Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1:

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Sakura is six, short and tiny, with puffed cheeks and tragically pink hair, when she accidentally smacks a classmate in the face and sends him to the nurse with a bleeding nose. 

Oh, she thinks dumbly, staring at her delicate fingers, a sudden onslaught of memories flooding her mind. 

“Sakura-chan!” her teacher says exasperatedly, crouching down on her knees. “Again? This is the third time this month!”

Ohhh, Sakura thinks, blinking rapidly, the awareness of herself growing. Ohhhh no. 

She looks up, raising her bloodied hands (bloodied for all the wrong reasons) in surrender. “Sorry?”

Her head tilts at the very high-pitched voice that comes out.

The teacher sighs heavily and rubs a hand to her forehead. “I’m going to call your mom.”

“That’s fair,” Sakura concedes. She looks back down at herself and picks at her adorable green dress. There are flowers stitched onto the fabric - how symbolic. 

A strange look flutters past the teacher’s face, but Sakura shrugs it off because she doesn’t see the problem. It’s not like she’s the type to ignore her responsibilities when she’s the one at fault. 

-o-o-o-o-o-

As it turns out, her parents take the news of her assault on a classmate with weary acceptance. 

“Thank you for your patience,” her mother says, bowing deeply to the classroom teacher. “We’ll make sure to address it with her.”

Sakura peers curiously at the manicured hands wrapped around her own (tiny!) fingers. Her eyes follow the line of limbs till she finds her mother’s face, albeit from a rather strange angle. 

Haruno Mebuki looks exactly the same, though with fewer wrinkles and dressed in a sleek, formal dress suit. Her hands are smooth - uncalloused from years of field work, with no sign of the slight limp she had gotten from a mission gone wrong, decades past - 

Sakura toddles after her mother’s long legs and wonders over her displacement in this world. It's a strange thought, and she's not sure if she likes it. 

They make it to the car before Mebuki turns around and lets out the heaviest sigh mankind could make.

“Sakura,” she says, with an impressive amount of patience. “What did I say about getting into fights?”

Sakura, who is still recovering from a sudden switch in consciousness, can only take a wild guess. “Don’t do it?”

Mebuki nods severely. “And what did you do?”

“I,” Sakura looks back down at her hands, now clean from the blood. “I did it?”

Mebuki crouches down - an elegant motion considering the constricting suit. “Sakura. I can’t keep getting called in to see your teacher - your mother is very busy with her work, remember?”

As a matter of fact, Sakura can’t remember. The last thing she remembers, actually, is breathing out her last breath, in a hospital bed, Naruto’s hand gripped tightly in hers - 

But Sakura is nothing if not adaptable. So, very primly, she answers, “Yes, Mama. I remember.”

The ride back home is slow, and Sakura takes the time to stare out the glass window, marvelling at how far this society has advanced. Her legs kick back and forth, her feet far too high to touch the floor, and at her blurred reflection in the car window, she finds a quiet in herself. 

Could she be the only one in this strange, new world?

Or could they be here too? She watches as a group of young teenagers, dressed in uniforms, laugh amongst themselves. They disappear not long after. 

The road leads to a parking lot and Sakura exits the car, one hand holding onto a rather large backpack. 

Her mother looks down at her watch and clicks her tongue. 

“We’ll have to order in tonight,” she says with a frown. They walk into an incredibly tall apartment complex and Sakura cranes her neck to see the top. 

The inside lobby is pristine, with cream tiled walls and soft red carpet. A few receptionists man the front counter and when Mebuki walks past, they bow lowly.

Sakura catches sight of the crystal chandeliers above and distantly wonders if they’re real. 

A short elevator ride later (where Sakura nearly jumps out of her shoes when it first begins to move), they enter an impeccably clean apartment decorated with cotton curtains and plush carpet.

In this world, Sakura belatedly realizes, Haruno Mebuki is very, very well-off. 

“Are you hungry?” her mother asks, as Sakura wanders around the marble countertops in the kitchen. “I have to leave for another meeting soon, but I can make you a snack.”

Sakura looks away from the colored picture of two stick figures, drawn rather messily, that’s taped to the fridge door. Sakura-chan and Mom, it says on top, in terrible hiragana.

“A snack sounds good,” she tells her mother, a wide smile on her face. 

(It’s nice to see that some things never change). 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Stomach full and mother gone, Sakura sits down on the living room floor and dumps everything out of her backpack. 

“Notebook, pencils,” she lists aloud, a chubby finger pointing at each item. “Lunchbox, crayons - aha!”

She pulls open a folder (decorated heavily with doodles) and quickly learns that she’s already halfway done with the school year. 

“They take education very slowly here,” she notes, because Haruno Sakura in the other world had been doing far more complex equations by this age. 

Tucking away the worksheets of addition and subtraction, Sakura cleans up her remaining mess and hobbles around the apartment. The room closest to the entrance door is clearly Mebuki’s, considering the wide bed and large vanity attached to the wall. 

Sakura lingers around the room, inhaling deeply the scent of perfume and something that reminds her of her other home too. Her fingers trace the photos lining her mother’s cabinet - there’s Sakura, hands thankfully clean, then Sakura and Mebuki, laughing over ice cream, then an infant, probably Sakura, sleeping in the arms of Mebuki and - 

She pauses, suddenly realizing that Haruno Kizashi looks incredibly different with a haircut. 

Where is he now? It hadn’t been clear whether her father was involved in her life from Mebuki’s sparse conversations. 

Thoughtfully, Sakura gently closes the door to her mother’s room and leaves that subject matter for another time. 

Besides a rather nice bathroom and a closet, the only other door in the apartment leads to a smaller room, decorated with stickers of cartoon bears and constellations. 

This must be my room, she thinks, accepting the punishment with grace. 

Her bed covers are strewn across the floor, with an assortment of markers and colored pencils spilled along the tiny plastic desk to the right. 

Sakura drops her backpack beside her bed and examines her belongings thoroughly.

She wades through the stacks of notebooks, full of drawn pictures, and absentmindedly sifts through her drawers, finding an endless number of embroidered dresses. 

Cute, she thinks, bringing up one particular outfit, a deep red with flower petals. 

Sakura looks down at her current outfit and realizes that there must be a theme. 

An hour later, Sakura walks back into the living room, still unsure of her place in this world. 

She collapses onto the floor and swings her limbs back and forth, relishing the feeling of the soft plush on her skin. 

“Now what?” she asks aloud to the emptiness of the room.

It’s silent, as always, and very soon, Sakura will come to learn that this is a rather common occurrence. 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Very quickly (the next morning, in fact), Sakura learns the hard way that chakra is a nonexistent feature in this world.

“Remember, Sakura,” her mother warns her sternly, handing her a packed lunch. “No more fights, okay?”

“Okay,” Sakura says blearily, a throbbing pain beginning to form in her head. Her efforts to find any source of chakra had only led to crossed eyes and a major headache. 

She stumbles into her classroom a little late (she only had a vague set of memories from the day before as help) and luckily, there’s only one remaining desk that’s left open.

“Okay, everyone!” the teacher calls out amidst the chatter. “Did you all remember to do your homework?”

My what, Sakura thinks, even as the rest of the class answers happily. 

She digs into her backpack and eyes the blank worksheets she had ignored the other night. 

This is not what I signed up for, she frowns petulantly, but grudgingly ticks off all the right answers. 

(No matter the world, Haruno Sakura will always be a good student above all else). 

She goes about the rest of her day idly, almost as if she’s in a dream. Against her will, her eyes begin to glaze over when the teacher instructs the class on simple math. 

The lack of chakra, Sakura decides, is troubling. Her perfect control had been a source of pride - without chakra, she’s just like everyone else in this world. 

She spins a pencil, imagining it as a kunai, and frowns when it falls off her fingers. 

It’s clear that this world is vastly different from her old one - she doubts there are shinobi in this one. 

The future becomes blurry at that thought. 

What do people do here? She wonders, head nearly lolling to the side. What can I do here? 

“Sakura-chan!”

She starts, her knees nearly banging into her desk. 

At the front of the classroom, her teacher frowns severely. “If you have time to sleep, then you can answer this question, right?”

Scattered laughter courses through the room as Sakura blinks. 

She glances to her right, where one particular boy laughs a little louder than the rest. The moment they lock eyes, the boy immediately snaps his mouth shut and looks away.

After a pause, Sakura stands up. “Sure.”

She reads the question on the board: What is Japan’s capital city? 

Sakura squints her eyes at the question. “What’s Japan?”

Another burst of laughter, this time much louder, runs through her classmates. To the side, her teacher forlornly rests her head in her hands. 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Her education continues in spurts and waves. Sakura, with nothing better to do, quickly catches up to her classmates and more. 

By the end of the school year, when her entire class is made to stand and share their future aspirations, she is, once again, left at a standstill.

“Uh,” she says, mind whirring in thought. “I don’t know?”

Her teacher, now with the same amount of patience Mebuki often gives, smiles patiently. “Really? Not even something? You can be anything, Sakura-chan! Like a singer, or an actress, or - ”

Sakura ponders on the question. 

“A medic?” she guesses, because why fix something that isn’t broken? It’s something she had been good at, a lifetime ago, and it might be nice to have something like that again. 

Her teacher raises an eyebrow. “You mean a doctor?”

Sakura gives an ooh and ahh. “That sounds about right.”

Another strange look passes along the teacher’s face, and Sakura commends the amount of patience it must take to deal with her shit. 

They spend the rest of class drawing out their future goals, with some children struggling more than others.

Staring blankly at her own sheet of paper, Sakura finds herself firmly in the former category - why didn’t she say something easy, like a cat? Then she wouldn’t be here, struggling, and her mother would have a new drawing to tape to the fridge. A win-win situation. 

In the end, she sketches a mangled depiction of a stethoscope and calls it a day, swiftly packing up all her things. 

That night, to prove that the world must be working against her, Sakura is cornered at dinner. 

“I heard you picked your future career in class today,” Mebuki casually says, taking another bite of mapo tofu. 

Sakura narrows her eyes at her own dish. “Ito-sensei is a traitor.”

Mebuki gives a light tap along the back of Sakura’s head. “Hush, you. What did you decide on?”

Rubbing her hair (that is still kept ridiculously long), Sakura tests her newly learned word. “A doctor?”

“A doctor,” her mother repeats before smiling broadly. “That’s an ambitious goal. How come?”

Sakura shrugs. “I think I’d be good at it.”

This isn’t a mere guess, of course. Across the entire continent, Haruno Sakura had been known as the best medic in the world. 

Though, she considers wryly, the lack of chakra might change things. 

“Confidence is a good thing,” Mebuki tells her firmly, blonde hair tied tightly into a bun. “Let’s see how far you can go with that.”

Considering the changed standards in this world (where adulthood isn’t reached until eighteen ), Sakura wonders if it’s too soon to tell - too soon to know what she wants, to know what she likes, to know what she needs - 

Instead, like always, Sakura follows along willingly enough. 

“Sure, why not?”

-o-o-o-o-o-

In the early morning, hair tied tightly and still in her pajamas, Sakura exhales slowly, arms bending forward over her legs. 

She counts slowly to twenty before switching positions, crossing her legs and reaching over again. 

Thirty minutes later, Sakura finishes the last of her stretches before moving onto basic level katas, running through each form at an agonizing pace.

The silence is near comforting, leaving her to focus on the sound of her breaths. It reminds her of all the things she’s left behind.

(What would they do, she wonders, in memory of her?).

She showers quickly and dresses for school - this time in a white dress with pink petals. Today, Sakura feels like living on the edge.

Her day continues idly, just as it always had for the past few years, the monotonous pace almost meditative. Without the existence of chakra, Sakura is forced to occupy her time in other ways, leaving her to exhaust most of the school’s library halfway through her elementary career. 

How Cells Work, she reads with half-interest during lunch, stuffing her face with onigiri. The reading is less an introduction to biology and more a book of interesting facts, but she’ll take what she can get. 

