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“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.” – Heraclitus Betrayal is a taste that coats the inside of her mouth, viscous and bitter. A memory, sharp and truncated, plays in the back of her head like a genjutsu on loop. When she closes her eyes, or stops to breathe, or fails to keep her hands busy, it’s there. The crisp night air on her tongue. Her hair, freshly shorn, brushing the back of her neck. Sasuke, back turned.Sakura lays awake in her childhood bedroom, contemplating a ceiling she could trace in her sleep. It’s been 32 - no, 36 hours since she last slept more than a moment, and she doesn’t really feel like breaking her streak now. She knows what’s waiting for her when she rests.Naruto left, perhaps a day ago. She had almost asked to come along, but choked on her words before they made it to her tongue. It wasn’t so long ago that Sakura had pledged to stop being a burden, during the Chuunin exams - and she couldn’t promise that she would be able to pull her weight on this mission. Her stamina, despite training, is underdeveloped, and her repertoire of jutsu is painfully limited.She didn’t have any of Sasuke’s textbook-perfect technique, or Chouji’s raw strength, or Shikamaru’s composure, or even Naruto’s sheer tenacity. What she had was shuriken that hit their targets with minimal power, chakra control that didn’t seem to have any stunning application, and an inner voice that may well be some sort of undiagnosed mental illness. There are cracks in the ceiling, interconnected webs that claw their way from the corners, reaching for each other all the while. Left unattended, fine spidery cracks will bring her house down. Maybe she could just lay here and wait.On the rare occasions that she feels collected enough to think, she considers her team. Sasuke, she knew, had always been of single-minded focus; his primary goal had and perhaps always will be fratricide. She had just never thought that his macabre intent would be enough to push him from the village. So he’s run off to Orochimaru. He will become powerful there, she supposes. Sakura wonders if she will recognize him when he emerges.Then, Naruto. It’s a shame she ever thought of him as annoying. He’s got ambition in spades, and maybe even the will to achieve it, if not the patience. He’ll become powerful too, simply because he sees no other course of action. As traitorous as it feels, Sakura doesn’t think he’ll manage to bring Sasuke home - not when Sasuke doesn’t want to return. All the same, she’ll love Naruto for trying.And last, herself. What is there to say, really?She tries, but obviously not hard enough. She’s smart, but that’s hardly gotten her anywhere. She’s ambitious, but for what, exactly? She can see it already, now and forever: they’re leaving her behind.She doesn’t sleep. She’s fine. ----- Naruto returns soon enough, tired and filthy and defeated. They both visit Chouji in the hospital, and Naruto offers her an exhausted smile. It’s dim, as Naruto rarely is. Seeing him like this only adds to the dull ache in Sakura’s chest, but she knows that he’ll be fine. His is an indomitable spirit, and he’ll bounce back as he always does.  ----- Naruto’s leaving again. He tells her when they get ramen after a lackluster sparring practice, scuffing the dirt with a nervous toe.She’s happy for him, probably, so she smiles and hugs him and wishes him luck.Recently, she’s discovered the frightening ability to seem cheerful. Still, the pep in her own voice surprises her. “Three years, huh? Write to me, or I’ll kick your ass when you get back.”“Huh? Oh yeah, sure! My handwriting still sucks, though.”“You’d better not slack off, either. I’ll get ahead of you if you do.” It’s an empty threat; she’s just going through the inevitable motions of conversation.“When I get back, Sakura, I’ll be so strong you won’t even recognize me!”He believes it so whole-heartedly that Sakura doesn’t even have to force her smile. They’ll be fine. ----- For a while, she still went to the training grounds. Kakashi had never told her that they weren’t meeting to train anymore, so she went just in case. He never showed up, so she just practiced water walking; she hardly improved, because her control was already nearly perfect. Eventually, there was news that Kakashi had left on a long-term mission. She stopped showing up. ----- Sakura doesn’t have a team to take missions with anymore, and she doesn’t have anybody to teach her; she’s not really sure what to do with herself. She tries to stay home for a while, but she can’t stand to be alone with her thoughts anymore. If she sits still for too long, she starts to think about Naruto and Sasuke, in all their future might.She finds she doesn’t really want to be left behind. ----- She’s going to have to be strategic about this - creative, even. She doesn’t have the raw potential to simply train her way to greatness; for one, she’s limited by what her body can handle, and more importantly, her chakra reserves aren’t that big. Of course, there are ways to remedy this, but they take time. She doesn’t have time; three years, Naruto had said.Sakura can think of two options to get around this: she can choose a specialty that requires more control than chakra, or she can find a way to forcibly expand her chakra supply. Both of these require research, so naturally, she starts at the library.Medical ninjutsu. On paper, it seems perfect for her skillset, but it doesn’t appeal to her. She wants to feel strength flowing through her veins, and the singing of steel at her fingertips. She wants to be at the forefront of battle, not hidden away and protected. 
Maybe it’s offensive to think of medical ninja that way. It’s totally possible that they’re complete badasses too, I guess. But still, meh.
There’s genjutsu. Useful, clearly, but mind games aren’t really Sakura’s thing. Maybe she’ll dabble, but she doesn’t really want to specialize.Option number two, then: unnatural and possibly dangerous and unethical chakra enhancement. It sounds like a fun challenge, at least. With an indulgent groan, she stands up from the desk and shakes out the stiffness in her limbs. Gathering up the veritable horde of scrolls she’s amassed, Sakura begins the mind-numbing task of finding out where the texts resided before her gluttonous search for information.After a time, she begins the search anew.Senju Tsunade’s Strength of a Hundred Seal. It’s almost perfect for what she wants, but she discards the idea almost immediately. It’d take years of training in medical ninjutsu to even begin forming the seal, let alone learn how to use it. Seals, though. That was interesting.Sealing, it seemed, was simply a way to guide chakra. If a shinobi could design a seal that suitably conveyed their intent, they could achieve almost anything that would otherwise require a lot of skill or power. Therefore, Sakura could, in theory, create a great many solutions to her problem; she could store chakra for later use, she could amplify chakra upon release, and she might even be able to transmute chakra into a different form. With sealing, the possibilities were endless.It’s like a language, she thinks. There are near-endless words in the language, and infinite ways to combine them; nearly nothing you cannot communicate, given enough skill. At the very least, it’s worth looking into.The library is closing in ten minutes, though, and the old lady at the desk is giving her some nasty looks. Sakura stuffs a number of scrolls in her arms, and heads home. ----- Three days and fourteen hours, and she’s found jack shit. There’s an abundance of information on the history of seals: how they came to prominence, why they were feared in battle, and how the practice was reduced to the occasional explosive tag. At the center of it all lies Uzushiogakure, the Hidden Eddy Village. Where was once Konoha’s smaller but mighty sister village, now lies a pile of dust and rubble, razed by war-crazed Kiri ninja.The vast majority of the world’s knowledge on sealing was lost that day. Of course, the ruins have been picked over by ninja of all nations, hoping to glean a single shred of wisdom from the village’s famed libraries. Nothing was found - nobody knows what happened to the treasure troves of scrolls that were once held there, only that they disappeared before anybody could reach them.Accordingly, there’s very little practical information on sealing. Countless symbols have lost their meaning, and what is a language if the words have no definition?The last true experts were the Yondaime and his wife, Kushina Uzumaki - and wasn’t it a surprise to hear that last name? It’s hardly likely to be a coincidence. Sakura wonders if Naruto knows he had such powerful relatives in the famed Uzumakis of Uzushio. Jiraiya of the Sannin is known to dabble in sealing, but can hardly be called a master. Besides, he’s off adventuring with Naruto, and even if Sakura could find them, she doesn’t think she could convince Jiraiya to teach her.If she was practical, she would discard this fascination with fuuinjutsu just like she had discarded the idea of medical training. But even when she resumed her research on experimental chakra sciences, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.The potential was astounding - the sheer amount of things Sakura could accomplish if she were able to learn this obscure art - she could make herself powerful. She could give herself a whole new chakra system, she could use any of the elemental chakra natures. She could create ready-made jutsu, finished but for a trigger in her hands.The thought makes her neurons sing, makes ideas run through her head like liquid fire; her fingertips tingle when she imagines a brush in her hands, and raw strength in her chest. Sakura doesn’t think she could ever rest if she didn’t try. ------ She resumes her physical training. She doesn’t spend any more time practicing than she used to, but she makes a lot more progress. She's driven now, intent with her movements, focused on a nebulous goal that takes a more concrete shape with each passing day. She starts trying to recreate any seals she has access to; there are instruction pamphlets on making utilitarian seals like storage scrolls and explosive tags, which she attacks with gusto. By the end of the week, she can store objects about the size of her head for a few days, and make explosions large enough to bring down a tree. It’s not much - it’s not even quite standard, but it’s progress. Sakura can recognize patterns of scribbles and swirls that hold meaning, now; when she creates storage, she can understand the purpose of each stroke, and she can read the seals painted on her store-bought tags. Another week, and she’ll be modifying her own seals. ----- Within the month, she’s consumed all the material on fuuinjutsu she can get her hands on. It’s not enough - what’s available to the public is enough to create only the most banal tools. Sometimes an inspiration will catch Sakura’s fancy, and she’ll start sketching out a plan for a seal, only to find that she’s missing too many pieces. She tests her own seals, of course. It was rough going, once she started modifying them to fit her own purposes. But after more than one unplanned explosion, she’s managed to create twice-acting explosive tags, tags that release a variety of weapons, and on one interesting occasion, a tagged kunai that travels towards heat.Sometimes, she takes C-class missions with groups of other lone ninja, and gets the chance to test out her new toys for real. They work most of the time, but when they don’t, the effects are annoying at best, and catastrophic at worst. Other genin in the village learn to avoid her for missions, because plans seem to go sideways around her.Sakura’s not sure what all the fuss is about. Whenever she took innocuous missions with Team Seven, someone ended up on the brink of death. In the grand scheme, a mistimed smoke pellet explosion wasn’t anything to take note of. The longer she tries to invent a new way to structure the same couple of base-seals, though, the less satisfied she becomes. It’s stifling, trying to write instructions with a majority of the dialect missing. She might have to get creative again - or desperate. ----- She leaves in the middle of the night. It’s sharply reminiscent of another night not too long ago, a memory branded into her brain by a molten-hot poker. She turned her back on the village, and looked to the East. Nobody had ever found anything in the ruins of Uzushiogakure, but maybe she would.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The ruins of Uzushio are located off the Eastern coast of Fire Country, which is the further side from Konohagakure. It takes a few days’ worth of running to reach it. The length of the trip leaves her with an uncomfortable amount of time alone - there’s nothing to distract her but her own ragged breathing. She has  few illusions of what she’s done; technically, she just deserted the leaf village. As an active shinobi, she left the village walls for an indefinite amount of time, without permission. Though, to be fair, she doesn’t intend to stay away for longer than a week or two, and it’s not like anybody important is going to miss her too badly. Her parents will notice her absence, but will probably just assume that she’s been sent on a last-minute mission. They’re unlikely to kick up a fuss.If she’s lucky, she’ll be back before anybody even notices anything’s wrong. Besides, both of her teammates are off doing their own thing; Sakura thinks she deserves some time away as well.The closer she gets to the coast, the more… unsettling the land becomes. The trees, already massive, grow twisted and gnarled. The odd silver-green leaves are sparse but the branches are long and arching, and somehow manage to block out most of the light even without foliage. Thick, tangled moss drips from each reaching limb, making it difficult to jump between trees. Sakura gets tangled more than once before she decides to make the rest of the way on the ground.Occasionally, she’ll see animal tracks lining the thick layer of moist soil. Most look normal; the tracks of squirrels, coyotes, and even a bear, but there’s one Sakura can’t place. The print is a wide triangle with four points on the wide end, like her hand if she stretched out her fingers and grew webbing between her bones. At the end of each point, there’s a long, dragging score in the dirt. Claws. Sakura does her best to keep moving.She’s glad she kept up with her training, because the cardio is painful enough as it is - but she never considers stopping (other than for the occasional snack or chakra pill) or turning back, not even once. Desire is a roaring fire in her chest, kept alive by bellows of curiosity, and it burns through her veins, propels her forward.When she reaches the coast, it’s all she can do to remember to breathe while she looks. Uzushio is beautiful .Maybe a kilometer off of the coast, the most picturesque island Sakura has ever seen peeks out of the water, which shimmers blue-orange in the sunset. Low seawalls that might have once been whitewashed give way to rounded towers with arching balconies and faded orange tile roofs. Even the abandoned watchtowers that ring the edges of the village are decorative, covered with once-colorful buttressing and outposts that hang over the crashing waves.At least half of it has fallen, and the rest is crumbling and decrepit, but Sakura can so clearly see it as it once was: tall, proud, and powerful. Deep inside of her ribs, she aches for the years gone by without knowing the might of Uzushio.She hardly thinks as she steps onto the waves lapping at the shore, entranced by the shining towers of a city long-lost. She can hear it calling to her, beckoning her forward, always. She imagines it makes promises she knows it can keep.Uzushio isn’t the village hidden in the whirlpools for nothing, though, and her chakra struggles to keep a platform under her sandals when the tides buff at her from the depths below. She stumbles, but not for long. She’ll make it if she runs. ----- Up close, within the walls, Sakura can see the paint, chipped beyond recognition, and the window frames that rot in their setting. Rubble lines the streets and shrubbery pushes its dogged way through the heavy stones, making each step treacherous. The only animal life is the rare bird that flies overhead, and the only sound is the dull rush of the waves outside. It’s eerie, and Sakura should be disturbed to know that she stands on the site of a massacre. But oddly enough, she feels… welcome. Uzushio opens its arms to her, and it will not hurt her of its own accord.It’s been days since she last truly stopped to rest, and now that she’s arrived, she’s exhausted. And here, she can’t help but feel safe. She sleeps. ----- When she wakes up, she sets out to explore the ruins. She isn’t sure what kind of building is most likely to have housed a library, but she’s determined to find one nonetheless. Thus begins her methodical search; she begins by the northwest tower, and sweeps through the buildings until she reaches the other side of the town. She skips over the buildings that are clearly residential, and pays attention to the ones that look administrative.The houses on the edge are nearly all apartments, with the remnants of markets lying below. As she ventures towards the center, long rectangular living quarters give way to graceful towers and sweeping courtyards.There’s something about the quiet, desolate grace that fills her with melancholy. Time has not managed to erase the impressions of the people that lived here. On a stoop to Sakura’s right, there’s a rocking chair where an older civilian might have once sat. There’s a rope trailing from a tree in the courtyard, and Sakura thinks it was once a swing for children to play on. The merchant streets are lined with wares, long since abandoned. There’s a doll that’s been ground into the cobbled stone street, nearly broken in two. Maybe it was trampled in the mad rush that was at first to defend, and then to escape.In the very center of the village, there’s a round building that stands at about half the height of the surrounding towers. It looks like it might have once been the heart of the village; the first floor is large and open, with a desk placed by the door. The second floor has a pulpit and expansive seating, and the third floor is offices. Any of the surrounding buildings are also likely to be administrative, or at the very least, important to the function of the village. Sakura sweeps through those next.In the southern tower, she finds it; the first three floors of the building, lined with balconies and rotting shelves. The floor flaunts a massive tile mosaic that expands into repeating circular patterns. And most striking of all - it’s empty. There’s not even a trace of a bound book or scroll, no evidence that this room once housed generations of knowledge, aside from the shelves built to hold it all. Maybe somebody got to everything before anybody else could find it. But to have stolen so much information so long ago - surely, some of the sheer expanse of it all would have slipped out into the world. And if anybody had used those scrolls to achieve mastery, they would have been feared across the nations; every shinobi would know their name. It’s not so different from what Sakura would want - so as impossible as it sounds, she thinks it’s more likely that these books just - disappeared.Maybe a final defender triggered a doomsday seal, which destroyed every last trace of their coveted legacy. Or, hopefully, they were just sent somewhere for safekeeping. Safekeeping for what, though?She walks up to walls towards the upper balconies, using chakra rather than risking the rotted stairs. A closer inspection doesn’t yield anything - but Sakura hadn’t dared hope for a clue to be revealed so easily. Still, she continues to climb. There’s no chance she’s leaving until she’s inspected every inch of this building - no, the village - in her obsessive curiosity.After scouring all three levels of balconies, and finding no more than unpreserved shelving and the occasional alcove, she lays down by the edge of the tiled outcrop. It’s been trained out of her nature to leave herself in such an unprotected position, but there’s almost certainly nobody else within a kilometer radius, and she’s exhausted. She’s recovered remarkably from the three-day journey - must be the ocean air - but she feels like her emotional capacity has been stretched to the limit.It’s not like she’s actually confronted any of her lingering ill feelings; she’s just stuffed the spreading cracks with stopgap after stopgap. First, she ignored, and when that stopped working, she strategized and studied. If only she’d been able to…Sakura jerks herself into a sitting position, and then slowly lays herself back down. Sometimes she forgets how dangerous it is to relax, even for a moment. She can’t afford to face that yet. Maybe when she’s stronger, maybe when she’s caught up, she’ll come to terms with the fact that, once upon a time, she wasn’t enough. And the longer she lays here, the larger the gap between them stretches, becoming a yawning ravine that only mocks her in its magnitude.Sparked back into motion by the return of her grudging determination, she rolls over - only to freeze when she’s met with only open air. Once she overcomes the initial shock, she quickly takes stock of her position - which is relatively safe, actually. The railings on this section of the building had long since fallen away, leaving the stories without a safeguard to rely on. All that hangs over the precipice is her head, neck, and left shoulder. And now that she’s calm, she can appreciate that the third story actually has a pretty nice view of the atrium. From here, she can see the entire arcing pattern of the mosaic; navy blue tiles weave through a white and cream backdrop, expanding in loops and swirls and… oh.
Oh.
That’s a seal.She stills, relaxing her entire body but her neck, which still holds her head out over the edge of the balcony. Her breathing deepens and evens out, and her eyes set into her face. She likes to call this state of absolute concentration the ‘study zone,’ because that’s all she’s ever really used it for - until now, that is. You can’t really reach complete relaxation in a fight, no matter how useful the analytical enhancement would be.She’s surprised to notice that she can parse through some of the seal. The base looks a bit like a storage seal, except on a scale she’s never seen before. This is the kind of seal that could hold untold magnitudes of objects, indefinitely. Hell, it could hold-It could hold this entire library.And there’s this odd adjacent circle that knits into the outer ring of the main storage seal. It feels almost like an addendum or final clause to a document; a final stipulation. This, Sakura is sure, is the key. She can tell it’s limiting access to the storage, but she can’t tell what the parameters are.It reminds her of the many frustrated evenings she spent wrestling with creating a new seal, trying to write a masterpiece with only half the words she needed. She needed those words now, and she just - couldn’t.Well, she’s made it this far. Might as well try one last thing, before she regroups. She can at least identify the mark that acts as a keyhole - all she needs is something that can act as a key. And there, near the keyhole, is the mark for chakra.She lopes back down the walls, careful to step around the crumbly bits. She makes her way towards the adjacent ring, in the north end of the room, biting her thumb as she goes. Drawing blood is tougher than she expects.Her blood contains chakra. It can be the key.She kneels down, careful to keep her breathing even, and her body loose. She’s not sure what will happen if the seal works, or indeed, if it doesn’t. Blood smears across the key, hardly even glinting red over the dark tiling.Nothing happens. Then, moments pass - and still, nothing happens.Sakura takes the second to shut her eyes, giving in to the waves of disappointment that crash over her. Really, she wasn’t expecting anything, but the very idea that maybe - And to have come so far.She breathes in, as deep as she can, filling up the very depths of her lungs, straightening her back, and lifting her chin; she will find another way. She only ever meant to tie up loose ends, anyways. There will be other opportunities, other methods, and she’ll catch up if it takes a lifetime - fuck three years.When she rises to her feet, she’s the very picture of composure, ready to-“That won’t work.”Sakura’s eyes snap open, and she spins on her heel even as she stands, drops her hand to the kunai on her thigh, shifts her stance - There’s a woman at the doorway.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Who are you?” Sakura spits out.The woman lifts her hands in a placating gesture. She’s languid, like she doesn’t even register Sakura’s hostility as a threat.“I could ask the same of you.” Her tone is deadpan, but there's an underlying current of amusement.She’s tall and lithe, like one of the kunoichi back home that hid their power behind the graceful lines of their body. One long braid, full of dark, smooth hair, is held in a long braid over one gently sloping shoulder. Her eyes, though - her eyes were so dark that Sakura’s gaze couldn’t help but be drawn to them, almost swallowed into their mesmerizing depths.Rather than get lost in observation, Sakura shifts her stance, scraping her foot across the tile underneath. The other woman doesn’t move at all. Instead, she responds with a question of her own.“What are you doing on sacred land?”This makes Sakura freeze. She was, of course, aware of the blood that had been shed here, and the history lost, but she hadn’t even considered that it might be sacrilegious to disturb the site. Not that it would have stopped her, necessarily; but she probably would have tread with more care.Sakura responds with the most innocuous answer she can think of, and tries not to sound too guilty. “...exploring.”“Then what of the blood on the floor?” She peers over Sakura’s shoulder. “And on the trigger mark, too! How clever.”Sakura’s not really sure how she’s supposed to respond, so she just stays silent. Waits for her next move, and tries not to let anything show on her face.“I’m not going to hurt you, you know. Not unless you put up a fight.”A pause, deliberate. When Sakura speaks, it’s with a cautious lilt. “Fight against what?”She smiles, slow and cold. “Against me, of course.” She jerks her head and turns on her heel. “Follow.” ----- She doesn’t speak again until she reaches what Sakura assumes to be her destination; a rocky alcove outside the city walls, facing the ocean to the east. The inside is damp and barren, save for the few lumps of kelp that lay strewn across the pebbled ground. As rough as it feels, the cave at least isn’t dark; pale sunshine filters in through a gap in the ceiling, dappling the uneven floor in watery splotches.The woman sits, disregarding the water that must be soaking through her clothes, and gestures for Sakura to do the same. Sakura tries not to wince when the stones underfoot are colder than she thought.The woman’s voice comes out without warning, quick and cutting. “What were you doing in that library?”“I said. Exploring.” Sakura hardly even hesitates to repeat the lie, and finds she’s surprised by her own confidence.“Don’t even try.” And as soon as she’d begun to feel hopeful about her chances of escaping unscathed, her assurance was cut out from beneath her. “I’ve been here a long time, child. Do you know how many grave pickers come here, trying their luck with the hidden riches of Uzushio?” The woman’s lip curls with disdain, breaking her previously serene facade. “I know a liar when I see one. And the guilty ones - they’re the easiest to pick out.”Her face settles back into its mask, distant and untouchable, like the stone faces of the hokage monument. “So. What were you looking for? Wealth? Knowledge? Power?”Sakura considers this for a moment; the last two, she thinks, but she doesn’t open her mouth to say so. They taught resistance to torture and interrogation in the acadamy. All theoretical, of course; the clan heads would have thrown a fit if they knew their precious children were being harmed before they could become their precious shinobi. She wasn’t sure if that’s what this conversation would come to, if she chose not to answer. She didn’t know if her motivations were even worth withholding - she wasn’t acting on the behalf of her village. In fact, she was being entirely selfish.As a compromise, she says something as close to the truth as she’s uncomfortable getting. “I’m learning fuuinjutsu.”“Fuuinjutsu is an art, but it’s also a means to an end. What ends are so great that you require the mastery of a people long past?”“Knowledge. Power.”“More means. You truly wish to possess power simply for the sake of it?”“I wish to be great. I haven’t thought much beyond that.”“And great you will be, if you pillage for sacred knowledge.”Sakura doesn’t know how to respond to this, and it doesn’t seem like the woman needs much of a response, so she stays silent. The moment doesn’t drag on much longer, anyways.“The seal masters of Uzushio were famed for their skill. You must have known that you wouldn’t be the first to try - and fail - to find the fabled trove.” Her eyes are trained on Sakura, as if searching. “What made you believe that you would be different?”“I didn’t. I just needed to try.” Sakura doesn’t shrug, but the sentiment must be apparent in her voice, because the woman’s eye’s sharpen for a barest moment.“Passion, then.” She says nothing else, but her expression relaxes in the slightest, allowing a sliver of amusement to slip through.The moments stretch into minutes, and Sakura can no longer suppress the fidgeting in her fingers, twitching for something to hold. A kunai, preferably; this woman is undeniably dangerous, and Sakura wishes to be gone. However much she wishes to flee, though, her yearning to know more about Uzushio is stronger - and this woman is undeniably connected, so she stays.“Your name - what is it?”Sakura hardly thinks before she responds, this time. She’s been taking more risks, lately, and she’s not about to stop now. “Sakura Haruno.”