Chapter Text
The hair caught between my lips woke me.
I brushed it away without opening my eyes and turned toward the cooler side of the pillow, only to stop when something pulled sharply at my scalp. Several strands were trapped beneath my shoulder. I lifted myself enough to free them, irritated and still half asleep, then paused with the unfamiliar length gathered in my hand.
My hair should not have reached that far.
Somewhere beyond the room, ceramic touched wood, followed by running water and the scrape of a chair. I lay still and listened. The pillow beneath my cheek smelled of laundry soap, and morning light warmed my face through curtains that were thinner than mine.
I opened my eyes.
A pale green curtain shifted beside a partially open window. Beyond it stood the tiled roof of another house, close enough that I could see dried leaves gathered in the gutter. There was no neighboring roof outside my bedroom. There should have been a parking lot, an untidy patch of grass, and a streetlamp that shone through the gap in my curtains unless I closed them carefully.
I pushed myself upright, still holding the hair.
It was pink.
The color was paler where sunlight fell across the strands and darker against the yellow sleeve covering my wrist. I loosened my fingers, watched several hairs slide over my knuckles, then examined the hand beneath them.
Small fingers. Short nails. A healing scrape near the knuckle of my index finger.
I turned my hand over. There were faint calluses beneath the fingers and a thin line of dried skin beside my thumb. None of it was familiar.
Across the room, a wooden desk stood beneath a shelf of books. An open notebook occupied most of its surface, with a pencil laid diagonally across the page and a small cloth bag pushed near the wall. A red garment hung over the chair. Beside it, a mirror reflected the edge of the bed.
I pressed my feet to the floor.
My knees bent at the wrong angle for the height I expected, and when I stood, my balance shifted enough that I caught the bedpost. I remained there until I was certain I could walk, then crossed the room with one hand brushing the furniture.
The girl in the mirror stopped when I did.
Pink hair fell past her shoulders in uneven sections, flattened on one side from sleep. Green eyes were wide beneath thin eyebrows, and a faint crease marked her cheek. She wore a loose yellow nightshirt with a collar that had slipped toward one shoulder.
I knew her face.
I stared until my eyes began to sting, then leaned closer and pushed the hair away from my forehead.
Sakura Haruno.
The name supplied plenty of information and no useful explanation.
I touched my cheek. The reflection did the same. I pulled gently at the hair near my temple, winced, and watched her wince with me. There was no wig. No makeup concealed beneath the pillow crease. The pink roots were visible along the part, and the skin beneath my fingertips was warm.
I had gone to bed in my own room.
My phone had been charging beside the pillow. There had been a cup on the nightstand and laundry folded badly over the chair because I had not wanted to put it away. I remembered closing the window before lying down.
I did not remember dying.
That thought made me look toward the unfamiliar bed, although there was nothing there that could answer it. The blankets were pushed aside, and the pillow still held the shallow impression of my head.
"Sakura, breakfast is ready," a woman called from downstairs, her voice carrying through the closed door.
I turned on instinct. For a moment, I knew where she stood. Beside a kitchen counter with a folded towel near her elbow, annoyed because she had already set out the food.
The impression disappeared when I tried to examine it.
Another followed: the same voice telling me to lift my chin while fingers fastened a button beneath it. I could remember being impatient, wanting to get outside, and a hand holding my shoulder until the fastening was secure.
I had never experienced any of that.
"One minute," I called back, the higher pitch of my voice making me stop with my hand halfway to my throat.
I swallowed and sat on the bed. There had been no one speaking inside my head. No second person demanding an explanation. The memory had appeared without permission and vanished before I could hold on to it.
Sakura's memory.
I rubbed my palms over my knees, feeling the unfamiliar shape of them through the nightshirt. If I was here, where was she?
I waited, although I did not know what I expected. A response, perhaps. Some evidence that I had misunderstood what had happened.
I could not solve it before breakfast.
What I could do was find out when I was.
At the desk, I turned the notebook toward me. The writing was neat, the answers arranged beneath numbered questions about chakra. I understood the characters without translating them, which was reassuring until I considered how many things that should have made impossible.
In the margin, someone had drawn a small profile with dark hair and a high collar.
Sasuke.
I closed the notebook and looked through the papers beside it. A weekly schedule listed Academy lessons, with practical assessments circled. A calendar stood against the wall, held upright by a small wooden support.
Graduation had been marked three months away.
I checked the current date against the schedule, then counted again.
Three months before I became a genin.
Assuming I passed.