Her session at school ends without fanfare and, trudging down the sidewalk, Sakura passes by the same old park she’s always passed by, for two years now. 

This time, however, there are three new occupants in the park, with one lying prone on the ground. 

“ - and that! Take that and that!” one boy yells, kicking the child curled into a fetal position on the dirt. “Can’t do anything now, can you?”

Sakura stares, her head slowly tilting to the side.

(In another world, she knows exactly what she would have done. In this one, however…).

In this world, Sakura does what her mother would call the “sensible thing to do,” and grabs the closest adult nearby.

“They’re trying to kill somebody over there,” she tells the man, pointing in the direction of the park. It’s unlikely an actual murder will occur, but it’s nice to take some precautions. “They’re beating a kid up really bad.”

The man, dressed in some uniform, hauls himself over to the park. 

A policeman, Sakura notes, considering her job done and continues home. They didn’t have any of those back then. 

Well, that isn’t quite true. But the ending of Sasuke’s family was tragic enough, Sakura is willing to wave it away. 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The following week, Sakura finds herself caught in an issue she had thought was long resolved.

“I heard you’re the one who tattled on me,” an older, unfamiliar boy says menacingly, his other friend looming by his side. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

Sakura blinks slowly. She looks at the two boys, then looks back at herself - today, her choice of dress is a cute, yellow sundress.

“Do I know you?” she asks, because she’s pretty sure they’ve never met in her (current) life.

From the way the boy’s face turns rapidly red, it’s clear that had been the wrong thing to say. 

“Pretending you know nothing, huh?” he spits out, fists clenched and raised. “Well, maybe you’ll remember now - !”

He charges at her, eyes closed shut (for some reason) and voice roaring. 

Sakura glances to her left, where an open road lies, and decides she doesn’t need another incident on her hands. 

She ducks and shifts to the right, stepping into the local park to avoid any accidents. 

“Stay still!” the boy orders, before charging at her again. 

Sakura ducks again, twisting to the side. She’s trained her body as well as she could afford to, considering the lack of chakra. It’s hard to take situations like these more seriously. 

The boy’s friend joins along and, after several moments of moving around, Sakura wonders how long the fiasco will go for. 

The two boys are clearly tiring, but in a final attempt to catch her, the first boy lets out a cry of frustration and leaps straight at her.

And Sakura, bored out of her mind in her current position, decides it wouldn’t hurt to end this fiasco as calmly as possible. 

She shifts to the side, angling her body further back. At a precise moment, she raises her hand - to surrender, in a show of peace and - 

By sheer coincidence, her fingers make contact with the boy’s face and, in a spectacular show of acrobatics, he is then sent hurtling to the dirt ground, several meters away.

A deathly silence enters the park.

Sakura looks down at her hand in betrayal. 

What, she thinks, was that?

The boy’s friend rushes over, hands hovering over the boy, who is left lying prone on the floor, his trembling body the only sign that Sakura did not commit homicide. 

She walks hesitantly over. 

“Is he okay?” she asks, already working through several possible solutions, trying and failing to find one that wouldn’t involve her mother . 

The boy scrambles away, his friend joining his side, one hand to his face, a blotchy red rising on his check.

“You should probably put ice on that,” Sakura tries to say, but her words are drowned over their cries of terror, as the pair of boys flee the scene. 

In the midst of the following silence, Sakura studies her (traitorous) hand.

The nonexistence of chakra removes a number of her abilities. If that’s the case, then there’s no way her strength could have carried over to this world.

Right?

-o-o-o-o-o-

Of the few things that had transferred over from before, the methodical training from her medical studies is one of them.

Test #1, Sakura writes down in neat letters, using a shorthand Konoha had often favored for its genin. She lifts the pencil up to eye level, a pair of swimming goggles plastered over her face (lab safety is paramount in testing phases).

Then, drawing her head slightly away, Sakura takes her hands and bends with a little more effort than normal - 

The pencil breaks in half near instantly, the wood tearing apart like paper

Sakura pauses, staring blankly at the broken pencil in her hand, the lead hanging loosely off to the side, before picking up her pen.

Test #1: Pencil - successful, :( 

She proceeds to go down her (admittedly short) list, because there are only so many objects she can destroy before her mother gets suspicious. 

A metal spoon bends with mild resistance, the kitchen table can be lifted rather easily, Mebuki’s discarded makeup brush is snapped with an extra push - 

Sakura cleans up the results of her tests and, soon after, sits back at her tiny desk. 

Either this is the average an eight-year-old can do here, she thinks, tapping her cheek with her pen, or this is going to be a very annoying problem.

(She has a sinking feeling what the obvious answer is).

-o-o-o-o-o-

The next day, during their short recess, Sakura tests out the playground’s monkey bars, gauging the amount of weight her arms can handle.

She swings across the bars with ease - an ease she’s used to expecting, but is that normal for this world?

Maybe physics works differently here? Her eyes turn to her steady arms in vague interest. It would be a subject worth looking into.

“Oi, Haruno!” someone shouts. Sakura looks down to see a few of her classmates. “Let’s play tag!”

She hops down onto the floor, landing in a crouch, right as another student hisses, “ Her? But she’s scary!”

“We need somebody to be ‘it,’” the first classmate says, folding his arms with a smirk and completely ignoring his friend. “That’s the only way you can play.”

The quiet grumbles ease away at that statement.

Sakura smiles. 

“Sure,” she says easily. “But you have to play on the monkey bars after with me.”

This, she notes, is a perfect way to gather more data.

“Deal,” her classmate says instantly, and they shake on it.

Immediately after, the others scatter with a shriek and Sakura, very familiar with the concept of chasing, bolts after them. 

Legs are good, she ticks off in her head, running after one classmate. Breathing is okay, stamina… could use some work. 

I’ll need to add some runs in before doing katas, she thinks, cataloguing each task into different slots. 

Mindlessly, Sakura taps the shoulder of another boy and calls out, “Takumi’s it!”

“No, I’m not!” Takumi protests, one hand on his tainted shoulder. “That was too fast!”

Sakura blinks. “But I tagged you.”

“But that’s not fair,” Takumi whines, stomping his foot. At this point, some of the other children poke their heads out, curious about the delay. “I don’t want to be it!”

“Okay,” Sakura says slowly. “I can be it again.”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Takumi!” one boy hollers, interjecting at a god-awful moment. “You’re such a baby!”

“Yeah!” another girl calls out, peeking out from the slides and appearing far too invested in a conversation that doesn’t involve her. “You’re a baby!”

“Baby! Baby!” several voices chant, the simple game of tag derailing alarmingly fast. 

I guess the bloodlust of children is the same wherever you go, she thinks, gradually backing away from Takumi’s darkening features. She bumps into a hard wall and, resignedly, glances back to find herself stuck between two jungle gyms.

“I’m not a baby!” Takumi shrieks, before promptly hurtling himself to the closest body, which, unfortunately, turns out to be Sakura.

And Sakura, who only has enough time to decide on two options, braces for the impact. It hits her faster than she anticipates, and, with the instincts of this young body, raises her hands to protect her face - 

-o-o-o-o-o-

“This is, unfortunately, not the first time Sakura-san has gotten into an incident,” the principal says, hands clasped tightly together and grey hair tied loosely into a bun. “We’ve gotten reports from another school that she may have been involved in a fight with another student last week.”

Under her mother’s silent stare, Sakura barely manages to not sink into her seat.

“Luckily, it seems enough witnesses claimed she was the victim today,” the principal continues, pushing up her glasses. “But if this doesn’t stop, we’ll need to discuss alternative options for her schooling.”

“I understand,” Mebuki says, rising to her feet, leaving Sakura scrambling to follow suit. “Thank you for your patience.”

The walk to her mother’s car is done in agonizing silence.

By the time they reach the side door, Mebuki turns around, and Sakura realizes this is becoming a routine.

“Sakura,” her mother says wearily. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

Logically, Sakura is aware that the best response is to accept the punishment and move on. She had been careless and that just means she can’t make the same mistake again.

“It’s not fair,” she says instead, her voice wobbling like a traitor. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Okay, fine, a voice in her head says. You can recover, just take a step back, breathe in deeply, and say you’re sorry.

“He hit me first,” Sakura chokes, decidedly not doing anything of the sort. This is not the first time her body has betrayed her and she has a terrible feeling it won’t be the last. Her nose scrunches up and her eyes begin to burn. “I just stood there because you said no fights and, and I’m getting in trouble and he’s not and, and, and - ”

Fabric rustling, a pair of warm, strong arms wraps around her. Sakura sucks in a harsh breath, a futile attempt when the flood has already begun. For the very first time in this life, when salt hits her tongue, she chokes out a sob, digging her face into her mother’s shoulder. 

“Oh, Sakura,” Mebuki says softly, over the muffled wails, running a hand through Sakura’s hair. “Baby, I know you’re trying. You’re doing so much better than before, yeah?”

Sakura hiccups. “Y-Yeah.”

“I know it’s hard,” Mebuki continues, still stroking Sakura’s hair. “The principal is just worried for you, because people might not believe the truth.”

Her mother then says wryly, “You did knock out his front teeth.”

It’s not appropriate, but Sakura bites down on a nearly hysterical giggle. 

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Sakura mumbles, gripping her mother’s suit jacket tightly. She lets go soon after and rubs at her sore eyes. 

“I know,” Mebuki says, and wow, the wet spot on her shoulder is very large. “That’s still a hard hit, though.”

“Everything I do is a hard hit,” Sakura grumbles, almost to herself. She’s never had a problem with control before and it eats away at her patience. 

Mebuki raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

It’s against her nature to reveal her cards, but Sakura realizes that it’s not fair to keep her mother out of the loop - it’s clear it’ll only lead to more disasters.

She takes a step back and rubs her eyes, before dumping her bag onto the floor. Sifting through her things, she pulls out the metal spoon she had used for lunch.

“Look,” she orders, and, with the briefest of apologies, sacrifices her spoon for a greater purpose. With some effort, she presses against the metal and it easily warps in her hand, the spoon bending almost in half.

There is a severe silence.

“I,” Mebuki begins, eyes wide. “How are you doing that?”

Sakura passes over the bent spoon. Accepting it with careful hands, Mebuki pushes backwards, skin stretching and hands straining - the metal shifts ever so slightly. 

“You definitely shouldn’t be able to do this,” her mother finally says, resignedly returning the spoon. 

“Probably,” Sakura admits, pressing the spoon again to return it to its original state. It’s not easy to control, and the spoon ends up in a more mangled state than before.

Mebuki bites her lower lip and says, “How long has this been going on for?”

“I don’t know,” Sakura shrugs. It might have been months; it might have been years. “Maybe forever?”

Mebuki lets out a long, heavy sigh.

“We should - “ her mother says, mussing up her perfectly tied hair. “We should probably go see a doctor.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

That weekend, Sakura sits patiently on an examination chair, her legs swinging sedately back and forth.

Not long after, the pediatrician, a middle-aged woman, walks in through the door.

“Right,” the doctor says, flipping through several papers on a clipboard. Sakura itches to grab it and read the information herself. “No problems with your daughter’s health, Haruno-san. She seems healthy with no major issues.

“That’s good to hear,” Mebuki says politely, smacking Sakura’s hand when it gets too close to a nearby stethoscope. “What about her…?”

“Ah,” the doctor says, catching on right away. “That is an unusual case. Strength is determined by several factors, but your daughter isn’t displaying any outwardly.”

“Because of my muscle fibers?” Sakura pipes in, eyes still glued to the clipboard. The absence of chakra leaves humans to live by other means, and Sakura still needs to know more.

“Partially,” the doctor says, after a pause. Mebuki, meanwhile, sends a stern look.

Sakura pretends to not notice it. “Does that mean I’m hurting the muscles each time the energy builds up? Is the intensity too much? Should I be looking into repairing them? Is the energy cost more than what I - ”

“ Sakura, ” her mother cuts in.