“Haruno…”She speaks with deliberation, like she’s trying to discern the best way to move forward. “There used to be a merchant family based in Uzushio. They weren’t particularly wealthy, but they had more than enough to get by. They had greater ambitions, though, and moved to Fire Country.”Black eyes study her again, taking in every feature they can find, cataloging and comparing. “They were well liked, the Harunos. Many were upset when they left.”Sakura feels her eyes go wide - of course she had known that her family ancestry had come from the East - she had just assumed that only meant Eastern Fire Country. Not - not Uzushiogakure, the legendary sister city of Konoha. “You have the sea in your blood, like so many of your family. It is good to see that a Haruno has returned home.”“Oh.” Sakura speaks softly, because she’s not sure what this will mean. But where the mystery woman was once cold, she has softened, and her brows betray a welcoming smile.“I will teach you, Sakura Haruno. Should you wish.”“Teach me fuuinjutsu?” She can’t hide the hopeful tilt to her tone; to learn sealing from an actual master is more than she had ever even thought to hope for - all the old masters are dead.“No.” Sakura’s mood drops in an instant. “All the seals are lost - and as old as these ruins are, I do not remember the art. I will teach you power instead.”For a long moment, Sakura can only stare. It’s like the woman said; seals are a means to an end, and the end has always been power. It would be a shame to lose the chance to learn something she was finally good at, but this is the next best thing. And to have someone so undeniably dangerous teach her, just like Naruto and Sasuke have - it doesn’t even matter that she doesn’t know this woman, doesn’t know this land - the allure is undeniable.“It would be an honor to be your student. I accept your offer.”Despite her newfound welcome, the woman’s smile is again sharp, perhaps with her version of delight. “Good. You may call me Seruki.” ----- Seruki only tells Sakura to find some place to stay before gliding out of the cave, and disappearing around a bend in the rocks. Sakura tries to follow her and see where she went, but there isn’t a trace of the woman to be found - almost as if she’d never existed. Rather than think about it, Sakura does as was suggested to her.The quick camp she’d set up the night before wasn’t anything she’d be willing to accept long-term; it was out in the open air, with barely a bed roll for comfort.The search for a better shelter isn’t easy, and nothing seems quite right . She doesn’t want to live in a family home, because it’s too personal, and Sakura thinks she’d be weirded out by the fact that the last owners are likely dead. The apartment complexes are slightly less personal, but also less stable. She’d rather avoid the tall buildings: unfortunately, they made up most of the island.She settles in an old fisherman’s hut that’s still miraculously intact, tucked up against the village walls. It’s also near a large clearing that might have once been a shinobi training ground - in any case, if it wasn’t before, it will be now.She brought woefully little to eat, since she thought she’d be gone for a week at most. Only four days have gone by, but the remainder won’t last forever. If she’s going to stay for any length of time, she’s going to have to learn to live off of what’s available to her.For now, though, she just chews on one of her ration bars. ----- Seruki finds her the next day. Sakura’s not really sure what to expect. Her only teachers so far had been Iruka and Kakashi, and Iruka hardly counted. Kakashi had only really made sure they all knew the basics, and divested the rest of his attention to Sasuke. Looking back, Sakura can understand why he did it; Kakashi had to make sure that Konoha didn’t lose one of its greatest assets, and everything else would have to be secondary. Not that it worked, anyways.And how does one teach ‘power’? With a technique, or a jutsu? Or with an entirely different approach to training?Seruki just takes her to the clearing, and arranges her limbs into a cross-legged sitting position, with her hands on her knees. She gestures for Sakura to do the same.She speaks into the fogged morning air, smooth and steady, “Do you know your chakra nature?”“No.” Seruki doesn’t respond, only settling into her position with her eyes closed, so Sakura continues, “I didn’t bring any chakra paper either, so-”“That won’t be necessary. I already know your nature, and there are other ways to determine these things.” She pushes out a deep, slow breath. “Close your eyes, and just feel.”There are no further specifications, so Sakura tries to feel everything, at first. If she sits still enough, she can feel the beating of her heart in her chest, and the way her blood pulses in her joints. Turning her attention outwards, she can hear the birds that roost in the crumbled walls, and the steady rush of the sea. She can feel Seruki’s chakra, powerful and tumultuous, barely held at bay, so at odds with her serene persona.And finally, Seruki begins to murmur. Her syllables are steady and even, flowing in a rhythm akin to a chant. “Before there was chakra, there was life: but chakra gave power to life, and life would not give it up. There is chakra in every living thing, but all living things must die. When they relinquish life and power, chakra returns to the static. Such is nature: every living and non-living thing, and the chakra that binds it together. “Reach out. Reach out and feel the chakra. All of the elements, swirling and tumbling and mixing all around us, all the time. Feel the ground beneath your own body, and the stone that shapes this city. Know that it sits steady, unmovable, and solid, and know that this is earth. Feel the mist in the air, light and fluid, and feel the ocean beyond these walls, violent and deep. Know that this is water; its duality is its fluidity. Feel the tides above the ground, the breeze that touches your face so gently. Feel the air above the clouds, and how it rips across the lands, sharp and free. This is wind, more unpredictable than even water. Feel the sun far above, and how, through its immense power, its chakra reaches us even here on the ground. It’s warm and nourishing, or scorching and punishing; this is fire. And feel the storms that brew on the horizon, creating friction between the very particles that make this world. Know the sparks that jump between pieces of existence; know that this is lightning.“Now, reach in. Feel your bones, the structure that keeps you upright, hard and resilient. Know that this, too, is earth. Feel your own blood, rushing through every point of your body, feeding your very tissue. This is your own water. Feel the pressure that fills your lungs, filtering into your cells, pumping in and out for eternity; know that this is your air. Feel the heat that fills your body, energizing you from the inside out, leaving you only in death: know fire. Focus further inwards, to the neurons that fire through your head, traveling down your spine, branching through every functional point of your body - know your lightning.“And finally, reach for your chakra, pooling deep in your abdomen. Know that it’s yours, to use and abuse.”And Sakura can; she can feel the chakra in her own stomach, a pond not nearly as deep as the vast world of energy around her. It rages, though - it buffets the walls of her body, aching to be released, to be allowed to destroy and to build. It wants to be a violent storm and a gentle drizzle, all at once - to be shaped as a weapon and as a tool. And finally, Sakura knows her chakra; she has the sea in her blood and an ocean in her tenketsu.When she speaks, it’s with a certainty she hasn’t felt in what feels like forever. “My chakra is water.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Over the next few days, Sakura’s days shift into an unchanging rhythm, pushing her through motions in cycles.She wakes up, and scrounges for food. Somewhere along the way, she learned to catch fish in a somewhat ungraceful fashion; she lays on the rocks along the tidepools, and waits for fish to unknowingly swim in her direction. Almost by accident, she found out that if she slaps a palmful of chakra into the water, she can stick her hand to the fish, trapping the thrashing specimen.Her family doesn’t trade livestock or foodstuffs, but she’s seen enough open markets to know the basics of meat preservation. With a spool ninja wire, she hung up gutted and cleaned flesh to dry, letting salt and sun do their job. If she’s lucky, she can catch a fish large enough to feed her for an entire day; more often, she has to spend hours at a time at the tidepools, collecting smaller fish.Perhaps more helpful is the pocket handbook of native plants that Seruki gifted her. Some of the edible plants are pretty common among the wild brush that covers the overgrown city - they might not be very filling in the amounts she has available, but at least now she doesn’t feel guilty from eating only meat. She probably won’t get scurvy either, which maybe should have occurred to her first.After spending about an hour devouring everything she can find, she makes her way to the cave Seruki first took her to. There, she meditates. It’s surprisingly easy to get lost in the rushing sound of the waves; it fills her ears with a pleasant roar, drowning out every other distraction.She doesn’t have to meditate long; she only needs to reconnect with the center of her chakra, and touch the well of writhing power. Centering herself every day before practicing her ninjutsu helps to speed the learning process, and over time, familiarize herself with her own chakra system. If her control was good before, it’s exceptional now.Eventually, she’ll start to draw on this store of energy automatically, and she’ll no longer have a need for meditation. Until then, she practices.Next is ninjutsu. Seruki joins her for this part, leading her through an ambiguous and rather circuitous path towards any sort of skill. First was a jutsu to lift water from the ocean, but never more than a few feet. Then, a jutsu to make a globe of water follow her around. Then, one to coat her hand. One to shape it. She was presented with one small jutsu after the other, all created to accomplish some trivial goal; none were done on a scale larger than a bowl-full of water, and none would be useful in a fight. Sakura learned each without complaint, not because she was content, but because she was a little scared to question Seruki’s methods. And so she continues.She improves, clearly; it’s impossible to miss the way her manipulations become effortless, and more controlled by the day. But no matter how much she pushes herself, Sakura just can’t shake the feeling that it’s not enough .By the time she left Konoha, Sasuke had learned Chidori, and could summon a palmful of lightning on a whim. He could puncture any armor, smite any foe. On his trip to find Tsunade, Naruto had learned his own new jutsu, the Rasengan. Combined with his clones and his ungodly chakra reserves, little could stop him, short of a jonin.Her teammates had already obtained so much power - and what did she have to show for her efforts? A splash of water. The longer she continued, the surer she became - she needed to go bigger. She needed to claim any power she could reach. ----- She designs the jutsu, first. Sakura doesn’t have any records or scrolls to work off of, so she just tries to modify the jutsu she’s been given. If she combines the jutsu for movement and shape, and then increases the scale, she might be able to create a simple cannon-ball water jutsu.Not her most creative idea, but it’ll work for a first attempt.She doesn’t tell Seruki what she’s doing - in fact, she’s a little nervous to ask for anything more from her. Sakura knows she’s being given a favor, in this training; it’s a privilege afforded only by her lucky heritage and wayward enthusiasm. She doesn’t want to offend her master by pressing for something bigger.It’s a little before noon when she tries the jutsu for the first time. She didn’t bother practicing with the smaller jutsu first, because she’s not sure how much chakra she’ll have to use up, and she doesn’t want to risk collapse. Despite the high position of the sun, the last vestiges of fog still cling to the air.With lungs full of breath, and hands at the ready, she begins. Sakura forms her hand seals carefully, not willing to risk the unknown effects of a mistaken sign. As she forms the last seal, completing the jutsu, she opens the floodgates to her chakra.Immediately, she knows something has gone wrong. The jutsu, raw and unfinished, pulls at her reserves like a mare straining for release, leaving Sakura grasping for control. Her usual iron-clad grip on chakra dissolves, and she can feel the energy draining out of her faster than rainwater down a gutter.Water, in globs and masses, flows in from every direction - the air, the sea, the damp soil below her feet. She can’t control it, and the massive sphere of water in front of her grows. Within seconds, it’s reached the size of her arm span, and Sakura can feel the loss of chakra like a kick to the gut. She knows she needs to release the jutsu, cut off the flow - if she doesn’t, she could die of chakra exhaustion.With every last drop of willpower she still possesses, she reaches deep inside of herself, to the quickly depleting sea of energy that remains in her stomach - and she clamps down. It works, barely. The hemorrhaging of chakra halts immediately, and Sakura can only drop to her knees in relief. She’s sore, nauseous, and so exhausted she might keel over. The collection of water, released from control, splashes downward in a torrential curtain, and manages to soak every inch of Sakura’s body with depth-chilled saltwater.Sakura braces herself against the ground, straining to keep herself above the muddy mess she had just created. Water streams down from her tangled hair, catching in her eyelashes, stinging her eyes, finding its way into her nose and mouth. The salt tastes like the tang of failure, and soon she can’t differentiate the seawater from her own tears. She sniffs, only to feel another burst of water trickle down the back of her throat. She’s lost track of time, but she thinks she might have been here for weeks now. Somebody in Konoha will know she’s gone. Maybe they think she’s been kidnapped, or dead in some unfortunate but inconsequential accident. Maybe they know she’s deserted them, running off in search of her own glory, suffocated by the drudgery of it all, unable to stand her own incompetence. Maybe they know how selfish she really is, how she’s actually just a wretched, greedy brat.At least they don’t know how pathetic she is. At least they don’t know how weak she is, how puny. Weeks, she’s spent here. What good is mastery, if she doesn’t have enough chakra to summon anything more than a waterskin’s worth of water? If she can’t pull off a jutsu barely large enough to knock out a single ninja?How is she meant to be great, if one mid-level jutsu leaves her shaking? Sakura digs her fingertips into the moist soil that’s managed to get all over her arms and legs, and feels the silt slide under her fingernails. Tomorrow. She’ll just have to try again tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that - all the days it takes until she gets it.She moves to stand, shifting her weight to heels, which sink in the thick mud; Sakura allows some chakra to flow to her soles as a counter.“What have you done.”Sakura startles with a quick jerk, known only by the twitch of her fingers. The moment off guard was too much, though, and her flimsy chakra breaks, allowing her heels to slip along the slick ground. She doesn’t manage to catch herself before splashing into the sludge, face up.Seruki stands a few meters away, stance as relaxed as ever. But behind her serene expression is a piercing anger, apparent only through the glint in her eyes. She doesn’t have the energy to respond. Or the words to describe how she feels, to frame her thoughts in a way that would make sense to another. So she just gazes up at the now-clear blue sky.“Sakura. What have you done.”Sakura blinks and licks her lips, but no sound comes out when she shapes her mouth. Everything about her feels heavy - even her fingers are too leaden to lift, and it feels as though her head is being pulled even further into the mud.Seruki flickers in the corner of her vision, drawing closer until Sakura can feel her heat - she must have sat down beside her. Seconds stretch to minutes, and the clouds scuttle by overhead, but neither speaks.Finally, Sakura scrapes up enough willpower to force the sound from her throat, and it feels like resurfacing.“I needed… I needed more.”Seruki nods, gaze lost in the horizon. “Why?”“It’s not enough because… because I’m not enough. My teammates, they, they were so good . And I’m - not.” Once she starts talking, it gets easier to keep going. The words are still abrupt, and the sentences fragmented, but it means something. “And no-one saw me, or helped me, which was - it was fine. But when we fail, or someone gets hurt, that’s my fault. Because I wasn’t enough, and they were.”“Ok.”Sakura turns towards the other. “Ok?”“Ok. I’ll teach you more. And if I promise that, one day, you will be enough, will you promise not to endanger yourself in the hopes of more?”Exhausted and spent as she is, Sakura doesn’t even have to think about the question to know her answer. “Yes. Of course.”Seruki only gives a curt nod, before gracefully rising to her feet and walking away, never mind the mud. ----- So then the training starts all over again. She meditates all the same, but she only practices the small jutsu for a little bit before moving on to the larger ones that Seruki taught her.When she stops to think about it, she feels a little silly to have gone behind Seruki’s back in that desperate attempt, when simply asking had been so easy. So she mostly doesn’t think about it.The jutsu start as singular, defined in their function and absolute in their identity. But the more familiar Sakura gets with each, the more ambiguous they become, malleable and diverse; they flow into each other with languid ease, until she hardly even has to sustain hand signs.Sometimes she gets stuck in the ebb and flow, wresting control from the tide for a moment, only to get sucked back under in the next instant. It isn’t until she lets go, exhausted and unwilling, that she reaches an understanding with the ocean within her. She learns to respond to water, and in turn, water learns to respond to her. They twist and flow in unison, Sakura dragging translucent ribbons through the air, and allowing the current to guide her motions.She becomes more familiar with water than she ever thought possible; sometimes she catches herself swaying to an invisible tide, moving with the same flowing grace she might see in a creek, or striking with all the smooth power of a cresting wave.Her water nature trickles into her standard taijutsu practices, making her techniques flow seamlessly into each other, giving her movements a languid air she had only ever seen in jonin.Her training finds ways to define every aspect of her life, even shaping the way she thinks. Her streams of thought push forward relentlessly, always finding the path of least resistance, and forging the fastest route around blockages. She feels sharper than she’s ever been: stronger, faster, better . It’s not enough.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Again.” Sakura pulled her lips back from her teeth in an ugly approximation of a snarl and pressed her toes against the stone wall to ready her stance. Her surroundings are tuned to a sharp relief -- she can feel the minuscule droplets of water that hang in the air, she can hear the dew as it trickles into the grass, and she can see the hairs on leaves across the clearing. More importantly, she could see Seruki -- she stood relaxed and even, in the exact middle of the clearing, failing to show even the strain of a heavy breath. Mist condensed on her eyelashes in silvery beads; she didn't blink.  In the second before Sakura took off, time slowed. The cobbled stone crackled, spiderwebbing breaks crawling out from beneath her feet. The dirt displaced by her clawed hands hung in the air, suspended, and the vapor she dispelled from her lungs colored white before her eyes. Then, like a rubber band stretched too far, time snapped back into place. Sakura shot forward, speed supplemented by the chakra bursting from her soles. As she flew towards Seruki, it was all she can do to draw the water from the skin on her hip before she reached her mentor. At her urging, the fluid shapes into a long rope tethered around the two of her hands, channeled full of chakra to increase the viscosity. Seruki extended her hand in a simple taijutsu strike; it seemed excessively simple, but Sakura knows from experience that the move is deceptively powerful. Rather than try to block the hit, Sakura reached down to drag one hand in the dirt, reducing her momentum just enough to change direction. Instead of barrelling forward, she channels a touch of chakra into her feet, and springs over Seruki’s reaching arm.  As she catapults over, torso twisting into a graceful arc, she snaps out the rope of water, catching Seruki’s wrist in a loop and dragging it backward. The fluid loop isn’t solid enough to truly trap anything too heavy, but it’s thick enough and traveling with enough speed to yank Seruki around with considerable force. As soon as Sakura’s feet connect with the ground on the other side, she drops with as much speed as gravity will give her, anticipating a counterstrike. She doesn’t give Seruki time to collect herself -- she just pushes forward, still low to the earth. In the last second before contact, she drops into a slide, nearly vertical to the ground, once again lashing out the watery rope with a snap of her wrist. She meant to compromise the other woman’s balance, and hopefully cause her to fall. Instead, Seruki adjusted her stance with grace, placing a hand on the ground and kicking her legs behind her center of mass. Now, Seruki was at an advantage, able to counter while Sakura still lay prone on the ground; before she could even push herself up, Seruki was upon her, pulling a knife from her deep sleeves to hold to the girl’s throat. Just before Seruki could reach her, Sakura formed a single hand sign and held her fingers to her mouth. She drew any moisture she could glean from the foggy air, and gathered it just before her lips. At the release of her chakra, she pushed outwards, sending the water shooting forward in chakra-hardened needles -- with enough speed, they would have the same effect as senbon. Against Seruki, they did the trick -- the woman was forced to divert her speed and twist, avoiding each projectile with her usual effortlessness. Though none of the senbon hit their mark, it afforded Sakura just enough time to spring backward and dart toward the wall on the edge of the clearing. Here, with the roaring sea at her back, just beyond the wall, she felt much more centered. Instinctively, her chakra core expanded and latched onto the natural water chakra behind her -- and surer than anything, Sakura knew that it was hers to command. For the task ahead, she strung together a series of hand signs, her movements sure and practiced -- and when the chakra took hold, the effect was immediate; she felt curiously like a puppeteer, the motions of the ocean at the whimsy of her limbs. This time, when Seruki advanced, Sakura only lifted one hand. The response was immediate; columns of roaring brine and froth rose up overhead at her behest, arching forward with the barest twitch of her fingers. It was a little heady to visualize the power that had grown to be hers; the sheer magnitude of water that she could control, and with such a degree of precision -- it was far beyond what she ever could have imagined just a bare few months ago.  With a condemning fist brought down from overhead, Sakura allowed her arsenal to rage forward. Few humans could hope to stand unaffected by such a torrent -- but Seruki simply slapped an open palm through the air in front of her, and the offending wave split to avoid her. Sakura struggled to regain control, trying to reintegrate her will, to mirror and manipulate the water that went rogue. But for all her efforts to draw in on her instructor, to wrap and constrict her in a whirlpool, she could not entirely wrest control from Seruki. No matter how hard she pushed and whirled, the wall of brine couldn’t draw in closer than half a foot.  Seruki’s shield wasn’t made of any foreign material: just a perfect mastery of the liquid element and an impervious will. Evidently deciding that her demonstration had drawn on long enough, the woman raised both arms, slowly pushing them outward. The great tempestuous mass of water slowed and dissipated with her motion, dispelling all of the control that had only just come so easily to Sakura. Sakura, still standing by the wall, was left with only the vapor in the air and the heaving in her chest. “Good. Again.” ----- When Sakura finally made it back to her little fisherman’s hut, she didn’t have the energy to do much more than collapse.  In the month since that first failure, she’d forged a home for herself on the island. Slowly but surely, the signs of her inhabitance had begun to show on the decrepit little hut.  At some point, she’d patched the small holes in the crumbling stone walls. Thankfully, the foundations of the building were still strong, once she’d replaced the wooden components that had long since rotted away.  Once the den was impervious to the elements, the things she had found herself collecting began to scatter around the cramped little room. Woven blankets she’d bought from a village a few miles down the coast lay rumpled on her cot. A desk, hastily constructed from raw lumber and a couple of filched nails was stuffed in the corner; a messy pile of manuscripts, loose paper, and graphite lay over top. From her slumped position against the wall, she could just make out the looping patterns scribbled throughout.  She slid down the rough stonework wall until her butt hit the floor, and then she stretched her legs out in front of her, pushing until the backs of her knees were flush with the cold floor. Her feet were pushed up against the opposing wall because the hut was so small. There’s hardly a spare moment where she doesn’t hurt; something or other always aches, if not the entirety of her. She hasn’t spared a thought towards abandoning the island, though -- not when she can feel the way the conditioning settles into her bones and muscles, hardening her from the inside out.  Sometimes, she tries to reconnect with that hard nugget of motivation that had long since congealed in her heart. It’s hard to grasp, more often than not; she knows that she wishes for power, and she wishes for power so that she can’t get left behind. But when did she get so attached to her former teammates? Was it wrong for the aspirations of friendship to be her main motivation? Surely there must be something else, something deeper to push her forward. A reason she had the desperation to get this far. There was the matter of her teammates. Or maybe she didn’t want to fade into obscurity; maybe she wished for fame, or respect, or wealth. Maybe it was an amalgamation of everything, a collection of concepts that were far too nebulous to grasp. Regardless, her drive was undeniable. Sakura wasn’t so sure she needed to understand it yet, either. All she knew for sure is that she would loathe a career behind a desk, or worse, as a housewife -- she could figure out the rest another time. She would need to push herself to her feet soon. The pains in her stomach were getting hard to ignore, and there was scrounging to be done. But the stone was cool and welcoming, and she didn’t feel like moving yet. ----- It was one of those rare days when Seruki surprised her with a meal. When she came to ninjustsu practice at the usual time, she had a basket with her. And when they were done, the woman motioned for Sakura to sit down on one of the remaining patches of pristine grass.  It’s been a long couple of months, and Sakura has long since learned not to turn down any labor-free food. She sits.  Her relationship with her mentor is a funny thing; even after months of partnership, training, and teaching, they hardly have anything to talk about. There’s no discernible common ground to stand on, nothing that they can each call their own -- and for all her competence, Seruki is oddly ignorant of anything concerning the mainland. They eat in quiet. Even if she struggles to relate to the woman, Sakura can enjoy her presence well enough -- and all things considered, this is pleasant. Between bites of smoked fish, she uses one nail to scratch patterns into a patch of loose dirt. It’s nothing special -- just an idea for a storage seal she had. A way to modify the structure, which, if Sakura has guessed correctly, will allow her to create two separate storage compartments within one seal. It wouldn’t give the seal any extra space, but it would help with organization.  She uses the back of her hand to wipe a few symbols out, and just as quickly replaces them with something new.  “That line of symbols is redundant.” Sakura’s head snapped up to Seruki, caught off guard by her comment. To her chagrin, she’d almost forgotten that her mentor was still sitting across from her. She glanced back down at her sketch. It was true; the line of markings she’d just changed seemed central to the seal at first glance -- but upon closer inspection, Sakura could see that the whorls hadn’t latched onto any of the seal’s framework. Instead, they simply muddled the composition.  Sakura’s brow furrows. “I thought you didn’t know any fuuinjutsu?” Seruki appears unfazed by the inquiry. “I remember a little. Not enough to teach, but enough to know.” The answer strikes Sakura as odd; it’s a deviation from Seruki’s earlier claim to ignorance. And Sakura’s young, but she’s a shinobi -- she can’t help but be off-put by even the slightest incongruence. Really, she can’t afford innocence. Sakura’s spent enough time with Seruki to feel safe around her; she’s been at her mercy so often while sparring that it’s nearly impossible to believe that the woman harbors any ill will. It is, however, likely that her mentor is hiding something. Considering how Sakura hardly knows anything about Seruki in the first place, this isn’t especially concerning. Everybody in their profession had something to hide -- it was the consequences of an uncertain lifestyle.  She’ll remain alert. But for now, she’ll pretend to think nothing of the admission. “I guess that makes sense,” she allows. ----- 
Oh.
 
