CHAPTER 3
Restless
Re-edited: 07 January 2019
Note:
Yukata is a kimono typically worn during summer.
Furisode is a more formal type of kimono.
Epigraph:
"I hate to hear you talk about all women
as if they were fine ladies
instead of rational creatures.
None of us wants to be in calm waters
all our lives."
—Jane Austen, Persuasion
ʚ—ɞ
Sakura foresaw the sinister gleam of her inevitable prison.
An image of brand new chains shackling around her limbs flashed across her mind. She envisioned a door of steel bars closing ominously, slowly entrapping her within the barren confines of a cage. And just like that, she felt the dread of a bird with clipped wings, the wisps of freedom she barely began to grasp readily fading into nothingness.
Standing in the middle of the muted hallway, the chilling darkness was her only companion. Sakura gradually came to terms with her crime and, although reluctant, anticipated the instant her father's chakra would flare up in pure rage. The door of his room would shoot open, banging loudly against the wall as he catches her red-handed. He'd bellow her name, demanding why and where she snuck off to in the middle of the night.
But it never occurred.
She dreaded an exposure that never came to be.
As quickly as it had spiked, her father's chakra settled into a gentle trickle. Seconds—minutes passed, and she felt her bones begin to ache. She felt the sting of pins and needles grow into a burn as she lost sensation from her feet to her fingertips, but she dismissed it, refusing to trust her wretched luck.
It was impossible. Moments ago her father's chakra had flowed more violently than the bitter storms at sea—a tell-tale sign he had been wide awake. And yet, faster than lightning could strike, it settled back into the gentle trickle of deep slumber. It reminded her of a river during the dry season, its cool, shallow waters moving listlessly over the pebbles that blanketed its bed. Quiet. Peaceful.
A miracle.
But Sakura did not find reprieve.
It eluded her how much longer she stood there unmoving. Time ticked in slow motion, her legs numbing to the point of unresponsiveness before she managed to convince herself it was safe to make a move.
Hastily, she cast the shunshin jutsu to transport herself to her room, unwilling to risk lingering out in the open. She shut the door with the barest of clicks then twisted key and bolted the lock. Stepping back, she stared in bathed silence at the wooden contraption feebly shielding her and her most guarded secret.
Dub-dub. Dub-dub.
The thrum of her heart was inconsolable, echoing loudly in her ears. She bit her lip.
Something had gone wrong—terribly, terribly wrong. But even so, no muffled footsteps made its way to her door, no knocking called her out, and most of all, no threats exploded in the wake of her reckless mistake. Relief swept past her lips in a single, ragged breath. Her rattled nerves uncoiled.
Turning on her heels, Sakura sent a quick glance around her room; a defensive action that's become a habit after every mission. It didn't take her long to spot the lump beneath the sheets on her bed.
Her bunshin was asleep.
In the early days of its establishment, the first members of Kuro no Senshi created the Namami Bunshin no Jutsu, designing it to cater to the specific needs of kunoichi. Namami, meaning 'of flesh and blood', connoted the blood oath required to activate the jutsu. Unlike the elemental cloning techniques shinobi had mastered, this one forges a living, breathing duplicate of the user that embodied their personality, abilities and a lifetime of memories.
A flawless physical and mental replica; not even a spouse, parent or sibling could pick a difference from the original. The perfect decoy.
It was this particular trait that made it the most valuable jutsu in every kunoichi's arsenal of weaponry. These bunshins act as their substitutes, taking over their life, pretending to be its user whenever they were sent away on a mission for extended periods.
The Namami Bunshin no Jutsu was the crucial factor that kept Kuro no Senshi hidden well within the depths of the shadows for decades. Without it, kunoichi would have garnered attention for their disappearing acts. Questions would have been raised and eventually, also expose the existence of their illegal guild.
However, if it hadn't been a fundamental tool, it would have remained a page of fatal, S-rank technique in the book of forbidden jutsus. It was unstable, putting the user at constant risk of chakra exhaustion as it draws extreme volumes of life force throughout the time it is active to maintain its form. Moreover, like a restless spirit chained to its regrets, the clone and user are linked, leaving the kunoichi vulnerable to sustaining any injury her replica reaps.
