Chapter Text
They told me all my cages were mental,
so I got wasted like all my potential.
And my words try to kill when I’m mad,
I have a lot of regrets about that.
–T. Swift
::::::::::::::::::::
The trek to the memorial stone was longer than necessary. Sakura hadn’t known where exactly it was located and she hadn’t wanted to ask anyone either. After a long time wandering through the empty streets of nighttime Konoha, she finally stumbled to a stop in front of the monument.
Her breath hitched as it came into sight. A part of her was almost hoping that his name wouldn’t be on it – that it had all been a fever dream – but that notion vanished the moment she laid eyes on the polished, dark granite.
Yuzuru Ren.
Her nails were digging into the palm of her hand; she barely noticed. Sakura stared at the name and didn’t know what she felt. Numb, but also too much at once, too much for her to handle. The kanji of his name were newly carved, hard to make out in the darkness of the night, but still glaringly apparent to her.
“Hello! My name is Yuzuru Ren. I’ll be your jonin sensei for the foreseeable future.”
She remembered his first words to her clearly. They were nothing out of the ordinary; what one would expect from a new teacher’s introduction. She remembered his short, gel-covered hair and the way he’d only looked at Hideki and Kyon. The way his eyes had strayed right over her.
“Why don’t you guys introduce yourselves? You first, Hyuga.”
She remembered the way he’d almost forgotten to ask for her name.
Hideki’s chest had puffed out subtly. “I’m Hyuga Hideki. My speciality is my gentle fist technique and everyone in my clan says I’m almost as good as Neji-niisan. My goal is to improve enough to beat my brother in a spar so I can take a picture of his gaping face!”
Sakura hadn’t known who Neji was, but the others were clearly more informed: Ren had nodded approvingly, Kyon had snickered. She had just sat there, trying to look like she knew why Neji Hyuga was relevant.
“You next, Inuzuka.”
Kyon’s grin widened. He pointed to himself. “Inuzuka Kyon. My partner over there is Mimi.” The small dalmatian waggling her tail at their feet barked once in the affirmative. “Nice to meet you!” Kyon continued. “Pretty sure Mimi’s only goal in life is to eat sausages. My goal is to get promoted to jonin and do my clan proud… and make sure Mimi doesn’t eat too many of those, hehe.”
Again, he’d been greeted with bemused chuckles and nods. Ren had huffed, stretching as if he’d been about to stand up. Then his eyes had landed on her. Sakura remembered the way his expression had shuttered for a moment. He’d covered the previous flex of his knees well, but she had still seen it.
“And you? Civilian?”
Sakura was civilian-born. There was nothing to be embarrassed about in that.
“I’m Haruno Sakura!” She tried to sound cute and approachable. “Nice to meet you all! Katsurou-sensei says I’m a genjutsu type and… and um.” Her cheeks felt hot. What even was her goal, beyond proving herself Ino Yamanaka’s equal? “M-my goal is to get promoted to jonin and make my parents proud.”
She remembered how the team’s reaction had varied from the previous ones. Kyon had scowled, muttering ‘copycat’ under his breath. Hideki had scrutinized her, something derisive in his gaze. Ren hadn’t even looked at her beyond the initial nod; he’d been side-eyeing the classroom clock.
Sakura stared at his headstone now and wondered whether she hated him, whether she was a terrible person for even wondering that about someone she’d killed. Someone she’d killed.
Either way, she hated herself more than she could ever have hated him.
Yuzuru Ren.
The kanji seemed to stare back at her mockingly. He’d been nineteen, the man at the funeral service had said. He’d become her sensei at eighteen. Only five years older than she was currently, she thought bitterly. And she’d killed him.
::::::::::::::::::::
Time won’t fly,
it’s like I’m paralyzed by it.
I’d like to be my old self again,
but I’m still trying to find it.
–T. Swift
::::::::::::::::::::
The very next day, Sakura presented her resignation letter from team four. The chunin manning the administrative office looked at her blankly, but not blankly enough to hide his disgust, even after she’d handed him her resignation letter. Sakura couldn’t fault him for it. She knew nothing she could do or say would undo Ren’s death. Her role in it.