Oh shit.
 
This might actually work.
 Sheaves of paper lay scattered across her desk, colored dark by the countless lines of graphite that scrawled across the pages; her drawings were muddled by the phantom markings of a pattern redrawn so many times. Incomprehensible loops and scribbles filled every nook and cranny, expanding into each canvas, and in some cases, falling onto the table itself. It was a frenzied work, copied down with the frantic intensity of someone determined not to forget. It was the product of hot, blind inspiration, striking without notice.  
And it might actually work-
 Her idea was simple: a seal based on Tsunade's, which could store chakra in the host’s body to be drawn upon at any moment. The reality, unfortunately, was far more complicated; the stored chakra had to be integrated seamlessly into both the chakra and physical systems -- a process that, if done incorrectly, would have lasting medical implications. It was becoming exceedingly clear to Sakura why only a master medic like Tsunade could use such a seal. However -- if the excess chakra was stored in several key points throughout the body, releasing the energy would simply saturate the chakra system, rather than flow in a torrential rage through delicate passages. Unfortunately, this modification came with a whole other host of problems: the sealing array becomes infinitely more complicated, since there needs to be a new storage seal for each location. Additionally, a ratio of chakra content needs to be maintained between all of the locations in order to keep the body in balance. If the user is cycling all of this chakra throughout the body, they won’t be able to maintain this ratio without sparing precious brainpower; therefore, chakra flow needs to be regulated by the seal itself. But it works. Sakura has the whole seal written out before her, the tangled lines as clear as a map in her head -- she can picture it in her own body, and it works . For all her euphoria, Sakura can recognize her own uncertainties. It’s late, she’s been working with single-minded focus for hours, and it’s getting harder to see by the flickering candlelight. She needs a second opinion -- she needs to find Seruki. ----- It was only after she ran out into the clearing that Sakura realized that she had no idea where Seruki would be. She was always just there, without Sakura ever having to search or wait. She didn’t think she’d be able to find Seruki before morning -- but at the thought of waiting to discuss her seal, panic grew sharp and insistent at her throat. Every detail and turn of her pencil lay scattered through her head, and she knew that if she slept, those precious thoughts would settle like sediment, lost to the sands of memory.  She needed to see Seruki. But if she could not find the mysterious woman, perhaps the enigma could find Sakura instead.  She released a thin wave of chakra, letting the energy claw out from deep within her core. If she concentrated, she could see the chakra traveling away on airwaves. She’s sent the signal -- all Seruki has to do is receive it. It doesn’t take longer than a few minutes for her mentor to answer the call. Sakura doesn’t feel her approaching -- her chakra presence simply appears , as sudden as the image of her body melting from the shadows. “Why do you call upon me?” Sakura, for all she wishes to begin spewing everything word she can muster, can’t figure out how to begin. She must have hesitated too long, because Seruki takes on an uncharacteristic tone of concern. “Has something happened?” “No! No,” Sakura assures her, alarmed by her mentor’s shift in demeanor. “I just -- I just figured something out, and I wanted -- I needed to talk about it, before I forget. I can’t forget.” “Alright,” says Seruki. “What is it?” “Um… Follow me.” Sakura turns on her heel and strides back towards her hut, the pace of her steps betraying the urgency that burns acidic in her stomach. It’s not lost on her that she’s never shown Seruki the inside of her hut -- it feels like an admission of trust, even though it hardly gives any advantage. It’s just oddly personal, with the evidence of her lifestyle scattered across the room. “Uh…” Sakura stands in front of her desk, and gestures expansively at the mounds of paper that bury the surface. “Don’t… don’t touch anything. It’s all where it needs to be, see? It’s got this central seal, here --” she waves vaguely at a mass of tangled lines in the approximate middle “-- and it all branches out to these points, which correspond to, uh… certain nerve reception sites, I think. It’s meant to--” “Chakra storage.” “Um. Yes, that’s right.” “Decentralized chakra storage? To minimize strain?” “Yes.” “It’s not a terrible idea.” “Thanks.” Just outside the hut’s cobbled walls, a light wind rustles through a copse of saplings, and the unrelenting tide crashes against the weathered seawall. Sakura takes a full breath in, and a full breath out. “Do you think. Do you think it could work?” Seruki, for maybe the first time ever, wears a look of uncertainty. Her gaze is pensive, and despite her focus on the forms before, she’s looking at something far away instead. “I’m not… sure. Maybe. There’s just… won’t this cause some problems?” She points at a single symbol, which sits in the center of the piece. It’s a part of the ring that symbolizes the intention of the seal, rather than the structure; it has to piece together the outer seals, and unify them in purpose. The connecting puzzle piece, which must fit the notches and curves of every other part of the picture. The symbol doesn’t fit. That offending symbol, which once appeared to work so seamlessly, directly contradicts the character of an outer shell. Left in place, it would impede the flow of chakra, causing a building; the resulting strain could burst pathways. Depending on the physical location of the blockage, the mistake could have been disastrous. Clearly, the mark needs to be changed to something else -- but what? It needs to have a similar meaning in order to preserve the seal’s function, but the style of the strokes needs to be complementary to all of the adjoining seals. As far as Sakura knows, no such symbol exists -- and Sakura could search every manuscript she gets her hands on, but she knows she won’t find one. She’s read nearly all the sealing literature available to her generation, and she has never seen an alternative. Which leaves only one option -- “Seruki?” “Yes?”“Do you know the alternate symbol?” “No.”  So this is it. Without a suitable replacement for this character, this mere scribble in a sea of chained and layered lines, she’ll have to start over, restructure the whole thing. Which is fine, and she’ll figure it out, but she’s just so tired-- “I can help you find it, though.” Sakura’s train of thought stutters to a halt, like a candle flame guttering on scraps of wax.  “I haven’t been entirely honest with you. And I think I’m ready to explain, now.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“There were details that I… omitted, when we were introduced. I’d like to elaborate, if you’ll allow it.”  Sakura doesn’t bother responding, preferring instead to look on expectantly. She’s not surprised by Seruki’s secrets -- she already suspected their existence, even if she didn’t know what they were. Though, to be honest, she was a little caught off-guard by Seruki’s willingness to tell. Tight lips are the norm in their profession. “Uzushio fell so many years ago. It was so pivotal in the course of the war, and so it was famous for its importance. And yet, nobody lived to tell the tale -- so the story died before its time. Just another gnarl in history. “I watched it happen. I saw her walls crumble, her people scrambling among the rubble like so many crazed ants. I saw her warriors crushed; decades, no, centuries of amassed knowledge and might brought low by something as pitiful as war .” Her lip curled into a snarl for the barest of moments; then, she continued. “I watched, and I was the only one. I am not human -- you may have guessed, but I was never human -- and so, I was never truly a part of her. I didn’t live among her people; I didn’t eat their food, I didn’t fight their battles, and I didn’t partake in their traditions. All the same, this was my home, and I protected it in the ways I could.  “Uzushio fell, and I was, am, her only witness. There was nobody else, and so I was implicated in not just her history, but her future. “I don’t just watch these ruins. I am not just the keeper of the land and the buildings. I am meant to guard the memory of Uzushio’s people. It might even be called her spirit; culture, tradition, ninja arts -- I am the only one left to remember them.” Sakura worried her bottom lip. The air felt too delicate to disturb, but Seruki’s confession left far more questions than it answered. In fact, it answered very few questions. Seruki’s history with the hidden village had already been implied, if not spoken outright. And yes, she had known there was something different about Seruki, what with the way she disappeared every night, nowhere to be found on the island.  She can only think of one thing to ask. “What does this have to do with me? Or my seal?” “I have kept Uzushio’s legacy at her behest. I can grant permission to its access, in a fashion.” “What, exactly does her legacy entail?” “Her library. Among other things. All of the teachings on sealing you could want -- anything that existed before the fall. Everything that doesn’t exist now.” “And the fashion?” “I make you heir.” “Your heir?”“Heir to Uzushio.” Sakura’s eyes slide a fraction wider, and her lips loosen from their inquisitive line. This idea -- it’s too momentous, too sudden, too massive . “Why? Why me, why now?” The older woman pauses, and a slight impression of softness steals over her frame. She grimaces as if to continue, but Sakura barrels through without regard. “How could you grant that to somebody you barely know? How could you give something so -- so big to the first person who came along? What makes me different? What makes you think I can handle that?” It occurs to her that it’s not just the responsibility of the thing. It’s the delicacy. “What makes you think I deserve it?” This could be the answer to every doubt she’s ever had. She wanted to have power, she wanted to be respected, revered, or even just regarded. Unquestionably, this boon she was being offered would give her all of that -- probably more. She just couldn’t accept something so immense, when she doesn’t even begin to understand why it should be hers . This time, Seruki doesn’t take a pause, doesn’t leave any opportunity for the other to interrupt. “You are far from the first, child.” Hers is a tone which brooks no argument. “Vermin come crawling from every corner of your stricken continent, begging for scraps of power. They search their broken promised land, and they invariably find nothing.  “I greet every one of them. If I find them agreeable, I teach them what they so desperately wish for. In most cases, it’s simple power-” Sakura cannot contain herself in her dejected frustration, and breaks her silence with an outburst. “So how am I any differ-” “I am not finished.” Seruki casts a stern glance in the girl’s direction. Only when Sakura leans back, conceding, does she continue. “In most cases, it’s simple power, though I hardly blame them for it. Power solves most problems in the savage ninja country -- it means safety, or wealth -- all of the things one needs to feel secure. So when I teach them power, they learn security, and are sated.  “Here is where you differ. I have taught you power. Yes, you are yet a ways from true strength. But considering your progress, and your momentum, you have reason to believe that, with my guidance, you will eventually achieve it.  “And yet -- and yet you cannot contain your curiosity. You still study your seals. It's -- I’ve seen more than you know. You’ve made enough sketches to drown in, and you’ve studied enough theory to make anybody else go numb with it. And yet, you continue. You’ve shown me that you are really, truly, dedicated to the craft.” It hangs in the air, the weightiest thing Sakura’s ever heard. “But I told you -- it’s knowledge I seek, but it’s also means to an end. It’s not like I don’t hope to gain anything from my practice! It’s not -- not like-” It chokes her, how genuine it is, that someone can believe something so altruistic, so innocent of her. “I know, child. Seals are a tool, but they are a tool you do not need. You are… you have more strength than you seem to think. You’re determined and clever, and you could become more than enough on that alone. You don’t need the seals, and I think, deep down, you know that too. “You don’t really need more. And yet you pursue it. It’s obsession -- raw, raging, torrential obsession. Can you really not accept it? That you would be so taken with something, and that, despite it, you might be good with it?” For once, Sakura has nothing to respond with. She’s voiced every cowardly thought, and been shot down at every turn. She cannot convince this woman, creature, transcendent figure that she doesn’t deserve the responsibility. She might just be stuck with it. She means to allow herself a small, humble smile, but the moment she concedes to her emotions, her facade crumbles. What comes out instead is what might be the most blinding grin that’s ever stolen her features. “Oh, alright,” she manages. ----- They waste no time in completing the ceremony. Sakura, in truth, has no idea what’s required of her, but she’s content to leave everything to Seruki and her uncharacteristically brisk step. It turns out to be a rather simple affair, tradition stripped to the bones by necessity.  They sat in their usual clearing, amid one of the bare dirt patches -- undoubtedly, the swath of land had been victim to some of Sakura’s more reckless jutsu. The night around them is anything but still -- wind rustles through the thin forest, and the ever-crashing waves just beyond the cobbled seawall add their dull roar. Light, despite a nearly-full moon, is thin, impeded by a thick blanket of low clouds. The beginnings of a dew coat cling to low grass, giving the appearance of a gilded carpet.  Seruki plunges her hand into the earth between her feet, bringing a clawed handful of dirt back up to her chest. From a few meters away, Sakura can feel the delicate flow of chakra pushing into soil, hardening the stuff as the older woman kneads. It’s a bowl, Sakura realizes -- she’s shaping a bowl. As Seruki finishes her first task, she begins to explain. “The ritual is more symbolic than anything. I don’t even know if one could really call it a ritual; it’s more of a task. The people of Uzushio were never really ones for ceremony -- granted, there might have been a bit more fanfare if the city still lived.” “So this ‘keeper’ position… it was a thing, before you?” Seruki’s hands stilled, and she tilted her head in consideration. “I guess not. I didn’t think about it much -- it just felt right. The ruins have a way of guiding you.” Sakura wasn’t sure what she could say in response to that, so she just nodded. Seruki set the now-finished bowl on the ground. Impossibly, it shone, as if polished.  She drew a glinting knife from somewhere within the folds of her clothing, and without pause, slashed her forearm. Sakura marvels at how she does not flinch at the violence -- it seems that, through her new conviction, she gained a countenance of stone. The older one, unphased by injury, held her freely bleeding wound over the shining bowl, and allowed the blood to drip and be caught by its new vessel.  Fresh cloth is produced from those inscrutable folds of her robes, and deftly wrapped around her forearm. The not-quite-human only stops in her motion to glance up at the girl, and ask, “Ready?” Despite her feeble doubts, Sakura is inconvertibly, irreversibly, inconceivably ready. Seruki must see it in her eyes, because her mentor gives her a sharp smile. Sakura doesn’t think she’s seen it before. The woman’s slender hand dives into the bowl, and the tips of her fingers come out red, the color somehow sharp despite the lighting; it doesn’t match the desaturated gloom. She traces across Sakura’s forehead, hand steady despite the substance of the moment. Her touch radiates from Sakura’s brow, looping to her hairline, and trailing down her temples. Sakura can’t see it, but the pattern feels familiar, and she almost laughs when she realizes -- it’s a seal. Of course it is.  It’s not long before Seruki leans back, taking her steady hand with her. The whole thing didn’t take much longer than a minute. As the woman observes her work, the harsh line of her shoulders slips, as if the tension had been stolen from her frame, as if the strings holding her up had been cut by some tired puppeteer. Sakura stares at the other’s expression, intense in her desire for a reaction. “It’s done?” Seruki nods. “It’s done.” The girl reaches up to touch the markings, but stops her hand before it can touch skin. She doesn’t know how the seal works, but she doesn’t want to mess anything up before the blood sets. In some spots, the liquid drips down her face in sanguine rivulets; she carefully refrains from wiping these, too. She frowns. “I don’t feel different.” “You wouldn’t. Stewardship won’t change anything about you, physically; it only provides you with the information and resources to wrangle yourself into what you wish.” “Where?” “What?” “Where’s the information?” Seruki smirks. “Impatience is hardly a virtue, child. No matter. Where do you go when you seek knowledge?” Sakura only has one plausible answer. “The library?” ----- The decrepit building is much the same as the last time she inspected it. The spot where she had once smeared her blood, hoping for a miracle, is still covered in the stuff -- only now it’s crusted and brown. Sakura reaches for the water in her pouch and swipes the stain off of the dusted tile, somewhat ashamed to have left the mosaic dirtied for so long. She’s alone, now. Seruki had retreated back into, well, wherever she went, claiming that Sakura could ‘figure it out from here.’  The ruin, long since left to fall apart, no longer creaks and groans like a house starting to settle. Despite its crumbling walls, there’s a sense of solidity to the library. It says, I have stood for ages, and I will stand for ages more .  Sakura glares at the tiled floor before her, brow furrowed. She still thinks her earliest intuition was right -- the mosaic is a seal for something. She entertains the fleeting notion that the intricate loops may just be for decoration -- and dismisses it. This is Uzushio, the veritable city of sealing, and the layout is far too practical, too realistic; it has a purpose, she’s sure of it. Which leaves only one problem: unlocking the seal. There the puzzle lay, massive, interlocking, and infuriating.  Something of Seruki’s wording comes to mind; it only provides you with the information and resources to wrangle yourself into what you wish .   Information. Maybe this is the answer -- a solution to this puzzle, contrived by those she’s burdened to remember. But -- information speaks nothing of intuition, or problem-solving. She was, after all, chosen for her learned proficiency in sealing. Perhaps it was assumed, at the seal’s genesis, that anybody who needed to open the seal would already know how to read it. It’s insurance -- insurance that the founts of knowledge would go to only those who would continue its legacy. This would imply, then, that the puzzle could be solved simply by reading the seal. Which she had already done months ago; still, her blood was not the key. 
The key.
 Before, she had assumed that the ‘keyhole’ loop with the ‘chakra’ symbol implied that a chakra signature would unlock the seal -- but that’s not even how a keyhole works. Each lock is designed to accept only one specific key -- and therefore, this seal should be designed to accept only one type of chakra signature.  Insurance , she thinks again. This way, in order to access Uzushio’s legacy, a person would not only have to be able to read this ridiculous seal, but would also need to have a chakra signature with some relation to Uzushio’s families. Sakura bit her lip. According to Seruki, the Harunos originated from the area -- were even well known. Despite this, her blood failed to work; perhaps her family wasn’t ingrained enough or important enough to warrant an inclusion on the seal. Maybe they left too long before the fall, and any traces of their blood had long since diluted. So then, some change to her chakra was required -- some marker in her signature that would identify her as a legacy. Idly, Sakura reached up to scratch her nose -- and froze. The entire side of her nose was crusted with blood, the excess drippings from Seruki’s mark having long since dried up.  Seruki said that the ceremony wouldn’t cause any physical changes; what if it cause changes in her energies, instead? Changes to her chakra.  She began to move, slow and deliberate, as though any excitement on her behalf would jinx her. She lifted a kunai from her pouch -- which had never left her hip, even through these last months -- and with a reverent swipe of the wrist, drew blood from her palm. The blood welled from the cut, reminiscent of the night’s earlier ritual, and pooled in the cusp of her hand. She glided across the floor, across the offending pattern, and having reached the keyhole, squeezed her fist shut, tilting to allow her blood a direct path to the floor. As though magnetized, each drop sped towards glazed tile, and landed in a succession of much-too-loud splashes .  A chill ran through her body, straightening her spine, standing her hair on end: electric. And then, predictably, inexplicably, the room began to move.There was grinding, deep and guttural, the sound of stone on rough stone; it vibrated through her teeth, and jostled the brain inside her skull; her bones were made impermanent. Through her feet, she could feel great slabs shifting out of place -- or perhaps, into place. Something final clicked; the sprawling mosaic on which she stood sank, lowering into some grand underground hall. It was clear that these mechanisms hadn’t been touched in some time -- the descent was far from smooth, and the newly exposed bits of the wall showed signs of decay, riddled by rough divots. Dust plumed into the stale underground air, scratching through her throat and lungs. The dust settled in time, and Sakura’s gaze finally fell upon these exalted halls, these lauded vaulted ceilings. She turned in a slow circle, heart hammering in her chest, drinking in every burning image she could grasp, gasping in long-delayed relief. In every cardinal direction, shelf-lined tunnels stretched into gloom, dimly lit by a few stray torches. On and on and on and on -- books, records, scrolls, weapons -- raw, unadulterated, uncensored information . This , this was what she had traveled all this way for, stayed all these months for. This fleeting dream, which had once seemed to merely skim through her fingertips, was now firmly in her grasp. Sakura’s features stretched themselves into a wild grin, sharp and manic.  She couldn’t wait to start working.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Smooth walls stretch upwards, worn but well-maintained. They throw shadows to cover several fields, lengthened by the setting sun. 
 