Ever the dutiful child, Sakura promptly closes her mouth shut. 

The doctor turns to her, staring as if she is seeing Sakura for the very first time.

“I don’t have any clear answers for that,” she says, this time speaking directly to Sakura. “If you’re not in pain and daily activities aren’t a problem for you, it’s likely your recruitment buildup is genetic.”

Sakura blinks. And smiles. “So I need control first. If I’m going to use up more strength, I need to build more muscle fibers too, right?”

“... yes,” the doctor says. “You’ll need to do that in the future, if you end up exerting yourself more often than normal.”

“I can do that,” Sakura tells her confidently, shoulders relaxing at the idea of something familiar. “Where should I start?”

The doctor studies her for a moment, before saying, “I usually recommend martial arts - they demand a high level of discipline and control, which would work well for you.”

Sakura’s smile widens even further.

She turns to her mother, who appears more or less resigned, and announces, “I can most definitely do that.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sakura begins her first lesson in judo a week later, walking into the dojo with Mebuki’s hand wrapped around her own.

“Welcome!” a middle-aged man calls out, walking over to the entrance. There are several students around Sakura’s age, stretching on the floor covered in grey mats.

“Hello,” Mebuki greets, before nudging Sakura forward. “We called in last week about lessons.”

The man grins, broad shoulders relaxing, and crosses his arms. “Yes, I remember.”

He crouches down to meet Sakura at eye-level. “Haruno-kun, right?”

Sakura smiles. “That’s right.”

“Great,” the man says, standing up and walking around a counter. He pulls out a white set of clothes. “You can call me Nishikawa-sensei. I have a new uniform for you, Haruno-kun."

He hands her the uniform and Sakura runs a hand across the rough fabric. 

“How about you get changed in the bathroom,” Nishikawa says, jabbing a thumb behind him to a nearby door. “Then you can join us for the warm-ups.”

Sakura beams. This is the best thing to happen to her all week. 

She hurries into the bathroom, with Mebuki trailing behind, and strips out of her clothes, though keeping the undershirt on. 

“They call this a judogi,” Mebuki says, as she helps Sakura through the jacket made of thick cotton. “This is what you need to wear every time you come here.”

“Judogi,” Sakura repeats, picking at its threads. 

It’s strange that she needs to change before fighting, but that’s another cultural difference she’ll have to remember. 

She hobbles back out, feet sinking slightly into the padded floor and holding a white, cotton obi in hand. 

“Ah, good,” Nishikawa says, when he notices her entrance. “Come here, Haruno-kun. I’ll help you with that.”

Sakura remains still as Nishikawa rearranges her jacket and wraps the obi around her waist.

“This is an uwagi,” he tells her, pointing to the jacket. “And the obi is a belt that tells us what rank you are.”

Rankings, huh, Sakura notes with interest, coughing when Nishikawa tugs the obi tightly. I know what that feels like. 

He directs her to a spot on the floor before running through a series of stretches.

This, Sakura has no trouble with. She’s been running through a similar routine every morning, if only to maintain some sort of familiarity. 

“ - eight, nine, ten!” Nishikawa calls. He straightens and motions for a line. “Alright, everybody. We’re practicing our falls this time.”

Sakura hangs around the back of the line and watches as Nishikawa demonstrates a simple break and fall.

“Start low first,” he instructs, slowly falling forward and gently landing on the floor. “Then turn and roll, until your feet return to the ground. Then stand.”

“You must learn how to fall before you learn anything else,” Nishikawa says, face stern for the first time in the lesson. “Proper technique for ukemi can help you avoid getting hurt - do not rush through this.”

He goes down the line and has each student demonstrate, one-by-one. It’s clear this is one of the first classes in the course, as many students find themselves disoriented after rolling to the side.

Eventually, it’s Sakura’s turn.

“Go as slow as you can, Haruno-kun,” Nishikawa says, a smile on his face. “If you get confused, I’ll help you.”

Sakura returns the smile. It’s clear safety is paramount in this world and, considering the terrible lack of chakra, she can understand the sentiment.

Then, she lowers her body and centers her weight onto her shoulder. She rolls (slowly, because she’s a diligent student), tucking her knees inward like Nishikawa had and landing smoothly on her feet.

Once it’s obvious her footing is secure, she rises to a stand. 

More weight on the outer shoulder, Sakura thinks, testing her arm weight. I don’t have chakra to break my falls anymore. 

Nishikawa pauses.

“That’s good,” he says, eyeing her curiously. “Flatten your feet a little more.”

Sakura tilts her head and repeats the motion, this time flattening her feet and directing her weight further inward from her right shoulder. 

The motion feels smoother. It takes less time to find her footing and when she stands, Sakura glances at her hands in interest.

Not for the first time, it hits her that she’s relied on chakra a lot more than she remembers. 

Without chakra, gravity weighs on her more, leaving more chance to momentum, to fail safes and a reliance on luck - or circumstance.

The thought leaves Sakura to huff. Isn’t that how she had lived, back in Konoha?

It doesn’t have to be completely different, she reminds herself, as Nishikawa clears his throat and sends her back to the line.

When Nishikawa is satisfied with their form, he gives them some time to practice individually. 

Sakura walks over to an unoccupied space and works through the roll again. It’s easy enough that she’s fairly confident she has it down, but working in the muscle memory is even more important.

Methodically, she works through each step, memorizing the stance, memorizing the placement of her feet. Her muscles strain under the continued use, though she has no issues with supporting her weight. 

Sakura uses the next ten minutes to repeat the same motions, the mindless repetitions almost calming. She rolls again, only for her toes to catch the floor and, when she stands, she clicks her tongue.

“Good work, Haruno-kun,” Nishikawa’s voice catches her attention. He crouches down to meet her eyes, and she catches a black obi wrapped around his own judogi. “Let’s see it then.”

Sakura nods and, without preamble, lowers her body and rolls, making sure to keep the speed of her turn as consistent as before. 

She still waits until her feet are clearly back on the mat, and then moves to stand. 

Nishikawa brings a hand to scruff on his chin. “Interesting.”

“Tell me, Haruno-kun,” he then says. “Is this your first time in judo?”

“Yes,” Sakura says, blinking slowly.

“And your first time doing any martial arts?”

“Yes?”

Nishikawa hums before nodding once. “Okay. Good to know. Do the roll again, but connect your motions.”

Sakura immediately knows what he’s talking about. This time, she doesn’t bother pausing between each step - instead, when she lowers her body, she moves straight into the roll and stands right as her feet find the ground. 

(She doesn’t need to hesitate. She hasn’t had to in a very long time.)

“One more time,” Nishikawa says, and brings a hand to around where her shoulder would be. “But start from here.”

A higher starting position means more room for speed and momentum. She’ll need to end in a wider stance to support the faster roll. 

Sakura falls, bending her knees to cushion the speed, and rolls along her shoulder, the fast speed meaning less weight is placed into the ground. 

She distances her feet right before they find the ground and stands, bending her body to move the energy to her feet.

“Good,” Nishikawa says. “Practice from that height and tuck your hands in.”

“Okay, sensei,” Sakura answers, taking the advice for what it is. 

Nishikawa studies her for another brief moment. He then smiles and moves on to the next student, who appears to spend more time lying on the ground than rolling.

Tuck your hands in, Sakura thinks. She imagines it’s to smoothen the turn and rebalance her stance when she stands.

(She’s familiar with falls. The posture is different, but the human body can only differ in so many ways.)

When she tries it out, one more time, it turns out that’s exactly what it does.

-o-o-o-o-o-

At the end of the lesson, Sakura and her classmates kneel in front of Nishikawa, spending several minutes to meditate.

“Breathe in deeply,” Nishikawa instructs, standing in front of two scrolls, written in large, black lettering.

Mutual welfare and benefit, one reads. The other, maximum efficiency and minimal effort.

The encounter of an ideology so close to Shikamaru’s nearly causes a giggle to slip from her lips, but she catches herself just in time. 

(It’s not so hard this time, to wonder what they might be doing in her absence - if they’ve moved on, if they still mourn. 

She thinks it might be even easier next time.)

-o-o-o-o-o-

Later that week, after a little more ukemi practice, Nishikawa introduces their first throwing technique.

“ Ippon-seoi-nage ,” he says, crouching down in front of Sakura, who, for some reason, has been chosen to be demonstrated on. “Is a technique that breaks the other’s balance.

Nishikawa turns around and pulls at Sakura’s arm, while continuing his explanation. Gently, slowly, he brings her over his shoulder and onto the ground in front of him. 

Instinctively, Sakura cushions her (already very gentle) fall with her feet. Her back doesn’t hit the floor and, with a flush, she realizes Nishikawa had no intentions of sending her straight to ground in the first place.

“Let’s try the motions first,” Nishikawa says, chuckling heartily. “Pair up!”

Eventually, Nishikawa goes down the line, giving them all an opportunity to practice the throw completely with him. 

Sakura waits for her turn patiently, tugging at her partner’s arm experimentally. It’s a simple throwing technique - she’s definitely used something similar before - so there shouldn’t be any problems… right?

She looks behind her, to the entrance where several parents wait and watch. Sitting in her usual business suit, Mebuki gives an encouraging smile. 

Right, Sakura thinks. I’m an eight-year-old child and Nishikawa is a full-grown adult. There shouldn’t be any problems here. 

Nishikawa motions her forward and, a little hesitantly, she walks to the center.

“Okay, Haruno-kun,” he says, bending down so that she has a better grip on his arm. “Run it through slowly first.”  

Sakura nods, working through each step - reaching under the arm, turning on her right foot, and lowering her right shoulder -

She can feel Nishikawa lift his own feet and, very carefully, use his own strength to tumble over her shoulders. 

“Good job,” he says, as the parents in the back clap appreciatively. Mebuki sends her a thumbs-up. “We’ll do that one more time.”

In a quieter voice, he tells her, “Your mom let me know about your… health concerns, Haruno-kun. Don’t hesitate if you’re worried about hurting me.”

Sakura’s eyes widen. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Nishikawa answers back, and laughs. “This old body’s still got a lot of strength left!”

Sakura smiles back, a little unsurely, because she wouldn’t call Nishikawa old, especially under this world’s standards. 

(She certainly wouldn’t have called Tsunade-shishou old. Ever.)

They return to their original positions. Breathing in deeply, Sakura grabs under Nishikawa’s arm and pivots on her foot, swinging him over her shoulders with a great heave, taking care not to pull her muscles. 

Nishikawa lands onto the ground with a small thud, and, for a moment, looks blankly at the ceiling. 

Another complimentary round of applause runs through the audience. Eyes coming quickly into focus, Nishikawa rises to his feet, his movements only faltering once. 

“... well,” he finally says, patting Sakura’s back. “That was… that was good. Good job, Haruno-kun.”

When it’s clear she hasn’t broken any bones, hasn’t done anything really, Sakura relaxes her shoulders.

“Thank you, sensei,” she says, unable to stop the relief from coursing through her chest. 

Nishikawa pauses, before laughing heartily again. 

“You’re welcome, Haruno-kun,” he tells her, ruffling her hair for the briefest of moments. 

Warmth floods her stomach and, with a beam, Sakura heads back to her spot in the line. 

This is definitely the best thing to happen to her all year.

Chapter Text

The year continues on, leaving Sakura with a luxurious amount of time to spend.

She uses it on things she thinks matters — with her mother, in the library, at Nishikawa’s dojo. It takes a while to convince the librarian to let her check out whatever books she can carry, but eventually Sakura walks home with biology textbooks and dictionaries in hand.

Mebuki catches her one evening, perusing through an anatomy textbook, and does a double take.

“Can you understand this?” she asks curiously, leaning over Sakura’s shoulders. 

Sakura shrugs. The terms are different, but the basics are the same. The annoying part had been realizing that the chakra tenketsu system is utterly useless here.

