There are many seemingly trivial items that survived the invasion of Pain, but Sakura still wanted to place them back with their original owners. Sentimental value is far more important than it may seem, especially when everyone can feel the destruction. It is as she is sorting through these misplaced items that she comes across a rather weather-torn and beaten journal. It had a thick leather binding, which had probably been its savior through countless missions, but there was no name or indication as to who it belonged to. It is the end of a long day, so Sakura decides that she'll flip through the first few pages to see if she can find the owner's name another way. It isn't long before she finds herself snickering, getting lost in the story. She calls Ino over after a page or two, refining her decision that this can't really be a journal, it had to have been meant as a novel or something. Within minutes, the entirety of the original Rookie Nine (minus Sasuke) is crowded around the book, rewarding themselves with a little entertainment after a hard day of reconstruction.
I hate doors. They are really just inconvenient. It's not like they even complete any of their intended purposes. There are no doors that can completely block sound without some sort of chakra barrier nor are there any doors that can't be broken into without a certain amount of persistence. The only plausible explanation for having the damn things in the first place would be privacy. But, seriously, people are all the same. Like with cats. Once you've seen one, you've seen them all. There are differences, of course, some are big, some are small, some are fat, some are thin, some are grey, some are orange, some are striped, some are solid, etc., etc. You can imagine any combination you like, and a cat like that will exist somewhere. People are pretty much the same. We all have the same anatomy, minus the difference between male and female, so we should really just get over ourselves and admit that it doesn't matter what we look like. If I knew you were naked behind the door, I could easily picture your body down to every little hair (I could do that even if I didn't know you were naked or you were standing in front of me without a door…). So, we should stop with this whole pseudo-privacy door thing, it's all mind over matter anyway.
I also hate walking on the ground. It feels almost unnatural. I'd rather be trying to balance on a telephone wire a hundred feet in the air then walking on dirt roads. I'm not really quite sure why this is, but as a shinobi, I choose to blame it on paranoia. There are too many ways to be attacked on the ground. Going underground is good, as is being high above ground-level as I just explained. That way, at least I've got the drop on anyone who might try something on me.
The reason I'm thinking about these things is because they are both in my face right now and that makes me sulk. I'm standing on the ground, facing a closed door.
I huff out a sigh and shove my hands in my pockets. I truly hate being in front of this particular door. On the other side of it is Sandaime and my team. Another mission. Another chance to prove to our village that everyone is wrong. I'm not a leader; I'm not a good shinobi; I'm not my father. But, when the time comes to prove myself right, I can't do it. I can't have more death on my hands. Instead, I've got the number-one ANBU record for least casualties on S-rank missions. Captain for 4 years and I haven't lost a single team member. I also haven't failed a mission, but that's kind of my job, so I don't count it in my own mental tallies.
I shake my head a little and scuff my toe at the ground, trying to make a little divot to get myself off of level ground even though I know it's pointless on a wood floor. I glance out the window at the sun, gauge that I've been standing outside this closed door for at least an hour, and decide that's been long enough. I drop the mask concealing my chakra from those on the inside and shove the door open with my shoulder. No resistance. Doors are such a waste.