I do not own Naruto nor do I own Ice Cold a novel that inspired this oneshot
For months, he had been watching the girl, ever since she and her family had moved into the community. Her father was Haruno Kizashi, a mediocre shinobi who worked with the construction crew building new homes and buildings. Her mother, a bland and forgettable woman, took up work at the local bakery. Both had been broke and desperate when they'd first wandered into his village, seeking solace during these trying times. Madara had looked into their eyes, and he saw what he needed to see: governable souls in search of an anchor, any anchor. They had been ripe for the picking.
Now the Harunos and their daughter, Sakura, lived in sector C, in the newly built area where the Kyubi attacked fourteen years prior. In their front yard they'd planted azalea and camellia the same cheery plants that adorned all the other front gardens. In so many ways, they blended in with the other families in Konoha. But in one important way, the Harunos were unique. They had an extraordinarily exotically beautiful daughter. The daughter whom, at that moment, he could not stop staring at.
From his window, in the Hokage tower, Madara could see her in the academy yard. It was lunch time, and students milled about outside, enjoying the warm Kohona day. The boys practicing shurikenjutsu on a wooden dummy, and the girls laughing and giggling at the boys antics. They all looked healthy and sun-kissed, as ninja students ought to look. Even among those classically beautiful girls, Haruno Sakura stood out, with her alluring pastel pink hair and her bell-like laughter. How quickly girls change, he thought. In a single year, she had transformed from a child into a lithe young woman. Her bright verdant eyes, rounded hips, and rosy cheeks were all signs of fertility.
She stood among a trio of girls in the shade of a kashiwa tree, Daimyo Oak. Their heads were bent together like three kijo whispering secrets. Around them swirled the energy of the school yard, where students chattered and ran around playing Onigokko and Hanaichimonme.
Quickly he detected a boy, at the height of his virility, drifting toward the three girls, and he frowned. The boy was about fifteen, with scruffy blond hair and long legs covered in an obscenely large amount of orange. Halfway across the yard, the boy paused, and glanced at what looked to be Fugaku's youngest son Sasuke, as if trying to gain strength. Then his head turned back and he walked directly toward the girls. Toward Sakura.
Madara pressed closer to the window.
As the boy approached, Sakura looked up and smiled. It was a sweet and innocent smile, directed at a classmate who almost certainly had only one thing on his mind. Oh yes, Madara could guess what was in that boy's head. Sin. Filth. It's what was in his head a few moments prior. They were speaking now, Sakura and the boy, as the other two girls knowingly slipped away. He could not hear their conversation through the noise of the school yard, but he saw the attentive tilt of Sakura's head, the flirtatious way she brushed her hair off her shoulder. He saw the boy lean in, as though sniffing and savoring her scent. Was that the Uzumaki brat? Naruto or Menma or something of that nature. There were so many civilian families, and so many clans now living in the village, and so many children, that he could not remember all their names. He glared down at the two of them, gripping the window frame so tightly that his nails dug into the paint.
He rotated and walked out of his office, moving forcefully down the stairs. With every step, his jaw clenched tighter and acid burned a hole in his stomach. He barged out of the building, but outside the school yard gate he halted, wrestling for control.
This would not do. To show jealousy was unbecoming of an Uchiha.
The school bell chimed, calling the students in from lunch. He stood calming himself, inhaling deeply. He focused on the smell of fresh-cut grass, of bread baking from a nearby Bakery in the market square. From across the village, where the new Hospital was being built, came the whine of a saw and the echoes of a dozen hammers pounding nails. Suddenly his eyes widened, turning towards the sound of the hammers. Smiling to himself he saunter in the direction of the noise.
She will be mine. She is my chosen one.