The sight should make her feel at home; instead, she’s just kind of nervous.
 
When she left Konoha, she had felt safe in the certainty that nobody would take note, since she’d only be missing from duty for a week or two. And though she’d lost count of the exact days at some point during her training, she could say with confidence that she’d been gone for about three months. Three months with no word home, no indication of what she was doing, no evidence of her life or death, or even worse, her loyalty. Shirking duty, she knew, was often tried as treason in times of war. The lands held their peace, but the precedent remained. What if somebody thought she ran away? All anybody would have to do is check the mission logs; they would know she hadn’t been given a mission of any sort, let alone a long-term one. And maybe she had been running away, a little bit -- but not for fear, or lack of loyalty! Honestly, she only sought to better herself, which -- if you thought about it -- only served to help the village. 
 
Sakura lifted a furtive hand to claw at the fabric covering her beating chest. Nobody had accused her of anything yet. If somebody important had questions, she would answer them to the best of her ability, and hope for mercy. Nothing more to it.
 
Besides, she’d make the same decision again if she had to. Sakura knows she only did what was right for her.
 
With bated breath, she waits for nightfall, and plans her return to Konoha.
 
-----
 
All things considered, it’s not that hard to sneak in and out of the village. She’d never had much cause to think about it before, but the thought struck her somewhere during her journey to Uzushio. During her quiet escape, she’d completely forgotten that the village walls were meant to be

guarded

-- and yet nobody had stopped her. She could only think of two reasons for this: first, for a ninja village, Konoha was awfully lax, or second, they knew she was leaving, and didn’t care enough to stop her. She wasn’t sure which option she preferred. 
 
She sneaks back in with much the same manner: without much effort at all. 
 
She’s on the far side of the village, and her exhaustion is bone-deep, but she doesn’t have enough money to find a place to stay the night, so she really only has one place to go. It’s with a vague sense of shame she drags herself towards her family home.

Three whole months

, she’d been gone. A week or two without notice, her parents might have written off. Three months? With no explanation? They were sure to have checked with the shinobi office, considering the usual hazards of her occupation -- then, there could be no assumptions of a mission. Would they ask questions? What would she say?

Sorry, had a mental break and went to go discover myself?

But Sakura’s a practical girl at heart, so she doesn’t bother hesitating when she reaches her family home’s well-manicured door, and takes extra care to open the door like she has no reason to be attentive.
 
