Chapter Text
Entertainment Column
The Suna heartthrob has arrived in Konoha!
Despite last week’s pointed accusations from his co-star and ex-flame, Sōma-sama is pressing on with his plans. The star of the smash hit All You Need is Love is gracing our streets today, accompanying his distinguished father on a business trip. The elder is famed for collecting rare artifacts and jewels, and it seems the young master shares his taste for the extraordinary.
Could Konoha offer a new treasure for his collection? Perhaps a treasure of the heart awaits him here.
So keep those kimonos pressed, ladies, and stay tuned for more in the next edition!
^^^^^^ 𓆏 ^^^^^^
Letting a silent curse slip through clenched teeth, Sakura paused, her fingers stiff around the smooth body of her fountain pen. With a slow exhale that was instantly swallowed by the raucous chatter of the classroom, she capped the pen and tucked it back into its velvet-lined case as if handling something far more valuable than mere metal and ink.
Lifting her sleeve, Sakura inspected the dark smear blooming across the fabric like a bruise. Lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed her sleeve slipping forward to brush the wet page and drag its fresh words into a blurred ruin. To the casual eye, it was almost invisible, but not here.
Around her, her classmates sat poised like painted dolls in their exclusive circles. Their silk kimonos shimmered without a single wrinkle, while their obis were secured with the practiced, suffocating elegance passed down through generations. Not a single strand of hair was out of place; immaculate. Their voices, light and refined, floated like hollow wind chimes around her.
In the city of Konoha, schools for girls were a jarring novelty. High schools like this one were among the first, a recent invention of a government eager to appear modern while keeping its feet rooted firmly in feudal tradition. To the families filling these desks, school was a conversational ornament to display over tea and formal introductions that paved the way for their daughter to marry young into equally, if not more, prestigious bloodlines. For many, the idea of educating women was still foreign, even laughable, and the cracks in the system showed.
Even the faculty treated their presence as a chore. Teachers routinely abandoned the lecture halls under the flimsiest excuses such as urgent clan business or fabricated ministerial meetings. To them, managing a classroom of young women was a tedious obligation handed down from above, forced by policy. Today just happened to be another one of those empty days where the blackboard remained completely blank while the girls chatted aimlessly around her.
As if on cue, a sharp chorus of gasps and delighted squeals rippled through the room, snapping Sakura from her thoughts. She turned her head toward the noise, already knowing exactly what she would see. To her right, a cluster of girls leaned in so close their elaborate hair ornaments clicked together, their eyes brilliant with excitement. One of them was flushing pink, proudly announcing her engagement to the son of a prominent merchant clan.
Sakura had seen it happen a dozen times before. A classmate would vanish from the roster overnight following her wedding, her intellect and education discarded the moment her true purpose as a wife began. Before long, that empty desk would be claimed by another bachelorette desperate to lacquer over her background with a school pedigree or a girl whose seat had been bought entirely by her fiancé's name.
But was their lack of ambition really a flaw of character, or was it simply the natural result of a world that never demanded anything of them but their silence and their beauty?
Unlike their male counterparts, none of them had been raised to reach. They were merely trained to receive, sculpted to become beautiful footnotes in someone else’s story. Speaking of which…
“Did you see All You Need is Love?” Another painfully familiar conversation drifted on the breeze of the classroom.
“Sōma-sama was absolutely breathless!” Her friend chirped, her silk sleeves rustling as she practically vibrated in her chair. “I heard he penned the script himself and practically ran the set!”
Sakura knew the movie well; its posters were plastered all over the commercial districts of Konoha. It was the city’s latest romantic gospel of a poor, unremarkable girl harboring a grand, impossible ambition, only to willingly trade it away for the ultimate prize: love.
Mikami Sōma, of course, played the male lead, a wealthy heir with social capital and a world of options, yet somehow, he chose her. Then, through his effortless charm, wealth, and influence, her initial dreams were magically realized, wrapped up neatly without the heroine ever having to break a sweat or soil her hands.
How profoundly romantic.
Though the story was ostensibly about the young woman’s journey, it was impossible to ignore how entirely he dominated the screen. At least, that was according to the glowing newspaper reviews Sakura had been able to glean.
Of course, movies like this were never meant to reflect reality; they only needed to be seductive enough to feel possible. Just a drop of truth to keep the illusion alive. Because on rare occasions, it did happen. There were real stories of girls from the slums whisked away into high-society estates. But more often than not, it was a desperate gamble to erase a family debt or a sacrifice to satisfy the ego of a powerful man enamored with the idea of owning beauty.
