Chapter 1:
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thank you to drippingmoonwax for being a great beta - the tears we've shed here have finally paid off
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Sakura is six, short and tiny, with puffed cheeks and tragically pink hair, when she accidentally smacks a classmate in the face and sends him to the nurse with a bleeding nose.
Oh, she thinks dumbly, staring at her delicate fingers, a sudden onslaught of memories flooding her mind.
"Sakura-chan!" her teacher says exasperatedly, crouching down on her knees. "Again? This is the third time this month!"
Ohhh, Sakura thinks, blinking rapidly, the awareness of herself growing. Ohhhh no.
She looks up, raising her bloodied hands (bloodied for all the wrong reasons) in surrender. "Sorry?"
Her head tilts at the very high-pitched voice that comes out.
The teacher sighs heavily and rubs a hand to her forehead. "I'm going to call your mom."
"That's fair," Sakura concedes. She looks back down at herself and picks at her adorable green dress. There are flowers stitched onto the fabric - how symbolic.
A strange look flutters past the teacher's face, but Sakura shrugs it off because she doesn't see the problem. It's not like she's the type to ignore her responsibilities when she's the one at fault.
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As it turns out, her parents take the news of her assault on a classmate with weary acceptance.
"Thank you for your patience," her mother says, bowing deeply to the classroom teacher. "We'll make sure to address it with her."
Sakura peers curiously at the manicured hands wrapped around her own (tiny!) fingers. Her eyes follow the line of limbs till she finds her mother's face, albeit from a rather strange angle.
Haruno Mebuki looks exactly the same, though with fewer wrinkles and dressed in a sleek, formal dress suit. Her hands are smooth - uncalloused from years of field work, with no sign of the slight limp she had gotten from a mission gone wrong, decades past -
Sakura toddles after her mother's long legs and wonders over her displacement in this world. It's a strange thought, and she's not sure if she likes it.
They make it to the car before Mebuki turns around and lets out the heaviest sigh mankind could make.
"Sakura," she says, with an impressive amount of patience. "What did I say about getting into fights?"
Sakura, who is still recovering from a sudden switch in consciousness, can only take a wild guess. "Don't do it?"
Mebuki nods severely. "And what did you do?"
"I," Sakura looks back down at her hands, now clean from the blood. "I did it?"
Mebuki crouches down - an elegant motion considering the constricting suit. "Sakura. I can't keep getting called in to see your teacher - your mother is very busy with her work, remember?"
As a matter of fact, Sakura can't remember. The last thing she remembers, actually, is breathing out her last breath, in a hospital bed, Naruto's hand gripped tightly in hers -
But Sakura is nothing if not adaptable. So, very primly, she answers, "Yes, Mama. I remember."
The ride back home is slow, and Sakura takes the time to stare out the glass window, marvelling at how far this society has advanced. Her legs kick back and forth, her feet far too high to touch the floor, and at her blurred reflection in the car window, she finds a quiet in herself.
Could she be the only one in this strange, new world?
Or could they be here too? She watches as a group of young teenagers, dressed in uniforms, laugh amongst themselves. They disappear not long after.
The road leads to a parking lot and Sakura exits the car, one hand holding onto a rather large backpack.
Her mother looks down at her watch and clicks her tongue.
"We'll have to order in tonight," she says with a frown. They walk into an incredibly tall apartment complex and Sakura cranes her neck to see the top.
The inside lobby is pristine, with cream tiled walls and soft red carpet. A few receptionists man the front counter and when Mebuki walks past, they bow lowly.
Sakura catches sight of the crystal chandeliers above and distantly wonders if they're real.
A short elevator ride later (where Sakura nearly jumps out of her shoes when it first begins to move), they enter an impeccably clean apartment decorated with cotton curtains and plush carpet.
In this world, Sakura belatedly realizes, Haruno Mebuki is very, very well-off.
"Are you hungry?" her mother asks, as Sakura wanders around the marble countertops in the kitchen. "I have to leave for another meeting soon, but I can make you a snack."
Sakura looks away from the colored picture of two stick figures, drawn rather messily, that's taped to the fridge door. Sakura-chan and Mom, it says on top, in terrible hiragana.
"A snack sounds good," she tells her mother, a wide smile on her face.
(It's nice to see that some things never change).
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Stomach full and mother gone, Sakura sits down on the living room floor and dumps everything out of her backpack.