The house she steps into is cool, but a touch warmer than the chilled autumn night. The light inside is perfectly suffusive, and the decor as carefully pleasant as she remembers. Nobody shouts at her arrival, because nobody sees it; the hall is empty. 
 
She’s about to jog up the stairs to her room, but a glow from under the study’s closed door stops her in her tracks. If one of her parents is awake, she should check in, make sure they know she’s back. Wouldn’t want to scare them in the morning. The door opens with a measured push; across from her, Sakura’s mother looks up from an admirably organized desk, and peers up at her daughter through a pair of reading glasses. 
 
Sakura doesn’t even have to figure out what to say, because Mebuki goes first. “Oh. I thought I heard the door open.”
 
On instinct, Sakura clasps her hands behind her back in that prim way she taught herself to do. “Yes! I-”
 
“How was the mission out in Hot Water Country?” Her mother cuts in, deaf to Sakura. 
 
How was the mission, indeed.

Sakura sits on the cold stone floors of the library’s vault, countless tomes, scrolls, and loose pages spread out before her. She’s taking notes with some spare graphite, scribbling furiously, too furiously; the pencil snaps. “Fuck!” She blindly pats the ground behind her for another stick of graphite, muttering all the while. “...God-fucking-damnit, stupid fucking defective -- where the fuck

is it--

”

Sakura’s head snaps up to spot Seruki’s approach, abruptly cutting off her quiet tirade. Even at this distance, she’s sure to have heard it. “Sorry,” she offers sheepishly.

Seruki, as unflappable as ever, only waves shortly. “No matter. I’ve heard far worse -- the Uzumaki had prolifically foul mouths. What has you so worked up?”

Sakura gestures to her scattered work. “Found something interesting. I guess I got too excited.”

Seruki peers forward. “Nature chakra? The theory is pretty simple, so I can’t imagine it would warrant all of

this.

”

“That’s the thing though, isn’t it?” Sakura interjects, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. She can only imagine how she looks, hair all rumpled from days of neglect and fidgeting. She’s probably got graphite smudges on her face; she thinks she must be the very image of a fanatic. “It’s simple in the way that makes it versatile. I mean -- it just exists, everywhere -- and that means somebody could draw upon it, anywhere. And the enhancements are simple! Other than accessing and regulating, its application is simple -- and imagine -- all of that energy, just

waiting

to be tapped--”

“‘

Other

than accessing and regulating?’” Seruki’s skeptical, and it’s dripping through her voice. “Those two things are what make nature chakra so difficult to master and so dangerous to use. How do you plan to overcome that?”

Sakura grins.

“...I hear the amenities out there are pretty nice, all things considered. I mean, the trade network up North is honestly…” Her mother’s babble slowly filters back into her ears, steady and meaningless. She tries to look attentive, and hopes her expression hadn’t gone vacant in the meantime. “...so it’s really a wonder that they manage to run so many

working

hot springs. What did you think of them, dear?”
 
Sakura wishes she could come up with some smart response and take advantage of the lie that’s been so graciously dropped in her lap. Instead, her mouth just drops and lifts on cycle, like one of those dying fish she used to catch. It might have to do with how shockingly easy it is, to come home to a family without questions; maybe it’s how ridiculous the truth is, compared to the lie. It doesn't matter anyways -- Mebuki just barrels through the barely-there silence. “Well, I hope you had a nice time -- well, as nice as it

can

be, doing whatever you shinobi get up to -- because they’re sure to have your nose to grindstone now. Especially after this whole ‘Konoha Crush’ business -- and honestly, I don’t know how they managed to spare you for such a long mission, everybody’s been so

busy

around here.”
 
The daughter decides to offer a cordially cautious response. “Yea-- Yeah, it was… nice.” Now she’s the one making up the lies -- Uzushio wasn’t nice, it was

incredible

. It changed her life, and here she is, pretending that the only thing that ever happened was the usual mundanity. “And how has the… business…?” Sakura swears she used to be good at this whole thing -- the questions, the interest, the

talking

-- but she must have forgotten something important with only Seruki for practice, because she doesn’t quite know what she’s supposed to say anymore.
 
Mebuki’s voice fades back in. “...oh, you know,” she waves a dismissing hand in a practiced motion, “it’s all been sort of rocky since the exams. We expected a lot of sales during the exams, since they attract shinobi from all over, and shinobi wares are pretty much all the same -- kunai, tags, wire, the like. Of course, all of -- that -- happened, and now we're facing a bit of deficit. Unsold inventory, you know how it goes. Anyways, the networks are starting to open back up, so we should be up on our feet in no time. Of course,” she lets out a genial laugh, “we never really fell off of them anyways. Are you feeling all right, dear? You’ve been a bit quiet.”
 
“Oh yeah. Of course! I’m fine.” She forces a laugh through her throat, but she thinks it comes out a little awkward. 
 
Mebuki’s brow creases slightly, but the mark is wiped away in an instant. “Well, all right then. It’s sort of late, isn’t it? You must be tired. Do you want to say hello to your father before you head up to bed? He’s in our room.”
 
“Oh, that’s fine. Wouldn’t want to wake him up, you know?” She’s already edging out of the room, glad for the excuse to escape. It’s not that she’s not glad to see her mother -- she is, she thinks -- but she’s scared that Mebuki will realize something’s changed, and look closer. Sakura doesn’t want her mother to find the conviction buried in her daughter’s chest, because it will be another foot set down the shinobi path. And those paths -- shinobi and merchant -- only grow further apart down the line. They’ve been walking in diverging directions for a while now, and each reminder echoes in her chest louder than the last. One day, she’ll have experiences that she won’t ever be able to explain to her mother, and Mebuki won’t ever be able to understand them. One day, Sakura will stop understanding the older woman entirely; such is the civilian to the ninja. 
 
She makes it halfway up the stairs before she realizes that her hands are still clasped behind her back.  
 
-----
 
The next morning finds her at the mission desk, trying her absolute best to not fidget. The older shinobi tend to have an eye for that kind of thing, and her face goes red with embarrassment at the thought of being seen so antsy.
 
She has to walk up to the desk at some point -- she knows she has to -- as far as she knows, she’s still a servant of the village, and must complete her duties as such. The thing is, she got

really

lucky with her parents. Somehow, they came to their own conclusions, and didn’t spare enough thought to question them. She can’t expect the village administration to have done the same -- in fact, it would be insane to do so. The village keeps records, and logs when people leave and enter the village, notes every mission, every success, every infraction; all they have to do is check her mission log, and they’ll know she hasn’t been active.
 
The worst part is that she doesn’t have an excuse, and she doesn’t want to use one. She left, as plain as that; she doesn’t regret it, but it wasn’t sanctioned, and therefore it was

wrong

. Three months, in perhaps one of the direst chapters of Konoha’s history -- she only hopes they won’t bother to punish a genin too harshly. 
 
Sakura clasps her hands behind her back, hoping it makes her small, and gets in line for the mission desk. 
 
-----
 
The bland chuunin at the desk looks at her expectantly when Sakura approaches. 
 
“Sakura Haruno, Genin,” she states dutifully. She hopes the chuunin can’t somehow sense how sweaty her hands are. “Reporting for duty.”
 
The chuunin shuffles a bit through the cabinet behind him, and comes out with a file. It’s thin. 
 
Sakura’s blood grows steadily colder as the chuunin flips through her file, making the occasional grunt. “Ah,” he finally comments. “Back from long-term in Hot Water?”

What?

The only reaction Sakura allows herself is a passive, slow blink. Long-term in Hot Water -- the same excuse that had evidently been stuffed into her parents. The mission description was too specific to be coincidental, and besides, there was no way the shinobi office had mixed up her paperwork so conveniently; somebody was intervening on her behalf.
 
To her relief, Sakura manages to find her voice before the silence becomes stifling. “Uh, yes, sir.”
 
The chuunin gives her an odd look out of the corner of his eye, no doubt noticing her discomfort. “Right. Well, the Hokage wants you for debriefing,” he says, pointing to the stairs in the corner of the room that lead to the administrative levels. Sakura accepts the obvious dismissal, and picks her way through the crowd of ninja. 
 
Sakura considers a few things while she trudges up the steps. Namely, who could possibly care enough to cover for her, and of these people, who would have the influence to do it. It’s a very short list, because the list has exactly zero names on it. Now, if she disregarded motive as a factor, she could consider a few people; the most likely figure would be Senju Tsunade, the new Hokage, since she has direct access to all missions. She has no earthly idea

why

the Godaime would go to such trouble, but she figures that she’s probably about to find out. 
 
Resigned to her own dreary reasoning, she pushes open the doors to the Hokage’s office. Immediately, Sakura’s eye is drawn to the impressively-figured woman that sits at the far desk. She thinks she sees a bottle of sake sitting off to the side.
 
The new Hokage, apparently not one for pleasantries, addresses Sakura before she can even drop into a shallow bow. “Sakura Haruno, Genin, formerly of Team Seven. Suspected of desertion, possibly treason. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
 
Sakura’s so taken aback that she’s not sure what to respond with. She puts off her decision by bending hastily at the waist -- maybe if she’s eager enough to show respect, she’ll get off easier. As soon as the thought passes through her head, she can’t help but internally scoff at how pathetic that sounds. 
 
“Oh god, none of that -- just stand up. Christ.” Tsunade is quite clearly exasperated, but maybe a little sympathetic too. Sakura definitely hopes she is. “I’m not going to get you in trouble, Kid. I wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble of making up some bullshit mission for you if I was just planning on chucking you to T&I. I mean,” she chuckles bitterly, “I would be a hypocrite to punish someone for needing to get away for a little bit.”
 
“Oh. Thanks -- I mean, thank you, Hokage-sama.”
 
“Yeah, yeah. Now, could you please explain what you were doing for three god-damned months?”
 
“I wasn’t pleased with my progress as a shinobi, Hokage-sama. I decided it would be worth my time to travel, and try to figure a few things out for myself.” For a long time, Sakura hadn’t been sure whether she would tell people the truth about Uzushio. She talked it out with Seruki, but as it turned out, the woman wasn’t much help.

“You are the keeper, Sakura. You may decide what’s best for you.”

Sakura feels a wave of exasperation flow through her, quick and torrential. “I realize that, Seruki. But truly, I have no idea what I should be doing. I mean, what are even my duties? What’s expected of me, when there’s nobody left to expect anything?”

“That is also up to you, Sakura.”

“Holy shit, Seruki. I could swear you used to be useful.”

Eventually, Sakura just decided that it would be best to keep the whole affair quiet for a while -- hence her frustratingly vague response. It would be a while before she felt comfortable in her role -- really, even thinking of herself as ‘Heir to Uzushio’ made her dizzy. She knew she wouldn’t feel comfortable advertising that sort of thing, especially when she was still working on her mastery of sealing. 
 
Besides, she knew exactly what kind of people would seek out the treasures of Uzushio, once they knew that they still existed. The city was as derelict as she found it, and she couldn’t promise that she’d be able to protect it, not the way she was right now.
 
And that’s just another reason, Sakura supposes. Now, there’s someone, something that needs her to be strong; Sakura adds it to her small pile of reasons to keep pushing, and relishes the rush of manic energy that floods her at the thought. Maybe one day she’ll have so many reasons that she’ll wonder why she ever doubted it in the first place. 
 
Across the plush rug in the Hokage’s office, Tsunade considers Sakura’s words. It doesn’t take long. “Well,” she begins, “were you successful?”

Sakura’s inked pen scratches long, careful lines against a sheet of beautifully thick parchment. She’s in the final drafts, which is why she unearthed the good supplies.

Her original concept was so tantalizingly simple -- now, as she reaches her final product, every variation becomes more and more complex. It’s not that she’s trying to do too much, or add superfluous functions out of vanity. Nature chakra is just

so

finicky, which means she needs to add ridiculous amounts of modifiers and fail-safes to make it work.

It’s honestly incredible what the human body is capable of doing on its own -- endless functions of autoregulation, which she now has to replicate artificially. Storage and energy-pneumatic seals, for intake; circulation gates, to monitor the ratio of nature-to-individual chakra; vital monitors, to calculate the ratio of nature chakra that her body can handle; feedback loops, for constant, relentless adjustment; exit pathways, for release of the excess. And she’s sure she’ll think of more

stuff

that she needs.

And even once she’s reached a version of this monstrous seal she can be happy with, she has no doubt in her mind that this seal will be an ongoing endeavor. No invention is ever perfect -- there’s always something to be adjusted, something to optimize, something to add.

But this? This horrifically intricate seal, radiating spidery lines in every direction -- this is something real, tangible. This is something

enough

, finally, something that will entirely rearrange her playing field. She can’t wait to use it.

“Yes, Hokage-sama.”
 
“Care to elaborate?”
 
Sakura hesitates. “No, Hokage-sama.” She’d better get used to the lies, because it seems she’s going to be asked a lot of questions she can’t answer. It’s fine. She’s a shinobi -- she was gonna become well acquainted with the art of subterfuge somewhere down the line anyways. If only she could acquaint herself a little faster, she might be able to get through a single conversation without somebody looking at her weird. 
 
Speaking of weird looks -- Tsunade takes the moment to sit back in her chair with an awfully considering expression. “Hm,” she grunts, obviously skeptical of Sakura’s tight-lipped responses. She must have decided to let the matter go, because she changes the topic without warning. “In that case, I’m supposed to ask you about chuunin exams.”
 
Sakura’s brow furrows. She never gave a personal report of her actions during the Chuunin exams, but her part was relatively small, so she didn’t see why Tsunade-sama would need the information. “Ah, the Konoha Crush? I mostly just worked in evacuation--”
 
“You misunderstand. I meant the upcoming Chuunin exams, set to take place in Kirigakure in three months.”
 
Sakura waits for an explanation, but none comes. It seems like Tsunade-sama is waiting for some sort of response, but she honestly has no idea what there is to say. “Oh,” she offers.
 
Tsunade frowns, apparently off-put by Sakura’s lack of reaction. There must have been some interpretation she missed, some hidden meaning that slipped through her ears. Thankfully, her hokage takes pity on her, and blithely gets to the point. “Would you like to participate? If your… travels were as successful as you claim, I have no doubts that the rank is within reach. The Hatake brat seemed to think you could handle it, anyways.”
 
Once again, it was Sakura’s turn for troubled musings. She didn’t know if Kakashi-sensei (not her sensei anymore, she reminded herself) had spoken to Tsunade about her, but she really had no idea what he would have said. There wasn’t much to compliment about the person she was -- just above-average chakra control, and an over-developed self-preservation instinct. 
 
But who she was is indisputably not who she is. And she really had grown stronger -- much stronger. Advancement would give her access to more training, harder missions, and more resources; she would get stronger still. So really, she might as well. “It would be my honor to represent the village, Hokage-sama. Though… who would I be on a team with?” The rest of the sentence, ‘

now that everybody’s left

,

’

went unspoken. 
 
“You’re in luck, Haruno. Shikamaru’s promotion left a rather neat one-shinobi opening on Team 10. You’ll likely have to arrange some training with them, but that’ll have to happen on your own time. I’m not about to hold every genin’s hand through the process.”
 
This, Sakura decided, was fair enough. There was one question festering in the back of her mind, though she was pretty sure she knew the answer. “How did you know I was gone?”
 
Tsunade snorted. “Brat, if you think I don’t know everything that goes on in this village, you’re in for a nasty trip. We were in the middle of restoration. I didn’t have the manpower to send after you.”

Didn’t have the manpower to send after a genin from a civilian family

, Sakura’s brain supplied. “Though,” Tsunade continued with some thought, “Hatake dropped in to ask about you. Must have realized you were gone when he got back from his long-term. That’s when I came up with the cover mission, actually, so I guess you have him to thank for that.” 
 
That gave Sakura a pause. She half-expected the first part, ever since she heard about the cover from the mission desk, but the part about Kakashi was entirely surprising. She didn’t realize that he would check in on her, even just to verify that she was still in the village; it gave her a strange ballooning feeling in her chest, like expectations long-forgotten--
 
“Oh. Is he still here -- Kakashi-sensei, I mean--?”
 
Tsunade gives her a pitying look, which makes Sakura feel strangely ashamed. “He left for another long-term mission about a week after he came back. Nothing to stay for, I suppose.”
 
--And just like that, the balloon was gone. And it makes sense, it really does -- two-thirds of Team Seven is gone to the ether, and why devote so much time to mentor the last, least promising third? She understood. She nods, sharp and decisive, so at odds with the floundering in her stomach. 
 
-----
 
Later that night, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. It’s been a while since she saw a reflection so clear, so she’s transfixed for a long while. Her face isn’t much different -- maybe a stiffer set to her jaw, a fervor in her eye -- but it’s her body that draws her attention. She’s put on a layer of wiry muscle that had never taken residence before, and it makes her look tough and stringy --

like a thistle

, she thinks. Sakura doesn’t mind like she once would have, because she can’t bring herself to care about the aesthetics, and it’s hard, tangible proof of the work she’s put in. 
 
Then she turns the slightest bit, and expanses of spidery ink make themselves visible.

She’s carefully laid over the sturdiest table in the library, stomach to the preserved wood; Seruki stands impassively behind her, frightful contraption in hand. It whirs to life, the metal needle blurring with speed; Sakura’s sort of glad she’s never seen a tattoo gun before, because it’s a lot more intimidating than she was expecting. She wants to shiver at the thought of what that monstrosity could do to her back, but she needs to remain entirely still. She can’t let this get messed up

now

.

As Seruki traces painstaking lines along her back, Sakura visualizes each stroke, and places them into a schematic that’s been burned into her mind by countless renditions and revisions. Here are the intake points; there are the regulators. Following each blistering mark helps to distract her from the stinging of the gun, from the burn of the chakra-infused ink that filters into her system.

After countless minutes, Seruki utters her first words: “It’s done.”