The world preferred to romanticize it, applauding the wealthy patrons for "saving" them. But Sakura knew these girls were forced to liquidate their entire futures to purchase comfort for the people around them. And no matter how thick the gold leaf on the bars, a cage was still a cage, one that her mother was already trying to coax her into, albeit with the best of intentions.
Sometimes, Sakura imagined running away to some nameless, distant village to do exactly as she pleased, practicing medicine on her own terms. But the mere thought of leaving her parents behind brought a sharp, physical twist to her chest. She could never abandon them.
Besides, if she were being brutally honest with herself, the comforts of her family's rising status had left her soft, too. Entirely lacking in street smarts and practical survival. She wouldn't last a day on her own. She imagined the only way she’d manage out there would be if a wealthy benefactor were funding her escape, running straight into his arms.
Sakura stared down at the blurred ruin on her paper. Girls like her were barely tolerated in schools, and the title of doctor was a birthright reserved for the sons of elite bloodlines, not a girl whose family made their living appraising the discarded trinkets of a pawnshop. Yet, Sakura felt an iron resolve settled beneath her ribs. She’d be damned if she let anyone hand her a future. Not luck, and certainly not a man.
“How can anyone be so flawlessly talented?” The exclamation cut through Sakura’s thoughts, a note of breathless envy bleeding into the air.
“I’ll tell you what’s more perfect,” another girl chimed in, vibrating with the thrill of exclusive gossip. “Have you heard about the marriage of the century? Kurenai and Asuma are finally making it official!”
The group erupted in a fresh wave of squeals and gasps, even louder than earlier.
It was impossible not to immediately recognize those names, given how heavily they dominated the press. Yuhi Kurenai was the top actress in the country, a striking, ethereal talent whose crimson eyes and sharp features graced every newspaper and magazine cover. Sarutobi Asuma, meanwhile, was the golden boy of Konoha. He was kind-hearted, sharp-witted, beloved by the public, and the heir to a formidable political dynasty.
Together, they were the ultimate fairytale, the kind of polished romance society loved to idolize. Beautiful, powerful, and perfectly matched. And for once, it felt like this might be the rare couple who actually deserved their happy ending.
News of their engagement was the only thing that was powerful enough to eclipse the frantic buzz surrounding Sōma’s latest cinematic triumph. Even in the glossy world of celebrities and cinema, their love story had become the main attraction.
But fairy tales didn't change the reality of her afternoon. When the dismissal bell finally tolled, its loud, mechanical ring shattered the gossip. Sakura stacked her notebooks, hugging them tight against her chest, and slipped toward the exit, leaving the huddle of dreaming girls behind.
She had barely crossed the wooden threshold when a sharp, deliberate shoulder slammed into hers. The impact sent Sakura stumbling sideways. Her medical textbook pitched forward, the sharp corner biting deep into her palm as she scrambled to keep her grip.
“Oops, sorry about that!”
The apology was airy and unmistakably cruel. A ripple of muffled snickers followed it, the sound prickling against the back of her neck like cold needles. Sakura steadied her footing and turned, watching the girl glide away. The heavy hem of her silk-lined kimono swished with a rhythmic, expensive grace against the floorboards.
Was this petty retaliation for the times Sakura had publicly demanded a real curriculum? Or for the sheer audacity of challenging the teachers during their rare lectures? Ultimately, it didn’t matter. These girls thrived within the strict, suffocating boundaries of the hierarchy, and they weaponized it against anyone who dared to question the status quo.
Sakura let out a slow breath. No matter how flawlessly her mother pressed her clothes, no matter how much exhausting effort she poured into befriending them, she was merely permitted to move through their world. She would never truly belong to it.
Sakura’s fingernails bit into her palm, but she forced her features into an entirely disarming smile. To let them see her flush would be giving them a victory she refused to concede.
“Don’t worry about it,” she offered smoothly despite the thrum of adrenaline in her ears.
Smoothing down the front of her pressed kimono, she turned and walked away, her spine rigid. Her other hand rose almost automatically to the necklace resting against her collarbone. She twirled the jewel between her thumb and forefinger, letting its familiar coolness absorb the static friction of her anger.
She was still turning the corner when a characteristically dry voice intercepted her, halting the bitter thoughts before they could take root.
“Yo.”
Sakura blinked, the hallway's hostility instantly evaporating. “Kakashi-sensei,” she greeted, bowing her head with practiced decorum.