"Notebook, pencils," she lists aloud, a chubby finger pointing at each item. "Lunchbox, crayons - aha!"
She pulls open a folder (decorated heavily with doodles) and quickly learns that she's already halfway done with the school year.
"They take education very slowly here," she notes, because Haruno Sakura in the other world had been doing far more complex equations by this age.
Tucking away the worksheets of addition and subtraction, Sakura cleans up her remaining mess and hobbles around the apartment. The room closest to the entrance door is clearly Mebuki's, considering the wide bed and large vanity attached to the wall.
Sakura lingers around the room, inhaling deeply the scent of perfume and something that reminds her of her other home too. Her fingers trace the photos lining her mother's cabinet - there's Sakura, hands thankfully clean, then Sakura and Mebuki, laughing over ice cream, then an infant, probably Sakura, sleeping in the arms of Mebuki and -
She pauses, suddenly realizing that Haruno Kizashi looks incredibly different with a haircut.
Where is he now? It hadn't been clear whether her father was involved in her life from Mebuki's sparse conversations.
Thoughtfully, Sakura gently closes the door to her mother's room and leaves that subject matter for another time.
Besides a rather nice bathroom and a closet, the only other door in the apartment leads to a smaller room, decorated with stickers of cartoon bears and constellations.
This must be my room, she thinks, accepting the punishment with grace.
Her bed covers are strewn across the floor, with an assortment of markers and colored pencils spilled along the tiny plastic desk to the right.
Sakura drops her backpack beside her bed and examines her belongings thoroughly.
She wades through the stacks of notebooks, full of drawn pictures, and absentmindedly sifts through her drawers, finding an endless number of embroidered dresses.
Cute, she thinks, bringing up one particular outfit, a deep red with flower petals.
Sakura looks down at her current outfit and realizes that there must be a theme.
An hour later, Sakura walks back into the living room, still unsure of her place in this world.
She collapses onto the floor and swings her limbs back and forth, relishing the feeling of the soft plush on her skin.
"Now what?" she asks aloud to the emptiness of the room.
It's silent, as always, and very soon, Sakura will come to learn that this is a rather common occurrence.
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Very quickly (the next morning, in fact), Sakura learns the hard way that chakra is a nonexistent feature in this world.
"Remember, Sakura," her mother warns her sternly, handing her a packed lunch. "No more fights, okay?"
"Okay," Sakura says blearily, a throbbing pain beginning to form in her head. Her efforts to find any source of chakra had only led to crossed eyes and a major headache.
She stumbles into her classroom a little late (she only had a vague set of memories from the day before as help) and luckily, there's only one remaining desk that's left open.
"Okay, everyone!" the teacher calls out amidst the chatter. "Did you all remember to do your homework?"
My what, Sakura thinks, even as the rest of the class answers happily.
She digs into her backpack and eyes the blank worksheets she had ignored the other night.
This is not what I signed up for, she frowns petulantly, but grudgingly ticks off all the right answers.
(No matter the world, Haruno Sakura will always be a good student above all else).
She goes about the rest of her day idly, almost as if she's in a dream. Against her will, her eyes begin to glaze over when the teacher instructs the class on simple math.
The lack of chakra, Sakura decides, is troubling. Her perfect control had been a source of pride - without chakra, she's just like everyone else in this world.
She spins a pencil, imagining it as a kunai, and frowns when it falls off her fingers.
It's clear that this world is vastly different from her old one - she doubts there are shinobi in this one.
The future becomes blurry at that thought.
What do people do here? She wonders, head nearly lolling to the side. What can I do here?
"Sakura-chan!"
She starts, her knees nearly banging into her desk.
At the front of the classroom, her teacher frowns severely. "If you have time to sleep, then you can answer this question, right?"
Scattered laughter courses through the room as Sakura blinks.
She glances to her right, where one particular boy laughs a little louder than the rest. The moment they lock eyes, the boy immediately snaps his mouth shut and looks away.
After a pause, Sakura stands up. "Sure."
She reads the question on the board: What is Japan's capital city?
Sakura squints her eyes at the question. "What's Japan?"
Another burst of laughter, this time much louder, runs through her classmates. To the side, her teacher forlornly rests her head in her hands.
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Her education continues in spurts and waves. Sakura, with nothing better to do, quickly catches up to her classmates and more.
By the end of the school year, when her entire class is made to stand and share their future aspirations, she is, once again, left at a standstill.
"Uh," she says, mind whirring in thought. "I don't know?"