A part of her would’ve preferred to feel numb right then, as she stood there under the chunin’s gaze like an insect under a microscope. Numb like the previous night as she’d stood before his headstone. But in the daylight, everything was more real – and she wasn’t alone. In the daylight she could better appreciate others’ judgment reflected back at her in their eyes, making it harder to ignore how despicable she was. Sakura wished she could’ve at least looked stronger, wished her throat wouldn’t clench and tighten painfully as she fought not to sob like a newborn babe. She stared vacantly at the wall and wished she’d stop seeing Ren’s eyes as they had widened when he realised what she’d done, wished the chunin behind the desk would stop staring, that those waiting in line would stop casting glances at her. She couldn’t let the tears fall, didn’t deserve to; they’d just think she was trying to earn their pity by crying, to mitigate their judgmental gazes.
Eyes. His would haunt her until the day she died, she was certain. Wide and blood-shot in the dark.
Sakura steeled herself. She wouldn’t cry; she deserved what she got, she knew that much – but she couldn’t help but wish they’d stop staring anyway, couldn’t help but think that if only she cried… that maybe she wouldn’t seem so guilty to them, that maybe… but no. This wansn’t about her. Trying to make herself the victim would be like spitting on Ren’s death. She was everything but the victim, after all.
She managed to win the battle against her tears (the battle, never the war) just as the chunin handed her her papers back. Sakura tried to smile faintly but managed nothing but a grimace. Turning, she slowly trod out of the office, doing her best to ignore the entire line of people staring and whispering as she left.
Now she was officially teamless. She wondered what Hideki and Kyon would say when they heard of her resignation. Now they lacked a sensei and a third team member. Sakura shook her head. She had done all of them a favor by leaving before they could kick her out… but she was teamless. Sakura stopped walking. Ren’s last words reverberated through her skull.
“Fuck! Come back! Come back, Haruno! Don’t leave me here! HARUNO!”
He had died cursing her name.
Sakura’s awareness returned to her when she spotted a familiar face among the crowd – one of her neighbors. The woman was walking with her young daughter in tow, most likely on a grocery run. Sakura saw how the woman glanced at her in passing and pressed her daughter protectively to her side, hiding her from view. Even the small daughter looked at her with those same eyes as everyone else.
She kept walking and passed the bakery where the old ladies liked to gossip.
“I’d have thought her parents would’ve kicked her out by now…,” one was saying. Sakura knew immediately they were talking about her.
“I know, right? A murderer like her.”
“Must be a psychopath, that girl.”
“Aye, aye. It’s always the sweet-looking ones!”
Sakura stopped walking, her stomach dropping as she listened. From where she was standing, the women wouldn’t see her.
“You know,” continued one of the old ladies. “If the Harunos don’t kick that murderer out soon, they’re going to go out of business. No way am I going to their shop with that little psychopath prowling about, and neither is anybody else, let me tell you.”
The other women chorused their agreements and Sakura lost the war.
Tears streamed down her face as she hurried home. Instead of taking the door, she climbed in quietly through the window. She didn’t want to look her parents in the eyes.
Sakura sat mechanically on her bed for a while, staring at her bedroom’s pink backdrop.
She was dragging her parents down with her. She was ruining mom and dad’s business. The business they’d worked so hard for. And for what? She knew they must hate her now. Or worse: fear her, despise her. Wonder where they had gone wrong in raising a murdering little psychopath. She wasn’t a psychopath, right? That numbness she’d felt… oh, god, did it mean she was a psychopath and hand’t known?
Sakura cried harder. Even if she was, she didn’t want her parents to know it. She didn’t want to see the rejection in their eyes. Sakura knew that if she did, that would be the last straw. She just couldn’t.
Silent sobs wrecked her frame as she slowly got up and mechanically walked to her desk, where her piggy bank stood. Her hands trembled as she took it. Next to it was a large duffle bag. Sakura mechanically opened it and began stuffing her belongings inside. If she was quick and silent, they wouldn't know she was leaving until she had.