Despite being a man only in his twenties, Kakashi’s hair was a defiant shock of white. Sakura often amused herself by imagining it was from a lifetime of chalk dust. It would certainly explain the cloth mask he permanently wore over the lower half of his face. But perhaps another reason, she mused, was simply the stress of dealing with students like hers.
He stood leaning against the wall in his usual casual, half-interested slouch, with one hand buried in his pants. Kakashi’s family possessed formidable military ties, granting him a rare degree of influence in Konoha despite his apparent indifference. In a school abandoned by its faculty, he was the only educator who had willingly signed up to teach them. If only he didn't pair that dedication with a maddening habit of arriving whenever the mood struck him.
“Here,” he said. Sakura stared at the object her instructor casually thrust toward her, her eyes narrowing in immediate suspicion. “I figured you were getting thoroughly bored with the school’s dusty, outdated texts.”
Sakura didn't reach for it just yet. “…Is this a legitimate medical textbook, or is it ‘anatomy-related’ like the last one?”
Kakashi’s eyes crinkled into a deep crescent of amusement, though Sakura could tell he was biting back a guilty defense. “I did my due diligence this time, promise. It’s an early edition by Tsunade-hime.”
Sakura blinked, her breath catching. Tsunade-hime, the country's most renowned physician, a woman who had forced a patriarchal establishment to respect her intellect.
Kakashi dropped the book into her waiting palms without another word. Slowly, she turned the volume over, her fingertips tracing its worn, cloth edges and absorbing its solid, comforting weight.
“I never should have doubted you, Kakashi-sensei!” She chirped, every bit of her previous skepticism melting into pure, radiant excitement.
“Don’t thank me just yet,” Kakashi murmured, a lazy smile tugging at the corner of his mask as he casually flicked the crisp edge of her tuition slip between his fingers.
Sakura’s smile faltered, a familiar knot tightening in her stomach at the reminder. She loathed the topic of her family’s ledger, but discussing it with Kakashi was a distinct kind of torture.
“You know, Sakura,” he began, his tone dropping its usual airiness. “This is already your last year. Maybe you should just le—”
“I’ve simply forgotten to hand it to my parents,” she cut in, her words coming out in a rushed, defensive blur as she snatched the slip from his hand. The crisp paper crumpled slightly in her tight grip. “I will bring it tomorrow.”
Kakashi paused, his gaze dropping to the fierce, desperate armor locking her features into place. A heavy silence stretched between them for a heartbeat, and he opened his mouth to pierce through her excuse. But the gravity vanished as quickly as it had arrived. Instead, he reached out and casually ruffled her hair, roughly breaking its pristine symmetry.
“If you say so," he murmured, his voice returning to its usual slouch. "Just don't blame me if I take rather drastic measures the next time I have to come hunt you down."
He turned, burying his hands back into his pockets as he sauntered away in that trademark, unbothered rhythm as if he had all the time and wealth in the world. Must be nice.
Sakura let out a sharp huff, her fingers working quickly to smooth down the static-cling strands he had carelessly disturbed before she turned to descend the stairs.
The crisp afternoon air hit her face as she stepped through the grand threshold of the academy. A gentle hum of casual conversation and the sharp, rhythmic clatter of wooden geta against the stone pathway filled the courtyard as a sea of students spilled onto the streets. Sakura halted on the top step, her eyes tracking through the shifting sea of colorful silk until they landed on Hyūga Hinata.
Her friend was waiting a short distance away, dressed in a pale yellow kimono, its fine fabric adorned with delicate white floral patterns. A deep violet obi, tied in an intricate, traditional knot, was cinched perfectly at her waist, accentuating the graceful folds of her attire. When the afternoon sunlight caught the soft sheen of her dark hair just right, it turned a gentle shade of plum at the edges.
More than a few young men slowed their pace as they passed, their eyes tracking her silhouette, an ongoing trend that Sakura noticed. Hinata was considered one of the most highly sought-after girls of marriageable age in the city. Yet she stood entirely oblivious to the attention and lingering stares, her pale lavender eyes scanning the crowd.
Sakura descended the rest of the steps, cutting through the onlookers as she called out her friend’s name.
Hinata turned, her expression instantly brightening as their eyes met. “How was class, Sakura-chan?”
“Guess who failed to grace us with his presence yet again?” Sakura groaned, rolling her eyes.
Hinata offered a soft, musical chuckle. She was long since accustomed to Sakura’s passionate rants about the academy’s superficial curriculum of endless lessons on tea and poise and the complete lack of rigorous, intellectual coursework offered to them compared to the boys their age.
Yet, despite her fierce grievances, Sakura still loved the academy. If the administration would only permit it, she would happily spend from sunrise to sunset tucked away in these halls, absorbing lectures until her mind was utterly overflowing.