“Huh,” Mebuki says, eyeing Sakura with the same, specific look she’s given her for the past several years. “Is it interesting?”

“It’s important,” Sakura answers, because interesting isn’t a word she had often used before. “I’m trying to understand how everything works.”

I’m trying to understand how everything is different, Sakura thinks, still impressed at the amount of information available to the general public, even after all these years. 

Mebuki huffs out a laugh. “I don’t think even the smartest person knows how everything works.”

“That’s true,” Sakura concedes. “But I can’t understand how the body works if I don’t know where anything is.”

Straightening, Mebuki puts a hand to her cheek. “That’s one way of putting it.”

She leaves not long after. Sakura, far used to her mother’s strange tendencies, turns back to her textbook and continues on.

-o-o-o-o-o-

One afternoon, months after her first judo lesson, Sakura is pulled to the side after their closing stretches are done.

“Tell me, Haruno-kun,” Nishikawa says, scratching the scruff on his chin. “Do you think judo is easy for you?”

Sakura pauses, because she isn’t sure if this is a trick question or not.

She glances behind her as the other students depart with their parents. After the first few weeks, Sakura had been allowed to attend lessons without Mebuki’s presence.

Slowly, she says, “No?”

It’s not that judo is necessarily easy. Rather, Sakura has spent decades studying, training and fighting - her only setback is muscle memory and her tiny, young body.

“Really?” Nishikawa asks, raising an eyebrow.

Sakura slouches forward in defeat. “... Okay, yes.”

“I still think it’s really important,” she adds on hastily. Judo allows her to test out how much is too much. “It’s helpful, and relaxing, and I like it a lot - !”

Nishikawa bursts into laughter, the sound deep and loud.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone call judo ‘relaxing,’” he says, clapping a hand on Sakura’s back. She stumbles forward with a slight oof.

“You probably don’t feel challenged enough,” Nishikawa continues thoughtfully.

Sakura cranes her head up to look at him. “I don’t think that really matters, sensei.”

There aren’t any shortcuts to improving a skill. She’s attempted it multiple times already. Sakura is stuck to build another life, but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.

Nishikawa grins at her. “I’m starting to feel like you always mean what you say.”

Sakura remains silent, unsure of how to respond.

“How about you stop by this Saturday,” he says, crossing his arms. “We have sparring sessions every week, for beginners too. You might enjoy that.”

Her heart jumps at the idea.

“I’ll do that!” Sakura hurries to say. Running through katas, practicing falls and techniques… they’re calming - meditative, almost.

But, for some reason, she still remembers the rush of chakra, the adrenaline in her muscles, from a world ago.

“Great,” Nishikawa says, eyes creasing. “See you this Saturday then.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Her first sparring session goes slightly differently than she had anticipated.

“Her?” a boy, several years older than her, says, giving her a side-eye. “Are you sure, sensei?”

“Well,” Nishikawa says, amidst the other pairs of children already sparring. “You’re the only one I can trust to show her the ropes.”

And just like that, the boy grins, black hair swept to the side and blue eyes bright. “Aw, sensei.”

“This is Sakamoto Ren,” Nishikawa tells her, gesturing to the boy. “And this, Sakamoto, is Haruno Sakura.”

“Nice to meet you, Sakamoto-san,” Sakura says, bowing slightly.

“Uh, yeah, same here,” Sakamoto says. A good head taller than her, he eyes her tinier body “But are you sure, sensei?”

“You’ll need the experience to pass your rank,” Nishikawa answers, nodding at the brown obi wrapped around Sakamoto’s waist. “And you can’t be promoted into dan without teaching.”

Sakamoto hums contemplatively, surveying Sakura up and down. “I guess you’re right.”

Sakura remains still, enduring the once-over with more patience than she ever would have had years ago.

“Eh,” Sakamoto says, running a hand through his hair. “Well, we can start with the basics then. What rank are you, Haruno?”

“Sixth kyu,” Sakura answers promptly.

Sakamoto looks up at Nishikawa disbelievingly. “She’s a beginner?”

“Now, now,” Nishikawa says, chuckling. “She’s almost ready to be promoted. It’s a good starting point for you, Sakamoto.”

Sakamoto doesn’t grumble, but his feelings on the matter (on Sakura) are very clear.

Sakura bears through it, again, with a miraculous amount of patience. She imagines that if this was still the past, she would have long since thrown Sakamoto over her shoulders.

“Alright then,” Sakamoto says, still eyeing Sakura dubiously. “Did Nishikawa-sensei run you through the basics?”

“Yes,” Sakura answers, having endured many lectures about the way spars are done for months now. “I’ve never done it before though.”

Sakamoto rubs the back of his neck. “Okay, let’s run through some scenarios to get your body used to the idea.”

He guides them to a more open corner, while Nishikawa follows leisurely behind.

“So you should know several techniques at this point,” Sakamoto says, after sending Nishikawa a confused look when the man continues to watch. “I’m going to move slowly and only use the throws you know. Sparring is a lot quicker than what you’re used to.”

Sakura smiles, the muscles under her judogi thrumming with anticipation. “I understand, Sakamoto-san.”

Sakamoto looks at her strangely, but doesn’t say anything more. He bounces lightly on his feet before approaching her with a good amount of speed.

Perhaps a little too curious, Sakura allows him to grab her arm and hoist her over his shoulders.

She lands very gently on her back, feet planting on the ground first to break the fall.

“Right,” Sakamoto says, after he releases her and takes a step back. “Surprising, isn’t it?”

And, because Sakura can’t come up with a different response without sounding awful, she answers, “Yes.”

“Great,” Sakamoto turns to face her again. “This time, it’s your turn to try it out.”

Though Sakura imagines he’s probably skipping a few steps here and there, she won’t turn down an opportunity to try out her strength against an older opponent.

Sakura copies Sakamoto’s light stance, something she’s only replicated recently with Nishikawa.

She springs forward and, with the lightest of touches, grabs Sakamoto’s hand before turning around -

Only to pause, when his body doesn’t move at all.

Sakamoto laughs directly into her ear. “You’re going to have to put in a little more strength than that, Haruno.”

That… is exactly what Sakura wants to hear.

“Can I try again then, please?” she asks politely, mindful to keep her body from vibrating. She’s spent months using as little strength as possible, for the sake of the children in her class.

Sakamoto shrugs. “Why not?”

They go at it again. This time, when Sakura ducks under his arm and pulls it forward, she uses twice as much strength as before.

Much to her delight, Sakamoto rolls over her body and lands easily onto the floor. The descent is wobbly, likely because it still isn’t quite enough.

“Not bad,” Sakamoto says.

Unable to stop her curiosity, Sakura asks, “Did that hurt, Sakamoto-san?”

He snorts. “Uh, no. I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that for a long time.”

Well, when he puts it that way.

“Then,” Sakura says, a smile finding its way on her lips. “Can we do it one last time?”

Sakamoto obliges easily enough and they run through the motions again. This time, however, when Sakura grabs Sakamoto’s arm, she heaves him over her shoulders instead.

There’s a rush of wind before his body lands onto the ground with a smack, the sound so loud it rings through the dojo.

A brief silence enters the room.

“Keep on going,” Nishikawa calls to the rest of his students, waving a hand in their direction. Eventually, the students return to their own spars.

In the meantime, Sakura crouches down and peers over Sakamoto’s dazed face.

“So,” she says, when the stars finally fade away from his eyes. “Did that hurt, Sakamoto-san?”

Sakamoto doesn’t respond for a long moment. Nishikawa joins her side as he kneels down as well.

“Where,” Sakamoto finally says, his blue eyes darting back and forth from Sakura to Nishikawa. “Where the hell did you come from?”

“Language,” Nishikawa says lightly, though there’s a certain gleam in his eyes.

“From my mom,” Sakura answers primly, leaving the very clear ‘obviously’ out.

Sakamoto groans, closing his eyes and digging his palms into his eyelids.

“I look forward to working with you, Sakamoto-san,” Sakura then says, when it looks like Sakamoto will be immobile for a good while.

Instead of responding, Sakamoto merely rolls to the side, hands still covering his face as he buries himself into the ground.

Behind her, Nishikawa finally cracks, letting out a burst of laughter that vibrates through her bones.

-o-o-o-o-o-

It doesn’t take long for Sakura to get used to sparring.

She’s not really surprised - her limitations are relatively physical. Her only roadblock had been memorizing what is and isn’t allowed in official matches.

(Regulations in fights - another cultural difference she needs to get used to.)

The year continues as Sakura is promoted once, then twice, in rank.

“My god,” Sakamoto groans, lying on the ground after Sakura flings him over her shoulders. “Can’t you let up a little bit, Haruno?”

“That would defeat the whole point of sparring, Sakamoto-san,” Sakura answers, and stretches out a hand. He takes it easily, no longer flustered when she pulls him to his feet with no trouble at all.

“I’d usually say you’re right,” Sakamoto says, rolling his shoulders and wincing when something tugs. “But my poor body says otherwise.”

Sakura shrugs.

They spar for another hour or so, before Sakura changes back into her usual clothes (a very nice white dress with yellow flowers) and waves goodbye to the dojo.

Nishikawa waves heartily back. Sakamoto, with a somewhat pinched face, does the same.

Sakura adjusts the straps of her backpack on her shoulders and heads home.

Her tiny feet step over the pavement. While waiting patiently for the bus, she catches sight of her reflection against glass advertisements.

Her fingers wander to her hair, tugging at the long strands tied into a ponytail. Should I cut it?

Her mother might throw a fit, she thinks, staring into unblinking, green eyes.

Long hair is a source of pride, Mebuki had once said to her, months ago, back when Sakura had gotten a trim. It takes time to take care of it.

“Long hair is a source of pride,” Sakura repeats quietly aloud, glancing behind her to see the approaching bus.

After another moment of thought, she decides to keep it.

(She remembers those old days: straining desperately under fingers that dug into her scalp, a mocking voice, the moment when the kunai sheared through her hair - )

Long hair is a source of pride, Sakura thinks, climbing onto the bus and taking a seat.

There are some things she’s not ready to let go of just yet.

-o-o-o-o-o-

She returns home one day and finds her mother perusing several letters.

“Middle school applications,” Mebuki explains, when Sakura drops off her bag and totters over to the kitchen table curiously. Her mother smiles wryly. “It looks like you’ve caught a lot of eyes.”

Sakura hums. The idea of continuing her education past the age of twelve is still rather foreign.

“Have you put any thought into it?” her mother then asks, raising an eyebrow at one particular letter.

Sakura accepts the stack of paper, reading through each letter with distant eyes.

“Does it really matter?” Sakura asks, flipping to another paper and finding the same set of words as the previous five.

Mebuki taps a finger to her chin. “Well, I’d say picking your high school is more important. But it’s good to go somewhere that has a lot of opportunities.”

“Opportunities,” Sakura repeats, picking up the last letter with dainty fingers. It’s a brochure listing the number of clubs it has, the field trips, the community service committee -

Mebuki smiles, her painted lips gleaming under the kitchen lights. “It’d be nice to see you more active with your school.”

Sakura blinks. “I am active. I go there almost everyday.”

Mebuki laughs, the sound ringing through the kitchen.

“Not like that,” she says, after a short while. “More like, participating in clubs or doing a sport.”

Sakura frowns. “But I already do a sport.”

Mebuki smiles again, though this time, it’s smaller. “But that’s not a team sport.”

“Look, Sakura,” she continues, sighing before walking around the table to wrap her arms around Sakura. “I know you’re busy doing a lot of things. You’re always reading, or going to the dojo, but your mom sometimes worries, you know.”

As a matter of fact, no, Sakura hadn’t known.

“I just wish - ” Mebuki cuts herself off, just in time. Her grip around Sakura tightens. “I just want to see you happy.”

Sakura hesitates. She has a vague idea of what exactly her mother is alluding to - it’s easy to see that she hasn’t made a single friend throughout her elementary school career.

(She imagines it’s partially due to the number of children she’s sent to the nurse over the years.)