Sakura hefts herself off the table, unable to keep from grimacing at the sharp pains that lance through her back; she’s not quite that hardened yet. She doesn’t bother finding a reflection to check Seruki’s work -- she already knows that the older woman copied her seal without flaw.

Closing her eyes, she dives into her core of energy, a roiling, tempestuous tide in her gut, tamed by her iron grip -- and searches outward, through each pathway that leads away. Here, she can feel every modification, dark ink-marks left by the sting of a needle.

She lets the flow of chakra carry her back towards the center, and -- there -- the intake gate. It looms overhead, alien and imposing; to her mind’s eye, it looks like a set of great doors, constructed of Konoha’s sturdy logs and Uzushio’s weathered stone. In the center, a lock lays nestled, small against the scale of the massive gate.

Sakura reaches forward, brushing the lock with the tips of her soul-fingers -- allows it to crack open--

And is swept away in a torrent of bright-burning energy.

Nature chakra.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

While getting ready for her next mission, Sakura falls into old rituals. She pulls on her black spandex shorts, and slips the red training dress on over top. It’s a little tight around the shoulders, so she makes a note to get a new one soon. Brushes her hair back, and parts it carefully down the middle; ties her hitai-ate about an inch behind her hairline. Having grown out a little since it was last shorn, some of her hair still falls into her eyes. She’ll have to get it cut again. 
 
She straps on her thigh holster; checks that it has enough kunai and shuriken -- and does the same to the various supply packs hung around her waist. 
 
Then, accounting for all that’s new, she’s forced to break tradition. She straps two knife holsters to her lower back, and slides a tanto into each, one from each side. These are knives she’d scrounged from the depths of Uzushio’s vaults, sequestered in a small armory. They had the Uzumaki clan crest towards the base of the metal -- she hoped nobody would ask why they were there, since the symbol was so ubiquitous in Konoha. 
 
As far as she could tell, there was nothing particularly special about these knives, but the metal was of higher quality than she could afford on her own, and she has some interesting ideas on how to modify them. Not that she’s had the time to figure out how to do it yet.
 
She almost felt guilty about taking them from the armory -- clearly, they’d belonged to an Uzumaki, and it felt wrong to take the property of another clan. But Seruki had noticed her trepidation, and chided her with an uncharacteristically amused air.

“Anything you find in these archives is merely a relic, remnants of a society long past. You’re the only one left to

use

any of this wealth, so you may as well make the most of it.”

Sakura glances at her, uncertainty clear in the lines of her face. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid, but… It’s one thing to learn their fuuinjutsu, you know? I’m not taking anything, or messing with anything in a way that can’t be undone. But to

use

their physical belongings like they’re my own… It sort of feels disrespectful.”

“I cannot say that I knew the late owner of these knives, Sakura. But I’m sure they would rather that you use them to carry Uzushio’s legacy than let them gather dust in some dark cave.”

And faced with that sort of logic, Sakura couldn’t find any other reason to refuse. So now, the tanto made their home on the small of her back, hanging like a cold, comforting weight. She hoped she could make their previous owner proud. 
 
-----
 
She meets her temporary team at the village gates. They’ve been cobbled together for a standard courier mission to a shinobi outpost on the edge of Ame -- saddled with something simple, like updating their orders. It’s a C-rank, and they should be done within the week. Sakura’s glad for the chance to ease back into the swing of things, since she’s been gone for so long; now that she’s back in the village and back on active duty, the itch to prove herself has dulled to a faint pressure. She has time, and she’d rather proceed with caution.
 
She just hopes nothing goes horribly wrong, as things so often tend to do. 
 
The team is mainly made up of low-ranking, weathered shinobi. There are two career chuunin, one of them acting as captain -- they carry their faces with scars and seem a little bit jaded, but they’re likely dependable. Her last teammate is a genin like her, but about five years older.
 
Eighteen years old and still a genin; the thought makes Sakura’s stomach twist. At that age, to be so low-ranking is a sure mark of mediocrity -- at this point, they’re unlikely to ever be considered for promotion. As guilty as it makes her feel, Sakura hopes she never ends up like that. 
 
It’s a little bit strange, to be leaving the village so soon after her return. The sight of Konoha’s massive gates receding into the distance makes her chest twinge -- it reminds her of the other places she’s left behind.

They stand on Uzushio’s weathered pier, choppy waves lapping just below their feet. The rocky outpost was no doubt once sturdy and whole; now, the furthest corner crumbles into the ocean, caved in by battle. Sakura’s eye lingers on the jagged stone before she turns her gaze to Seruki.

“You’re not going to convince me to stay?” she asks, faintly surprised by Seruki’s acceptance.

“You can’t stay here forever. You’re strong, but there are some things that can only be learned through experience.” Seruki doesn’t look at her student, choosing instead to gaze towards the hilly skyline of the far shore, faded by distance. “Besides, I’ll be waiting here.”

For a moment, they just stand in comfortable silence, neither quite looking at the other. It’s been three months, and Sakura thinks she knows Seruki enough to be fond of her; it’s certainly been long enough for their companionship to be reassuring.

Small, measured waves wash in and out of shore, whispering as they go. She’ll miss the sound.

“You’ll come back.” It’s not a question, but Sakura wants to respond anyways, to fill the silence with affirmation, for her sake as much as Seruki’s.

She clears her throat. “Yeah. I’ll come back.”

Sakura steps off the crumbling pier, balancing delicately on the gentle waves. After a slight, hesitant pause, she sets off towards the far shore at a steady, sedate pace. She doesn’t know how long it’ll be before she can return, so she’d rather not rush her exit.

She’s still close enough to hear it when Seruki slips into the water with only a slight splash. A few seconds later, she catches a glimpse of a smooth, dark brown form twisting beneath the water, and chuckles.

Seruki. Selkie. She should have guessed earlier.

Still laughing, Sakura forges onward.

Back in the land of fire, Sakura pushes forward with renewed determination, following her new teammates through the thick trees of her country. She’ll return to Uzushio, but first, she has hundreds of missions like this one to complete, hundreds of trials to endure, hundreds of victories to earn. Better to start now.
 
-----
 
She should have known the mission was going too well, because she never gets to have anything easy. 
 
Everything was going fine; Sakura could keep up with the older ninja, courtesy of her young, unbattered limbs and her recent training, and for once, the idea of being a burden hadn’t even crossed her mind. Group missions sometimes made her worry about that. The two days to the border passed without incident, and the flicker of passing trees was getting so monotonous that Sakura was starting to regret picking such a boring mission. 
 
They had gotten so close to the outpost -- maybe a kilometer or two -- when they were finally intercepted. Three ninja, all in Ame uniform, lept out of a cluster of boulders to the left, barreling straight into her team’s flank. 
 
She’s not proud of it, but she’s not exactly sure what happened after that; it’s been achingly long since she faced real, bloodthirsty opponents, and the brutality of it all never fails to shock her for at least a moment. She’s out of practice, and this moment is longer than most -- so she can’t quite remember what happened, or where her team went, or what, exactly, her lone opponent can do -- but she’s here now. 
 
She shifts into a ready crouch, draws one tanto, leaving the other hand open for hand signs. Normally, if she had some example of the other’s fighting style, she would make the first move; now, she’s strategically blind, and she needs to know that she won’t be charging into a trap. Finding poise somewhere within the thrumming in her chest, she lets out one steady, measured breath, expands her senses, and waits.
 
They’re a ways into the forest, nestled in a little clearing. Solid trunks stand around her, steady and silent. Leaves whisper in the passing breeze. The air is dry, but the grass is saturated, near to bursting. Her opponent, young-ish, male, draws a kunai, glinting dully in the sun. The tips of his sandals dig into the soil, crushing the green grass -- Sakura can almost see the stray moisture dissipating into the air, see the dark, rumpled wet underneath his lifting foot -- and then the man is leaping through the air, flying with his blade extended.
 
She dodges, a simple leap to the side, with all of her learned grace. The shinobi rounds on her, throwing his kunai towards her heart -- and she doesn’t even bother moving -- just strikes it out of the air. And all of a sudden it occurs to her that this is

easy

. They continue their dance, and Sakura’s opponent stays on the offensive, moving on from his ineffective kunai to minor jutsu. The earth cracks beneath her feet and boulders fly past her shoulder, and it doesn’t matter; she dodges each and every offensive, taking to the trees when she needs to, and she’s hardly even broken a sweat. She’s

stronger

, Sakura realizes. She’s not the underdog anymore -- she finally has the upper hand.
 
She fights down a giddy laugh, and schools her features into the serious visage befitting a proper shinobi. She could finish this quickly, but she wants to make the most of her situation -- it's the perfect opportunity to practice a few things in a practical setting, and she’s not about to pass it up.
 
She forms a couple of hand signs, drawing the water from the flask on her hip, shaping it into little needles by her hand. With a sharp sweeping motion, she flicks them towards her opponent, forcing him to withdraw a few meters and drop to the earth, effectively ducking under her projectiles.
 
Seeing the danger pass, he springs up, forming another doton jutsu, hands painfully slow and clumsy. Satisfaction sparks in Sakura’s gut -- the shinobi left himself open -- she forms one last hand sign, reversing the momentum of her water-tanto, sending them hurtling back towards the man from behind. With a final touch of inspiration, she recombines all of the needles, forcing them to flow into one undulating whip -- the whip strikes him across the back, sending him hurtling back towards the ground.
 
He lands with a resounding

oomph

, but she’s not done yet -- and look, he’s still winded -- which means that this is the perfect opportunity to try something

excessive

. 
 
She doesn’t dare close her eyes when she reaches deep inside herself, because she’s confident, but not quite stupid. But even without visualizing it, she can feel the great stone gates in her core, and she reaches for the lock in the center, reverent for all her eagerness. The lock twists, the seal on her back burns like a brand, and the gates burst open.
 
And then it’s all she can do to stand, because it’s

too much

, and the foreign chakra is burning through her coils like some sort of corrosive poison, and

shit

, her feedback loops aren’t working fast enough (amid the panic, she makes a note to adjust the seal), her skin is prickling like waves of electricity are passing through her skin, body too little to contain the sheer energy, her throat is swelling -- anaphylaxis, she thinks it’s called -- her bones are creaking under the sheer

pressure

, and god, she needs to release it before it incinerates her from the inside out, starting from her storm in her gut that’s quickly being overtaking by the

other--

But she must have lost a minute of time, trying to regain her bearings, because the first thing she notices of the world outside of herself is a mass of stone, flying her way.
 
She doesn’t dodge -- she raises her fist, and solid rock breaks around it, crumbling to dust as if her hand was made of steel and not flesh. 
 
It’s not that her body’s magically become tougher, she thinks. It’s just that she’s bleeding off immense swathes of chakra, shearing through anything in its path. She would revel in the power, the strength, but for every one part of nature chakra that she loses, she loses one part of her own chakra with it. Such is the ratio her body can handle -- a measly one-to-one -- but all the same, it doubles the amount of chakra she can use.
 
If she could hold onto it, that is. Right now, her body is doing its absolute best to reject the foreign chakra that’s suffusing her very innards, and it’s doing more to hurt than to help, because her own personal chakra stores are not nearly large enough to sustain this kind of loss. The energy tied so intrinsically to her life is bleeding out into the air faster than she can stop it, and she can feel that, at this point, she’s close to scraping the bottom of her stores. She needs to end the fight, and shut off her seal as fast as possible. Before it kills her.
 
Her opponent hasn’t run away, so Sakura can only assume that he can’t see her new aura of pure, corrosive power. She grits her teeth and lifts a single arm, ignoring the stiff, snapping muscles of her limb. She forms a sign, calling forth

water

-- just water -- and it comes, eager, as easy as plucking a single flower stem from the earth. It flows towards her, first as mist, then collecting into tiny spiderweb threads, and finally forming into streams, all pointing towards her. It comes from every direction, from the grass, the trees, the air she had thought was so dry, the clouds far above, hidden reservoirs far below the surface -- Sakura’s at the center of it all, a matrix of liquid strings radiating from the hand thrust out before her. 
 
In the palm of her hand, and ball forms, quicker than she can blink -- it spins and whirls, reeling in the rivers that surround her, like a massive spool of yarn -- and it’s too big, more than she can hold, and she needs to

cut it off

. 
 
Laboriously, she lifts her other arm, ignoring the tense whips underneath her skin, crackling like a frayed cable -- and forms two more signs.

Arrow. Forward.

And the Ame shinobi is backing up now, scrambling, tripping in his haste to flee. It’s too late for him though, because the great liquid drain has finally ceased, and the great mass in her arms is shaping itself into one pointed monstrosity, building, bulging, compressing like a spring -- and then it’s off, flung forward as if off of a bowstring, racing faster than a man could possibly hope to run, homing unerringly in upon its target.
 
Back in Uzushio, when she commanded the waves, she felt akin to a puppetmaster, urging the sea with flicks of the finger, always in control. No longer. 
 
At her behest, the water has become something perverted, something beyond herself, crackling with borrowed power. She has no grasp over this, she can’t stop it when it reaches her opponent, can only watch while that monstrous, hardened point shears through his torso, piercing through his ribs with an awful crack, pushing through his lungs, clipping his heart, twisting through that fleshy target with naught but a splash, rending him entirely open.
 
She didn’t want this, Sakura thinks, as she watches his remains hit the ground, mercifully lifeless. Absently, she twists the gate closed, and feels the ink on her back flicker off -- watches her creation fall to the earth all at once, collapsing with a slosh, spraying everywhere when it hits the ground. 
 
Desaturated reddish-pink runs from the shinobi’s body, staining the grass in a perfect circle around that horrible, clean hole in his chest. God. Punched all the way through. Sakura hopes it was fast.
 
She catches a glimpse of white among that sickening crimson, and suddenly, she feels a bit nauseous. 
 
She did that. She took his body, the curved cage of ribs, the tissue of his lungs, the painstakingly-built ribbons of muscle, and crushed it, reducing it to this roiling mess before her. She did that. She did that. 
 
She doesn’t dare roll him over, because seeing his bastardized, ruined back is hard enough -- she doesn’t think she could bear to see his face, eyes blank and dark, mouth twisted and scrunched, a final expression of agony, surprise -- she doesn’t really know. She hasn’t killed anyone like this before.
 
She didn’t mean to do it. She did that.
 
At the edge of her consciousness, she realizes that she’s on her knees. Every muscle in her body aches, filled with a deep pain that seems to reach down to her bones. Her chakra coils are burnt, but they’re not beyond saving. But then her palms are grinding into the moistened earth, and she never touched the man, but she could swear that there was a hint of red under her nails, and then she was heaving, and her stomach was emptying itself onto the ground.
 
Oh, God. Fuck. Fuck.
 
She doesn’t know how long she kneels there, drowning in fog, body utterly vulnerable, but the next thing she knows, there’s a hand on her shoulder, shaking her roughly. When she looks up, she recognizes her mission captain, and she can

see

that he’s saying something, but she can’t tell what, because his voice is fading in and out, like a warbling siren.
 
In. “Fuck, kid…” Out. She looks at him, eyes blank.
 
In.  “...-ome on, y-...” Out. She blinks, slow and dazed.
 
In. “...-we have t-...” Out. Her finger twitches against the ground, nothing more than a spasm.
 
In. “...-you understand me!-” Out. She blinks again, a bit sharper this time.
 
In. “...-ucking leave yo-...” Out. Her brow creases. 
 
In. “...-get it together! Christ, kid, stand up! We have a fucking mission to finish, so

get up

, or I’ll have to leave you behind.” His voice stays, and the fog lifts a little. She opens her mouth to respond, but, for the life of her, she can’t remember how her voice is supposed to work. 
 
She tries to push herself to her feet, but everything hurts, and her calves are screaming at her, and her arm trembles so bad that she falls onto her shoulder. But then she blinks, and she’s standing, and she doesn’t remember how she got there.
 
“Come on. Let’s go,” the weathered chuunin barks, considerately holding out a hand.

She’s not quite sure how she manages it, but she goes.
 
-----
 
Two days later, evening finds her slumped around a subdued fire, staring mutely at the flickering tongues of light. It’s their final day of travel, and they’re near Konoha again, which is the only reason they dared to light a fire.
 
Most everyone else is asleep, except for the team captain, who is on watch, and Sakura, who hasn’t been able to reliably sleep in days. She’s doing her best not to think about it, but every time she closes her eyes, all she can see are broken ribs and failing lungs. Blood draining onto the grass.

She did that

.
 
Naturally, sleep is terrifying. Instead, she settles for watching the dancing lick of flame, vainly hoping it will lull her into a faux-meditative state. If she concentrates hard enough, she can shrink her senses, until her entire world is contained in this little sphere of unsteady light; until the only thing left to see is a burning orange, yellows that sear into her retinas. Until the only thing left to hear is the crackling and popping of heated sap, or the shifting of weakened logs. Until she’s alone with nothing but the constricting of her chest to distract her.
 
Then, of course, something will happen outside of her perfect little bubble, and she’ll be shocked back into lucidity -- whether it be the shuffling of a teammate in the woods, or the far-off howling of coyotes, or indeed, the words of her captain.
 
“Was that your first kill?”
 
He’s not looking at the fire, instead facing outwards, casting senses beyond Sakura’s little world. Maybe that’s why he asked -- safe in the knowledge that he wouldn’t have to see Sakura’s face when she answered. Able to afford her privacy. 
 
The question hangs, weightless in the atmosphere. 
 
To be honest, Sakura doesn’t know how to answer that question. She’s been a shinobi for a bit now -- almost a year -- and surely, somewhere along the line, she’d been responsible for somebody’s death. After a certain point, with the amount of violent conflict she participated in, it

had

to have happened.
 
So, cognitively, she really doubts that this is her first kill. She

knows

it's improbably -- maybe even impossible. But it feels -- it

feels

like the first time. Never before has she torn life straight from a man’s chest, never before has she held such brutality in her own hands. Never before had she been forced to watch a man bleed to death, rent open and utterly ruined, and remember exactly

how

she had brought it upon him.
 