::::::::::::::::::::
But I took your matches
before fire could catch me.
So don't look now, I'm shining like fireworks
over your sad, empty town.
–T. Swift
::::::::::::::::::::
Her new home wasn’t really one. She’d gotten hold of a one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of the village. The landlord had rented it to her on the condition that she placed a henge over herself whenever entering or exiting the building. Sakura had agreed easily. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of that herself – the henge made things a lot easier.
Buying groceries, walking around town… the only downside to doing it henged was the constant chakra drainage and the fact that Sakura couldn’t fully concentrate on any one task or let her thoughts wander whilst outside because she needed to constantly monitor the transformation jutsu. Still, it was better than the alternative.
It had been two days since she’d moved out of her parent’s house and Sakura still hadn’t heard from them, not that she’d left them any clue as to where they could find her, not that anyone knew. She missed them something fierce, but the disappointment she’d see in their eyes kept her well away.
Now, on the third day of her new independence, she was beginning to realize that she needed to go on missions again if she hoped to sustain herself. But to go on missions, she’d need a team… and who would want to be on her team now?
Sakura had gone back and forth on what to do, until only one idea remained.
That morning, she went to the mission desk’s bulletin board and posted an add:
Looking for two genin teammates.
Those interested, write down a name and address and I’ll get back to you.
Regards,
Sakura H.
She had wanted to sign with ‘kind regards’ and ‘Sakura Haruno’ at first, but changed her mind at the last minute. No one would consider her ‘kind’ and she wanted to spare her parents as much as possible. ‘Backstabbing Sakura’ was already well known enough that people would recognize her immediately regardless, no need to remind them of her surname.
Now all that was left to do was wait. Sakura returned to her flat under her henge and shut herself inside. She was once again alone with her thoughts. She’d taken her favorite old books and clothes to her new flat with her, but for whatever reason, looking at them now made her sick. The red of her dress would just make her stand out – it was her trademark and she couldn’t wear it anymore whilst henged. Not to mention, she wasn’t worthy of the Haruno emblem at the back. Her old books were romance novels that felt too sappy and cheerful for her current mood. Just the prospect of opening them made her want to gag. And what else was there to do?
Sakura sat in front of her duffle bag and stared at its contents. It was almost empty already, all of her belongings spread around the meager flat. There was one last thing inside she had yet to take out: an old, tattered notebook.
Sakura reached for it and stared at the cover. She had found it under her bed whilst doing one last check of her bedroom two days ago. At first, Sakura hadn’t even remembered what the hell it was, but when she’d cracked it open and spotted the drawing on the first page she’d instantly remembered. It was that notebook.
::::::::::::::::::::
And I was catching my breath,
staring out an open window,
catching my death
barefoot in the wildest winter.
–T. Swift
::::::::::::::::::::
Sakura had been five or six when her grandmother had passed away. The woman’s old house in the countryside was thus now empty, and she had bequeathed it to Sakura’s father. Kizashi hadn’t been able to tend to it, however, as it was a two day journey away and there was no one else: thus they had to sell it.
Their small family of three had traveled there, escorted by super cool elite shinobi (this was what had sparked Sakura’s desire to become one as well), until they’d made it to the old house. Sakura had never met her grandmother before; now it was too late. The old house had looked like a piece of history, with a garden filled with overgrown, cramped foliage and weeds. The roof was patched in places and the wood old, but Sakura could tell that it must’ve looked homelier at some point. In the middle of the yard was a great sakura tree that rose over all the other weeds gracefully.
“I bet that you thought of that tree when you named me, Daddy!” Sakura had guessed excitedly.
Hizashi had chuckled. “Aww, Sakura-chan, you’re too quick for your old man.”
“So I’m right? Really?!”
Kizashi had grinned. “You are. My grandfather apparently planted this tree a long time ago, to honor his wife.”
“That’s so romantic! What was he like?”
Kizashi shrugged helplessly. “Your guess is as good as mine, kiddo.”