“But look what the old man gave me this time,” Sakura said as she tilted the heavy book so Hinata could see the cover.
Hinata hesitated, her eyes darting cautiously to the parchment as if it might spring open on its own. "...Does this one contain more of those... dubious illustrations?”
Sakura laughed when Hinata’s expression perfectly mirrored her own initial panic from the hallway. As much as she respected Kakashi as a mentor, Sakura would never quite forgive him for the time he had carelessly lent her a text that had nearly scarred Hinata’s innocent eyes.
“No, no, that one was an horrific accident,” Sakura reassured her, her laughter tapering off into a proud smile as she tapped her finger against the lettering of the author’s name. “This one is the real deal, see?”
Witnessing the pure, unvarnished joy radiating from her friend, Hinata felt her own reserve melt into a warm, matching smile.
As they neared the threshold of the front gates, Sakura’s gaze inadvertently caught a man’s who was crossing the street in their direction. His features were entirely obscured, swallowed by the deep shadow of his cap. Unable to place him, she dismissed it, tracking her eyes back to the path.
Then suddenly, a piercing shriek ripped through the courtyard. A name was thrown into the air, and the rigid decorum of the academy shattered. In a heartbeat, a tidal wave of silk and colorful kimonos swarmed the stranger. A chaotic cacophony of high-pitched voices erupted, a dozen girls shouting the exact same word in a frantic, overlapping chorus that blurred into unrecognizable din.
Eager to escape the sudden madness, Sakura gripped Hinata's hand, dragging her briskly along the perimeter of the crushing crowd.
“Wait!”
The man’s voice cut through the noise, prompting Sakura to turn back. Through a parting gap in the crowd, she could see him looking straight in their direction. Instinctively, Sakura glanced over at Hinata, only to find her friend frozen, staring back at the man with a sudden, unmistakable glint of recognition in her eyes.
Not far behind the chaos, another figure entered Sakura's line of sight, trying with urgency to navigate the stranger toward the open door of a waiting, idling car. Sakura would recognize that striking shock of crimson hair anywhere. Gaara, the son of a powerful Suna official, a man she had crossed paths with once before through a mutual friend. What is he doing here?
Before Sakura could even process the connection, Hinata snapped out of her trance. She firmly pulled Sakura around the corner and down the adjoining road. They kept a brisk, silent pace until the screeching of the crowd was finally drowned out by the steady hum of the bustling main street.
“Do you know him, Hinata-chan?” Sakura finally asked, catching her breath as their pace slowed.
The Hyūga heiress shook her head, though her expression remained guarded. “I’ve only seen him at the formal galas my father forces me to attend,” she replied, lowering her voice to a whisper. “He’s that famous actor, Mikami Sōma.”
Now that Hinata mentioned the name, a wave of recognition washed over Sakura. She had seen that sharp jawline plastered on downtown posters, and she could recall an entertainment column in the newspaper gossiping about his father’s high-profile arrival in Konoha. The political connection made sense of Gaara’s presence, too. But was Gaara merely showing an artist around town, or was he escorting a suitor directly to Hinata's doorstep?
For a celebrity supposedly trying to evade a crowd, he certainly dressed loudly. Sakura recalled the flash of expensive jewelry and the utter excess of accessories he wore. Then again, given that his father was a notorious collector, it wasn’t entirely surprising for a vain, wealthy legacy to treat himself like a walking exhibition, flaunting his prized possessions to anyone looking.
Sakura let a cheeky, knowing smile spread across her lips, nudging Hinata’s ribs lightly with her elbow. “Maybe he fell desperately in love with you at first sight during one of those mind-numbing galas?”
Sakura was intimately familiar with the endless procession of high-society suitors and secret admirers hovering at the edges of her friend's life. As the crown heiress to one of the most formidable, historic clans in the city, Hinata possessed a striking beauty and every conceivable quality of an elegant, high-born lady. It only made sense that even a movie star would turn his head.
“T-that’s highly unlikely, Sakura-chan!” Hinata protested, a bright blush staining her cheeks. “But even if he did notice me, I already…”
“I know, I know,” Sakura interjected gently, her grin widening as she glanced toward the other side of the street. There, a vibrant head of blonde hair stood out starkly among the crowd, waving discreetly.