The room looked different once I understood that. The schoolbag was no longer merely something I needed to carry downstairs. Its contents might be the only training materials I had, and the marked assessments were opportunities to discover how much of Sakura's education I could still use.
After graduation came Kakashi. Team Seven. Missions.
I remembered the Land of Waves, the Chūnin Exams, and the invasion. I could recall faces and major events more easily than dates, which meant knowing the future would not tell me precisely how long I had to prepare for it.
I lowered my gaze to my hands.
Sakura would eventually become a medic with enough strength to protect herself and other people. I had watched her do things I could not imagine attempting with the narrow wrists in front of me.
Whatever potential existed in this body, I did not know how to use it.
A knock interrupted me.
"Are you getting dressed?" the woman asked, shifting the handle enough to make the latch move.
"Yes. I'm coming," I answered, reaching for the clothes on the chair. I waited until her footsteps retreated before laying everything across the bed. The red dress had a high collar and small fastenings, with dark shorts folded beneath it. I recognized the outfit immediately, but my fingers hesitated over the closures.
Then, while I looked toward the door, they completed one.
I looked down at the fastened collar.
That was going to take some getting used to.
In the adjoining bathroom, I found the toothbrush without opening the wrong drawer, then stood staring at three containers until a brief recollection supplied the toothpaste. I washed my face with cool water and leaned over the sink, letting droplets fall from my chin before reaching for a towel.
My reflection looked young enough that I had to look away.
I brushed the tangles from my hair carefully, starting near the ends when pulling from the top hurt. There was more of it than I was accustomed to handling. By the time I finished, the woman downstairs had opened and closed a cupboard twice.
A ribbon lay in a shallow dish on the dresser beside a red band. I used the ribbon to tie my hair back, leaving the band where it was. The ponytail was untidy, but the hair was off my face.
I checked the schoolbag before leaving.
Notebooks, pencils, a small eraser, and a pouch containing weapons.
I opened the pouch farther.
A kunai lay beside several shuriken, the metal clean and the edges sharp. I lifted the kunai carefully, keeping the point away from my legs. It was heavier than I expected and fitted into my hand with disturbing ease.
I had seen these used against people.
Apparently, I now carried one to school.
I returned it to the pouch, secured the flap, and went downstairs.
The smell of rice and cooked fish reached me before I found the kitchen. A woman stood beside the table with an apron tied around her waist, her light hair pinned back and a few loose strands tucked behind one ear.
Sakura's mother.
I knew the relationship before I could recall her name. Looking at her brought another brief memory of being told to wipe my sandals before entering the house.
"You've done something different with your hair," she observed, setting a bowl beside the chopsticks at the nearest place.
"It kept getting in my mouth," I answered, touching the ribbon before sitting. She examined the ponytail, then reached past me to move a cup away from the table's edge.
"You missed some at the back," she told me, gathering a loose section between her fingers.
"I'll fix it before I leave," I replied, keeping still while she released it. A man sat opposite me with a folded paper beside his breakfast. He lowered his cup and looked from my face to the bag resting against my chair.
"Your mother called you twice," he reminded me, his voice mild but expectant.
"Sorry. I slept badly," I explained, placing the bag beneath the chair so I would not keep reaching for it.
The excuse was close enough to the truth.
I picked up my chopsticks and concentrated on the bowl. The rice was warm, with steam still rising from the center. Eating gave me a reason to lower my head while I tried to manage the thought of sitting at another girl's family table.
Her mother placed fish beside my bowl.
"Eat that before you leave," she instructed, resting a hand on the chair. "You hardly touched dinner yesterday."
"I will," I assured her, separating a piece carefully. A recollection surfaced of pushing food around a plate while insisting I was not hungry. I could not recover the conversation surrounding it, only irritation at being questioned.
I took a mouthful and checked for bones before swallowing. Whatever Sakura had been doing yesterday, I could not train on an empty stomach. I knew very little about chakra, but I doubted becoming tired and hungry would improve my chances of understanding it.
Her father folded the paper and rested it beside his cup.
"Are you worried about your assessments?" he asked, watching me more closely.
"A little," I admitted, lifting my eyes from the plate.
"You usually do well," he replied, reaching for the teapot. That should have reassured me. Instead, I wondered how quickly my teachers would notice if I could no longer perform something Sakura had done last week.
"I want to improve the practical work," I explained, choosing the words carefully. "I've been spending more time on the written material."
Her mother glanced toward her father, then returned her attention to me.
"Have you asked your teacher what you should practice?" she asked, folding the towel beside her plate.