Her teacher, now with the same amount of patience Mebuki often gives, smiles patiently. "Really? Not even something? You can be anything, Sakura-chan! Like a singer, or an actress, or - "
Sakura ponders on the question.
"A medic?" she guesses, because why fix something that isn't broken? It's something she had been good at, a lifetime ago, and it might be nice to have something like that again.
Her teacher raises an eyebrow. "You mean a doctor?"
Sakura gives an ooh and ahh. "That sounds about right."
Another strange look passes along the teacher's face, and Sakura commends the amount of patience it must take to deal with her shit.
They spend the rest of class drawing out their future goals, with some children struggling more than others.
Staring blankly at her own sheet of paper, Sakura finds herself firmly in the former category - why didn't she say something easy, like a cat? Then she wouldn't be here, struggling, and her mother would have a new drawing to tape to the fridge. A win-win situation.
In the end, she sketches a mangled depiction of a stethoscope and calls it a day, swiftly packing up all her things.
That night, to prove that the world must be working against her, Sakura is cornered at dinner.
"I heard you picked your future career in class today," Mebuki casually says, taking another bite of mapo tofu.
Sakura narrows her eyes at her own dish. "Ito-sensei is a traitor."
Mebuki gives a light tap along the back of Sakura's head. "Hush, you. What did you decide on?"
Rubbing her hair (that is still kept ridiculously long), Sakura tests her newly learned word. "A doctor?"
"A doctor," her mother repeats before smiling broadly. "That's an ambitious goal. How come?"
Sakura shrugs. "I think I'd be good at it."
This isn't a mere guess, of course. Across the entire continent, Haruno Sakura had been known as the best medic in the world.
Though, she considers wryly, the lack of chakra might change things.
"Confidence is a good thing," Mebuki tells her firmly, blonde hair tied tightly into a bun. "Let's see how far you can go with that."
Considering the changed standards in this world (where adulthood isn't reached until eighteen), Sakura wonders if it's too soon to tell - too soon to know what she wants, to know what she likes, to know what she needs -
Instead, like always, Sakura follows along willingly enough.
"Sure, why not?"
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In the early morning, hair tied tightly and still in her pajamas, Sakura exhales slowly, arms bending forward over her legs.
She counts slowly to twenty before switching positions, crossing her legs and reaching over again.
Thirty minutes later, Sakura finishes the last of her stretches before moving onto basic level katas, running through each form at an agonizing pace.
The silence is near comforting, leaving her to focus on the sound of her breaths. It reminds her of all the things she's left behind.
(What would they do, she wonders, in memory of her?).
She showers quickly and dresses for school - this time in a white dress with pink petals. Today, Sakura feels like living on the edge.
Her day continues idly, just as it always had for the past few years, the monotonous pace almost meditative. Without the existence of chakra, Sakura is forced to occupy her time in other ways, leaving her to exhaust most of the school's library halfway through her elementary career.
How Cells Work, she reads with half-interest during lunch, stuffing her face with onigiri. The reading is less an introduction to biology and more a book of interesting facts, but she'll take what she can get.
Her session at school ends without fanfare and, trudging down the sidewalk, Sakura passes by the same old park she's always passed by, for two years now.
This time, however, there are three new occupants in the park, with one lying prone on the ground.
" - and that! Take that and that!" one boy yells, kicking the child curled into a fetal position on the dirt. "Can't do anything now, can you?"
Sakura stares, her head slowly tilting to the side.
(In another world, she knows exactly what she would have done. In this one, however…).
In this world, Sakura does what her mother would call the "sensible thing to do," and grabs the closest adult nearby.
"They're trying to kill somebody over there," she tells the man, pointing in the direction of the park. It's unlikely an actual murder will occur, but it's nice to take some precautions. "They're beating a kid up really bad."
The man, dressed in some uniform, hauls himself over to the park.
A policeman, Sakura notes, considering her job done and continues home. They didn't have any of those back then.
Well, that isn't quite true. But the ending of Sasuke's family was tragic enough, Sakura is willing to wave it away.
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The following week, Sakura finds herself caught in an issue she had thought was long resolved.
"I heard you're the one who tattled on me," an older, unfamiliar boy says menacingly, his other friend looming by his side. "You're gonna pay for that."
Sakura blinks slowly. She looks at the two boys, then looks back at herself - today, her choice of dress is a cute, yellow sundress.