Naruto, the Uzumaki clan's eccentric heir had captured Hinata’s heart years ago in those very same suffocating ballrooms, long before Sakura and Hinata had ever crossed paths. Yet Hinata’s paralyzing shyness had kept her unable to confess her feelings, regardless of how many times Sakura pushed, plotted, and begged her to take a chance. Now, they were standing on the precipice of marriageable age. If Hinata didn’t claim her own future soon, the Hyūga council would gladly dictate it for her.
Hinata’s cheeks flared a brilliant crimson at the mention of her crush. But as Sakura’s laughter finally died down, the warmth vanished from Hinata’s face.
“Sōma… he doesn’t have the best reputation when it comes to women,” Hinata murmured, lowering her voice until it was nearly swallowed by the street noise.
Sakura cast her mind back to the gossip. The glittering crown of the industry's ultimate "fairy-tale couple" had once belonged to Sōma and another famous starlet, Yamanaka Ino. That highly publicized romance was exactly what had propelled Sōma into absolute stardom. But the fairytale had shattered behind closed doors, followed by an undercurrent of ugly rumors regarding his volatile temper and manipulative tendencies. In the end, to protect their incredibly lucrative brands, the fractured lovers had settled on an expensive silence over a public feud.
“What a waste of a handsome face, huh?” Sakura mused, offering a flippant shrug.
Instead of mirroring her lightheartedness, Hinata’s brow furrowed even deeper.
“Sakura-chan, I mean it. You need to be careful around him,” Hinata warned, her tone uncharacteristically sharp.
Sakura grew quiet for a brief moment, her eyes searching Hinata’s face to decipher the genuine anxiety written across her features. Perhaps her friend knew the actor far more than she let on. Sakura let her easy smile slip back into place.
“Don’t you worry so much, Hinata-chan,” Sakura reassured her with a soft laugh. “If he's looking for an in with the Hyūga clan, he won't be able to get to you through me.”
“You know I’m not–”
“Stop knotting your brow like that,” Sakura interrupted gently, reaching out to playfully tap the space between her friend's eyebrows to break the tension. “You’re far too pretty to be giving yourself wrinkles over a vain celebrity.”
“Sakura-chan…”
“Fine, fine,” Sakura finally conceded, raising her hands in mock surrender as she saw the lingering panic in her friend's eyes. “I’ll keep my guard up around him, alright? I promise.”
Hinata didn’t look even remotely convinced, her lips flattening into a thin, anxious line. But recognizing the stubborn tilt of Sakura's chin, she ultimately chose to let the unsavory topic go, allowing the heavy tension to dissolve into the bustling rhythm of the street.
Truthfully, Sakura wasn't the least bit worried about herself. While she had attracted a few suitors in the past, she had quickly cultivated a reputation as an overly ambitious, opinionated girl with zero interest in settling down anytime soon, much to her mother’s chagrin. Consequently, interests had waned, a fact that didn't bother Sakura in the slightest. She knew her total lack of traditional prospects would eventually break her mother’s heart, yet she couldn’t help but secretly crave a definitive, unarguable reason to never get married at all.
As they reached the bustling crossroads where the paths to their respective neighborhoods split, a familiar silhouette came into view. He stood waiting at the intersection in a perfectly pressed white and gray hakama, a picture of regal composure and absolute duty. His long, dark brown hair was bound neatly behind him, falling straight down his back. His pale eyes, the unmistakable signature of the Hyūga bloodline mirroring Hinata's own, tracked their approach.
“Hinata-sama,” he murmured, offering a bow before turning his gaze to her companion. “Sakura-san.”
Sakura offered a warm, small smile in return. Despite the rigid formality that usually governed his clan, running into him was always a comforting relief.
“I’m sorry, Neji-nii,” Hinata began, her voice carrying a trace of worry. “Did you wait long for us?”
Neji simply shook his head, the heavy silk of his sleeves shifting with the movement. His guarded expression betrayed absolutely nothing to the passing crowd, yet as his gaze lingered on his cousin, a warmth softened the sharp edges of his features.
It was obvious how much Neji adored his cousin. The two had been practically inseparable since birth, a bond cemented by the fact that their fathers were identical twins. Wherever Hinata went, Neji was close behind, serving as her self-appointed bodyguard.
Like clockwork, he would be posted at the crossroads, ready to assume escort duties the moment Sakura split off for her own neighborhood, considering Neji's own academy was on the completely opposite side of the district.
Before Hinata could utter a word of greeting, Sakura pounced, a playful glint lit up her green eyes.
“Just so you know, Neji-san, one of Hinata’s high-profile admirers swarmed the school gates looking for her today,” Sakura declared, dropping the bait with casual relish.
“Sakura-chan!” Hinata squeaked, tugging on the sleeve of Sakura’s kimono to make her stop.