"Not yet," I answered, setting down my chopsticks long enough to drink.
"Then start there," she suggested, smoothing the towel with her palm. "There's no point wearing yourself out doing something incorrectly."
I nodded. It was practical advice, and I could use it without explaining why I had suddenly become interested.
We finished breakfast with her father discussing an errand and her mother reminding him to collect something on the way home. I listened enough to know when to look up, but neither of them expected me to join in.
At the door, her mother handed me a wrapped lunch.
I put it in the bag and bent to straighten my sandals. When I struggled with a twisted strap, she crouched beside me and turned it the right way. I remembered those hands fastening shoes on much smaller feet. The recollection was brief, but I was still looking at her when she stood.
"Thank you," I murmured, gripping the strap of my bag.
Her expression softened slightly.
"Come straight home if you're still feeling unwell," she told me, opening the door.
"I'll let you know if I'm going to be late," I promised, stepping onto the path. I could not promise to come straight home. There had to be a library, and I intended to find it once I got through school.
Outside, Konoha was already busy.
A shopkeeper lifted wooden shutters from his windows while two women passed carrying baskets, discussing vegetables they had bought that morning. A child sat on a doorstep pulling on sandals, with an older boy waiting impatiently beside him. Water darkened the paving in front of a storefront where someone had washed away the dust.
I walked slowly, adjusting to the shorter stride and the way my bag struck my hip. My sandals offered less protection than the shoes I remembered, and I watched the ground until I reached the first intersection.
Left.
The direction came without an accompanying image. I followed it, passing a narrow lane where someone had hung bedding over a railing.
Above the rooftops, the Hokage Monument came into view.
I stopped beside a produce stall. The carved faces were larger than I had expected. I could see the deep shadows beneath their features and the uneven texture of stone around them. People walked past without looking up, accustomed to something that made it difficult for me to accept what I was seeing.
A cart wheel rattled close to my ankle.
I stepped back, apologized to the man pushing it, and resumed walking. There were shinobi on the roofs. One crossed between two buildings quickly enough that I barely followed the jump, while another stood beside a water tank adjusting a strap across his chest.
I examined the gap between the buildings.
Even if Sakura had jumped distances like that in practice, I did not trust myself to try. There were too many things I could not retrieve deliberately, and discovering the limits several floors above the street seemed unnecessarily stupid.
"Sakura!" Ino called from behind me, making me turn before I was ready. She approached with her schoolbag against one hip and blonde hair swinging over her shoulder. Her pale eyes narrowed when she saw my ponytail, then lifted to my face.
"You walked right past me," she complained, stopping beside the produce stall.
"I didn't see you," I replied, shifting my bag higher.
"I was outside the shop," she countered, pointing back along the street.
I looked toward the flower shop. A memory appeared of sitting near its doorway with dirt on my knees while Ino explained how to handle a stem without damaging it. I remembered listening closely, wanting to get it right because she had trusted me to help.
The affection accompanying it made our current distance uncomfortable.
"I was distracted," I admitted, returning my attention to her. Ino studied me for a moment, then reached toward the loose hair beside my cheek.
"What happened to your hair?" she asked, her fingers already close.
I moved my head before she touched it.
"I tied it up," I answered, too sharply.
Her hand dropped. I immediately regretted the reaction. I was overwhelmed, but she had no way to know that. To her, I was a girl who had apparently decided to be unpleasant first thing in the morning.
"It was bothering me," I added, rubbing my thumb along the bag strap.
Ino raised an eyebrow and started toward the Academy.
"You spent ages brushing it yesterday," she reminded me, looking back to check that I followed.
A glimpse of the bedroom mirror supplied the reason. Sasuke had been sitting nearby in class, and Sakura had wanted—
I focused on the paving beneath my feet.
"I'm leaving it this way today," I replied, stepping around a loose stone.
Ino gave me another look, but someone called to her as we reached a group of students. She moved ahead to answer, leaving me with enough space to consider what had just happened.
I had no interest in pursuing Sasuke. Apparently, convincing other people of that would take more than ignoring him for a morning.
Inside the Academy, the smell of chalk and old wood replaced the street's cooking smells. Students crowded the corridor, their voices overlapping while a boy tried to copy from a notebook held against the wall.
I knew which classroom was mine. Once inside, I also recognized my usual seat.
Sasuke sat two desks away with his elbows on the desk and his hands loosely joined near his mouth. His dark hair framed a young face, and he looked tired, with his attention fixed somewhere beyond the front of the room.
I looked away before he caught me staring.