Limping her way towards the slumbering lump on her bed, Sakura halted when her knees bumped into the wooden frame. She carefully peeled the covers away from her clone's face and placed one hand to its forehead. Her other hand raised to chest level, the index and middle fingers remaining upright while the rest folded towards her palm. Closing her eyes, she whispered, "Kai."
The faint pungent of smoke invaded her nose as the clone popped out of existence. Not a moment too soon after, her mind turned into a whirlwind of blurred colours, fragmented images and snippets of conversations she never had as its memories were pirated as her own. It was like watching a movie on fast forward, only it was three-dimensional and felt weirdly invasive.
Happiness, dejection, anger, annoyance, laughter, worry, determination, joy; from the very first to evident last, she felt each emotion her clone experienced throughout the week in mere seconds. The quick transition from one distinct feeling to another left her overwhelmed and minutely confused.
Once the exchange was completed and her thoughts turned hollow, Sakura sighed in relief. She could never get used to the unpleasantness of dispelling the namami bunshin.
Too exhausted to bother changing out of her yukata, the pink haired medic let herself fall lazily onto the soft mattress, burrowing her face into the comfort of her pillow.
It was pure heaven.
ʚ—ɞ
Aggravation.
It was the putrid feeling rotting her flesh from the inside out.
Huffing indignantly, Haruno Sakura stomped straight through the crowd, uncaring of those she bumped into or whose feet she stepped upon. The slim skirt of her yukata constricted her sharp movements, but she cared not for how the annoying cloth strangled her legs with each long stride.
The villagers scrambled out of her path like pesky ants sprayed with water, leery of inciting her fury. It delighted a malicious part of her, but it was a short-lived glee as the unsolicited public scrutiny commenced. She noticed the self-righteous fingers pointed at her followed by the condemning whispers and vile slander uttered behind pompous fans. They chide her indelicate behaviour, question her sanity and devalue her as a woman—as a person.
It was cruel and irritating and obnoxious, and it stung because how dare they judge her?
They were hypocrites, the lot of them.
They could not make sense of her, and like every other being humans do not understand, they showered her with hate.
To them, she was the personification of a paradox; a high-born lady with all the right connections and an excellent upbringing—flawless if not for her pursuit of a career in the medical field. Worse yet, a medic in the shinobi sector instead of the civilian. She wrought confusion, for how could a woman of high social standing work in such a demanding, unfeminine profession?
Tradition dictates she shouldn't be working in the first place. A career is a distraction. It takes away time a lady could otherwise devote to refining her household skills, entertaining her husband or attending to her family and children's needs.
Scoff.
"They can shove their traditions where the sun doesn't shine," Sakura mumbled contemptuously, "Entertain a husband my foot. I would sooner expose Kuro no Senshi than chain myself in marriage to a chauvinistic pig."
Just like her father.
It was funny, Sakura sneered, because she never before thought her father to be chauvinistic.
For the short duration that Sakura has been home, his behaviour had been so odd, it was borderline suspicious. On the day she returned, she woke up nearly past noon, and when she entered the kitchen to scavenge for a late breakfast, her father had been sitting at the table, a newspaper hiding his face. He responded to her greeting with an unwarranted lecture.
"You should start waking up early, Sakura-chan. Laziness is not yet considered a charming quality."
Sakura was too shocked by the strange comment to consider it an annoyance. Besides, it was probably a one-off occurrence.
Only it wasn't.
It was merely the beginning.
His criticisms were mild, but they ranged from chiding the most mundane habits up to her appearance. He nitpicked at her keeping her hair loose, claiming a wild, bed-hair wasn't a flattering look. He advised her to wear more tasteful kimono, ones which were brightly coloured and intricately embroidered because didn't clothes show off a woman's worth?
And then he had the gall to question if she finds it necessary to continue working as a medic.
That was the salt in the wounds.
That was this morning.
That was the final straw.
Unable to contain the anger bursting at its seams, Sakura stormed out of her house with an indignant proclamation that no, she does not find her job unnecessary. No, she most definitely isn't quitting.
The resounding slam of the front door and rattling of wood appeased her, however mildly. She knows it was obscene of her, but it was preferable over disrespecting her father by raising her voice to argue with him about her chosen profession.