Neji froze mid-step, his stoic facade vanishing as his sharp eyes pinned Sakura with a worried scrutiny.
“I wouldn’t call that unmitigated Uzumaki brat high-profile.”
It was always so comical to Sakura how not only Neji’s mind immediately flew to Naruto but also how effortlessly the blonde’s name could dismantle Neji’s composure. Naruto definitely got his work cut out for him to earn his spot in the Hyūga family.
“It was actually that actor new in town—”
“It was completely a misunderstanding, Neji-nii!” Hinata interjected in a panicked rush. “I'm sure he was just passing through!”
“Did he attempt to approach you or say anything to you?” Neji pressed.
Hinata shook her head.
Neji’s eyes raked over Hinata first, conducting a swift assessment to ensure she was entirely unbothered. Satisfied, his head turned, his sharp eyes scanned the bustling street. Finding nothing amiss, he finally relaxed his rigid posture, though his expression remained deeply unconvinced. He was all too familiar with the unwanted attention the Hyūga clan’s immense wealth and power attracted.
“Sakura-san,” Neji stated when his gaze finally landed on her. “I should arrange for someone to escort you home.”
Realizing how spectacularly her playful gossip had just backfired, Sakura waved her hands in a frantic dismissal. “There’s really no need, Neji-san,” she countered, her independent streak flaring up. “It's just a short walk, and I'll be perfectly fine.”
“If there is indeed a questionable individual loitering near the academy gates, I would prefer to know you are secure as well,” Neji insisted. There was no way he was letting anything happen to Hinata’s dear friend under his watch.
“I agree, Sakura-chan!” Hinata chimed in, her gentle features suddenly illuminating with what she clearly thought was a brilliant idea. “You should let Neji-nii walk you home instead!”
A sudden silence fell over the trio. Both Sakura and Neji turned in unison to look at Hinata, their expressions a matching mirror of pure confusion at the sheer absurdity of the suggestion. Hinata, of all people, should have known that Neji would never willingly hand over his primary duty to a subordinate.
“I’m going to be completely fine!” Sakura interjected loudly, moving quickly to cut off the logistical disaster before Hinata could derail their conversation any further. Her sharp tone successfully snapped the cousins' attention right back to her. “The pawnshop is just a short walk down a busy main road. Seriously, don’t worry about me.”
Looking at them side-by-side, their brows furrowed in identical lines of deep, overprotective worry, Sakura couldn't help but notice just how strikingly alike the two cousins looked when they were being stubborn.
“But, Sakura-chan—”
“Sakura-san, it is entirely impractical to—”
“Honestly, you two need to head home before your father starts pacing the courtyard,” Sakura said, already taking a strategic step backward and shifting her weight to her heels. Before either of them could mount another stiff protest, she turned on her heel. “I’ll see you tomorrow at school!”
With that, Sakura bolted. Her boots made clicking noises on the pavement. Her mother would have a fit if she saw her running, an action deemed entirely unbecoming of a proper lady, but Sakura didn’t care in the moment. The wind made her feel wonderfully alive, weightless, and unrestrained. Clearing a good distance, Sakura slowed her pace. Predictably, a bright flash of unruly blonde hair synced seamlessly into her stride.
“So, what were you guys talking about?” Naruto inquired. “Did Hinata bring me up? Did she mention me?”
Sakura turned the conversation over in her head and offered a wry shake of her head. Hinata technically didn’t verbally mention his name. “But Neji-san kind of did.”
Naruto visibly shuddered next to her.
“And you might want to keep an eye out for that actor, Sōma,” Sakura added.
“Was that who was in front of the gates with Gaara?” Naruto questioned, reaching up to rub the back of his head. “Come on, I can’t handle more competition, Sakura-chan! I’m already drowning here!”
Beholding Naruto’s comically tragic, downturned expression, Sakura couldn't help but feel a little sympathetic. “Relax. Hinata-chan explicitly said she barely knows the guy,” she offered, tossing him a bone. “More importantly, how is your master strategy to win over Hiashi-sama coming along?”
Naruto’s face contorted as he dragged up what were clearly some deeply harrowing memories. “Terribly…” he confessed, his voice dropping into a thoroughly defeated whine. “And that absolute asshole who is always hovering around the main estate isn’t helping my case at all.”
“He lives right next door, Naruto," Sakura laughed, knowing fully well exactly who Naruto was referring to. “Besides, you need to get Neji-san on your side, not fight him.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Naruto grumbled, a frustrated huff escaping him. “I still can’t believe your parents are actually considering him.”