"Do I know you?" she asks, because she's pretty sure they've never met in her (current) life.
From the way the boy's face turns rapidly red, it's clear that had been the wrong thing to say.
"Pretending you know nothing, huh?" he spits out, fists clenched and raised. "Well, maybe you'll remember now - !"
He charges at her, eyes closed shut (for some reason) and voice roaring.
Sakura glances to her left, where an open road lies, and decides she doesn't need another incident on her hands.
She ducks and shifts to the right, stepping into the local park to avoid any accidents.
"Stay still!" the boy orders, before charging at her again.
Sakura ducks again, twisting to the side. She's trained her body as well as she could afford to, considering the lack of chakra. It's hard to take situations like these more seriously.
The boy's friend joins along and, after several moments of moving around, Sakura wonders how long the fiasco will go for.
The two boys are clearly tiring, but in a final attempt to catch her, the first boy lets out a cry of frustration and leaps straight at her.
And Sakura, bored out of her mind in her current position, decides it wouldn't hurt to end this fiasco as calmly as possible.
She shifts to the side, angling her body further back. At a precise moment, she raises her hand - to surrender, in a show of peace and -
By sheer coincidence, her fingers make contact with the boy's face and, in a spectacular show of acrobatics, he is then sent hurtling to the dirt ground, several meters away.
A deathly silence enters the park.
Sakura looks down at her hand in betrayal.
What, she thinks, was that?
The boy's friend rushes over, hands hovering over the boy, who is left lying prone on the floor, his trembling body the only sign that Sakura did not commit homicide.
She walks hesitantly over.
"Is he okay?" she asks, already working through several possible solutions, trying and failing to find one that wouldn't involve her mother.
The boy scrambles away, his friend joining his side, one hand to his face, a blotchy red rising on his check.
"You should probably put ice on that," Sakura tries to say, but her words are drowned over their cries of terror, as the pair of boys flee the scene.
In the midst of the following silence, Sakura studies her (traitorous) hand.
The nonexistence of chakra removes a number of her abilities. If that's the case, then there's no way her strength could have carried over to this world.
Right?
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Of the few things that had transferred over from before, the methodical training from her medical studies is one of them.
Test #1, Sakura writes down in neat letters, using a shorthand Konoha had often favored for its genin. She lifts the pencil up to eye level, a pair of swimming goggles plastered over her face (lab safety is paramount in testing phases).
Then, drawing her head slightly away, Sakura takes her hands and bends with a little more effort than normal -
The pencil breaks in half near instantly, the wood tearing apart like paper.
Sakura pauses, staring blankly at the broken pencil in her hand, the lead hanging loosely off to the side, before picking up her pen.
Test #1: Pencil - successful, :(
She proceeds to go down her (admittedly short) list, because there are only so many objects she can destroy before her mother gets suspicious.
A metal spoon bends with mild resistance, the kitchen table can be lifted rather easily, Mebuki's discarded makeup brush is snapped with an extra push -
Sakura cleans up the results of her tests and, soon after, sits back at her tiny desk.
Either this is the average an eight-year-old can do here, she thinks, tapping her cheek with her pen, or this is going to be a very annoying problem.
(She has a sinking feeling what the obvious answer is).
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The next day, during their short recess, Sakura tests out the playground's monkey bars, gauging the amount of weight her arms can handle.
She swings across the bars with ease - an ease she's used to expecting, but is that normal for this world?
Maybe physics works differently here? Her eyes turn to her steady arms in vague interest. It would be a subject worth looking into.
"Oi, Haruno!" someone shouts. Sakura looks down to see a few of her classmates. "Let's play tag!"
She hops down onto the floor, landing in a crouch, right as another student hisses, "Her? But she's scary!"
"We need somebody to be 'it,'" the first classmate says, folding his arms with a smirk and completely ignoring his friend. "That's the only way you can play."
The quiet grumbles ease away at that statement.
Sakura smiles.
"Sure," she says easily. "But you have to play on the monkey bars after with me."
This, she notes, is a perfect way to gather more data.
"Deal," her classmate says instantly, and they shake on it.
Immediately after, the others scatter with a shriek and Sakura, very familiar with the concept of chasing, bolts after them.
Legs are good, she ticks off in her head, running after one classmate. Breathing is okay, stamina… could use some work.
I'll need to add some runs in before doing katas, she thinks, cataloguing each task into different slots.
Mindlessly, Sakura taps the shoulder of another boy and calls out, "Takumi's it!"
