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Drip. Drip. Drip.
Her teal-colored eyes follow the red liquid's slow journey down the tips of her fingers before eventually splattering against the compact ground beneath her worn-out sandals. For each drop splattered against the ground, there is painful tug at her heart, chipping away her innocence drip by tiny drip.
In front of her lays a man, bloodied and curled in on himself, but still very much alive. His sporadic gasps of pains tells her that much. He is no one of any real importance. Not that she had been given any details regarding her target, but the worn clothing and lack of guards labels him as a civilian. She doesn't know who he has pissed off to end up as a mission on the Hokage's desk, but as a shinobi it is in her job description to not care.
It's a simple assassination. Track down the target and take him out, Tsunade's words echoes in her head. Report back to me once you've finished.
She grinds her teeth in anger, and before her the man cowers in fear, mistakenly thinking her wrath is directed at him.
It had started with a summon to the Hokage's office. This had puzzled her, as they had no training appointment scheduled for today. But when your shishou is the Hokage, you follow her orders even if it means extra training on your day off.
So she had gone to the Hokage's office where she had found her shishou lazily flipping through her file, brows knit together in distaste.
"Is it true that you have never taken a life?"
"Not on purpose," she'd replied evasively, caught completely off guard by the suddenness of the question.
Tsunade's narrowed look had made her want to crawl into the corner and cower in shame, but she had steeled herself, knowing that she would eventually have had to face this conversation. She had just hoped it wouldn't be this soon.
"A shinobi who has never killed will never be taken serious in this world," Tsunade's words held the authority of not only a teacher, but a Hokage as well. "You will never advance beyond the rank of a Genin if you cannot take a life."
She had hung her head then, unable to meet the insensitive look in her shishou's eyes any longer. However, her head snapped right back up the moment she heard her next words.
"That's why I have the perfect proposition for you."
She knows she has to end this, that her stalling is only dragging out his suffering. But indecisiveness nags her, chipping away her resolve with a surprising efficiency that she can't help but wonder at. She is a shinobi of the Leaf, trained in both the art of inflicting pain and the art of soothing it. Ninjas are killers, that's a fact.
So why – when the tasks stands before her, waiting to be completed – can she not make the killing blow?
No matter how much growing up she has done under Tsunade's watchful eyes, she will never be considered mature by other ninjas if she's unable to kill. Her target doesn't matter, only the act of killing does.
Ever since she graduated from the Academy she has been standing on the edge of a metaphorical cliff, looking down at the churning waters, but unable to take that one step that would send her hurtling down into the depths of what shinobi life was really like; a life of assassination and deception.
For the past ten years she avoided making that one, fatal decision, content to let others carry out the deed. Naïve and adamant, she has convinced herself that she would be able to live out the remainder of her life as a ninja without becoming a killer.
But Tsunade had caught on to her naivety.
Rationally, she knows her shishou was right; a shinobi who can't kill is like a samurai without a sword. However, this knowledge doesn't do anything to warm her to the idea of taking another's life. That was exactly why she had chosen to become a medic; to save lives rather than take them.
But her profession is a contradiction in itself; a shinobi acting as a medic is like a wolf in sheep's clothing. For all the healing she does, she still inflicts just as much damage, if not more.
The realization weighs down her arm, imaginary lead pulling it downward.
The look on Tsunade's face as she had admitted to never having killed before flashed before her eyes. Her right fist clenches, nails digging into the soft flesh of her palm.
If she doesn't do this, she will never rise above the rank of genin. She won't be able to go on missions with Naruto and watch his back, or be able to search for Sasuke anymore. She will remain the same weak, little girl she has always been, resorted to watching the backs of her friends as they progress further and further away from her, until the time comes where they no longer remember the pink-haired girl who used to stand beside them.
The thought leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, and gives her the small push needed to push her over the edge of the metaphorical cliff.
Her target must have finally noticed the indecisive look on her face, for he grabs for a piece of shrapnel with bloodied hands and lunges for her throat with the remainder of his strength, desperation overriding his fear at last.
She draws back her right, too-tightly clenched fist, chakra surging through her veins and collecting at the point where her knuckles meet their target. The sound of bones cracking and blood splattering is loud in her ears, and there is no doubt in her mind that this is far more violent and messy than what is called for. But this way, there is no way for her mind to rationalize that it is okay, it's all good, it was for the greater good. For death is never a good thing.
When she returns to the village, she goes straight to the Hokage's office. She doesn't bother knocking beforehand, simply walks in, expression set in stone and footsteps louder than need be against the wooden floorboards.
Tsunade looks up at her, waiting for her to declare the mission either a success or a failure.
Teal meets honey as she meets her mentor's stare, long and hard.
"The mission was a success, Hokage-sama."
Not 'shishou' or 'Tsunade-sama'. She watches the older woman's face, waiting for a flicker of emotion to show on her even features.
There is nothing. Her impassive expression remains intact.
Her eyes strays to her hands. She has forgotten to wear the gloves Tsunade had given her for protecting against hairline fractures along her knuckles. She can already feel the ache settling in, taunting her with the knowledge of what those very hands are capable of. The thought is nauseating.
"Good. Dismissed."
Tsunade watches her apprentice leave in a cacophony of angry stomps and slamming doors, anger rolling off of her like turbulent waves on a stormy sea.
She doesn't regret her decision, neither as a Hokage nor as the girl's mentor. 'The sooner the better' the saying goes, and it is very much applicable in this situation as well. Tsunade can only be surprised that the girl has managed to get this far without the use of deadly measures. But, she reminds herself, her generation grew up in an era of war where killing was as common as breathing. Times are different now; the peace is making them all tranquil, slowly but surely.
As Hokage, she cannot allow for that to happen; her ninjas need to be ready to take whatever measures necessary to secure the safety of the village. It would also be irresponsible of her as a mentor to let her student loose in the dangerous world of shinobi without her first possessing the cool detachment needed to take a life; innocent or not.
She calls for Shizune and tells her to clear her scheduled training sessions with the genin for the remainder of the week, and ignores the reproachful look the brunette sends her. Her pink-haired student will no doubt need some time to blow of some steam and come to terms with her actions. She is probably in the midst of vowing to never set foot in her office again at this very moment.
But the anger and unjustification will fade with due time, and she, like so many others, will see reason. They always do.
Haruno Sakura will be no exception.
A/N: I actually wrote this two weeks ago, but I kind of forgot about it. It's funny how often that happens to me. Also, excuse my blatant lack of skill at writing anything even remotely non-angsty.