Chapter Text
Blue eyes.
That was the first thing that Sakura noticed when she looked up at her defender; big, pupil-less, blue eyes.
She had been chased into an unfamiliar training ground by some of her classmates, and they had ganged up on her to throw her around. In her upset, Sakura had failed to notice that one of them had brought out a dull practice kunai, grabbing her by her hair and cutting chunks of it while the others held her down. Her savior had intervened at them at that point, chasing them off with practice shuriken, while Sakura was left trembling in a pile of her own pink hair.
“Are you okay?” the other girl asked. Sakura wiped the tears from her eyes and slowly stood on shaking limbs, nodding her head but remaining silent. She knew who this girl was--it was obvious once she got a good look. The blonde hair, the fine, almost delicate, features of a noble clan of Konoha. And the eyes. Sakura couldn’t bear to speak to her, let alone look directly at her. She lowered her head into a bow before the girl and muttered a formal thanks.
“Thank--” she cleared her throat and flushed as her voice wavered. “Thank you for your help Yamanaka-san. I’m sorry that you had to see such a thing.” She hesitated before saying, “If there is ever any way that I can repay you please allow me to do so.”
Sakura was now indebted to this girl, and her family’s samurai lineage edged on the corner of her mind, pushing her to consider how to honor the debt. The class system in Konoha is nowhere near as rigid as Sakura’s own home country of Iron, but she was reminded everyday by her peers that she was lesser than them because of her blood. In front of a noble, Sakura accepted that her place was at the bottom rung of the ladder and the other girl had no reason to step in. This was how her own clan had begun after all; generations and generations ago when Haruno Atsushi had declared himself and his lineage in support of Lord Tatsuo of Iron.
Unaware of these thoughts, the other girl simply laughed and shrugged, picking up her fallen shuriken. “No biggie! It’s not as though it took much out of me to help you out; those girls were weak as hell and I need to use this training ground. Two birds and all that, whatever.” Snorting derisively to herself she muttered, “Two years out from graduating and they’re afraid of a little shuriken.” She scrutinized the pink hair on the ground, before turning to look at Sakura. “Hey, you should probably go get that cleaned up...Don’t worry about owing me anything, it’s not like I need anything from you.”
Sakura froze. It was like each sentence out of the girl’s mouth was a crack at her pride. She clenched her teeth in frustration at the thought of the other girl’s callousness before lifting her head to meet her eyes. “Yamanaka-san, you are saying that you do not need any repayment from me, correct? We can forget that this happened?”
Yamanaka blinked, surprised by the sudden sight of green, green, eyes. “Su-sure, yeah. Like I said, don't need you for anything.” Giving an awkward laugh, she broke eye contact, just as Sakura’s eyes hardened at her words.
“Very well then Yamanaka-san. Have a good day.” Sakura bit out as she turned on her heel to leave, cursing herself for the tears that were once again welling up in her eyes. She was already a self-conscious girl with low self-esteem, but hearing those words, however they were intentioned, was a blow to her pride. How shameful, for her family’s noble bloodline to be reduced to this! If she had grown up in court with her family, been raised in the tradition of honor and samurai like her cousins, she would not have felt such shame.
Had they been in Iron, their roles would have been reversed. She would have been strong, her name and features would have value. No, instead here she was: immigrant, civilian, reminded day after day that she would never truly belong to this stupid country. She was a citizen of Konoha was she not? She was training to fight and kill and die for this country, just like the rest of them. If she lived long enough, her children would live here. But no, her hair was too strange, her eyes were too slanted, her skin too white--everything that was a marker of her family and home were things to be ashamed of.
Sakura hardened her resolve. She had tried to fit in, be a normal civilian child, but it was obvious that she was not welcome no matter what she did. These people would not accept her, and she could no longer accept the torment and belittlement that they threw at her.
Assimilation had proven useless, and now it was time for a change.
Sakura needed her swords. As she rushed home, disregarding the confused looks from strangers gawking at her mangled, uneven hair, she gathered her thoughts and made a plan. She needed her bokken and her katana, and her training clothes… Although, considering that the last time she even touched her swords had been her first week they had moved here when she was eight, she would probably need newer ones. She needed her father, and needed to look into physical conditioning that wouldn’t stunt her growth. She needed--
She shook her head to refocus her thoughts as she reached her house. ‘Find the swords first. After that you can make a plan and address it with Tou-san when he comes home tonight.’ Heading inside, she quickly turned on the lights and headed to the storage room where they kept all their keepsakes from Iron. As she opened the door, a wave of nostalgia joined the shame and injured pride and resolve that was all conjoining in her heart and mind.
The room was relatively clean and bare, for Sakura’s father had not wanted to bring so many of their memories with them to Konoha. There were some crates piled on the sides of the room, the middle left bare, giving a direct line of sight to the wall opposite the door. Two sets of daisho, held on stands at the left and right of her father’s traditional armor. Her gaze was transfixed on the imposing figure it cut, gleaming black plating with gold accents, still as magnificent as she remembered it being. ‘Tou-san must polish it from time to time, still’ she thought, as she looked to the right of the armor, at her father’s daisho. The katana and wakizashi both looked to be in the same condition as the armor, and she immediately turned to the other daisho on the left, her own, much smaller, swords.
Sakura felt overcome as she stepped forward to touch her swords, warmth blooming in her chest to overtake the bitter cold that she had felt for so long in this country. As she lifted her wakizashi with trembling hands, she felt the tears fall as she unsheathed the sword with her now clumsy hands. Her father had taken the care to maintain her swords as well, and now they were here, waiting for her and as ready to be used as they were when she had first been given them.
All of a sudden she was back in the court, kneeling next to her father as he addressed Grandfather in front of them. Lined on both sides of them were the various members of their clan, bearing witness to the process of Grandfather releasing Tou-san from the vows of their family. Sakura remembered the ache of her knees of that moment, the miserable sadness that she had been feeling, the terror of having all those eyes, especially Grandfather’s, on her. And she remembered the shock in herself and the court as her Grandfather had stood and walked toward them. How he had lifted her father to his feet, grasping his son into a firm embrace and whispering his goodbyes into his ear. How he had seemed even larger up close, and how his eyes looked much kinder than she had ever seen.
He had gifted her with her daisho that day; stating that she would not have a genpuku but that she would always be welcome in their family. It was a gift greater than she knew how to comprehend at the time, and even now. But it felt proper, felt right, that she was seeking to reclaim her lineage at an age where she would have been getting ready to come of age and receive her daisho. She had been too young, too caught up in change and grief and loss, to understand what a gift he had given her, what she had almost squandered for the mediocrity of her peers.
But not anymore. Sakura would not be that poor child anymore. She was a child of samurai, two years away from becoming a shinobi and defender for this village. She would live up to her family honor if it killed her.