. The ecosystem was constructed on an overflowing amount of life force, of the surging beats of heart that all the animals outside perform in an unknowing render. 

Sakura couldn’t fathom the extent of how untouched the parameters of the place remained. No sign of past wars that stretched almost every corner of the continent, just the corpses of the dead laying in acceptance. She found no weapon on them, or any trace of tool culture. Their clothes must have disintegrated, if not swallowed whole by Jikan. She knew it’s a hungry thing, like Yami. 

The voice stopped the moment she could tell that she had passed the line between this realm and the last. For a moment, the medic allowed herself to ponder about the possibility of Jikan being a portal. 

“This is stupid.” She muttered. The grass blades kept on slashing against her boots, the exposed patch of skin below her knees became littered with thin, shallow cuts. “What are these things made of? How the hell could these be sharper than my shurikens—”

“You’ve returned.”

If not for her reaction training with Deidara and his randomly timed explosives, Sakura would have jumped. 

She had made it to the heart of the Forest.

“Yes, banyan tree, Sakura here.” She said sarcastically and belatedly realised the social expression was probably not received. Not waiting for a prompt, the kunoichi walked up the steps, swiftly past the Torii and came face to face with the small shrine structure. “Been a while haven’t it.”

The freaky statue sat there, as if waiting, and the olive scroll in its mouth looked no different from when she signed her life away to the devil with blood. This time, the eyes of the statue felt alive. It was watching her, she was sure. 

“My feed, give it to me, your first hunts proved terrible mercy—you have not hunted a man”

“You mean my kills via Jikan? Of course I haven’t hunted a man, every time there’s a mission Sa-oji and ‘Dara-nii always get to them first.” Sakura explained impatiently. 

Not knowing how to proceed, Sakura titled her head to examine the shrine. All the scrolls of the Senju Clan Heads were where they were supposed to be, as expected. Biting on her tongue and eyeing the space more closely, she found a circular hole on the roof of the stone house that encased the statue. 

Getting on her tip-toe, Sakura attempted to look through the hole, its thickness seemingly cut through cleanly from one end of the roof to the other side. She scrunched her face and exclaimed in startling volume: “Wait!”

If the hole is thick enough to see through the roof itself, and the house is inside the banyan tree, then what was that on the other side supposed to be? The blurred shapes with flashes of colours, like some kaleidoscope constantly oscillating. Sakura felt her head grow heavy. 

Bringing her hands to her temples, the medic found her arms elbows-deep in the rotting blackness that originally covered her fingertips.

“Feed me, and the giants will be waking, waking finally”

She swirled around as the forest seemed to cave in. Its cries of life turned into crows of an aching harmony. 

The trees were hungry. 

“The sleeping giants are waking”

Sakura fell to her feet, consciousness slipping.

Chapter Text

“So what are we doing in Konoha if not spying on your little baby brother huh? Didn’t he leave this place like, a few months ago?” Kisame complained as he dragged himself down the main road of the village, towing behind the Clan Killer. It was the year after The Chunin Exam, most Hidden Villages were still weary of external enemies, but nothing the two couldn’t handle on the way in.

Itachi, under his wide-brimmed hat, answered:”He left eight months ago. And we need to do some Bingo Book updates for Leader-sama.”

“Oooh? Hell yeah! Who are we tailing, Hatake or Maito? Don’t tell me we’re going anywhere near the Hokage office.” The shark-man side-eyed his comrade, dreading what the mission objective was about. They had just left Silk Village on their stopover before returning to their base, but a mission scroll from Konan promptly thwarted that idea. Kisame didn’t care enough to read the entire thing so he just threw it to the more literary-inclined one of their pair.

“We’re here for a genin, actually.”

Hoshigaki side-stepped up to match Itachi’s pace with a baffled expression, “What? Say that again.”

“Genin. Name is Haruno Sakura, Hokage’s apprentice, fourteen years of age, apparent threat.”

“I think I misheard that. What do you mean apparent threat?! That’s a Yellow Code at best.”

The Uchiha took a left, confidence in his walk as he navigated the streets of his natal place. “That’s why we’re assessing her. We just need the approximate threat level since she’s a Hokage’s student—the only active Hokage student aside from Kato. More importantly, a member of former Team Seven.”

“Aa, that team with the horrendous turnout. I almost forgot they have another member, what with the Copy Nin, the Jinchuuriki and your brother being so well-known. Shame, really.”

“She’s a civilian kunoichi, to make it worse.” Itachi commented matter-of-factly.

His teammate made a sorry sound and shook his head,”Kami, another fodder isn’t she? Well, if Leader-sama wants any information, we’ve got him.”

It was easy to locate the target with Itachi’s Sharingan. The girl was at the hospital, working, from what they can observe.

“That’s not surprising for a medic’s apprentice.”

