Chapter Text
Sakura woke up in her own room.
The brightly colored ceiling was still the same. The walls were still painted in the soft colors her mother had chosen. The stuffed rabbit in the corner still sat neatly in place, as if waiting for her to wake up and play.
And yet, somehow, everything felt empty.
Sakura slowly sat up on her bed, hugging the thin blanket close to her chest. It felt tight, painfully so, but no tears came. Ever since that day, it was as if her body had forgotten how to cry.
Her gaze drifted to the small calendar beside her desk. A red circle marked today’s date.
Today was the day she would meet the only remaining member of the Haruno family left in the village.
The only one.
There was a small, very small, chance that Sakura might still be able to live in this house.
The house where her parents used to laugh.
The place where they once called her name with warm voices.
A part of her wanted to stay.
But the memories hurt too much.
Sakura clenched her fists. Behind her open eyes, the images surfaced again—screams, blood, and the face of a bandit laughing as his blade swung down.
She saw it herself.
She saw her parents being killed right in front of her.
In another world, Sakura knew her life should have been different.
Her parents would have told her to go play, and she would come home with messy hair. She would be teased by other children because of her forehead, then cry. She would be saved by Ino. And one day, she would enter the Ninja Academy and become a great kunoichi.
But this world did not give her that choice.
In this world, Sakura wanted to become strong. Strong enough to never watch someone she loved die in front of her again.
Strong enough to kill bad people.
After changing her clothes and fixing her pale pink hair, Sakura sat quietly in the living room. The ticking of the clock sounded far louder than it should have.
Exactly at eight in the morning, a knock echoed from the front door.
Sakura stood up.
Her steps were hesitant as she approached it, her hand trembling as she grasped the doorknob. She took a small breath and opened the door.
A woman stood before her.
Her hair was pink—the same color as Sakura’s.
Her face was mature and sharp, her expression unreadable. Her left eye was covered in white bandages, as were parts of her neck and exposed hands.
She wore an open jōnin flak jacket, black pants, and a long-sleeved black shirt underneath. An unfamiliar yet heavy presence surrounded her.
The woman lowered her gaze slightly, looking down at Sakura.
“I’m Haruno Sanika. Your aunt,” she said flatly.
Then she added, her voice cold but clear, “Don’t ever call me Oba-chan. Just call me Sanika.”
Sakura stared at her without blinking.
For some reason, for the first time since that day, her chest felt full again—not with hope, but with something far more complicated.
Fear.
And the beginning of something she could not avoid.
.
.
.
At first, Sakura felt a little afraid of her aunt.
The woman before her was too tall, too cold, and too unfamiliar. With bandages covering her eye, neck, and hands, Sanika looked like someone accustomed to violence.
At worst, Sakura imagined being hit. Yelled at. Or treated harshly for being a burden.
But she was wrong.
Very wrong.
Sanika let out a wide yawn, making no effort to hide it.
“I want to sleep,” she said suddenly, then paused. “No, eat first.”
She rubbed her face with one hand, her right eye narrowing heavily.
“Hey, kid. You want to eat? You probably haven’t had breakfast yet, right?” She glanced at Sakura and sighed.
“Let’s go sleep—ah, I mean, eat.”
Sakura froze.
Her fear didn’t disappear, but now… confusion took over.
Sanika looked at her with her right eye half-open, her eyelid clearly struggling to stay up. Her posture remained straight, but it was obvious—she was fighting exhaustion.
“Ah… um…” Sakura opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Okay. This wasn’t entirely her fault.
It was their first meeting, and her aunt had almost invited her to sleep together by accident.
Sanika clicked her tongue softly, as if just realizing the silence.
“Right. You’re confused,” she said flatly, turning toward the street.
“Let’s stop by any place with a table wide enough.”
She paused, then added honestly, “To hold my head for a while.”
Sakura blinked.
Once.
Then nodded softly.
“O-okay…”
And for the first time since her parents died, Sakura felt her fear shift—not disappear, but change shape. Her aunt wasn’t the cruel person she had imagined.
Just someone who looked far too tired to be frightening.
Sakura walked quietly behind her aunt.
Sanika’s steps were long and steady, as if her body moved on old habits even while her mind lagged behind. Sakura struggled to keep up, her fingers clutching the hem of her shirt.
They stopped in front of a small shop familiar to many in Konoha.
Ichiraku Ramen.
“Teuchi-san,” Sanika greeted shortly. “Extra spicy ramen, as usual.”
Before Sakura could react—
Thud!
Sanika’s head slammed onto the table with a loud sound. Her body slumped forward, her breathing even, as if she had just lain down on a futon.
Sakura froze.
“S-Sanika-san—!”
“Hahaha,” a cheerful laugh came from behind the counter.
“Don’t worry, kid. Sanika’s used to falling asleep here before her food arrives.”
Teuchi smiled warmly at Sakura, completely unfazed.
“What would you like to order?”
Sakura swallowed.
“M-miso ramen.”
“Alright, young lady.”
Sakura sat stiffly beside Sanika, occasionally glancing at her aunt’s sleeping form. She felt half worried, half unable to believe that someone like this was the only family she had left.
While they waited, the shop’s curtain lifted again.
Two people entered.
Sakura noticed immediately—not because of their clothes, but because of the aura they carried. A black-haired woman with calm, beautiful eyes, and a man with the faint but sharp scent of cigarette smoke.
Both wore hitai-ate.
Shinobi.
The black-haired woman glanced briefly at Sakura, then at Sanika sleeping soundly on the table. One eyebrow lifted.
She smiled faintly. “I didn’t know Sanika had a child.”
Sakura flinched.
“I-I—” She quickly shook her head. “No.”
The woman looked again, studying Sakura more closely. Pink hair. Eyes. Too similar.
“Oh?” she murmured.
The man beside her clicked his tongue, exhaling slowly.
“If she’s not her kid, then…”
Before he could finish—
Sanika moved.
One hand shot up, grabbing the front of the man’s flak jacket without her eyes opening. The motion was fast, precise, and strong enough to lift him slightly off his seat.
“Annoying,” Sanika muttered sleepily. “And your cigarette stench is still just as awful as ever, Asuma. Makes me want to cut your tongue off so you’ll stop smoking.”
Ichiraku fell silent.
The man froze for a moment, then chuckled. “Still the same, huh.”
Sanika finally opened her right eye halfway and glanced at Sakura.
“Relax, Pinky,” she said flatly. “They’re not bad people.”
She released him without another word and dropped her head back onto the table.
“And she’s not my child, Kurenai,” she added. “She’s my niece.”
Sakura stared at the back of Sanika’s hand resting on the table.
Still wrapped in bandages.
For the first time, Sakura realized something.
Her aunt might be strange.
And… her aunt might also be a little dangerous.
And somehow, that made Sakura feel a little safer.