She’d just never been forced to think about it before -- it was easy to ignore what wasn’t right in front of her -- so she did. Which -- it’s stupid. It’s so stupid, because that’s really just what a shinobi is

for

. They protect the lands and people in their charge, but they also break and tear, raze and rape. She knew this. She

knows

this. But this is maybe the first time that she really

understood

it.
 
So to answer her captain’s question, she nods.
 
He snorts, callous and maybe a bit bitter. “Hell of a first kill.”
 
And it was. Sakura wonders how long it’s going to take her to forget it -- if she ever will. She wonders what other

firsts

will be next to arrive -- if they’ll be as spectacular, or as scarring. “Yeah,” she says, forcing words through a throat full of lumps, “it was.”
 
For the first time in hours, she drags her gaze away from that all-consuming fire, and casts her eyes up to the midnight-blue canopy above.
 
-----
 
When they reach the gates of Konoha, she collapses, like an abused puppet finally freed of its strings.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Consciousness is a funny thing. One would expect it to be a gradual continuum -- a spectrum, essentially -- between sleep and wakefulness. Rather, one moment you are asleep, and in the next, you realize that you are not. So then, Sakura did not gradually rise to consciousness. One moment, she was staggering towards the gates of Konoha, and in the next, she was gazing at the waterstained white paint job of the hospital’s ceiling.  Things are… quiet. Conspicuous is the lack of ragged breathing in her chest -- gone is the long-drawn, guttural rasp. The air is unseasonably warm and muggy, leaving her cheeks in clammy discomfort, the thickness of the atmosphere filling the room with heavy stillness.  And with the bang of the flimsy wooden door, the oppressive thickness is snapped like twine pulled too taut. Following this great deal of noise, an equally impressive woman strides into the room -- Hokage Tsunade in the flesh, looking mad enough to breathe steam. Sakura tries not to look too terrified. With a lip pulled back in a snarl, Tsunade slaps an official-looking file down onto Sakura’s sheets, disregarding the fact that Sakura’s leg is underneath. Even through the layers of fabric, the impact stings. “What the hell is this?” the woman demands. After a brief and embarrassing moment of shell shock, Sakura startles and scrambles to reach the file. Inside is a collection of drawings and scribbled notes, surprisingly disorganized next to the formal folder they came in. “Um…” Sakura squints at the papers, trying to discern the shaky lines from actually writing. “That’s… a really good question.” “Look closer, you insufferable, cocksure brat. It should be familiar enough to recognize; after all, you must have spent hours getting it stamped into your back.” Sakura fought to keep her eyes from widening -- she cannot, will not , be caught off-guard by this. “That’s ah… it’s not-” “You know what, I’ll just explain it for you, since you seem to have lost your words along with your common fucking sense,” Tsunade interrupted. “You went away to god-knows-where and learned something special -- and you know what, that’s great, really great for you -- but then you thought ‘gee, why don’t I alter my vital chakra systems with this extremely esoteric, convoluted, and goddamn-fucking-dangerous seal that I found in potentially permanent ways!’” Sakura nervously cleared her throat. “Actually, I-” “No! No, you don’t get to say anything yet. You know why? Because I’m not done, and if I have to be the Hokage of this godforsaken village, I might as well abuse my power. And because after etching these untested, unresearched monstrosities onto your back, you thought it would be a good idea to take your sweet new chakra system for a test run in the middle of a fight! And of course -- of course -- you burnt out your fucking coils.” Now the older woman stopped for a deep gasping breath, but Sakura didn’t dare interject again. And sure enough, after a moment to catch her breath, the Hokage began again. “I guess I can be glad that you’ve been brought to the brink of death, now. Maybe you won’t be so eager to do it again -- and so maybe you won’t fight what comes next.” At this, Sakura could no longer hold back the words clawing at her tongue. “What comes next? I won’t -- I can’t get rid of the seal!” Tsunade scoffed. “Oh, I’m sure I could get that blasted thing off of you. But you’d just put it right back again. I have decades of experience working with stubborn ninja, I know how they think. You can keep the seal, but only because I know I can’t convince you to give it up. However!” She paused for effect. “Before I allow you to leave the village again, you must demonstrate that you can effectively use the seal without killing yourself.” “Wait-” “And that means no missions. No family trips. Not so much as a leisurely stroll beyond the village walls until I say you are fit to leave.” Sakura gapes at Tsunade, the words that once pushed to escape now dead in her throat. “And be glad I haven’t done worse. I could send you back to the academy, or force you into early retirement; perhaps most onerous of all, I could send you back into the field too early. You’ll thank me for this one day.” The woman clears her throat, finally deflating in the wake of her anger. “Though, ah… I do have to ask. Where did you get this seal? It’s -- like nothing I’ve seen before, it’s--” “I made it.” “Made it? No, that’s… oh, blast it all. Keep your secrets.” “Hokage, ma’am. I will not tell you where it is from, but I will tell you that I made it.” Sakura knows she could pass this off as a lucky discovery, perhaps gifted by some wise sage, or scavenged from the ruins of a long-forgotten town -- or indeed, a swap-meet -- but something in her sickens at the thought. She dedicated weeks -- months -- to this seal, studied scrolls under candlelight until her eyes watered, pricked her thumb until it grew sore, and sketched drafts until the graphite fell from her hands, slicked with sweat. She would not allow this beautifully complicated, monstrously ingenious, willfully improvised invention to be passed off as anything but her own. Her burning pride will not allow it, else it will sit heavy in her gut like a rot. Her hokage must know that she is the one responsible for this arcane beast. “I made it,” she repeats. Tsunade looks at her for a long moment. When she speaks, she is blunt but not condescending. “There are symbols here that don’t have any meaning that we know of. Configurations with no modern example. Even if you made this… you would need…” She falls silent once more, and the oppressive thickness of the air again becomes apparent, settling like syrup in Sakura’s lungs. “Where did you go, for those three months? Who… what… did you find?” Sakura won’t tell her. She’s a ninja of Konoha and must respond to her Hokage’s orders, but she is no longer an agent of singular loyalty. There are things she cannot disclose. ----- As soon as she gets home, Sakura barricades herself in her room; she doesn’t want to explain her injury or her penalty to her mother, and neither does she want to confront the growing rift that this unwillingness indicates. She has a lot to work on, and other fears to confront. First is her seal. She needs to adjust the feedback loops and increase their sensitivity, so that the system shuts down automatically (or at least tightens the flow of energy) as soon as the nature chakra becomes overwhelming. Pushing herself beyond her limits is all very well and good, but her survival is non-negotiable; she needs to be alive in order to carry on the legacy bestowed upon her. Additionally, she needs to change the intake parameters. In the current iteration of her seal, she opened the chakra gate wide enough to admit enough nature chakra to create a one-to-one ratio of natural to individual chakra. In all the texts on sage ninja, it was indicated that this was the ratio that all sages could safely maintain. Now she knows it was arrogant to assume she could do the same; she had forgotten to account for the months of familiarization training that most sage apprentices undertook; perhaps most embarrassingly, she had forgotten to account for the size of her own chakra stores. To Sakura’s chagrin, they were smaller than the average ninja’s, let alone a proficient ninja.  To keep to the safe side, she’s completely eschewing increments of percentage and instead drastically decreasing intake. She’ll start with a ratio of four parts individual chakra to one part nature chakra; if this proves manageable, she’ll increase it.  Thankfully, all of these adjustments are blissfully simple; none of them alter the structure of the original seal, instead merely requiring Sakura to edit a few parameter markers. Simple, at least, on paper. Actually changing the physical markings on her back is far more complicated, since she has no way to reach the seal with a tattoo gun. Though she wonders, perhaps, if there is an intrinsically two-way relationship between the markings on her back and the structure of her chakra coils. The seal on her back has become intertwined with her chakra system, forming points of causality between each symbol and its corresponding effect; the seal defined the system, and so the system warped to fit its definition. Could this relationship not then be reversed? With enough introspection, poking, and prodding, could Sakura not rewrite the seal on her back by forcibly warping her innards to her own definition? Then, the seal could keep in place the adjustments she wishes to implement.  With the image of her changed seal firmly in her mind’s eye, Sakura breathes deep and dives within. ----- Sakura has no time to waste -- this is a fact that she feels tugging at the very depth of her diaphragm, forcing the air from her lungs before it can truly take hold. Every moment she sits still, every moment in which her hands are stagnant becomes a moment lost, never to be regained. She needs to acclimate to this great big symbol that’s got its claws in her, and she needs to do it fast. Three months, that’s all she has before the chuunin exams -- and that’s not including the time she needs to familiarize herself with her exam team. She needs to condition physically, and she needs to meditate. She needs to practice the engagement and release of her seal. She needs to practice holding nature chakra within herself. She needs to learn how to use her knives, she needs to practice her taijutsu. She needs to practice her suiton jutsu. She needs, she needs, and any time spent not needing is wasted. It’s enough to make her explode, or maybe implode, under the pressure -- she hasn’t decided yet.  So she wakes up early every morning and leaves through the window to avoid her parents: heads to Team Seven’s old training grounds, hoping time will compress upon itself until she’s had her fill.  Three weeks pass this way. ----- The first time she reopens her seal, Sakura struggles to breathe through the anxiety. Every time she thinks she’s ready to try, the image of a rent-open body flashes before her vision, and her veins burn with tell-tale fatigue. She remembers how it felt to wheeze through a rapidly-closing throat, how it felt to wonder if your stomach was going to come up through your mouth; try as she might, she can’t summon the old zeal. If she can’t manage to be excited for her latest attempt, she decides that willfulness will have to do. Sakura thinks that this is how it must feel to stand on the edge of a cliff, knowing only that you have to jump eventually -- and yet, the moments stretch on with your feet planted firmly on solid ground. There’s nobody here to urge her forward, no stern or uncaring mentor to watch. She has to be the one to make the push, and it’s the hardest thing in the world -- until she does it. Without taking pause for breath, giving her mind no time for warning, she reaches within herself and takes hold of the stone lock, twisting, bracing for an impact. The impact never comes. Instead, something cold and smooth slides through her limbs -- like icy water trickling down her scalp. It reaches through her tangles of nerves and bones, wrapping through every stray coil, bracing and repulsing her at the same time. Rather than risk overdoing it again, Sakura opts to only stand in place and familiarize herself with the feeling; after a few minutes of this, the striking feeling of nature chakra finally stops making her cringe. At odds with her cold discomfort, Sakura suddenly feels as though she can breathe freely -- as though something has been dislodged from her airways, or something binding removed from her chest -- and with this new levity, she begins going through the motions of her most familiar drills. ----- A letter arrives by one of Konoha’s hawks. This makes Sakura pause, because the village’s hawk-mailing system is usually reserved for missions. It makes a little more sense once she opens the brown, cheap-feeling envelope. 
Hey Sakura!
  I’ve been really busy which is why I forgot to write you a letter. My bad. It’s Jiraiya’s fault, I swear! He keeps giving me these stupid chakra exercises and then won’t let me do anything else until I finish so now I don’t have any free time, which sucks big-time. My control is getting loads better though, believe it!   
Jiraiya says I can’t tell you where we are, sorry. Doesn’t matter anyway because we keep moving all the time which is also super annoying. It’ll be worth it if I get that much stronger in three years though! Has there been any news about Sasuke in the village? The old pervert won’t tell me anything.
 
Naruto
 Sakura finishes scanning through Naruto’s chicken scratch with lead in her gut. In all these months, she hadn’t even thought about Sasuke -- but why should she? It’s not something that the Sakura of a few months ago would have even considered, but Sasuke had abandoned them all with hardly a second thought, too blinded by his own revenge fantasies to find himself horrified by Orochimaru’s atrocities. Team Seven had collapsed because of Sasuke -- and sure, maybe Sakura never would have found Uzushio without its dissolution, but that doesn’t erase the hurt of her newfound isolation. But she would never say or write any of this to Naruto. Her two teammates had a bond that she would never begin to understand, and it’s too much trouble to try to convince Naruto of anything he doesn’t want to believe.  Of course, she’ll search for Sasuke if given the chance. She cares too much about Naruto to have it any other way, and her distaste for the Uchiha’s actions can’t outweigh that. And she supposes, with some time, she could find enough apathy within her heart to forgive Sasuke, even if she won’t understand it.  In the end, she’ll just write bland dismissals to Naruto and hope he won’t be too deadened by it. ----- Though getting her seal ready for the field took most of her time, Sakura knew that she also had to prepare for her chuunin exams -- and though supplementing her reserves with nature chakra was sure to help, she couldn’t incorporate enough chakra to rely on the technique. She had to expand her repertoire. For the most part, she’s been fighting with her experimental seal tags, newly-improved taijutsu, and her suiton ninjutsu. Her seal does not allow her to use any new techniques but only makes those existing ones stronger -- and the secret to surviving as a ninja is versatility. Which is why she’s decided that she needs to learn to use a specialty weapon. Fortunately, she’s already picked one out -- the pair of tanto that she “liberated” from Uzushio’s store-rooms. Unfortunately, the art of weaponry is not one that can be learned from a scroll. It must either be self-taught through trial and error -- an endeavor that Sakura does not have time for -- or it can be learned from someone with more experience. The only problem is that she doesn’t know anyone who would want to spare the time to teach her.  Want to . Maybe the trick here isn’t to ask after anybody who would want to teach her -- she has to hunt down the people that are obligated to help. And she’s supposed to be working with Team 10, isn’t she? Ino and Choji are still genin, which means that Asuma is still a Jonin sensei. As far as Sakura can remember, Asuma doesn’t use tanto, but he might still be familiar with them. And if he isn’t, he would probably know somebody who is. Asuma’s a start, anyway. If Sakura can find him. ----- She ends up tracking Ino down at the Yamanaka flower shop and forcing her to let her come to a Team 10 training session. It was a rather quick and vitriolic conversation.  “Hey, Billboard Head. Who let you in here?” “Bring me to one of your team practices.” Ino looks at her like she’s grown another head. “Why in God’s name would you want to do that? Choji’s useless, Shikamaru’s lazy, and Asuma plays favorites. You’re not gonna get anything out of it.” “Just bring me.” Ino shrugs. “Your funeral. Training ground three, at eight am tomorrow. Be as late as you want, because Shikamaru will almost definitely be later.” ----- Not wanting to get to the training grounds first, Sakura waits a healthy thirty minutes before heading over to training ground three. The freshly-graduated Sakura would have panicked at being so late to anything, but months of dealing with Kakashi’s more annoying tendencies taught her to regard time with several degrees of flexibility. So when she finally walks onto the rather torn-up grass of the training grounds, Choji and Ino are already there, but Asuma and Shikamaru are not. “Told you,” Ino calls out, looking up from where she’s stretching across the grass. “What?” yelps Choji, glancing around. “None of your business, dumbass. Wasn’t talking to you,” Ino says sharply, nodding over to Sakura. Choji looks cowed. “Oh. Nice to see you, Sakura.” Sakura inclines her head. “Yeah.” It’s some minutes before either Shikamaru or Asuma shows up, so she sits down on the grass and tries not to feel too uncomfortable about the whole thing. Nobody talks, and Sakura doesn’t want to be the first one to break the awkwardness -- but after about five minutes, it gets to be too much. “So… ah… I guess we’re taking the next Chuunin exams together?” Ino’s ponytail swishes through the air as her head whips around. “ What? ” Sakura clears her throat. “Um, yes. Tsunade assigned me to fill the last genin spot on Team 8.” Choji looks thoughtful. “I guess the numbers do match up, since Naruto and Sasuke…” he suddenly looks self-conscious, “Ah…” “Yeah. I guess.” The silence returns, thicker than ever, and Sakura’s not going to try to break it this time. She’s only saved (to dubious extent) when Asuma arrives about ten minutes later. He stops short a few steps away from the group. “Wow. Three kids. That’s not normal.” He points at Sakura. “You. You’re new.” “Yeah. And I need you to teach me for a bit.” The Jonin stared at her with blank eyes. “Repeat that for me?” “Teach me how to use my tanto.” “First -- I don’t use tanto. What makes you think I could even help you with that? Second -- I have my own team to worry about. Why would I spend time on you?” Sakura responds without a beat, and in the same deadbeat tone. “First -- you’re telling me you’re a Jonin and you don’t even grasp the basics of fighting with tanto? Or that you don’t know anybody that does? Second -- I’ll be taking the Chuunin exams with your team in three months. Unless you want them to fail, I would suggest that you put in at least a little bit of effort. I haven’t had any instruction or oversight in months. Who knows what state I’m in? If you help me, you’ll be ensuring that I won’t be deadweight. Third -- please.” Asuma blinks slowly before reaching into his pouch for a cigarette and a lighter. “Well, alright,” he says, setting the tip to flame. ----- 
Dear Naruto,
 
Things have also been very busy for me since you left -- it’s quite a long story, so I’ll have to tell you about it when I get back. The biggest thing is that I’m preparing for the next Chuunin exams right now. I think I’ll be ready by the time it comes, but there’s really no way to be sure, so I’m feeling sort of nervous about it. Especially after the last one.
 
Tsunade paired me up with Team 10, which means I have to work with Ino. I guess there’s some hope there since I don’t think we’ve hated each other since the exams. Still, I’m not expecting Choji to be any help with peacekeeping. I guess we’ll just have to get through it.
 
I’m definitely getting stronger though -- prepare to be totally outclassed when you get back! I killed someone last month. I’m not sure I liked it.
 Sakura frowns at the last line and crosses it out. Then she scribbles with her ink pen until the words are completely obscured. She’s being stupid; killing is what ninjas do, and she doesn’t want Naruto to think she can’t handle it. 
There hasn’t been any news about Sasuke.
 
Don’t do anything too stupid while you’re out there (or I’ll kill you),

Sakura

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Asuma lets a long, smooth stream of smoke out from his mouth. “In that case,” he says, “let’s start conditioning.”
 