Her shift ended not long after and the girl, with ridiculously bright pink hair, Kisame noted, took the roof top way to where she lived. The apartment, according to his black-haired teammate, is part of an ex-ANBU neighbourhood. Good deals for rent, but odd for a genin to go anywhere near it.

Then, not long after, her chakra signature flickered and disappeared from the apartment. A shunshin. With the radius of trackers, the two managed to find her at the ANBU Headquarters. 

“You’re kidding me.” The ex-Kiri shinobi rolled his eyes. He was having a good time strolling around keeping an eye on a harmless-looking little thing, and now said thing just marched into the killer’s building like she worked there. She probably did. “Here I thought Leader-sama was just paranoid.”

“He always has a reason to suspect threats.” 

Kisame sighed wearily and split up to let Itachi watch the girl while he went and go through her apartment as well as the village Archive for any relevant documents.

At the end of their infiltration, they compiled a summary of Akatsuki standard to send it to Konan via summons, a written report before their verbal one later. There wasn’t much to discuss, knowing this girl might as well make her presence in their biannual Bingo Book updates.

[  THREAT REPORT - HARUNO, Sakura

Affiliation(s): Konohagakure no Sato, under orders of Godaime Hokage

Clan(s): N/A, Civilian-born, Hana no Kuni roots

Official Rank: Genin*

Official Code Issued: Green

Proposed new Code: Orange**

Student of: Hatake Kakashi (formerly), Senju Tsunade and Kato Shizune 

Occupation(s): 

• Genin 

• ANBU (First Division,Team Sa)

• Part-time medical assistant at Konoha Central Hospital

*participant of The Konoha Crush/Chunin Exam

**experiments on Dark Chakra(?); have completed at least ten A-ranks and one S-rank; proficient of at least B-rank in iryoninjutsu and ninjutsu; proficient in psychology, assassination and infiltration; possess at least 10 confirmed kills and up to 50 unconfirmed; full access to the Hokage Archives; politically trained in confidential settings; is the potential heir to the Slug summons

Notes: 

• Haruno Sakura showed very unstable mental health, but have proven to be an efficient asset on ANBU-grade missions; she have multiple persona (demonstrated by the varied interactions with civilians, members of the Shinobi Forces, her genin counterparts and her targets on missions) and can fully control them to her advantage - Shu

• Haruno Sakura have little to no familial or social ties aside from her ANBU Team and Senju Tsunade - Shu

• Haruno Sakura is monitored by the T&I Department of Konoha due to accounts of her ANBU mission partners (outside of her team) reporting her “potentially destructive behaviours” which include self-harm and self-experimentation as well as suicidal ideation, this have yet to inhibit her performance in daily life or during missions; The Godaime Hokage does not seem to know this - Nan

• Haruno Sakura have redacted records on her psychological files despite scoring highly on psych evals - Nan

• Haruno Sakura is a former member of Team Seven (comprise of Hatake Kakashi, Uzumaki Naruto and Uchiha Sasuke), all of whom shown signs of neglect as they abandoned the team; this serves as her main motivation and drive for power as well as her curiosity on unexplored subjects - Shu

Attached is a copy of her official Konoha Shinobi Registration as well as her most recent psychological evaluation. Please advise further decisions on the status of Haruno Sakura within our organization. 

Shu and Nan]

She wasn’t conscious, she knew that much. Wherever this was, it wasn’t the physical world, not hers, definitely. It felt like a dream, but worse, because she hadn't had a dream that wasn’t a nightmare, and this was anything but that.

Sakura felt weightless, empty, like the character on her Akatsuki ring. Standing– no, floating, on a ground that didn’t feel solid. 

Coolness pressed against her skin and she wondered if she had been closing her eyes. No sound escaped her throat, her hands can’t be lifted, her neck can’t bend. 

There was a boy by the river. Oh, yes, there was a river. And a forest. And grass fading into pebbles that she still couldn’t properly feel beneath her heels.

The boy, roughly her age if not a few years older, was dressed in clothes that seemed like they were from another era. Draped in white thick fabric with well-combed hair, he looked noble. There was anger in his eyes, she noted. 

He looked up. Not at her, through her.

And Sakura realised she was wrong; it wasn’t anger, it was envy. 

On the other side was another figure, almost identical to him—but she could tell apart those blazing Sharingan any day. An Uchiha? There were bodies strewn around the space, all bloodied and sickly pale. 

“I will win this,” The figure said in a voice so loud she wanted to cup her ears.

“No, no you will not. I will not let you, aniki.”

“You hadn’t called me that since father gave us that mission. Haven’t since you started consuming lives like they were meat at the table.” He scanned the area, right foot nudging a man, dead and empty, rolling him over. “Not even my illusions could do this damage.”

“There is always the last time for something, and I’ll use mine to foretell your demise.”