"No, I'm not!" Takumi protests, one hand on his tainted shoulder. "That was too fast!"
Sakura blinks. "But I tagged you."
"But that's not fair," Takumi whines, stomping his foot. At this point, some of the other children poke their heads out, curious about the delay. "I don't want to be it!"
"Okay," Sakura says slowly. "I can be it again."
"Don't be a sore loser, Takumi!" one boy hollers, interjecting at a god-awful moment. "You're such a baby!"
"Yeah!" another girl calls out, peeking out from the slides and appearing far too invested in a conversation that doesn't involve her. "You're a baby!"
"Baby! Baby!" several voices chant, the simple game of tag derailing alarmingly fast.
I guess the bloodlust of children is the same wherever you go, she thinks, gradually backing away from Takumi's darkening features. She bumps into a hard wall and, resignedly, glances back to find herself stuck between two jungle gyms.
"I'm not a baby!" Takumi shrieks, before promptly hurtling himself to the closest body, which, unfortunately, turns out to be Sakura.
And Sakura, who only has enough time to decide on two options, braces for the impact. It hits her faster than she anticipates, and, with the instincts of this young body, raises her hands to protect her face -
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"This is, unfortunately, not the first time Sakura-san has gotten into an incident," the principal says, hands clasped tightly together and grey hair tied loosely into a bun. "We've gotten reports from another school that she may have been involved in a fight with another student last week."
Under her mother's silent stare, Sakura barely manages to not sink into her seat.
"Luckily, it seems enough witnesses claimed she was the victim today," the principal continues, pushing up her glasses. "But if this doesn't stop, we'll need to discuss alternative options for her schooling."
"I understand," Mebuki says, rising to her feet, leaving Sakura scrambling to follow suit. "Thank you for your patience."
The walk to her mother's car is done in agonizing silence.
By the time they reach the side door, Mebuki turns around, and Sakura realizes this is becoming a routine.
"Sakura," her mother says wearily. "How many times do I have to tell you?"
Logically, Sakura is aware that the best response is to accept the punishment and move on. She had been careless and that just means she can't make the same mistake again.
"It's not fair," she says instead, her voice wobbling like a traitor. "I didn't do anything wrong."
Okay, fine, a voice in her head says. You can recover, just take a step back, breathe in deeply, and say you're sorry.
"He hit me first," Sakura chokes, decidedly not doing anything of the sort. This is not the first time her body has betrayed her and she has a terrible feeling it won't be the last. Her nose scrunches up and her eyes begin to burn. "I just stood there because you said no fights and, and I'm getting in trouble and he's not and, and, and - "
Fabric rustling, a pair of warm, strong arms wraps around her. Sakura sucks in a harsh breath, a futile attempt when the flood has already begun. For the very first time in this life, when salt hits her tongue, she chokes out a sob, digging her face into her mother's shoulder.
"Oh, Sakura," Mebuki says softly, over the muffled wails, running a hand through Sakura's hair. "Baby, I know you're trying. You're doing so much better than before, yeah?"
Sakura hiccups. "Y-Yeah."
"I know it's hard," Mebuki continues, still stroking Sakura's hair. "The principal is just worried for you, because people might not believe the truth."
Her mother then says wryly, "You did knock out his front teeth."
It's not appropriate, but Sakura bites down on a nearly hysterical giggle.
"I didn't do it on purpose," Sakura mumbles, gripping her mother's suit jacket tightly. She lets go soon after and rubs at her sore eyes.
"I know," Mebuki says, and wow, the wet spot on her shoulder is very large. "That's still a hard hit, though."
"Everything I do is a hard hit," Sakura grumbles, almost to herself. She's never had a problem with control before and it eats away at her patience.
Mebuki raises an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"
It's against her nature to reveal her cards, but Sakura realizes that it's not fair to keep her mother out of the loop - it's clear it'll only lead to more disasters.
She takes a step back and rubs her eyes, before dumping her bag onto the floor. Sifting through her things, she pulls out the metal spoon she had used for lunch.
"Look," she orders, and, with the briefest of apologies, sacrifices her spoon for a greater purpose. With some effort, she presses against the metal and it easily warps in her hand, the spoon bending almost in half.
There is a severe silence.
"I," Mebuki begins, eyes wide. "How are you doing that?"
Sakura passes over the bent spoon. Accepting it with careful hands, Mebuki pushes backwards, skin stretching and hands straining - the metal shifts ever so slightly.