The moment the sentence slipped past his lips, Naruto froze, well aware of how Sakura despised discussing the impending trap of her marital future. Even with the expiration date on her freedom drawing closer, Sakura was aggressively choosing to blindfold herself to it for as long as her mother’s patience held out.
“Sorry,” Naruto muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn't mean to bring it up.”
“Don't worry about it,” Sakura replied, wasting no time changing the subject back to Naruto and his plan to earn Hiashi's favor. She was used to it by now.
They reached their splitting point shortly after, exchanging a familiar wave. But instead of heading straight back to face the expectations waiting at her home, Sakura slipped into a narrow alleyway, which guided her down a familiar, winding detour where nobody was looking for a proper lady.
She paused before a skeletal frame of wood and iron that was currently little more than scaffolding and promise. It was clear the construction wouldn't be finished anytime soon, but Sakura still took it in with a quiet swell of pride. Her mother had sacrificed chunks of her own youth and happiness to secure the comfortable life Sakura enjoyed today. Now, finally, her mother’s dream restaurant was undeniably coming together, piece by piece.
Letting a soft smile pull at her lips, Sakura turned away, directing her steps toward the outskirts of town. The city’s noise faded with each passing block, replaced by the gentle rustle of wind-blown leaves and the distant, rhythmic rush of the river.
Nestled on a small hill stood a weathered shed, marking the plot where her old childhood house used to be. Now, the family used it to store old furniture when their current residence and the pawnshop became choked with pawned items from customers. It was utterly abandoned to the seasons, containing nothing but a few dusty appliances and a faded futon.
Sakura stood there for a minute, the hill providing the perfect leverage for her to gaze out at the main road leading toward the city's grand gates. Beyond those gates lay a dirt route that stretched to distant cities. How she wished she had the means and the opportunity to explore beyond Konoha, to learn firsthand about native herbs and exotic medicinal procedures from other lands. Sometimes, the books she managed to get her hands on were no longer enough to quench her thirst for knowledge, but she knew it was a wistful, impossible dream.
Distracted by her thoughts, a loud, crashing sound caused Sakura to jump. She spun around at the noise, only to find a familiar figure shuffling out of the old shed.
“Dad?” She asked, blinking in surprise. “What are you doing?”
The man with the spiky hair, the exact faded color of a wilted blossom, patted the dust from his dull-colored clothes. Wedged tightly under his arm was a sturdy, scratched wooden piece from their old kitchen table.
“Didn’t mean to startle you, pumpkin,” her father, Haruno Kizashi, chuckled heartily, dusting off his hands on his trousers. “I was just hunting around in there."
Sakura glanced at the pile of worn planks and immediately understood. Their kitchen table had been leaning precariously for weeks due to a splintered leg. With his stubborn resourcefulness, her dad was clearly planning to graft parts from this childhood relic onto their current furniture.
“Mom’s not going to be happy when she realizes you replaced the leg with one in a completely different color,” Sakura replied dryly.
Her mother, Haruno Mebuki, was a woman who thrived on order, control, and the curated image of a respectable household. Sometimes, Sakura found it impossible to comprehend how she had ever coupled up with a man as delightfully unpolished as her father.
“Nonsense! She adores my handiwork!” Her father exclaimed, though Sakura could easily detect the familiar hint of sarcasm in his voice.
She was entirely used to his self-deprecating humor. Her father knew that his antics annoyed his wife sometimes, but he also knew she deeply appreciated everything he did for them. He tried his absolute hardest to give them the life they deserved. Sakura knew that her mother, despite her constant nagging, recognized that. Sakura had learned to love that quiet, enduring side of their relationship, especially knowing that their marriage, too, had been the result of an arrangement.
Learn to love.
It was a concept well known to girls coming of age like her, but Sakura could never quite swallow the bitter pill of it. To her, it sounded less like romance and more like a surrender.
Her thoughts were cut short as her father lunged forward and looped a heavy, dusty arm over her shoulders. He pulled her flush against his side, hauling her along as if she were still a little girl with skinned knees, but she didn't resist the affection.
“Come on, your mother said she’s making my favorite today!” He announced to the street, his enthusiasm entirely unbothered. “I can’t wait!”
Letting out a soft huff, Sakura couldn’t entirely suppress the fond smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth as her father happily dragged her down the familiar dirt path toward home.
Sure enough, the split-second they crossed the threshold, their welcoming committee was already stationed in the hallway. Mebuki stood with her arms tightly barred across her chest, a single eyebrow cocked in a lethal expression of judgment. Her sharp green eyes, the exact genetic blueprint of Sakura’s own, bypassed their faces entirely and zeroed in on the awkward, splintered plank of reclaimed timber wedged under her husband's armpit.