Sakura pouted.
“You didn’t meet him? Not even hear a story from your mom?”
Kizashi shook his head thoughtfully.
“She avoided talking about him. I know she was very young still when he disappeared for good… but – something about the man was shady. Might’ve been a drug-lord for all we know.”
“Kizashi!” Mebuki snapped. “Our daughter is five.”
“Yes, yes, Mebuki. Doesn’t mean she’s stupid though.”
Sakura had silently agreed with this assessment. Her mother’s subsequent attempts to keep her from asking about her great-grandfather only heightened the initial sense of curiosity. A drug lord? She wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it sounded intriguing! And so, whilst they weren’t looking, she had gone to explore the house in search for clues, crawling around the floor, tapping on walls, peering around suspiciously like she was a ninja in a spy flick.
Much to her delight, Sakura’s efforts paid off when she found a loose floorboard in the attic – a once study that had been converted to a storage room. Sakura had excitedly pulled and prodded at the floorboard – without results. She’d given up and huffily gotten up, only then, she’d nicked her toe on a piece of wood, causing it to bleed. She’d been ready to burst into tears when the floorboard had suddenly given away, snapping open like a well-oiled door. In her surprise, Sakura had forgotten about her wound and quietened almost immediately. Excitedly, she’d crouched back down and reached into the floorboard.
Were drugs inside? She bet this was her great-grandfather’s secret stash!
But she was in for a disappointment, for within the floorboard was a simple notebook. Sakura wasn’t sure what drugs looked like, but probably not as boring as this. She’d still been somewhat excited about looking inside until she realized that it was just filled with drawings. Very pretty drawings. Boring, but pretty.
She had taken the old notebook home with her and continued leafing through it occasionally… but with the passage of time, these instances had stopped and Sakura had completely forgotten about it – until now.
Now Sakura leafed through the drawings and it was almost like remembering a long-lost friend. Many drawings seemed foreign at first but then sparked her memory, taking her back to lazy afternoons, laying on her bedroom floor as she admired them. Now older, Sakura could appreciate some of the finer details and was still just as impressed as she’d been back then, maybe more.
She spent inordinate amounts of time watching each drawing, putting off passing the next page as long as her curiosity would allow.
The artist’s improvement over time was apparent. Their first drawings were already very good, but with each one, they seemed to get better… even though the paper was so wrinkled and old Sakura was almost afraid it’d turn to dust the moment she passed a page. Then she realized it wasn’t actually paper – but parchment. Parchment! That was the stuff of museums and super old secret clan scrolls. Just how old was this notebook? Closer examination revealed that the cover was pressed out of some kind of organic material as well, and it had all been bound together with a small piece of braided rope. Sakura began to wonder whether this notebook might’ve truly belonged to her shady great-grandfather after all, because it looked a century old at least!
For the sake of fancy, she was going to pretend it had belonged to him, even though there was no signature or name anywhere. Sakura liked the idea that her ancestor had been some hotshot from the underworld, even though his artist proclivities really didn’t fit the bill all that much.
She was almost done admiring his drawings when something fell out of one of the pages. Sakura stared at it with shock. She remembered thinking this attached piece of parchment boring as a child and ignoring it, but now she knew better. It was one of those scroll things ninja used. With weird painted shapes.
Sakura regarded it as it innocently lay on the floor. Her great-grandfather… or whoever the book had belonged to… had been a ninja? Sakura stared at the scroll-thingy with trepidation. She had no clue how these things worked, but she knew explosion tags were made out of them for example, so she would definitely have to proceed with caution… it could be a trap. Her grandfather had been a drug lord (possibly). Opening that scroll was most likely ill-adiviced.
But Sakura was too lonely to ignore it, too lonely to ignore a scroll long forgotten, one she'd have never dug out from under the dust in a different life. But she had dug it out now, had remembered it. And for better or worse, it would change her life irreversibly.
::::::::::::::::::::
We gather stones
never knowing what they’ll mean.
Some to throw,
some to make a diamond ring.
–T. Swift