"You definitely shouldn't be able to do this," her mother finally says, resignedly returning the spoon.
"Probably," Sakura admits, pressing the spoon again to return it to its original state. It's not easy to control, and the spoon ends up in a more mangled state than before.
Mebuki bites her lower lip and says, "How long has this been going on for?"
"I don't know," Sakura shrugs. It might have been months; it might have been years. "Maybe forever?"
Mebuki lets out a long, heavy sigh.
"We should - " her mother says, mussing up her perfectly tied hair. "We should probably go see a doctor."
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That weekend, Sakura sits patiently on an examination chair, her legs swinging sedately back and forth.
Not long after, the pediatrician, a middle-aged woman, walks in through the door.
"Right," the doctor says, flipping through several papers on a clipboard. Sakura itches to grab it and read the information herself. "No problems with your daughter's health, Haruno-san. She seems healthy with no major issues."
"That's good to hear," Mebuki says politely, smacking Sakura's hand when it gets too close to a nearby stethoscope. "What about her…?"
"Ah," the doctor says, catching on right away. "That is an unusual case. Strength is determined by several factors, but your daughter isn't displaying any outwardly."
"Because of my muscle fibers?" Sakura pipes in, eyes still glued to the clipboard. The absence of chakra leaves humans to live by other means, and Sakura still needs to know more.
"Partially," the doctor says, after a pause. Mebuki, meanwhile, sends a stern look.
Sakura pretends to not notice it. "Does that mean I'm hurting the muscles each time the energy builds up? Is the intensity too much? Should I be looking into repairing them? Is the energy cost more than what I - "
"Sakura," her mother cuts in.
Ever the dutiful child, Sakura promptly closes her mouth shut.
The doctor turns to her, staring as if she is seeing Sakura for the very first time.
"I don't have any clear answers for that," she says, this time speaking directly to Sakura. "If you're not in pain and daily activities aren't a problem for you, it's likely your recruitment buildup is genetic."
Sakura blinks. And smiles. "So I need control first. If I'm going to use up more strength, I need to build more muscle fibers too, right?"
"... yes," the doctor says. "You'll need to do that in the future, if you end up exerting yourself more often than normal."
"I can do that," Sakura tells her confidently, shoulders relaxing at the idea of something familiar. "Where should I start?"
The doctor studies her for a moment, before saying, "I usually recommend martial arts - they demand a high level of discipline and control, which would work well for you."
Sakura's smile widens even further.
She turns to her mother, who appears more or less resigned, and announces, "I can most definitely do that."
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Sakura begins her first lesson in judo a week later, walking into the dojo with Mebuki's hand wrapped around her own.
"Welcome!" a middle-aged man calls out, walking over to the entrance. There are several students around Sakura's age, stretching on the floor covered in grey mats.
"Hello," Mebuki greets, before nudging Sakura forward. "We called in last week about lessons."
The man grins, broad shoulders relaxing, and crosses his arms. "Yes, I remember."
He crouches down to meet Sakura at eye-level. "Haruno-kun, right?"
Sakura smiles. "That's right."
"Great," the man says, standing up and walking around a counter. He pulls out a white set of clothes. "You can call me Nishikawa-sensei. I have a new uniform for you, Haruno-kun."
He hands her the uniform and Sakura runs a hand across the rough fabric.
"How about you get changed in the bathroom," Nishikawa says, jabbing a thumb behind him to a nearby door. "Then you can join us for the warm-ups."
Sakura beams. This is the best thing to happen to her all week.
She hurries into the bathroom, with Mebuki trailing behind, and strips out of her clothes, though keeping the undershirt on.
"They call this a judogi," Mebuki says, as she helps Sakura through the jacket made of thick cotton. "This is what you need to wear every time you come here."
"Judogi," Sakura repeats, picking at its threads.
It's strange that she needs to change before fighting, but that's another cultural difference she'll have to remember.
She hobbles back out, feet sinking slightly into the padded floor and holding a white, cotton obi in hand.
"Ah, good," Nishikawa says, when he notices her entrance. "Come here, Haruno-kun. I'll help you with that."
Sakura remains still as Nishikawa rearranges her jacket and wraps the obi around her waist.
"This is an uwagi," he tells her, pointing to the jacket. "And the obi is a belt that tells us what rank you are."
Rankings, huh, Sakura notes with interest, coughing when Nishikawa tugs the obi tightly. I know what that feels like.
