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“So you won't take the citizenship?”
Sakura snorts. She takes her eyes off the blade she's sharpening and gazes at the bandages around Shikamaru's hand. He looks away, so she goes back to her blade.
“I'm not sure what you'll be able to do in the village,” he says, something slightly haughty in his voice.
She gives him the side-eye. “Are you really so privileged? I know you're from a clan, but is it such a rich one that you can afford your obliviousness?”
“You don't need to speak to me like that.”
She laughs, sharp and quick like the katana she's sheathing back. “There is always need of a blade for hire in a hidden village, shinobi-kun. If only because you're all so expensive most of the citizens can't afford you. And trust me, that's enough for bloody business to develop in the underground. If you're too blind to see that, maybe you all need a crash course in class politics. And economics.” She ties the katana to her hip. “I can't believe I'm more knowledgable on the issue than you are.”
Shikamaru crosses his arms. “That might be true in Kiri, or Suna, but I really don't think we have that going on in Konoha.”
Her raised eyebrows are mocking him. She doesn't answer, but her snort of laughter is enough. “We'll see how long it takes me to find a job, Shikamaru. In the meantime, go back to your diplomacy and flashy fights. It looks to me like you ninja don't know how to do anything else.”
She leaves him behind without another word. The more time she spends in Konoha, the more disappointed she is in everything and everyone. Especially Shikamaru. Bastard. I had high hopes for you. She should have known better than to place her trust, however temporary, in a man willing to lie with a woman like her. That might just have been his plan all along, after all. Didn't he get his intel, without having to infiltrate anything more than her cousin's ass? And he got a free lay with Sakura. How foolish of her. If she hadn't been in such a rush, she could have actually made money from her virginity, instead of offering to pay to get rid of it. At least she would've had some assets to get herself started in this new life.
The inn she's staying at was picked by the Hokage, so it's full to the brim with shinobi who don't have a qualm talking about village business where she can hear it. All the more for her if she decides to leave. That kind of intel might just save her life (and purse) once she's out.
They look at her funny when she gets inside, probably because the first thing she did after the Hokage paid her for her secrets was to buy a battle kimono.
In pure spite, she had chosen a bright orange one, with a muddy yellow haori. The armour she wears to protect her chest is dark red and it clashes horribly with both her hair and the colour of the kimono. She hates it. It's awesome. She's anyhing but discreet and it offers her the perfect kind of attention.
No one takes a fighter seriously dressed in those colours. All the better that she carries the protection seal of the Hokage, because in that case, it means she can afford to dress like that precisely because she's dangerous as fuck.
She likes the looks the shinobi send her. The youngest ones are chuckling, trying not to show too much how ridiculous they think she looks. The oldest, the toughest ones? They eye her like she's rogue Mist, and she revels in it. She gets a seat at the back of the room, beneath a window facing the busy street. It's early evening and families are still outside.
A waitress with a missing eye and a deep burn scar on her neck comes to take her order. A wave of nostalgia washes over her body, the feeling of uncertainty in her recent decisions making her sick. So she asks for a bottle of plum liquor from Iron, the alcohol she's enjoyed the most since her father made her drink herself sick when she was ten.
It doesn't surprise her when, a second after the waitress disappear, three shinobi sit in front of her. She eyes them warily. The first one is dressed all in green, and his dark hair reminds her of the nobles at the daimyō's court . She tenses at the danger he inspires in her. He might look goofy, but his aura is way too strong, and his broad shoulders speak of incredible strength.
The second man has red tattoos on his cheeks, and she's sure she's seen them somewhere before. His grin is feral, so she looks away quickly to find the only woman, just as broad-shouldered as the first man, her tan skin healthy in the setting sun.
“What can I do for you, shinobi?”
The tattooed man smirks. “We thought we'd get to know each other, rōnin-sama. Hinata had a lot to say about you.”
Why does she know that name? Oh, Kami. He's on first name basis with the Hokage. Just great. At least he wasn't being sarcastic when he used the honorific. And that's when she recognises the marks.
“You're an Inuzuka!”
“Yes, I am,” he grins, proud and loud like only clan children can be.
Sakura stares, like he's a piece of jewellery on display. What an odd sight, that confidence, that trust in the safety of his home. Then again, he knows the Hokage well enough to call her by her first name. No wonder he can smile like that.
“I've worked with yours before,” she says, careful not to say too much. She's unsure of how well-spread the news of her exile are. “You respect our work. I appreciate that.”
His nod is sincere. “Samurai are great trackers, even better hunters. We complement each others. The Inuzuka have a great deal of respect for your art as well, swordsman.”
She hums pensively, almost liking that young man who trusts too much and thinks swordsmanship is an art. “So what's your deal? Why come talk to me?”
“'cause you brought Shika back,” the woman says finally.
“And thanks to you, we can now take down the Haruno spies in our precious village, my lady rōnin,” the dark-haired man adds. And that answers what they know about her situation. She has to take a minute to swallow the fact that secrets are so easily shared in a supposedly hidden village.
“I'm Inuzuka Kiba. This is Rock Lee and Hyūga Tenten.”
Sakura does a double-take. That woman looks nothing like a Hyūga. She must have married inside the clan, which makes it all the more obvious that those people have a high position in Konoha politics.
“If it's alright with you, we'd like to introduce you to the rest of our friends,” Tenten says. “They're very excited to meet you.”
Sakura doesn't even try to hide the disbelief on her face. “Sure, I guess.”
“Right, follow us, then!”
Because, apparently, the rest of their friends are sitting a few metres away and have been listening to their entire exchange. Konoha fuckers. There's a lot of them, but they already made room for her and the three who came to get her, so she can't use that as an excuse to get the fuck out of that bar.
She's about to sit when a familiar ponytail catches her attention. She has to blink a few times, because that can't be happening, that's not possible, she was—
“I thought you were dead,” Sakura whispers, her voice cracking as she stares.
The chatter at the table quiets down, everyone having caught on what she just said. Something is stuck in her throat. She wants to cry.
“I thought you were dead,” she repeats, a sob echoing in the last word. “They told me you were executed. They told me it was my fault!”
She can't stop the tears from coming. For years, she had burnt incense at the little shrine she built in secret, deep in the Haruno Estate. She had prayed every day for forgiveness, for the rest of the spirit of her oldest, dearest friend. The only person she was ever allowed to talk to. Until they tried to escape together, servant and master, hand in hand.
“They brought me back your hair and told me I would never be allowed to speak to another child until I completed my training,” she says, bitterness coating her tongue. “I was whipped once for every day we spent together,” she adds, her voice low, and that gets a gasp from the ghost in front of her. “We knew each other for five hundred and ninety-eight days.”
“Ojō-sama...”
“DON'T CALL ME THAT!”
A low whine escapes from her throat, her sobs unstoppable.
“Was Shira even your real name?” Her laugh is hysterical. “Of course not. After all, you were just a Leaf spy sent to steal our secrets.” She looks at all the blank faces around the table, some shocked, most of them grim. “Here I thought hidden villages were soft. But sending a ten-year-old to spy on an even younger child? That takes some guts. I'm impressed,” she spits.
“Sakura? Ino? Is everything okay?”
She turns around, finding Shikamaru looking at them with worry. She shakes her head, nausea making her take a stabilizing step back.
“Enjoy your evening, Ino-chan.”
She leaves the tavern without looking back.