There was a flicker of remembered anticipation, but no desire to approach him. I was already struggling to behave normally around people whose futures I knew. Sitting down seemed wiser than attempting conversation.
I opened my bag and placed the notebook on the desk. A shallow groove marked the wooden edge, worn smooth where fingers had repeatedly touched it. My thumb settled there automatically.
Naruto entered loudly enough to interrupt several conversations.
His orange clothes stood out against the pale walls, and dust marked one knee. He was arguing with a boy near the doorway, insisting that something outside had not been his fault.
When he pulled out his chair, he moved it too far and caught the back before it fell.
Someone laughed.
Naruto sat with his shoulders stiff and looked away from the next row, where a student muttered something I could not hear.
I watched him for another moment, then lowered my eyes. He was a child having an unpleasant morning. Knowing who he would become did not tell me what to say to him now.
Behind me, Shikamaru rested his cheek against one hand. A pencil lay beside the other, unused, while Chōji carefully folded an empty snack wrapper at the neighboring desk.
I faced forward as Iruka entered carrying papers.
The scar across his nose was immediately recognizable, but I paid more attention to the way he checked the room while arranging his materials. His gaze paused on the students still talking, giving each of them time to stop.
"Put your assignments on the end of your row," Iruka instructed, setting down the papers.
I opened my notebook and searched, trying to keep the movement unhurried. Near the back was a completed sheet with Sakura's name at the top. I passed it along, relieved, then checked the remaining loose pages so I would not be caught out again.
The lesson began with chakra control.
I listened closely while Iruka explained how an excessive amount could interfere with a technique rather than improve it. Some of the terms were familiar from the series. Others involved practical distinctions I had never needed to understand while watching.
I started taking notes.
Halfway through a word, I stopped and examined the handwriting.
It was Sakura's. The characters were neat, and the grip came easily even though my fingers were smaller than I remembered.
I shifted the pencil slightly and finished the sentence.
Writing was something I could still enjoy. In my old life, I had liked preparing ink, choosing paper, and working through strokes until I could repeat them consistently. The attention required had been satisfying, especially when I finally corrected something I had struggled with.
If sealing could be learned, perhaps that interest would help me begin.
First, I needed enough knowledge to avoid misunderstanding the lesson in front of me.
"You're actually taking notes?" Naruto whispered, leaning far enough to examine my page.
"Yes," I answered quietly, keeping my pencil against the paper.
"I thought you already knew this stuff," he said, frowning at the crowded lines.
"I want to remember it properly," I explained, angling the notebook so he could see without moving farther.
He looked from the page to me, apparently expecting something else. Iruka turned from the board before Naruto could respond.
"Naruto, you can compare notes after the lesson," Iruka told him, putting the chalk on the ledge.
"I was asking about the lesson," Naruto protested, sitting back with both hands on his desk.
"Then ask me," Iruka replied, waiting beside the board.
Naruto hesitated, then asked about using too much chakra. I listened to the answer and added another line. When I looked up, Naruto was watching Iruka rather than the students beside him.
By the time we were directed outside, my fingers ached from holding the pencil too tightly. I closed the notebook and followed the others, paying attention to the stairs and the students stopping abruptly ahead of me.
The training area behind the Academy had hard-packed earth beneath several targets. A shaded strip ran beside the building, where students left their bags before gathering around Iruka.
I put mine down carefully and examined the equipment.
We began with weapons.
When my turn came, I selected a practice shuriken and stood at the marked line. Its weight settled between my fingers, prompting pieces of an earlier lesson: elbow position, a correction from Iruka, and the sting of a release that had gone badly.
I drew my arm back and threw.
The shuriken struck the outer part of the target. Relief made me hurry the second attempt, which landed farther from the center. Before trying again, I repositioned my feet and made myself pause.
The third was better.
"Keep the same stance between throws," Iruka advised, marking his list.
"I will," I replied, stepping away while trying to remember how the successful movement had felt.
No one laughed or looked surprised. Apparently, I had performed within Sakura's usual range.
That was useful. I had something I could practice without starting from nothing. At the edge of the group, Shikamaru glanced toward the target while I flexed my fingers. I could not tell whether he was watching my attempts or waiting for his own turn.
Iruka moved us on to defensive practice.
One student would attack with a padded weapon. The other would evade, create distance, and attempt a substitution if the attacker closed in again. The speed would be controlled, with no strikes to the head.
I watched the first pair.
Even at reduced speed, the attacker covered the distance quickly. The defender moved sideways, recovered his balance, and began the technique before the next strike reached him.