“I’ll,” Sakura clears her throat and glances down at the brochure in her hands. Izumitate Junior High, it states proudly in bold letters. “I guess I can try.”

Mebuki lets out a wobbly laugh and hugs Sakura even tighter.

The next day, Sakura sends in her application to Izumitate Junior High, and wonders about her own future.

-o-o-o-o-o-

That spring, before her middle school life is set to start, Sakura finds herself back in the same examination room.

“Just a check-up, right?” Takahashi Himari, the pediatrician from years before, smiles warmly.

Sakura nods, still unashamedly staring at the equipment around her.

Takahashi shakes her head but proceeds to go through the usual procedure for every year.

“How’s judo working for you, Sakura-chan?” Takahashi asks, after running through some numbers on her clipboard.

Sakura swings her feet slightly back and forth, the tips of her shoes brushing against the tiled floor.

“It’s nice,” she says, resisting the urge to look over Takahashi’s shoulder to read the clipboard. “And it’s been really helpful.”

Takahashi smiles again. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“And it looks like you’re in perfectly good health,” she continues, flipping through some more papers. Sakura’s fingers twitch at the sight. “No tears in the muscle fibers - it looks like you’re exercising in a healthy way.”

“I have set rest days,” Sakura tells her, nearly vibrating in her seat. Her routine is more relaxed than it had been in Konoha, but it’s still nice to have something from before. “And my mom helps me rotate the set of proteins I eat.”

“I see,” Takahashi says, after a pause. She glances at Sakura with the same, strange expression she’s had every year. “... are you thinking about becoming an athlete, Sakura-chan?”

Sakura pauses. “No?”

“I’m thinking more like a doctor,” she says. Then, just as she had told her mother, she adds, “I think I might be good at it.”

Takahashi has a wry look on her face. “You just might be.”

They finish the check-up rather quickly afterwards. Takahashi shuffles some more paper and, not able to completely hide the curiosity in her voice, asks, “What kind of doctor are you thinking of going for?”

“I’m not sure,” Sakura answers, already having discussed her options with Mebuki. Long ago, she had held the title of field medic proudly, but they certainly don’t have those here. “I don’t know enough about them all to decide yet.”

Takahashi hums, handing her papers off to a nurse waiting outside the examination room. The motion seems so familiar - so much like something she had often done, years ago.

“The next time I see you,” Takahashi says, eyeing Sakura again in that same, strange way. “Let me know if you’re still not sure. I might be able to help with that.”

Sakura considers those words. This world might be strange and still unfamiliar, but there’s something in Takahashi’s grey eyes that reminds her all too well of Tsunade-shishou.

“Sure,” Sakura says, with an easy smile. She’s not the type to ignore the callings of nostalgia. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sakura fiddles with the ends of her plaid, dark-green skirt. With the never-ending patience she’s somehow accrued in this life, she stands at the doorway of the apartment.

“Oh, the uniform looks great on you,” Mebuki gushes, snapping at least a dozen pictures from different angles. Her manicured fingers poke at Sakura’s sides. “I can’t believe the day’s finally come!”

“One more minute,” Sakura reminds her, and the camera clicks away in a flurry. She returns the hug that follows, before tugging on her shoes.

“I’ll see you tonight!” she calls, waving a hand before jogging down the carpeted hallway.

The commute to Izumitate Junior High isn’t too bad. A short train ride and then another fifteen-minute walk - coming from a place where running had been the preferred way of travel, Sakura imagines it could be worse.

She eventually walks through the school gates and immediately, the hair on the back of her neck rises. Already, she can feel a dozen eyes trained on her.

Probably the hair, Sakura thinks, because she has yet to come across anyone in this world who has pink hair either.

She crosses her fingers and hopes no one from her elementary school comes by. It would be exponentially more difficult to make friends if the rumors followed her here.

It’s a short walk through the entrance and she marvels at the cherry blossom trees lining the walkway. She can already tell Izumitate is a school heavily focused on appearances.

Several cherry blossom petals fall into her hair and, when she runs a hand through the strands, she finds that the petals are almost the exact same shade as her hair.

Very poetic, Sakura thinks, already resigned to having countless comments thrown her way.

After grabbing her class number, Sakura heads for the gymnasium and sits patiently through the entrance ceremony. She listens with half an ear to the opening speeches and blinks lazily when students begin moving to the exit.

Sakura shuffles behind the crowd of students and eventually finds her assigned classroom.

“Alright, everyone,” the only adult in the room, a woman with loose black hair, calls. “Let’s do the assigned seating first.”

There’s a thrum of impatient energy coursing through the class, but the teacher admirably ignores the whispers and goes down the list of names.

Sakura ends up somewhere in the middle of the classroom, in the second row closest to the windows. She unpacks some of her notebooks and eventually, once the entire class is settled into their seats, the teacher gives them some spare time to themselves.

Several students spring up from their seats and suddenly, faster than Sakura can blink, the class has broken off into separate groups.

Amongst the few loners left to their own devices, Sakura blinks slowly.

Right, she thinks, with a silent sigh. I definitely didn’t miss this part of the Academy.

(But this time, there’s no Ino to hide behind.)

Sakura considers her options. She could approach a random group of girls - but, would that be weird? How would she go about doing that? What would she even say?

In the midst of her indecision, the homeroom teacher returns and announces the beginning of class.

Sakura sinks lower into her seat.

There’s always next time, she thinks, wrapping her head around her arms and already dreading the next opportunity.

-o-o-o-o-o-

As it turns out, Sakura does not do well during the lunch break or after class, either. Her detail-oriented mind works against her here and, a little morosely, she returns home with no results for her mother.

Her next best bet, as Mebuki recommends, is joining a club.

She tries the art club first, only to find out that her skills in that field have definitely crossed over from before.

Quietly, Sakura leaves the club before she can embarrass them - and herself - anymore.

She goes through several more clubs before settling on the calligraphy club. It’s quiet, peaceful, and doesn’t demand much from its members.

Holding a brush reminds her of the hours she’d spent under Shizune’s watchful eyes, drawing out another fuinjutsu seal to prepare for the next surgery.

The only problem, Sakura realizes, after she goes weeks without saying anything beyond a customary greeting to the other members, is that it serves little to help with her original goal.

So, with a resigned sigh, Sakura continues on with her search.

She sticks with the calligraphy club, if only because she does enjoy it, and, very hesitantly, tries for a team sport.

“Haruno Sakura, huh,” the soccer club manager says, eyeing Sakura dubiously. “Done any sports before, Haruno?”

“I do judo,” Sakura offers, and tries not to sigh when the manager continues to blatantly stare at her hair.

The manager eventually drags her eyes away from Sakura’s hair and gives a shrug. “Good enough. You can join us for drills and see how it fits.”

Sakura smiles and allows herself to hope -

-o-o-o-o-o-

She sits quietly in a chair as the soccer club manager sighs into her hands.

“So, luckily, we have on camera that the other girl was at fault for running under you,” the manager says, rubbing her face vigorously. “And suspicious crack or not, it doesn’t look like you broke a bone either.”

Sakura remains silent, figuring any sort of response would be a poor one.

“I just,” the manager splays a hand to Sakura incredulously. “How in the world, Haruno?”

Sakura waits a moment longer and, when it becomes apparent the manager is actually looking for a response, says, “Honestly, I’m not too sure either, sensei.”

In hindsight, it probably should’ve occurred to her that while Sakura has kept her upper body strength in check, the same can’t be said for the lower half.

The manager sighs again, and it’s likely not a good sign that Sakura has become very used to the sound after six months.

“You’ll have to be put on probation at the very least,” the manager says, resting a hand on her forehead. “The results don’t lie, and the last thing we need is for the girl’s parents to sue.”

“That’s… probably for the best,” Sakura says slowly, already dreading what she’s going to have to say to the girls waiting impatiently outside the door right now.

Her biggest fault, she notes, is that she had assumed she wouldn’t need to come in contact with other people when playing these sports.

The manager shakes her head and gives a wan smile. “Well, it was a good run while it lasted, Haruno.”

“Likewise, sensei,” Sakura says politely, already reading between the lines. It’s unlikely Sakura will be welcome back into the club after a dangerous stunt like this.

She walks to the exit with heavy feet. What is she going to tell her mother?

The moment she opens the door, several hands grab her body and, resignedly, Sakura allows them to pull her to the side.

Surrounded by half a dozen other girls, Sakura faces the captain and upperclassman of the club, Rina.

“Alright, Sakura,” Rina says, tossing her black hair over her shoulders. “Spill.”

“Probation,” Sakura tries to say, but is overrun by a series of gasps and cries of outrage.

“They can’t!” another girl, Maron, with low pigtails wails, stomping her foot. “It wasn’t your fault!”

“Well,” Sakura, like a fool, tries to say again. “She did get hurt - ”

“And that’s her own stupid fault,” the vice-captain, Haruka, spits out, blue eyes narrowed dangerously. “I don’t care if she’s from Sendai, I’m gonna find her and wring her little - ”

“Enough,” Rina says, rubbing her temples with her fingers. “If that’s what they decided, we can’t do anything about it.”

She turns to Sakura, shoulders set and lips pursued. “How long is the probation?”

For the first time in a while, Sakura shrinks slightly into herself. “Indefinitely.”

Another chorus of shrieks run through the hallway.

Rina closes her eyes for a brief moment. “That’s what I figured.”

“What?”

“No, you can’t, senpai!”

“We can still - ”

“So they don’t ever want you back on the field,” Haruka says flatly, arms folded and fingers digging into her skin. “I bet that stupid manager at Sendai planned for this.”

Rina gives a heavy sigh.

Sakura remains quiet, uncertain if she should speak up against the beginnings of a conspiracy theory forming in the middle of a hallway.

Would people go so far for a sport? Sakura hesitates to assume the worst out of humanity, but she’s also seen far worse.

It’s hard to come to any conclusions - her time on the field had been a short, six-month stint and had certainly not been long enough to attract any sort of attention.

Rina raises a hand to stop the hysteria before it can unravel.

“No one did anything on purpose,” she says firmly, blocking off any protests. “I don’t care what you all think about Sendai, but leave your ideas out of it.”

“Listen, Sakura,” Rina then says, putting her hands on her hips. “Don’t let this get to you. We might not have you in the club anymore, but that kind of batshit crazy will get you far.”

“Uh,” Sakura says, a little blindsided by the words. She’s certainly never been called ‘batshit crazy’ here before. “Thank you?”

Rina nods before turning and walking away, her sneakers scuffing the tiled floor. With some murmurs and sniffles, the other soccer club members take turns giving Sakura a hug.

After another moment, Sakura is left behind in an empty hallway, with nothing but a pair of cleats to show for the past six months.

She glances down at her hands, and wonders at the yawning chasm in her chest.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sakura continues her first year in middle school on unsteady feet. Her routine falls back to what she once had before she started soccer, and she tries to tell herself it’s not an unwelcome change.

Wake up, go to school, pretend to listen in class, practice some calligraphy, head to the dojo, head back home, do some homework, eat dinner, go to sleep -

It’s a familiar routine, she thinks, sipping at a juice carton before tossing it into a nearby trash can.

The girls at the soccer club don’t seem to forget her either. She shares a class with two of them and they all share an easy friendship with each other.

Easy, for the most part.

“Sorry, Sakura-chan,” Maron says apologetically, her brown pigtails slipping past her shoulders. “Extra practice today, because of the tournament.”

Sakura waves them off. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

She stays silent as she watches them run towards a tournament she never even had a chance to take part in.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sakamoto goes down onto the floor with a soft thud, and doesn’t move.

Sakura bends down, tucking her hands behind her legs, and waits patiently.

A second later, he lets out a strangled noise.

“Damn, Haruno,” Sakamoto says, blowing air through his bangs. “You mad or something?”

“I’m never mad,” Sakura tells him.

Sakamoto rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right.”