Sakura would have assumed that he was talking to his genin team when he gave the order, except the man was looking right at her. “What?” she deadpanned. She didn’t need to practice her physical conditioning -- as far as she was concerned, it had very little to do with tanto forms.
 
“Well,” Asuma deliberated, “you did have a good point. I don’t know what state you're in. So while you’re here, you might as well take part in our team practice, just so we can all get a feel for each other. I’ll help you out with the tanto later.”
 
Sakura narrowed her eyes at the man. She didn’t know the jonin very well, but if she had to guess, she would say that Asuma was hoping she’d forget -- or she’d be too tired after their practice to ask for more instruction. In silence, she swore to be as annoying in her persistence as possible; she wouldn’t leave without what she was promised.
 
The sensei ground out the tip of his burnt-out cigarette on a tree trunk to his side. “Nine laps around the village. Sprint one, jog two, repeat.”
 
------
 
By the time they finished running, they were all equally out of breath -- including Shikamaru, who’d joined them in their laps halfway through. Sakura, who hadn’t had time to keep up with a proper conditioning regimen, was pleased to see that she could keep up. Looking up from where he’d been lounging against a clump of roots, Asuma surveyed the rather ragged group. After seeming to think for a second, he spoke only one word: “ninjutsu.”
 
And so it continued -- first it was ninjutsu (where Sakura seemed to have the showiest techniques), then taijutsu, then chakra conditioning. By the time they were through, they were all exhausted without exception; worse, Asuma could tell. Mouth twitching, the mentor addressed the team. “Good work today… I saw good effort from… most of you. Sakura, you’re welcome to come back another day if you want to keep working with us.” He turned around and started to amble away. “See ya.”
 
Sakura’s eyes snapped wide open, part in indignation, part in thinly veiled frustration. Gritting her teeth against the ache in her limbs, she shot back up to her feet, straight into a tensed stance. “Hold on one second!”
 
Asuma paused. “Oh?”
 
“You promised,” the girl snarled, “that you would help me with my tanto. After the team practice.” Intent on stressing the slight against her, she slowed her words. “The team has practiced. This is after.”
 
A pause.
 
“I am owed a tutor.”
 
Asuma narrowed his eyes, pushing back at the tension between them. “Tomorrow is also after the team practice. I could delay my assistance as long as I like without breaking my word.”
 
“Why?”
 
Asuma shrugged. “I don’t feel like teaching right now. It’s getting late, we’re all hungry, and I want to go home.”
 
Sakura frowned. She knew that she had to argue her way out of this, but she couldn’t quite figure out how to formulate her reasoning. The three children of Team 10 lay sprawled between them, clearly watching the match like it was entertainment. She almost began to accept that she would have to come back another day, and acquiesce to the whimsy of her superior -- but then a perfectly brash, perky, and annoying retort bloomed to fruition. “A ninja’s job is not done simply because they ‘don’t feel like it.’”
 
She felt like a prick, trying to take the moral (and legal) high ground in this argument, but after some deliberation, she found that she was okay being a thorn in Asuma’s side. Best of all, it worked. The man deflated, adopting the posture of a reprimanded schoolboy. He grumbled, “You sound like my damn dad. Shit.”
 
He took a deep breath, as if to steel himself. “Fine. We can work on your goddamned bukijutsu. But! The rest of the team has to stay and practice with you.”
 
Predictably, protests erupted behind them. Sakura grinned; she couldn’t care less if Team 10 had to suffer a little bit longer. She was finally

getting

somewhere.
 
-----
 
Asuma wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t use the tanto. It was obvious that he didn’t have any great finesse with the weapon -- but one thing he did have was the basics, which he dutifully passed on to Sakura; in turn, Sakura dutifully practiced her forms. She knew enough about taijutsu to at least understand how the blades were meant to move with her body and enhance her offense; what she could not do on her own was encourage her style to evolve into something more naturally composite. This gave her a foundation.
 
Though Asuma didn’t have much to teach her, Sakura made a point of sporadically showing up to team practices, even between the rest of her own solo training sessions. It couldn’t hurt to get more familiar with Ino and Choji and learn to fill in the gap that Shikamaru would leave -- even if it was only temporary. She would love to pass this next Chuunin exam; the pay increase might allow her to move out of her room in her parents' house, and she knew she was ready for some higher-ranked missions. That is, once she’s wrestled her natural chakra under control.
 
And ever since the exam three months prior she had become uncomfortably aware -- the chuunin exams could mean death. She could not afford to die.
 
Also, it wouldn’t hurt that she could lord a promotion over Naruto’s head. 
 
At one of these crashed practices, about two weeks later, Sakura finally gets to spar against Ino. Of course, she’d sparred with team 10 already, but almost never one-on-one -- and when it was, she always managed to be paired with one of the other two teens. She wasn’t sure it was chance.
 
In any case, she’s excited and weirdly, a little bit nervous. Their last match had been both disastrous and healing -- it had helped them narrow the gap in their relationship, allowed them to air out grief with excessive aggression. The two girls could actually stand to be within five feet of each other now. 
 
More than that, Sakura knows that she’s grown a lot since they last fought; so much so that ‘exponentially’ might not even be an exaggerated descriptor. Even without the help of nature chakra, there was a distinct possibility that she could absolutely trounce Ino; she knew that her seal tags were a hindrance at best, and career-ending at worst, not to mention her new skill with suiton. And though she no longer held (much of) a grudge against the other girl, Sakura could admit that it would be satisfying. Cathartically so.
 
They pace in a circle for a few steps, waiting for Asuma to give his signal -- which comes in the form of a twitch in his cigarette. Sakura wastes no time in making the first move, and tosses a paper seal on the ground between them, which promptly explodes into a mushrooming cloud of thick smoke. Finally free of its confinement, the opaque gray clouds expand outwards, concealing everything in the clearing.
 
Well, it conceals Sakura from everybody else. However, Sakura can still “see” as much as before -- the smoke is made largely of water vapor; by extending her senses through the movement of the fog, she can deduce the presence of nearby objects. Movements reach her in cascading waves of collisions between particles. It’s much more complicated than relying on sight -- but it leaves her at an advantage over Ino, who can’t see at all -- and it leaves Ino without the ability to use her greatest weapon. 
 
The greatest threat to Sakura is, without doubt, Ino’s mind-transferring jutsu. If Ino catches her and takes control, there’s no guarantee that she’ll be able to break free; she might have done it once before, but that was likely a fluke, and Inner’s been conspicuously absent for the past few months. It’s best not to risk it at all.
 
Bottom line: Ino needs to see Sakura in order to cast her jutsu. Therefore, Sakura has obscured her sight. 
 
Sakura rushes at the other girl, making no pretense of caution, trying to make use of her cover before the vapor dissipates. She aims a punch at what she guesses to be Ino’s midsection -- but she miscalculates, and the blow glances of the girl’s side instead. Ino, feeling the connection, grasps for Sakura, taking hold of her shoulder and tightening. Now that Ino knows exactly where she is she’s lost advantage; the only saving grace is that Ino still can’t use her body-possession jutsu.
 
She has to act quickly to save the moment, so she falls back on instinct, the training embedded into her very musculature; she gathers chakra in her right hand, calling the remaining moisture from the air until it pools around her fingers.
 
In a sharp, rough movement, Sakura slices her arm through the air, allowing momentum to stretch the liquid through the air like a whip -- it catches on Ino’s ankle, and with a jerk of Sakura’s arm, sends her sprawling. Within a moment, Sakura’s pulled out her tanto to hold it against Ino’s unguarded throat, never mind that Sakura barely knows how to use the blade. It doesn’t take a genius to cut. 
 
“Yield,” Ino chokes, coughing. They both get up and dust off. 
 
Nobody speaks for a few moments. The moment feels more significant than it should, which just makes Sakura feel more awkward. She should say something, but she has no idea what. Her hands hang awkwardly at her sides. “Leaf,” Sakura says, pointing in the other girl’s general direction. 
 
Ino looks at her strangely. “What?”
 
“Leaf. There’s a leaf in your hair. Do you want me to get it for you?”
 
“No thanks, pig. I got it.”
 
And just like that, the tense atmosphere dissipates like it had never been there. Someone in Asuma’s general direction clears their throat, and says, “Well! It looks like you’ve picked up some new tricks.”
 
Sakura whips her head to the side, hardly daring to believe her ears. That was a voice she hadn’t heard in a long time -- about three months, to be more exact. And sure enough, standing slouched next to Asuma, was Kakashi.
 
In Sakura’s head, everything goes blank for a couple of seconds.
 
“And I didn’t know you were picking up the tanto! Why didn’t you come to me, huh? I’m hurt.” If it was possible to pout -- given the mask and everything -- there was no doubt that he would be. Even with most of his face covered, Sakura couldn’t help but feel he had managed to mock her. Kakashi slapped Asuma’s back, forcing him to grunt around his cigarette. “I’m better with them than this guy, at least.”
 
Sakura blinked very slowly. There was a lump growing in her throat and she couldn’t say why, because she could swear her former mentor hadn’t meant all that much to her in the first place. She didn’t think she had the right to be angry that he left, just like the

other

two. But that didn’t mean she wanted to justify literally anything to him.
 
The fact that he was here, slouching like always, casual like always, pretending that absolutely nothing had happened, was as good as a slap in the face. And in a way, nothing

had

happened: that was the problem. As soon as Naruto and Sasuke were no longer in the picture, Kakashi had washed his hands of her, like she’d been an afterthought the whole fucking time. Left her to rot with a whirlwind of wash-ups and dead-eyed teens like she was always going to be one of them.
 
Maybe she wasn’t being fair. Kakashi was an internationally known ninja, after all, and his duty was probably needed in the aftermath of such a public tragedy. Maybe it wasn’t because it was

just

Sakura; maybe he was always going to leave anyway. Sakura didn’t

want

to be reasonable, though -- she didn’t want to care. She wanted to resent him and never talk to him and resent him more because he hadn’t talked to her.
 
She couldn’t be angry, though. Not outwardly, because that would be embarrassing. “I didn’t know that you were… in town.” She’d just be exceedingly passive and overly concise instead. 
 
Kakashi’s lone visible eye scrunched. “I could say the same about you, miss ‘disappear for almost three months with no note and no warning.’”
 
“Well-” Sakura took a deep breath. Passive. Concise.

Calm

. She had an audience -- there’s no way she would let herself be anything but collected in front of

other people

. But there’s no way she’d let him judge her for that. “You left first.”
 
Kakashi actually had the nerve to look surprised. Team 10, on the other hand, had to good sense to look awkward. Shikamaru started edging away. 
 
When Kakashi’s silence dragged on for more than a few seconds, Sakura broke eye contact and nodded to herself. Her voice came out stiffer than she’d like, but at least it was steady. “Thank you for the match, Ino. Asuma-sensei, thank you for letting me train with your team.” Sakura graciously ignored it when Asuma scoffed under his breath “

Letting…

yeah right.”
 
-----
 
She probably should have guessed, but she didn’t make it very far before she was intercepted. A block, maybe two.
 
Kakashi appeared by her side, as naturally as if he’d been walking with her the whole time. Sakura glanced up at him, but he was looking straight ahead. Unreadable. Sakura looked down and watched the toe of her shoe scuff against the dirt. They hadn’t managed to re-pave this part of town yet, in the time since the exams.
 
She could try to wait him out, make him talk first. But he’s petty too, she remembered, and she didn’t have the energy to get caught in a game of frustration chicken. “What?” she asked, amicably. 
 
His eye scrunched again. Annoying. “What? A teacher can’t wonder what one of his precious students has been up to?”
 
Sakura chuckled. She’s kind of proud of it, because it sounded pretty convincing. “Well… one would think that if this teacher was curious, they would ask.”
 
“Hmm.” They trudged along. “What have you been up to, Sakura?”
 
Sakura took a moment to think. It’s a big question. “Oh, you know. Missions. Missions with the genin pool, a lone mission in Hot Water Country. And now I guess I’m training for the chuunin exams.”
 
Her former teacher made an odd noise, like he was sighing out through his nose. “Why are you lying to me? I was the one who reported you missing. I know that the mission was a cover.” His voice was appropriately quiet, even though there was almost no chance that somebody on the street was listening in. He turns to face her. Following his cue, Sakura stops walking to face him as well.
 
As much as Sakura wished to, she couldn’t leave

everything

unsaid. Kakashi continued. “What were you doing? Why would you

leave

? You’re not-”
 
Sakura raised her eyebrows. “What?”
 
He just frowned. 
 
“Why does it matter what I was doing?” Her voice started to pitch upward, so she clamped down on it hard, and forced it to get colder instead. “I mean, why do

you

care? It’s not like it affects you.” She’s struck by a thought and barks out a laugh. “Oh, is it your reputation? The great Copy-nin finally takes on a group of genin, but lo and behold -- they all run away! Or maybe now that I’m your last loose end, you wanted to make sure I wasn’t slacking off. So my

mediocrity

doesn’t embarrass you.” She was pitifully aware that, even through the coldness, she sounded all types of hysterical. Not to mention everything she was spewing is probably all bullshit anyway; she was just slightly too angry to care.
 
Oh, to hell with it. She’d say what they both knew. Maybe clear the air a bit. “I’m not even your student anymore. I’m not your responsibility.”
 
She turned away and kept walking. To her horror, Kakashi kept pace. When he spoke, it was somberly, for once. “Why do you say that?”
 
Sakura looked over sharply. It was obvious, wasn’t it? “I mean. Team 7 was dissolved, all the way back when Naruto left. And you weren’t training me, so I got reassigned to a new genin squad. Like, legally, on paper, I am not your student.” She swallows. “And really, you didn’t show much interest in being my teacher before that, either.”
 
While she’d been talking, a sharp furrow had formed on the visible sliver of Kakashi’s forehead. “I was taking missions out of the village. They needed me there.” He looked directly at her, like that was important. “Did… nobody tell you that I would be gone?”
 
Sakura laughed. “I believe that would be your responsibility.”
 
“And… I realize that I might have put more energy into Naruto and Sasuke, but they. They were…” He trailed off. “I’d never had a genin team before. I didn’t -- don’t know how to teach, and I didn’t handle it the way I should’ve.”
 
“Hmm.” It was odd, Sakura thought. She didn’t think she’d ever heard him be so honest. Or this sincere. Normally, he was infuriatingly obtuse and artificially lighthearted, and in a way that managed to feel condescending. She didn’t know how to react to this sudden pivot. 
 
“Sorry.”
 
Sakura actually stopped in her tracks. Froze. If the sincerity from before was strange, an apology was downright shocking. “Thanks,” she said, and kept walking.
 
“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that you’re back from wherever you ran off to. Which I still think you should tell me about, by the way. You need training for the chuunin exam, and I finally have time off. You should be my student again.”
 
Sakura squinted up at him. To her shock, he looked somewhat apprehensive, like he was nervous about what she would say. Maybe still a little guilty. 
 
There were inherent risks with taking a new mentor. Inevitably, she would have to reveal her seal modifications. Not only was it physically melded to the skin on her back, but it had latched onto and fundamentally changed her chakra pathways. Anybody that was really looking could see it. If he knew about the seal, he would want to know when and how she had done it, and then -- considering the timeline -- he’d ask about her time away from the village again.
 
And hadn’t he been the student of the Fourth Hokage? Who was famously married to the last princess of Uzushio? What if he recognized the style of sealing, which was noticeably different in style from the Konoha standard?
 
Eventually, inevitably, she’d have to reveal everything. And rationally, Kakashi was a trustworthy person, but her secrets left more than just herself vulnerable. There was Seruki, and Uzushio’s entire hidden history, preserved with such care -- and there was the future that Uzushio was owed. Which theoretically, only she could provide. 
 
But by that logic,

somebody

would have to know, at some point. If she meant to progress, she would need a teacher. If not Kakashi, then who? Naruto would have to know eventually; it was his heritage, too. But Naruto couldn’t exactly teach her anything, and he was gone anyway.
 
“Alright.”
 
His eyes widened a bit, but he recovered admirably. “Well then, my precious disciple! Be at training field three at 6 am sharp. We’ll see what you’ve learned -- I’m sure that girl Ino couldn’t have forced you to use all your tricks.”
 
Sakura narrowed his eyes at him, suddenly irked again. “Hold on. You have to take this seriously, you hear me?” Kakashi made a face through the mask that seemed to convey

what, me?

“Yeah. I’m agreeing to be your student, but it has to be different this time. If I have to show up to practice at 6, you have to be there at 6 too. No making me wait around, no wasting my time.” She thought a moment more, then tacked on for good measure: “And you can’t tell anybody about my jutsu without my permission. And if --

if

-- I decide to tell you where I went after the exams, you can’t tell anyone about that either.”
 
Kakashi laughed and reached over to pat her head. Sakura frowned, annoyed by the reminder of how short she still was, and swatted his hand away. “Top secret stuff, huh?” he chuckled. But seeing Sakura’s hard stare and crossed arms, he quickly sobered. “Deal.”
 
-----
 
By the time she crawled through her bedroom window later that evening, things had gone blissfully quiet in her head. She had by no means entirely forgiven Kakashi, or even really believed that he would take her as seriously as he had promised. But maybe some of her old resentment was gone.
 
It was nice. Ever since the exams -- well, they’d all left her, one way or another. Her feelings for Sasuke were an entirely different ballpark, but she couldn’t really blame Naruto. Kakashi, though… Sakura couldn’t, back then, shake the notion that she was owed something from him. After all, he’d barely acknowledged her when he was

legally

responsible for her, and as soon as he wasn’t, he was gone in the wind, without even a whisper of appeasement. It had been as if he’d washed his hands of her.
 
But maybe he hadn’t meant to. Maybe he would make it up to her. And maybe it would be nice to know that somebody had her back. Maybe it would be like having a real genin-sensei. 
 
She had Seruki-sensei, of course. But here, in Konoha, she was on her own. Maybe she didn’t have to be.