He directs her to a spot on the floor before running through a series of stretches.
This, Sakura has no trouble with. She's been running through a similar routine every morning, if only to maintain some sort of familiarity.
" - eight, nine, ten!" Nishikawa calls. He straightens and motions for a line. "Alright, everybody. We're practicing our falls this time."
Sakura hangs around the back of the line and watches as Nishikawa demonstrates a simple break and fall.
"Start low first," he instructs, slowly falling forward and gently landing on the floor. "Then turn and roll, until your feet return to the ground. Then stand."
"You must learn how to fall before you learn anything else," Nishikawa says, face stern for the first time in the lesson. "Proper technique for ukemi can help you avoid getting hurt - do not rush through this."
He goes down the line and has each student demonstrate, one-by-one. It's clear this is one of the first classes in the course, as many students find themselves disoriented after rolling to the side.
Eventually, it's Sakura's turn.
"Go as slow as you can, Haruno-kun," Nishikawa says, a smile on his face. "If you get confused, I'll help you."
Sakura returns the smile. It's clear safety is paramount in this world and, considering the terrible lack of chakra, she can understand the sentiment.
Then, she lowers her body and centers her weight onto her shoulder. She rolls (slowly, because she's a diligent student), tucking her knees inward like Nishikawa had and landing smoothly on her feet.
Once it's obvious her footing is secure, she rises to a stand.
More weight on the outer shoulder, Sakura thinks, testing her arm weight. I don't have chakra to break my falls anymore.
Nishikawa pauses.
"That's good," he says, eyeing her curiously. "Flatten your feet a little more."
Sakura tilts her head and repeats the motion, this time flattening her feet and directing her weight further inward from her right shoulder.
The motion feels smoother. It takes less time to find her footing and when she stands, Sakura glances at her hands in interest.
Not for the first time, it hits her that she's relied on chakra a lot more than she remembers.
Without chakra, gravity weighs on her more, leaving more chance to momentum, to fail safes and a reliance on luck - or circumstance.
The thought leaves Sakura to huff. Isn't that how she had lived, back in Konoha?
It doesn't have to be completely different, she reminds herself, as Nishikawa clears his throat and sends her back to the line.
When Nishikawa is satisfied with their form, he gives them some time to practice individually.
Sakura walks over to an unoccupied space and works through the roll again. It's easy enough that she's fairly confident she has it down, but working in the muscle memory is even more important.
Methodically, she works through each step, memorizing the stance, memorizing the placement of her feet. Her muscles strain under the continued use, though she has no issues with supporting her weight.
Sakura uses the next ten minutes to repeat the same motions, the mindless repetitions almost calming. She rolls again, only for her toes to catch the floor and, when she stands, she clicks her tongue.
"Good work, Haruno-kun," Nishikawa's voice catches her attention. He crouches down to meet her eyes, and she catches a black obi wrapped around his own judogi. "Let's see it then."
Sakura nods and, without preamble, lowers her body and rolls, making sure to keep the speed of her turn as consistent as before.
She still waits until her feet are clearly back on the mat, and then moves to stand.
Nishikawa brings a hand to scruff on his chin. "Interesting."
"Tell me, Haruno-kun," he then says. "Is this your first time in judo?"
"Yes," Sakura says, blinking slowly.
"And your first time doing any martial arts?"
"Yes?"
Nishikawa hums before nodding once. "Okay. Good to know. Do the roll again, but connect your motions."
Sakura immediately knows what he's talking about. This time, she doesn't bother pausing between each step - instead, when she lowers her body, she moves straight into the roll and stands right as her feet find the ground.
(She doesn't need to hesitate. She hasn't had to in a very long time.)
"One more time," Nishikawa says, and brings a hand to around where her shoulder would be. "But start from here."
A higher starting position means more room for speed and momentum. She'll need to end in a wider stance to support the faster roll.
Sakura falls, bending her knees to cushion the speed, and rolls along her shoulder, the fast speed meaning less weight is placed into the ground.
She distances her feet right before they find the ground and stands, bending her body to move the energy to her feet.
"Good," Nishikawa says. "Practice from that height and tuck your hands in."
"Okay, sensei," Sakura answers, taking the advice for what it is.
Nishikawa studies her for another brief moment. He then smiles and moves on to the next student, who appears to spend more time lying on the ground than rolling.
Tuck your hands in, Sakura thinks. She imagines it's to smoothen the turn and rebalance her stance when she stands.