He sits up with a heavy groan, massaging his neck and shoulders. A black obi is tied securely around his waist - Sakura isn’t too sure why he keeps coming to this session when the dan ranks spar in the afternoon.

They go at it again and this time, Sakura is the one to fall straight on her back.

“That was good,” she says warmly, already replaying the swift match in her head. “Switching your grip was a good idea. It caught me off guard.”

Sakamoto flushes, the tips of his ears growing bright red.

“I don’t want to hear that from a girl four years younger than me,” he grumbles, turning his head pointedly away. “I’m supposed to be the teacher here.”

“Right,” Sakura says, choosing to gracefully back down.

Under an unspoken agreement, they decide to take a quick break, moving to the walls to give more space to the other students.

“I heard you went to a local tournament last weekend,” Sakamoto says, very casually. He brings his water bottle to his mouth.

“I did,” Sakura says, barely able to hide the amusement from her voice. “I thought I did well.”

“I thought I did well,” Sakamoto repeats in a higher-pitched voice, flapping his fingers to mimic Sakura. “Don’t give me that. I know you smashed through that tournament like it was wet paper.”

Sakura’s smile widens.

“The association has been hounding sensei all week,” Sakamoto continues, taking a long sip of water. He lets out a heavy sigh. “Something about talking to your doctor and all that.”

“Ah,” Sakura says, fiddling with her own water bottle. It’s disappointing to think her first official tournament would end in cries of foul play.

(Not for the first time, she wonders if she’s cursed. The strength she so proudly lauded in Konoha is only giving her trouble here, from one thing to another.)

“Yeah, well, they’re being stupid,” Sakamoto snorts. “They should know judo’s the last place that values things like strength.”

Sakura blinks, before staring up at Sakamoto in a new light.

“Wh, what?” he takes a step back, his ears flushing red. “It’s true! Sure, you’re kind of a monster, but not just because of your stupid strength.”

Recognizing the attempt for what it is, Sakura smiles warmly.

“Thanks, Sakamoto-san,” she says.

(And for once, the future doesn’t look too bad after all.)

Sakamoto grumbles something under his breath, before waving a hand. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Around the end of the last term, just before finals are about to begin, Sakura’s class huddles in the gymnasium for their last unit in Physical Education, the rain making it too cold to go outside.

“Alright, girls,” the teacher calls, grabbing the attention of the dozens of students. “We’ll be doing some volleyball today. Team up into groups of six.”

Immediately, Maron and the other girl from the soccer club, Yurin, cling onto Sakura’s arms.

Yurin glares at Sakura, though there’s no heat behind the action.

“You can’t expect me to want to go against you,” she hisses. “I’m only thirteen! I don’t plan on dying this young.”

“... I think you’re overexaggerating a little,” Sakura says, pretending to not notice when Maron’s grip tightens even further. Yurin snorts, running a hand through her dark green hair.

Eventually, with much work on Sakura’s part, they join forces with another trio of girls from another class.

After going through the basics, the Physical Education teacher lets them run loose to face other teams.

Standing behind a white line, Sakura bounces a volleyball curiously between her hands. Surprisingly enough, she does recognize this sport. She had once played something similar to this with Tenten, a lifetime ago.

“Okay, Sakura-chan!” Maron’s voice calls out, and she snaps back to attention. “We’re ready for you!”

Sakura glances up and raises a hand in understanding. She looks past the awkwardly hanging net to the other side of the court.

She doesn’t know most of the other team, all likely from other classes.

There is one girl Sakura recognizes from the soccer club. The single girl who, strangely enough, seems to be giving the side of the court Sakura’s on a wide berth.

(Next to Sakura, Yurin gives a wide, eager grin. Meanwhile, Maron cheerfully covers her ears, much to the curious looks of their teammates.)

Sakura lifts the volleyball with one hand, eyeing the white material curiously. It seems light enough - she might need to give a little more to make it to the other side.

Bending her knees, Sakura tosses the ball into the air, eyes trained its trajectory. She swings her arm back and, mindful of the girls on the other side, hits the volleyball with a good amount of strength.

It smacks against her palm with a surprisingly satisfying sound, before flying straight through the air, past the girls on the other team, and into the wall with a sharp crack.

The sound rings through the gymnasium, even as the volleyball falls defeatedly onto the floor with a clatter.

At least a dozen eyes turn to stare.

After a long moment, the classmate in charge of the point system asks hesitantly. “... out?”

“Yeah, it’s out,” Sakura answers, letting out a sigh. The lack of control would be frustrating if she hadn’t already lived her entire life here struggling to regain control.

“Called it,” Yurin smirks, crossing her arms.

Rolling her eyes, Sakura huffs, lightly shoving Yurin to the side. The girl stumbles slightly, but doesn’t remove the grin on her face.

(On the other side of the gym, a girl with cropped, brown hair stares with wide eyes. She stares so hard, in fact, she misses the warning shout and is consequently smacked in the face with a volleyball.)

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sakura slowly lowers her chopsticks.

“Is it just me,” she says, studying her lunch carefully. “Or has someone been watching me for the past twenty minutes?”

“Great senses,” Yurin comments, leisurely biting into her bread. Her dark green hair is loose, for once.

Maron says, a little more helpfully, “I don’t think she means any harm?”

Sakura hums, before getting started on her lunch again.

“I’m a little scared to see what she wants,” Sakura says eventually, when the eyes on her back stay there for another five minutes.

Yurin snorts. “Why? You could bench press her with one hand.”

“I actually can’t,” Sakura says pointedly back, because they had tried that with Maron and, as it turns out, Sakura needs both hands to make it work.

“Maybe she’ll come to you,” Maron suggests brightly, eyes creasing. “I’m sure she’s just shy!”

Sakura smiles. She might not have realized it before, but it really is nice to have friends.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Like a bad curse, the stares don’t, in fact, go away.

They continue throughout the rest of the week and only during lunch breaks, which leaves Sakura even more unmotivated to confront the stalker(?).

Am I being punished? Sakura hadn’t really put much thought into her actions towards Sasuke when they were younger. She hadn’t even considered they would warrant karmic retribution, but her current situation seems to say otherwise.

Eventually, with the approaching finals and Yurin’s thinning nerves, Sakura excuses herself to go to the bathroom during lunch.

She turns a corner and, after hearing a soft patter of footsteps, whirls right back around.

“AHHHHHH!”

Sakura exhales, resisting the urge to slap a hand across the girl’s mouth.

At some point, the girl finally shuts her mouth, staring up at Sakura with light, brown eyes and cropped chestnut hair.

“Look,” Sakura says, with as much patience as she can muster (which is actually a lot, considering the amount she had before). “You need to tell me what you want, or I’m going to have to report you to your class representative.”

The girl’s eyes grow impossibly wide.

“Sorry!” she blurts out, dragging her fingers through her short hair. “I didn’t mean to bother you so much! It’s just, I - “

The girl gulps. “I just, um, have you, have you ever thought about - about joining the volleyball club?”

“What,” Sakura says.

The girl tugs her hair even harder. “Well, I saw you last week at the gym! And I thought you’d be great at it! Volleyball, I mean. We need more members and, well, you just seem so strong…”

Sakura blinks.

“Huh,” she says, watching the girl fidget even more. This isn’t the first time a club has asked Sakura to join (especially after the fiasco with the soccer club), but they’re usually not this - persistent. “Do you even know my name?”

“It’s Haruno Sakura!” the girl answers quickly, before blushing furiously at Sakura’s pointed stare. “Ah, right. And I’m Yui. Michimiya Yui.”

Sakura breathes out slowly. “Right, so, Michimiya-san. We have finals next week. The school year is almost over. Clubs aren’t even open right now.”

“I know that!” Michimiya says insistently back. “I mean for next year! It’ll be fun, I promise!”

“I’d rather not,” Sakura says, almost certain she’s done with contact sports for the foreseeable future. It doesn’t seem worth the risk.

Instead of falling into disappointment, Michimiya seems even more determined.

“At least think about it,” she says, as the school bell rings. She turns around and rushes away, only to call back at the last minute, “I’ll ask you how you feel next year! Please consider it!”

Then, with that final plea (or ominous threat), Michimiya disappears into another hallway.

What the hell, Sakura thinks, tucking her hands into her pockets and heading back to class.

A little naively, she finds herself hoping this will be the last she’ll see of Michimiya Yui.

(As it turns out, it’s actually quite the opposite.)

Chapter Text

Several weeks before her second year starts, Sakura enters another judo tournament, local within the Miyagi prefecture. 

A still quiet enters the hall, broken by the sounds of another match from the other side. Sakura bows and her opponent - a girl with short, black hair - follows shortly. 

“Begin!” a referee calls out, and immediately, Sakura’s opponent charges forward. 

The strangest thing about judo, Sakura thinks, tucking her foot under the girl’s ankle, is that I have to take everything head on. 

It had taken a while to adjust to - Sakura had once lived an entire lifetime following a mantra of dodging. 

The next few seconds happen in a blur. Sakura uses her opponent’s momentum to throw her onto the ground, locking her muscles to leave no room for escape.

“Ippon!” the referee calls, after several seconds.

Immediately, Sakura releases her grip and stands, gingerly stepping around her downed opponent. She walks back to her spot and, after a given signal, bows once again. 

The rest of the tournament finishes in a similar fashion. By the end of day, Sakura accepts a golden trophy with two hands, under the scattered applause of parents and teachers. 

“I’d say I’m surprised,” Nishikawa says, once they exit the dojo. “But I’m actually not.”

Mebuki pockets away her phone, after having taken far too many photos. “That makes two of us, then.”

Nishikawa laughs, slapping a hand on Sakura’s back when she’s too slow to hide her face. 

“You did great, Haruno-kun,” he tells her, before bringing a hand to his chin. “A year or two more and you just might be ready for dan.”

“That’d be nice,” Sakura says, less because of the significance a black obi might have, and more because she might finally be able to have more sparring partners beyond Sakamoto. 

Nishikawa glances at her and smiles, as if he can read exactly what’s going on in her mind.  

“Ah, I also have a question for your mother,” he says, turning to Mebuki with an expectant look. 

Mebuki blinks once before nodding firmly. “Right. Sakura, here, why don’t you buy some ice cream to celebrate?”

“... Okay,” Sakura says slowly, taking the cash and pocketing it away. Taking the dismissal for what it is, she meanders to the nearest convenience store.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Takahashi Himari taps the end of her clipboard with a pen. 

“So no excessive fatigue?” she asks, eyes scanning the papers in her hands.

Sakura shrugs. “No fatigue, or any other symptoms of muscle tearing. I’m pretty sure the muscles are repairing at a linear rate now.”

Takahashi makes some sort of noise, but doesn’t say anything else. 

After a few minutes of silence, she turns back to Sakura. “Well, it seems like you’re all set for this year. The energy build-up in your muscles is more than outstanding, but it looks like you have it handled.”

“For the most part,” Sakura admits, hoping that Takahashi hasn’t heard about the soccer fiasco from last year. 

Takahashi smiles. “Speaking of which - are you still thinking about being a doctor?”

“That’s the plan for now,” Sakura says, because that’s certainly what she had put down for her career choice last semester. 

Takahashi nods, clipping several files together and sliding them into a cabinet of folders. “Well, if you want, we could always use an extra set of hands here.”

“It’ll be strictly volunteer work,” she continues. “You’re not old enough for an internship but I do think you could get an idea of how this field works.”

Sakura blinks once, then twice, before smiling widely. 

“I’d like that a lot,” she says, not one to ignore opportunities when they’re handed to her. It’s a nice change from clawing for any teacher’s attention. 

Takahashi returns the smile warmly. “Good! Have your mom contact me for a schedule. It won’t be more than once a week, but it might help frame your thoughts better.”

“I’ll make sure to do that,” Sakura promises, thinking back to those years she had spent under fluorescent hospital lights.

Would it be anything like what she had before? 

