Chapter Text
Sakura had long lost count of how many days she'd been trapped in that unusual reality. Never, in all her life as a kunoichi, had she imagined she'd end up in prolonged coexistence with these people. Not that she hadn’t faced surprises before - like the time she found herself in a tense meeting with the Raikage, who, despite his harsh and blunt demeanor, praised her medical skills and insisted she train his medical-nin. Or when she had no choice but to work alongside Orochimaru in the desperate search for a cure to a disease that was wiping out thousands of shinobi worldwide.
But this? This was different.
It was one thing to stand face-to-face with the living. It was something else entirely to be surrounded by the dead, or rather, the not-so-dead.
By now, she should have grown accustomed to the strange sensation, but it still gnawed at her. Every time her emerald eyes landed on them, something inside her twisted uncomfortably. It wasn’t that they were grotesque or frightening - far from it. Hashirama was even more handsome than the photos suggested. His tanned skin, long black hair, and ever-present, easy smile radiated warmth. But what made him truly magnetic was his gentleness - a kindness so deep it disarmed even her.
Sakura suspected Hashirama thought she was an idiot. Every time they spoke, she'd freeze for a few beats too long before answering. Of course, the First Hokage would never reveal such a thought - he was far too polite.
But Tobirama? He was a different challenge altogether.
If Hashirama was handsome, Tobirama was striking. Sharp features, tall and imposing, with a commanding presence that made her pulse race. But it wasn’t just his looks, it was his demeanor. There was something in the cold, calculated way he moved, the restrained authority in his voice. He reminded her too much of a certain Uchiha she'd once loved. Sakura had always been drawn to stoic, distant types; the ones who buried their emotions deep, only letting them slip through in rare, fractured moments.
Maybe it was a psychological thing. Maybe Tobirama triggered something repressed within her. She didn’t know, mental health wasn’t her field.
But here she was, trapped in some twisted time loop, sharing a dinner table with the stuff of legends. It felt like a dream, one where even knowing she was dreaming didn’t make it end.
She sighed deeply. Too deeply.
Tobirama, seated beside her, nudged her under the table.
— Haruno. You okay?
His voice was calm, cold as ever, but Sakura caught the thread of concern beneath it. He didn’t look at her, but the question was sincere.
— Ah, yes. It’s probably nothing — she replied quickly.
But it wasn’t nothing.
The discomfort that had been simmering since the start of the dinner, the same discomfort that had spiked when the drinks were served - was growing worse.
Sakura didn’t fully grasp the point of this dinner between the Senju and Uchiha clans. Hashirama had patiently explained it was essential for maintaining peace, but something felt off. In all the history she knew, there had been no such dinners to forge Konoha’s foundations.
Her mind spiraled into dangerous territory. Was she interfering with the timeline? Was she about to destroy her village’s history?
The thought made her nauseous, or maybe that was the wine.
She was still lost in thought when Tobirama leaned in again, his voice lower.
— If you want, I can take you outside for some air.
Her heart fluttered stupidly for half a second before she waved him off.
— Oh no! Don’t worry, Tobirama. It wouldn’t look right for you to leave. The Uchiha might not appreciate it.
His silver brow arched slightly, but he didn’t press. He could be cold as ice, but there was a subtle kindness buried deep beneath it, though he’d probably kill her before admitting that.
Sakura grabbed her glass, forcing herself to drink a little more wine, then stood. The table quieted, Senju and Uchiha eyes alike turning to her.
— Excuse me, gentlemen. I need to step out for a moment — she said politely, bowing.
As she turned, her gaze flicked to Tobirama. He met her eyes, and for a beat, she thought he might say something, but he just nodded and returned his focus to his drink.
Sakura made it halfway down the hall before the nausea clawed at her again. Her breath hitched, her skin damp with sweat. Leaning against the wall, she pressed a hand to her temple.
— Was it the wine? It’s different from modern stuff, but—
The world tilted. Her vision blurred in and out, her body burning hot and cold all at once.
She stumbled outside, collapsing onto a rough stone bench. The cool air did nothing. Her training kicked in, analyzing symptoms — rapid heartbeat, dizziness, visual distortion.
Poison.
Her medical knowledge screamed at her.
— Shit.
Had everyone been poisoned? No, no one else had shown symptoms. It was just her. That was something, at least.
A soft voice broke through her panic.
— Miss Haruno? Are you all right?
A servant, young, maybe sixteen, stood nearby, concern etched across his face.
Sakura forced a weak smile.
— I’m fine. Just needed some air. Thank you.
He nodded.
— I told the lords you’ve gone to your quarters. That way, they won’t worry.
Her mind raced. Smart. If she died here, they wouldn’t notice right away. He was covering his tracks.
Then she saw it: a flash of metal sliding down his sleeve.
Her heart froze.
Before she could react, the boy lunged, aiming for her throat. But even poisoned, Sakura was a kunoichi. Her body moved on instinct, jerking backward - awkwardly, gracelessly - sending her crashing off the stone and onto the ground.
The blade missed.
The servant sneered.
— So, you’re not ready to die, huh?
Sakura scrambled to her feet, swaying dangerously. Her vision flickered again, but she squared her shoulders.
Like hell she was dying here.
The boy lunged again, his strikes wild but fast. He wasn’t skilled, but poison gave him the upper hand. Every movement felt sluggish, like she was fighting underwater. His blade nicked her arm, then her side. Pain flared, but she held on.
Then he swept her legs out from under her. She hit the ground hard.
This was it.
But the killing blow never came.
Instead, strong arms scooped her up.
— Stop moving.
Tobirama’s voice.
Her heart lurched.
— T-Tobirama? How—
— The servant took too long returning with the drinks. I tasted your wine. Poisoned — his tone was clipped, matter-of-fact. — Not strong enough to kill you, though.
— But the dinner—
— Hashirama’s handling it.
She went quiet, letting herself relax against him. His chest was solid, and his scent, damn!, it was good. Soft, clean, with a hint of something sweet, like spring mornings.
Was it twisted to think this? Was it some weird form of necrophilia to be attracted to a man who was technically dead in her time?
Probably.
— Tobirama…? — she mumbled, groggy.
— Hmm?
— I know how to fight, okay?
He huffed a laugh.
— Okay.
Silence.
— Tobirama?
— Yes?
— I know how to take care of myself.
Another short laugh.
— Sure.
More silence.
— Tobirama…?
He smiled now, unable to hide it.
— Yes?
— Your scent is… really nice… it’s like…
— Like?
But she didn’t finish.
She was already unconscious.
Tobirama snorted softly, carrying her deeper into the night. Something about this woman, this strange, stubborn woman, felt… different. Familiar. Like home.
— Good night, Sakura — he whispered, pressing a rare, gentle kiss to her forehead.