“Those better not go anywhere near my antique table,” Mebuki said without missing a beat.
Kizashi just laughed, shameless and unfazed by the threat. “Don’t worry, honey. You won’t even be able to tell the difference when I’m done with it.”
Mebuki’s green eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “That is the exact phrase you used for the bookshelf. And the porch railing. And the flower cart that still leans to the left.”
“That cart has character,” Kizashi countered with a triumphant grin, already slipping his feet out of his sandals. “You can’t buy that kind of charm.”
Mebuki let out a long, defeated sigh but ultimately dropped her defense. She had learned long ago that no amount of marital pestering would ever deter her husband once his heart was set on a project. He would dismantle and tinker with that timber until it was entirely unrecognizable from its original form, all in the name of improvement. It drove her mad sometimes, but it was also something she had learned to live with. Love, in its quieter forms, often looked like tolerance and compromise.
Mebuki's sharp green gaze whipped toward Sakura, her eyes narrowing in a flash of knowing disapproval. Her hand shot out, reaching aggressively for Sakura’s sleeve.
“Didn’t I explicitly tell you to be careful around ink at the academy?”
Sakura pulled back quickly, the fabric slipping out of Mebuki’s grasp. “I’m going to wash it!” She protested, her voice rising defensively. “It’s going to be fine!”
“We’re going to have to replace the entire kimono,” Mebuki countered, a heavy, long-suffering sigh escaping her lips. “I absolutely cannot have you walking the commercial district looking unkempt. What would the neighbors think of our household? How is any respectable family going to consider you for marriage if you present yourself like this?”
The sudden shift in topic made Sakura bristle. Although her mother had stopped openly lecturing her on the matter, Sakura knew the matchmaking inquiries were still quietly circulating behind her back; her mother was still tirelessly hunting for a suitable candidate to tie their lineage to.
But refusing to wage a war over the exact same battleground for the nth time on their own doorstep, Sakura chose to lock her jaw and push the frustration down.
“I don’t need a new kimono,” Sakura insisted, trying to pivot away from the trap. “No one will even notice a tiny stain.”
“You can’t buy that kind of charm either, honey,” Kizashi chimed in casually, clearly intended to redirect Mebuki’s anger toward himself, but he inadvertently opened up a completely different front. It didn’t take a genius to guess exactly where Sakura had detoured before crossing paths with her father.
“Don’t even get me started on my explicit instructions regarding that shed, Sakura,” Mebuki said. Her volume didn't rise, but her tone hardened into that razor-sharp edge she reserved exclusively for profound disappointment.
Sakura winced slightly, stepping up into the house and setting her shoes neatly by the door. The reprimand was entirely expected. Her mother had never once tolerated her slipping back to that overgrown hill.
The Harunos hadn't inhabited that structure since Sakura was a toddler. They had fled its cramped walls the exact moment the pawnshop began turning a real profit, and her mother had made the conscious decision to abandon their past like shedding old skin.
“I was just passing by it!” Sakura protested, her voice tight with defensiveness and the telltale flicker of guilt.
“I'm the one who flagged her down,” Kizashi interjected smoothly, offering a sheepish, disarming grin. “You know I can't resist an extra pair of hands when I'm salvaging, hon.”
Mebuki leveled a long, unblinking glare at the pair of them, one that screamed she didn't believe a single syllable of their story. But then, with a slow exhale, the rigid defiance in her shoulders collapsed.
“You two are really…” she muttered, clearly deciding to pick her battles for the night. She turned on her heel, directing her steps toward the back of the house. “Wash your hands and come help me with dinner.”
Sakura exchanged a quick glance with her father, one full of amusement and gratitude. Kizashi tossed her a triumphant wink like a proud co-conspirator.
Stepping into the enveloping warmth of the kitchen, Sakura rolled up her stained sleeves and set to work. The next hour dissolved into a comforting, domestic blur filled with chopping, stirring, and laughter. Soon, the clinking of chopsticks and the rich scent of simmered broth filled the house with comfort and domestic normalcy.
Afterward came a long, hot shower, the steam curling around Sakura, washing away the lingering exhaustion of the day. It was shaping up to be just another uneventful night.
Sakura was just about to head upstairs to her room when a sudden, sharp knock echoed through the front door.
She paused, her brows knitting in confusion, but she headed down the hallway toward the door anyway. Little did she know, her entire life was about to be completely uprooted.