Summary: Uchiha Sarada is most definitely her father's daughter.
Disclaimer: Naruto is (c) Masashi Kishimoto and Shueisha, Inc.
MORNING ROUTINE
Uchiha Sakura gave an exasperated sigh as she glanced from the ceaselessly ticking clock mounted on a nearby wall to the firmly closed door of the occupied restroom at the end of the hall. It was already a couple of minutes past the time she and her daughter were supposed to have departed but, like usual, they were running behind schedule.
Tardiness, thy name would be Uchiha Sarada if not previously coined by Hatake Kakashi.
As Konoha's head medic, Sakura was not setting a good example by failing to arrive to work on time. As a parent, she was not setting a good example by failing to get her child to the academy on time. And, if there was one thing she hated above all others, it was feeling like a failure…
Annoyance tinted Sakura's tone, which was directed at the sole occupant of the restroom. "Sarada, we need to go!"
"Five more minutes," the little girl responded in kind.
"Not five more minutes," Sakura strongly rebuked. "Now!"
"But, Mama," Sarada whined in protest.
"No 'buts,' young lady," Sakura countered as she purposefully marched towards the restroom. "We're late!"
A sulky silence was received in response.
Sakura reached for the door handle and twisted, only to find that it was locked. If the situation had not been so frustrating, it would have been amusing.
"Really, Sarada?" she asked without the least bit of humor. "Do you actually think that a locked door is capable of keeping me out? And please recall that I can break boulders with my pinky!"
A handful of seconds elapsed before the latch gave way and the door was reluctantly opened.
Sakura determinedly pushed her way inside, but the planned tongue-lashing was stayed upon catching sight of the restroom's interior. She immediately became riveted by the massive amount of clutter situated on the countertop; a variety of utensils and hair products - gels, mousses and sprays - littered the surface. Meanwhile her daughter, normally so kempt, was in the midst of angrily flat-ironing errant strands of dark hair that protruded from the back. The hair flipped upward in wild, seemingly untamable arcs and was startling reminiscent of how Sasuke had worn his own prior to adulthood.
'Rooster head,' Sai had not-so-nicely dubbed it.
Sarada finally got a few tendrils to flatten, though her success was merely fleeting. The wayward tendrils doggedly sprang back up as soon as she focused on another section. It was as if gravity had no effect whatsoever.
"Shannnaroooo!"
Sakura took pity on her child's plight. "Forget five more minutes, I'll give you twenty."
Elsewhere…
Uchiha Sasuke was preparing to return home after the completion of his most recent mission when he felt a sudden, inexplicable chill run up the spine. He could not help but wonder if something was amiss before shrugging it off as his imagination.
THE END