“With what? I crafted power from my hands, you could only mimic it.”

“Not if I find my powers, and it won’t be from you.” The boy promised, frowning face turned haughty. The trees seemed to listen to his will, rustling and twisting in a show of submission. 

The corpses rotted, their fat melting into human wax after the muscles burnt into crisp. The skin, they contorted, then disintegrated. The bones came next, charring into dust. 

“You’ve seen enough, third child.”

In a whirl, Sakura lurched forward (if she could describe it while not technically doing it with her body, that is) into another realm. This time, she saw first hand a war that wasn’t hers. The bodies cut down, pierced through by roots in a race of time. 

Standing on a cliff, armour-clad and victorious, she saw a face so familiar it almost woke her into reality.

It was the God of Shinobi. 

She observed the way he reached for the sharp-edges of the trees to hunt after his enemies, but what killed them wasn’t the blow itself, while fatal, some of them weren’t released to maim, just captured. 

Some bodies twisted in mangled limbs, the reaches of mokuton infesting them like lightning leaving its marks. The Uchiha fell so quickly she almost forgot to look for their fires and smokes, for their bleeding eyes that could kill just as quickly, but not quickly enough. 

The Senju Head was not fighting a war, he was harvesting games on a hunting ground. His men sometimes got caught in the fray and he was not hesitant to sweep them up in one motion to be eaten by the powers of Jikan. 

“You are cruelty in human form, Senju.” A man spat. His gunbai spinning on his wrist, wading waves of force across the battlefield. He was too far to make damage to the man-claimed-god, but close enough to be heard amidst the roars of history.

“I am only doing my job in collecting what is rightfully the Shinigami’s.”

“And they called my people the servants of death. You are his right-hand man.”

“Loser talk, old friend?”

“No, just preparing you for your deserving end. You are all but a lost little boy who has lost his heart.”

“I didn’t know the Uchiha was so poetic. You haven’t seen anything of this power I wield. You can not fathom it—perhaps I’ll show you, at the Valley.” 

“Tails between the legs already hn?”  He taunted, sprinting at full speed toward the promised battle.

“I’m glad you’re self-aware.” The Jikan twirled around, almost non-directional, growing at a pace far past its thigmotropic nature. 

Screams echoed and it didn’t really matter if her favourite scientist was there with his blue armour; Sakura felt as though hundreds of senbon and kunai had engulfed her. Every pore on her skin was damaged. How ironic, it wasn’t too unbearable, maybe her old teammate was just overreacting.

“It’s simple. Just reach for them, just let them feast”

Sakura saw herself. Not particularly, but it must have been a version of her. She was in the hospital. The Hospice Ward of Konoha Central, to be specific. The stench of death warped around the corners of the hallway. The lights were sterile, like it always had been.

She didn’t resemble herself, either. It was a strange feeling, looking at yourself doing things you can’t control.

“Oh hey! What are you doing here?” The poison mistress of the Leaf appeared, friendly as ever, her heels clicking against the floor. 

“Hi senpai, I was just trying to find Tonton.”

“Aa, did we lose her again? I think you better try the Pediatrics, she likes to do her rounds there.” The lack of ventilation suffocated her corporeal form. She could taste death from there. 

“That’s a good idea! I’ll see you around, senpai!”

Sakura saw the moulding and the moss in the crevices of the old ward where the unpatched ceiling trickled with dampness. They were gentle in their croons for a feed. Hungry, like the trees, like Jikan. Incessant, not unlike a baby. 

“I can eat from anywhere, so feed me from anywhere”  

She didn’t know anything else other than the echoes of the banyan tree. Her heart burned and her body shook in a frenzy. Pain sunk its teeth on her skin and Sakura let it. 

“Hound?”

The operative knelt under the orders of the Senju Princess. “Yes, Hokage-sama?”

“You will act as my personal ANBU guard during the Chunin Exam in Suna. Your objective is not to protect me, but rather, keep an eye on our participating teams. Specifically Team Ten from our latest Debut Class. That kid, Sai, you need to always be aware of his actions. Make a standard threat assessment report for me twice a day.”

“Understood, Hokage-sama.” 

There were no questions to be asked in a personally-appointed mission by your Kage. There were even less questions when said Kage wanted you to be wary of a genin on paper. 

Tsunade’s hazel eyes bore through his mask, demanding absolute compliance,”You are part of this now, and you will be one of Konoha’s weapons. You will not hesitate when I point you at a target, be it an ally or comrades.”

The scuffle with Danzo had just begun, and Hound had no choice but to play the games picked for him. 

He hummed her a lie,”Of course. I will never hesitate at the firing, not even at friends.”

Satisfied, she sat back, the red hat weighing at her back and its string felt like strangling. “I know you won’t. You’ve never disappointed.”

Hound nodded and left the room at the dismissal.