-o-o-o-o-o-

Her second year in middle school starts like a repeat of the first. Sakura brushes a few cherry blossom petals from her hair and fights to keep a scowl off her face.

“That must be a handful, Sakura, ” Yurin says, choking from her own laughter. 

Sakura shakes her head wildly, her ponytail whipping back and forth

“Just so you know,” she says, staring at the traitorous petals in her hand. “My parents didn’t expect the pink.”

This only makes Yurin laugh even harder. 

“I think it’s cute!” Maron says, running a hand through Sakura’s long strands. Her own brown hair is tied in its usual low pigtails. “It’s very romantic!”

Sakura rolls her eyes when Yurin lets out an ugly snort. 

They continue walking through the school entrance and, after some maneuvering, find their seating in the gymnasium. 

The usual speeches are made, leaving Sakura to dazedly open her eyes when Maron tugs at her arms. 

“Done already?” Sakura asks, stifling a yawn. They shuffle through the crowded doors and walk up to a floor higher than their previous classroom. 

“I can’t believe you slept through the entire ceremony, Sakura-chan,” Maron says, while Yurin pushes unashamedly through a group of underclassmen. “You’re such a good student too!”

“It’s a package deal,” Sakura mumbles. Eventually, they make it to their new classroom and find, to many students’ delight, the same homeroom teacher from last year. 

“Yes, yes, I know,” the teacher says, a resigned smile on her face. “You’re not the only surprised one here. Let’s get the seatings over with.”

This year, Sakura is placed by the windows, near the front of the room. It’s not a bad seat, she decides, staring out into the courtyard below. 

A few more minutes pass and, once the assigned seatings are finished, their teacher waves a hand for some free time. 

“Fifteen minutes,” she calls, before sliding the classroom door behind her. 

There’s a rush of movement, almost as instantaneous as Sakura remembers from last year, while students jump up from their seats. 

The difference this year, though, is the two chairs that are dragged up to her desk. 

“Why do you get the window seat,” Yurin complains. She sits down with a huff and runs a hand over her braided, dark green hair. “I’m stuck next to Wataru again.”

“Wataru is a nice guy,” Maron says, settling into her seat and pulling out a bunch of snacks from seemingly nowhere. 

Yurin’s face twists. “He breathes. Very heavily.”

Sakura tilts her head, ready to make a comment - and stops when a cherry blossom petal floats off her head.

All three girls pause to stare as the pink petal flutters innocently onto Sakura’s desk. 

A longer pause. 

“Oh my god!” Yurin howls, bringing her hands to her sides. Maron, meanwhile, lets out a peal of laughter.

Sakura buries her face in her hands. 

It’s not the same as last year, she thinks, biting down a growing smile. But she wouldn’t trade this for the world.

-o-o-o-o-o-

That same day, during their lunch break, a familiar sensation crawls along Sakura’s back.

“I don’t believe it,” Sakura says, setting down her chopsticks with a clack. “She actually came back.”

Maron peeks over Sakura’s shoulder and smiles. “I guess she really did mean it.”

“What, your stalker didn’t take the hint?” Yurin swallows down the rest of her lunch. 

“I wouldn’t call her a stalker,” Sakura says, before adding under her breath. “Yet.”

Not as patient as last time, she rises to her feet and walks to the classroom doors, sliding them open. 

With a quiet squeak, Michimiya Yui slowly turns back around, hair still as short and cropped around her ears. 

“Ah, Haruno-san!” Michimiya says, rubbing the back of her neck. “What a coincidence!”

“You’ve been staring,” Sakura says flatly. “For the past fifteen minutes.”

“It was actually twelve!” Michimiya blurts out. Then, with a gasp, she slaps a hand to her mouth. 

She quickly deflates under Sakura’s pointed stare. 

“Okay, yes, I was staring,” Michimiya says glumly, before straightening determinedly. “But I haven’t changed my mind! I’d really like you to join the volleyball club!”

Sakura blinks at the sudden change in demeanor. 

“I already told you last term,” she finally says. “It’s a no.”

“Well then, please reconsider!” Michimiya says right back, not even pausing to think. 

Sakura waits for a moment. 

“Okay, I’ve reconsidered,” she says, watching as Michimiya brightens. “It’s still a no.”

Michimiya falters for a moment. “But - ”

Miraculously, much to Sakura’s hidden relief, the school bell rings, signalling the end of lunch. Without pause, Michimiya draws herself up again and gives a quick bow. 

“Please think again, Haruno-san!” Michimiya cries out. She leaves with a raised hand. “I’ll come back tomorrow!”

“Please don’t,” Sakura tries to say, but it’s too late - Michimiya Yui has completely disappeared, back to whatever realm she had originally come from. 

Sakura sighs, bringing several fingers up to rub her forehead. 

“Well, well, well,” Yurin says, when Sakura returns to her seat. “I don’t think she’s going away anytime soon.”

“I think she means well!” Maron adds, sliding a snack over to Sakura. 

“That’s the problem,” Sakura says, unwrapping the packaging and popping the chocolate into her mouth. “I’d have an easier time if she didn’t mean so well.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

True to her word, Michimiya Yui returns the next day, this time staring blatantly through the classroom windows. 

Sakura watches Michimiya’s shining eyes with a little trepidation. 

That determination, she thinks warily, looks very familiar. 

Still, Sakura had once been a proud shinobi of Konoha - it’s a stain on her previous career if she can’t even handle one teenage girl. 

This time, when Sakura slides open the classroom door, Michimiya stands firmly at the entrance. 

“Haruno-san!” Michimiya calls, before Sakura can say a word. The girl gives a low bow. “Please join the volleyball club!”

Sakura blinks rapidly. Several of her classmates turn to stare. Behind her, she can distantly hear Yurin’s snickers. 

“It’s still a no,” she finally says, a little slowly. 

Michimiya straightens and opens her mouth, only to close it again. 

“I,” Michimiya says, eyes glancing off to the side before landing on Sakura again. “I understand! I’ll come back tomorrow!”

Then, without another word, she dashes down the hallway, presumably back to her own classroom.

Sakura remains at the doorway for a second longer, before eventually returning to her seat. 

Yurin pulls out several bills and slaps it onto Sakura’s desk. 

“A thousand yen she’ll come back every day,” Yurin says. Maron looks at the money with an alarming amount of interest. 

“That’s a sucker’s bet,” Sakura says, having experienced enough of those with Tsunade-shishou. “I just don’t know what it’ll take to get her to stop.”

“You could ask her to stop,” Maron suggests, still eyeing the bills curiously.

“You could just join,” Yurin adds, shrugging when looks are sent her way. “What? She seems desperate enough.”

That’s just what I need, Sakura thinks, already dreading tomorrow’s lunch break. Quietly, Maron slides the bills off the desk. A desperate, determined teenage girl.

It’s a recipe for disaster, if only because that’s exactly what she had been, a lifetime ago. 

-o-o-o-o-o-

To no one’s surprise, Michimiya returns to Sakura’s classroom the next day, then the day after, then the day after that -

Sakura runs a hand tiredly through her hair. “Yeah, it’s still a no.”

Michimiya bows again. “I understand! I’ll be back tomorrow!”

At this point, the whole interaction has become routine - none of her classmates bat an eyelash anymore.

Sakura slides the door shut and heads back to her seat.

“That’s one persistent chick,” Yurin remarks, as Sakura goes back to eating her lunch. 

Maron hums, pushing down a handful of snacks across the desk. “At least she’s only here during lunch.”

Sakura swallows down a mouthful of food.

“I just don’t get it,” she says, poking at her rice. “Why me? There’s so many others she could ask.”

Maron smiles brightly. “Maybe you should ask!”

Sakura slumps into her seat and tugs at the ends of her ponytail.

The next day, she does just that. 

“Haruno-san!” Michimiya exclaims, the moment Sakura slides open the classroom door. “Please join the volleyball club!”

Leaning against the doorway, Sakura folds her arms, shifting slightly to let another classmate through. 

“Okay, look,” she says, grabbing Michimiya’s attention right away. “You’re really dedicated, and that’s admirable. But I’ve already told you I’m not interested. Why bother sticking around?”

Michimiya straightens from her bow, her light brown eyes widening. 

“Um, well,” Michimiya glances away for a brief second. “I really like volleyball! And the club needs more members!”

“Yeah, I got that,” Sakura says, still somewhat impressed at the amount of patience she’s managed to hold onto. “But there’s a ton of other girls you can ask. Why me?”

Michimiya shrinks into herself, before blurting out, “Because I think you’re cool!”

“What,” Sakura says, not for the first time. 

“I know you’re really strong and good at sports,” Michimiya continues, vomiting out a bunch of words. “And I know you’re not doing any other clubs! I just thought that, um, it’d be really fun to do together! I just have that feeling you’d be amazing at it!”

Sakura slowly blinks. 

“I’m in the calligraphy club,” she finally says, when she can’t seem to find any other response. 

“I know!” Michimiya says confidently. Under Sakura’s incredulous stare, she lets out a weak laugh and rubs the back of her neck. “I did some research?”

You mean stalking, Sakura thinks, realizing that her past actions are definitely biting her back now. That’s called stalking. 

“It’s not stalking!” Michimiya says insistently, eyes lighting up. Her arms flap up and down. “It’s called doing research!”

Sakura pauses, staring down at this short, strange girl and her stranger persistence.

“All this for a club,” Sakura murmurs, almost to herself. Her mind strays back to the huddled meeting with the soccer club in an empty hallway. Would people really go that far for a sport?  “Why go through all the trouble?”

“Oh,” Michimiya lowers her arms, before creasing her eyes. “That’s easy! It’s ‘cause volleyball’s fun!”

“Fun,” Sakura repeats, but it’s too late - Michimiya is now on a roll.

“Yes, fun!” Michimiya says, hopping on one foot. “That feeling of getting a point, when the ball smacks against your hand and - ”

Michimiya slaps a hand down into the air. “Pow! You get a spike right through your opponents!”

“Uh-huh,” Sakura says, not really following. 

“Here, let me show you!” Michimiya claps her hands together and bows another time. “Just give me one more day! Tomorrow, even after everything, if you really don’t like it - ”

She swallows, and says firmly, “I won’t ask you again! I promise!”

It’s not a bad deal, Sakura thinks, already imagining how relaxed her day would be without Michimiya’s daily pleas. 

(She imagines the guilt would also go away, if she just gives it a shot.)

“Okay, fine,” Sakura says, tapping a finger under Michimiya’s forehead to bring her back to a stand. “You can pitch it to me tomorrow then.”

Michimiya’s eyes sparkle. 

“Okay,” she breathes out, suddenly grabbing Sakura’s hands. With practiced ease, Sakura stomps down the urge to twist the girl’s arms. “Tomorrow, after school then! I’ll come find you! Thank you so much, Haruno-san! You won’t regret it!”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Sakura tries to say, but finds herself speaking to empty air.

She scratches the back of her head and returns to her seat.  

“Figures,” Yurin says, after listening to this new turn of events. She grudgingly passes over some money to Maron. “It didn’t look like she’d be giving up anytime soon.”

“I think it’s great!” Maron says, pocketing away the cash before clasping her hands together. “It’s nice to give her a chance!”

“I guess,” Sakura says, staring down at her hands in trepidation. Those eyes had seemed too familiar.

-o-o-o-o-o-

She returns home in the late afternoon and finds, to her surprise, her mother already preparing dinner. 

“You’re home early,” she notes, dumping her school bag into her room before walking back to the kitchen. 

“Mmm,” Mebuki stirs a wooden spoon inside a pot, sending a sharp scent of curry through the air. “Meeting finished early today.”

Mebuki turns around briefly to press her lips against Sakura’s forehead. “How was the clinic?”

“Not bad,” Sakura answers, opening the fridge door. “I have an idea of how it works logistically.”

Her time at Takahashi’s clinic lasts only a few hours every week. It’s not monumental work, but Sakura appreciates the insight into how a standard set-up should look like. 