I tried to recall the substitution.
I knew its name and remembered how it appeared in the anime. Sakura's memories supplied parts of a classroom drill, but I could not retrieve the full sequence deliberately. Each time I tried, I became less certain about where my hands belonged.
"Haruno, you'll defend first," Iruka announced, indicating the cleared space with his pen.
I walked onto the packed earth as Ino took the opposite position. She held the padded weapon at her side. A strand of hair had come loose near her temple, and she pushed it back before adjusting her feet.
She expected someone who had practiced this before. I bent my knees and raised my hands, following a remembered correction. My bag was beside the building, clear of the exercise area, and Iruka stood several paces to my left.
Ino shifted her weight.
I looked at the weapon.
"Watch her shoulders as well," Iruka instructed, moving closer to observe. I lifted my gaze and tried to take in her whole stance. A breeze moved hair against my cheek, while a small stone pressed beneath the front of my sandal.
"Ready?" Ino asked, tightening her grip.
"As ready as I'm going to be," I answered, keeping my feet planted.
Iruka gave the signal.
Ino moved, and I hesitated.
I had enough time to recognize the mistake before the padded weapon struck my upper arm. The impact hurt, knocking me sideways, and I stumbled instead of making the clean evasive movement I had intended.
"Stop," Iruka ordered, stepping between us as Ino lowered the weapon. I pressed a hand against my arm. My face felt hot, partly from the pain and partly because I could hear someone laughing near the wall.
Ino frowned.
"You didn't move," she pointed out, looking from my arm to my feet.
"I noticed," I replied, rubbing the sore spot before catching the irritation in my own voice.
She tightened her mouth, and I let my hand fall.
"That wasn't your fault," I added, meeting her eyes.
Iruka waited until I looked toward him.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, examining the arm I had been holding.
"It stings, but I can move it," I answered, lifting it carefully to check.
"Then tell me what happened," Iruka instructed, keeping his attention on me. I looked at the space between Ino's starting position and mine. It had seemed manageable until she moved.
"I was trying to plan the substitution before I got out of the way," I admitted, pressing my thumb against the side of my finger.
Iruka nodded once.
"Your first task is to avoid the strike," he explained, indicating the ground beside my foot. "Step clear, recover your balance, then consider the next movement. Give yourself room to work."
I followed his gesture and shifted into position. There had been nothing mysterious about my mistake. I had spent too long deciding what to do and allowed someone to hit me. That could be corrected, provided I practiced instead of hoping familiarity would do the work.
"Can we try the evasion by itself?" I asked, looking up at Iruka.
"We can," he agreed, moving back. "Ino, slower this time. Haruno, watch the approach."
Ino returned to her position.
The second attempt was awkward. I moved early, took too large a step, and needed another to regain my balance. On the third, I avoided the padded edge and stayed upright, though I was still too close for a comfortable follow-up.
Iruka corrected my footing again.
By the time we switched roles, my arm ached and dirt had worked beneath one sandal strap. I had not completed a successful substitution. I had, however, stopped standing still while Ino approached me.
When the exercise ended, I retrieved my bag and checked the pouch before fastening it.
The morning had given me answers I did not particularly like. Some knowledge remained. Some movements came naturally. Under pressure, I could interfere with both badly enough to get hurt.
Three months would not fix everything.
I still had three months to use.
Iruka was collecting the practice weapons when I approached him. I waited until he set the tray down, then opened my notebook to the pages from his lesson.
"Could you recommend something to read about chakra control?" I asked, keeping the book steady between my hands. "Something that explains the exercises properly."
He looked at the notes, then at me.
"Your Academy text covers the fundamentals," Iruka replied, tapping one of the lines I had written. "Review that first. If there's a section you don't understand, bring it to me."
"I will," I assured him, closing the notebook. "Does the library have introductory material on sealing?"
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
"An interest in fūinjutsu?" Iruka asked, resting his hand on the tray.
"I like working with ink," I explained, choosing an answer that was actually mine. "I'd like to understand what makes the writing function."
"The introductory references will give you somewhere to start," Iruka replied, considering me for a moment. "Bring me the title before you attempt any practical work. Accurate copying and understanding a technique are different things."
"I'll bring it," I promised, putting the notebook into my bag.
He returned to the equipment, and I stepped aside to let another student approach. My upper arm was beginning to feel tender beneath the sleeve. I would need to look at it later, along with the textbooks, the assignments, and whatever money Sakura had available for supplies.
For now, I knew where to begin.
After school, I was going to the library.