(She's familiar with falls. The posture is different, but the human body can only differ in so many ways.)
When she tries it out, one more time, it turns out that's exactly what it does.
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At the end of the lesson, Sakura and her classmates kneel in front of Nishikawa, spending several minutes to meditate.
"Breathe in deeply," Nishikawa instructs, standing in front of two scrolls, written in large, black lettering.
Mutual welfare and benefit, one reads. The other, maximum efficiency and minimal effort.
The encounter of an ideology so close to Shikamaru's nearly causes a giggle to slip from her lips, but she catches herself just in time.
(It's not so hard this time, to wonder what they might be doing in her absence - if they've moved on, if they still mourn.
She thinks it might be even easier next time.)
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Later that week, after a little more ukemi practice, Nishikawa introduces their first throwing technique.
"Ippon-seoi-nage," he says, crouching down in front of Sakura, who, for some reason, has been chosen to be demonstrated on. "Is a technique that breaks the other's balance."
Nishikawa turns around and pulls at Sakura's arm, while continuing his explanation. Gently, slowly, he brings her over his shoulder and onto the ground in front of him.
Instinctively, Sakura cushions her (already very gentle) fall with her feet. Her back doesn't hit the floor and, with a flush, she realizes Nishikawa had no intentions of sending her straight to ground in the first place.
"Let's try the motions first," Nishikawa says, chuckling heartily. "Pair up!"
Eventually, Nishikawa goes down the line, giving them all an opportunity to practice the throw completely with him.
Sakura waits for her turn patiently, tugging at her partner's arm experimentally. It's a simple throwing technique - she's definitely used something similar before - so there shouldn't be any problems… right?
She looks behind her, to the entrance where several parents wait and watch. Sitting in her usual business suit, Mebuki gives an encouraging smile.
Right, Sakura thinks. I'm an eight-year-old child and Nishikawa is a full-grown adult. There shouldn't be any problems here.
Nishikawa motions her forward and, a little hesitantly, she walks to the center.
"Okay, Haruno-kun," he says, bending down so that she has a better grip on his arm. "Run it through slowly first."
Sakura nods, working through each step - reaching under the arm, turning on her right foot, and lowering her right shoulder -
She can feel Nishikawa lift his own feet and, very carefully, use his own strength to tumble over her shoulders.
"Good job," he says, as the parents in the back clap appreciatively. Mebuki sends her a thumbs-up. "We'll do that one more time."
In a quieter voice, he tells her, "Your mom let me know about your… health concerns, Haruno-kun. Don't hesitate if you're worried about hurting me."
Sakura's eyes widen. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely," Nishikawa answers back, and laughs. "This old body's still got a lot of strength left!"
Sakura smiles back, a little unsurely, because she wouldn't call Nishikawa old, especially under this world's standards.
(She certainly wouldn't have called Tsunade-shishou old. Ever.)
They return to their original positions. Breathing in deeply, Sakura grabs under Nishikawa's arm and pivots on her foot, swinging him over her shoulders with a great heave, taking care not to pull her muscles.
Nishikawa lands onto the ground with a small thud, and, for a moment, looks blankly at the ceiling.
Another complimentary round of applause runs through the audience. Eyes coming quickly into focus, Nishikawa rises to his feet, his movements only faltering once.
"... well," he finally says, patting Sakura's back. "That was… that was good. Good job, Haruno-kun."
When it's clear she hasn't broken any bones, hasn't done anything really, Sakura relaxes her shoulders.
"Thank you, sensei," she says, unable to stop the relief from coursing through her chest.
Nishikawa pauses, before laughing heartily again.
"You're welcome, Haruno-kun," he tells her, ruffling her hair for the briefest of moments.
Warmth floods her stomach and, with a beam, Sakura heads back to her spot in the line.
This is definitely the best thing to happen to her all year.
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-o-o-o-o-o-
notes!
- this is the first fic that i'll be posting on both ffnet and ao3! i've been really getting into the other platform so i thought it would be nice to slowly include it for any readers who might prefer that website :D
- this is also a very self indulgent fic but i just couldnt not look at the unseen (and unnamed) girls volleyball club and take them in
- i imagine that not many will be interested in seeing this kind of concept (seeing as this is a... very niche crossover) but i hope it's a fun read for whoever comes by!
thank you again to any new/old readers - please stay as safe and healthy as you can during these times!
- SE