“That’s good,” Mebuki says, while taste testing the curry. “What about that girl? Did she stop by again today?”

Sakura pauses, letting her hand hover over a carton of apple juice. 

“Yeah,” she says, grabbing the juice and closing the door. “She asked the usual.”

Mebuki smiles knowingly. “And what did you say?”

“The usual,” Sakura says, shifting the carton from one hand to another. A little hesitantly, she adds, “She wants to show me what it’s like tomorrow. If I didn’t like it, she’d stop asking.”

Mebuki turns off the stove and moves the pot of curry to the side. “She’s taking a heavy risk.” 

“Yeah,” Sakura exhales, too familiar with the concept of gambling. “I know.”

She takes a hearty gup of apple juice, before setting the carton back down. 

“I said yes,” Sakura says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. 

Mebuki looks up from the rice cooker, a trail of steam rising up to the ceiling, and smiles. “That’s nice of you.”

Sakura returns the juice carton to the fridge and grabs a set of spoons from a cabinet. “Is it?”

“Well, I’m sure she’s thrilled you’re giving her a chance,” her mother says, setting down a bowl of rice and curry. 

There it is again, Sakura thinks, murmuring a word of thanks before digging into her dinner. Being nice, giving her a chance. 

“I just,” she chews through another bite of curry. Her fingers dig into her hair and she glances to the side. “She just reminds me of someone.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Her next day goes uninterrupted and, for the first time in a week, Sakura eats her lunch without once having to get up.

“I almost miss it,” Maron jokes. In the seat next to her, Yurin inhales the rest of her melon bread. 

Sakura smiles wryly. “I’m not sure if I do.”

It’s peaceful, Sakura thinks, settling deeper into her seat. When her afternoon classes continue without any change, she almost imagines that maybe, just maybe, Michimiya might have forgotten -

“Haruno-san!”

“Annnd there she is,” Yurin says, shrugging on her school bag. She raises a hand as Maron joins her side. “Well, we’ve got practice today, so we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” Sakura sighs, packing up her notebooks as the rest of her class slowly disperses from the classroom.

She slides in her chair and tries to not drag her feet into the hallway. Waiting by the windows, Michimiya brightens, the sides of her hair curling around her ears. 

“Ready?” at Sakura’s nod, Michimiya beams. “Great! Come with me!”

They walk together through the school halls, with Michimiya nearly skipping ahead. It’s not hard for Sakura to keep up, considering she’s a good few centimeters taller than the girl. 

Eventually they make it to the gymnasium, where two nets are set up on either side of the court. A small group of girls jog around the gym and off to one wall, a short woman in a tracksuit watches them carefully. 

“Naka-sensei!” Michimiya calls, cupping her mouth with a hand. She waves her other hand high in the air. 

The woman glances at them, eyes roving over from Michimiya to Sakura, before clapping her hands twice. 

“Take a quick break,” she says, as Michimiya drags Sakura over. On the other side of the court, the group of girls slow to stop, while a few of them stare at Sakura curiously. 

“Michimiya,” the woman says, the creases around her eyes crinkling as she smiles. Her straight, black hair is tied into a low ponytail. “And who’s this?”

Michimiya takes a step back and lightly pushes Sakura forward.

“This is Haruno-san!” she says brightly, presenting Sakura like a child presents a new toy. “She said she’s interested in the volleyball club!”

I did not say that, Sakura immediately thinks, turning to look back at Michimiya.

“That’s not what you said yesterday,” the teacher says amusedly, as Michimiya shrinks back under Sakura’s accusing stare. “In fact, I think you said, ‘I’m going to convince Haruno-san, even if I have to get on my knees and beg - ”

“OKAY, so maybe I did say that,” Michimiya interrupts, cheeks flushing red. “But she’s here now, sensei!”

The woman laughs, the sound remarkably similar to Nishikawa’s own, deep laughter. 

“Well, either way, you’re welcome to see what the fuss is all about,” she says to Sakura. “You can call me Nakano-sensei. And your name was…?”

“Haruno Sakura,” Sakura says, bowing politely. “It’s nice to meet you, sensei.”

“Likewise,” Nakano says with a smile, before studying Sakura thoughtfully. “When you say Haruno, you mean Haruno from the soccer club?”

“Yes,” Sakura answers, after a beat. Behind Nakano, a flurry of whispers runs through the group of girls. 

“Haruno - ?”

“You mean, like that Haruno?”

“Yeah, you know, B - ”

“That’s good to know,” Nakano says, very loudly over the whispers. Sakura tries to not think about how far the rumors about her time in the soccer club may have gone. “How about you change into your gym clothes and join us for today? Michimiya can talk you through what we do.”

Sakura slowly turns to look at Michimiya, who sheepishly smiles and had, in fact, not mentioned anything about needing gym clothes. 

“Sure, I’ll do that,” she finally says, once Michimiya looks hurriedly away. 

Luckily (for Michimiya at least), Sakura has a set of gym clothes on hand. It doesn’t take long for her to change and, after tying her ponytail even tighter, joins the girls on the court. 

“Alright, girls,” Nakano calls, as Michimiya slides up to Sakura’s side. “Let’s run through some drills.”

The drills are straight-forward enough. After a few warm-up stretches, they’re each handed a volleyball and sent to separate corners. 

“We do this to get used to the feel of the ball,” Michimiya explains, bouncing the volleyball up and down with her hand. 

“Uh-huh,” Sakura says, as a whistle blows. They switch to overhead tosses and, almost mindlessly, Sakura stares as her hands catch the volleyball and send it back into the air. 

This isn’t so bad, she thinks distantly, the continuous, rhythmic motion almost hypnotic. 

Another whistle. “Pair up!”

Immediately, Michimiya turns to Sakura with eager, expectant eyes. 

After a quick explanation, Sakura copies Michimiya’s posture and bends her knees. A moment later, Michimiya tosses over the volleyball and Sakura, anticipating its path of flight, lowers her stance. 

Straighten your knees, she thinks, as the volleyball lands solidly against her arms. And it should go straight back to Michimiya -

Soaring into the air, the volleyball flies straight into the wall to Sakura’s right. 

“I got it!” Michimiya calls, jogging over to pick it up. 

Sakura looks down at her arms. 

“Let’s try again,” Michimiya says cheerfully, bouncing the retrieved volleyball in her hands. 

Sakura nods and clasps her hands together in preparation. 

They try again and like last time, Sakura sends the volleyball to the side again.

I, she thinks slowly, watching as Michimiya runs to grab it, have never been this offended in my entire life. 

The afternoon continues in this fashion, leaving Sakura to stare at her arms in utter betrayal. Her tosses are decent, her passes are abysmal, and the less said about her receives, the better.

“That’s to be expected,” Nakano says, as she sends the rest of the club home. Behind Sakura, Michimiya hovers close by, hands wringing by her sides. “It’s your first time.”

“Yes,” Sakura says, nodding once. “I didn’t expect otherwise.”

“Still,” Nakano, writes down several notes on a clipboard. “You’ve got terrific senses. You were able to get an idea of the basics in less than two hours, which is a little terrifying, honestly.”

“Thank you,” Sakura says, a little unsurely. She’s never felt so out of control since her first days in this world, years ago. 

“You’d be more than welcome here, if you’re interested,” Nakano says, trying and failing to hide the gleam in her eyes. “I imagine you’d like the challenge.”

With those words, Nakano packs up the rest of her belongings and tosses a set of keys to Michimiya. 

“Make sure to lock up properly,” Nakano says, before leaving the gymnasium. 

“Okay!” Michimiya answers, as the gym door closes shut. 

It doesn't take long for Michimiya to clean everything up, after storing the volleyballs away and packing up the nets.

"Naka-sensei and I made a deal," she explains, while locking the gym up with a key. Sakura, having missed the timing to leave, waits awkwardly by her side. "I need to clean up for a week if I want to show you the club."

Harsh, Sakura thinks, making a note to not fall for Nakano's easy-going smile. 

Another awkward silence fills the air.  

“So, um,” Michimiya says, fiddling with her hands. It’s a strange sight compared to the confident girl who had chased after her for days. “I guess that’s it then.”

Sakura readjusts the straps of her back. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Michimiya winces, eyes closed shut. “I know it wasn’t what you expected. And it was probably really disappointing.”

She turns around to face Sakura and gives a low bow. “So I’ll, um, I’ll stop bothering you now! Sorry about everything!”

Then, before giving Sakura the chance to say anything, really, Michimiya rushes off, sprinting down the courtyard and towards the school gates. 

In the empty silence that follows, Sakura looks at her arms, her skin still a bright red. 

“I guess that’s it then,” she echoes, and tries not to think about how hollow her words actually sound. 

-o-o-o-o-o-

“I don’t believe it,” Yurin says the next day, stuffing a melon bread into her mouth. “She’s actually not coming over anymore.”

“That was the deal,” Maron points out, reaching out a hand. Grumbling, Yurin rummages through her pockets and slaps a few coins onto the desk. 

“She looked upset that it didn’t work out well,” Sakura says, very pointedly not watching as Maron slides the coins into her hands. 

Instead, she looks through the glass windows and into the world outside. Distantly, she says aloud, “I guess I wasn’t as good as she thought I’d be.”

(It’s a strange thing, how sharply the thought stings. It would be more ridiculous to think that she could learn anything with ease.)

“Whaaat?” Yurin exclaims, fingers splayed over her chest. The sound drags Sakura’s thoughts to the present. “There’s something the great and strong Sakura-sama can’t do?”

Sakura blinks, before creasing her eyes. 

“I could throw you out this window,” she says pleasantly, resting her chin on her clasped hands. 

“Please don’t,” Maron says, carefully counting her money. “Think about the hospital fees.”

There’s a short pause as Yurin sends Maron a wary look.

“Isn’t this a good thing though?” Yurin finally asks, after turning hastily to the other side. “You got rid of your stalker and we’ve found your weakness. It’s a win-win situation.”

“She wasn’t a stalker,” Sakura says, rubbing at her forehead and decidedly not commenting on the other part. “I don’t know, I just - ”

I guess that’s it then.

(Michimiya’s flushed cheeks, the fallen look in her eyes - how many times had Sakura made that same face, years ago, under the weight of her team?)

She lets out a groan.

“It feels weird,” Sakura finally says, fingers running through the ends of her ponytail. She tugs harder at her hair. “What am I even saying?”

“Something crazy, that’s for sure,” Yurin comments, a wicked smile forming on her lips. She leans forward and whispers, “Don’t tell me. You totally miss Michimiya’s daily runs, don’t you?”

“We’re on the second floor,” Sakura says as a reminder, her pleasant expression swiftly returning.

Beside them, Maron bursts into laughter, her eyes gleaming brightly.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The topic doesn’t end there. That night, while eating a late dinner, Sakura shrugs at her mother’s question.

“Yeah, she stopped coming,” she says, poking at her rice with her chopsticks. “I mean, that was the deal, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Mebuki answers. She taps long, manicured fingernails on her cheek. “Are you happy with that?”

Sakura’s stomach churns as she slowly says, “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

This time, it’s Mebuki’s turn to shrug, a smile on her painted lips. 

“Who knows?” her mother asks, before taking a slow sip of her drink. She sets the cup down and releases a slow breath. “You seemed pretty lost when you came back.”

“Lost?” Sakura repeats, unable to stop her voice from rising. 

Mebuki picks up her chopsticks and takes another bite of her dinner. She studies Sakura carefully. “You had that same look. The one from last year, after you left the soccer club.”

Sakura freezes, her spoon hovering over her miso soup. 

I guess that’s it then.

“Huh,” she exhales, blowing a stray strand of pink hair away from her face. “That doesn’t really mean anything.”

(It doesn’t have to mean anything. Like all those other times, she only needs to remember that it’s just a sport - so that’s exactly what she’ll leave it as.) 

Sakura stares at the food in front of her, determinedly avoiding her mother’s knowing gaze.