Now, as she brisked through the market streets, she can't help but puzzle over what has gotten into her father. In all her years growing up, Kizashi had never once hassled her about the way she dressed or the way she acted. Not even when she came home with mud stains on her clothes or blistering wounds on her skin. The time she informed her parents of her decision to study medical jutsu, her mother had protested, raising concerns at how inappropriate it was for a woman, but her father didn't bat a lash, shrugging it off as if it weren't an outrageous idea.
So what changed?
Between the evening she snuck off for the mission and the morning she returned, Sakura couldn't conceive of a reason drastic enough to induce a complete one-eighty turn in her father's views. Haruno Kizashi had always been the easy-going, witty parent whereas her mother was the epitome of strict and composed. Up until today, Sakura could have never imagined her father as alike as the rest of the men with a distorted outlook on what a woman should be.
It was upsetting. It was frustrating. It was disappointing, and Sakura knew neither what to do nor what to expect next. Her father was her silent supporter, the neutral bystander to her not-quite-subtle defiance of their prejudicial society.
At least she thought he was. She wasn't entirely sure anymore.
The thought of the past few days sent another wave of scorching heat through her veins. Her hands fisted, knuckles turning white. She felt untethered as if she was appointed the captain of a game she didn't know how to play.
Sakura despised it.
"Patience, Sakura. Keep calm and be patient," she repeatedly chanted until she felt the sharp vices of anger come loose. The paralysing emotion was addictive, but it wouldn't solve any of her problems.
She focused on the warmth of the sun beating down on her skin, on the tantalising scents diffusing with the slow wind and the murmurs of passersby harmonising with the echoing laughter of the little children running through the market.
It was then she felt it. She must have been too preoccupied earlier, but it was apparent now. Sakura chided herself for not noticing it sooner.
She was being watched.
Again.
Even within the privacy of her own head, it sounded utterly ridiculous. She was standing in the midst of a crowded street she stomped through with unconcealed animosity. People were definitely watching. Their selective attention would cling onto the lunatic on the loose.
It was absurd; nothing but a bizarre notion conjectured by her high-strung emotions, but her instincts had saved her life more times than she could count. She trusted it blindly. She just knew there was a pair of eyes following her every move.
Or was it two?
Sakura was sixteen when she first felt the nerve-racking sensation. It was so subtle, so… so inconspicuous, she didn't pay it any mind, stacking it up to curious bystanders. But goosebumps arose, and the hair on the nape of her neck stood on end as anxiety lurked on the surface of her awareness.
Kunoichi training made her hypersensitive to her surroundings, and she couldn't have been more grateful.
She doesn't know who it was or what they wanted, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Sakura tried to catch the culprit on several occasions, laying traps to shake them off her trail, but the bastards were elusive. Or perhaps there really wasn't anyone there.
As it was, Sakura couldn't even confidently convince herself that someone was observing her, let alone pinpoint from where they keep an eye on her because that was the downside of intuition. It was vague. Ambiguous.
Was there more than one person?
Whoever they were, they were smart. The times she felt her skin prickle with the unsettling sensation of having foreign eyes scrutinising her movements, she was always in the throes of a crowd, surrounded by too many people for her to distinguish them.
Sakura would applaud them if they didn't creep her out.
Taking a deep breath, she let her tense muscle relax, plastering a smile faker than Ebisu's honour for women. Her stalker was watching after all. She needed to give them a good show.
Catching sight of her favourite store, she decided she might as well spend her time productively instead of loitering out in the open where she would be unnecessarily exposed. If there was one thing Sakura hated more than bigotry, it was letting herself become vulnerable.
ʚ—ɞ
A bell tinkered overhead when she pushed the shop door open. Instantaneously, a profusion of piquant scents invaded her nose, and Sakura's lips tilted at its pleasantness. It was a mixture of aroma varying from sweet and savoury to woodsy and citrusy. With effortless ease, she identified the distinct smell of lavender and ginger and sandalwood and eucalyptus—even cinnamon!
To a medic who finds benign joy in concocting remedies and poisons alike, the specialist herbs store in Konoha was unparalleled paradise. Sakura could easily lose herself in the tranquillity of the shop, scavenging through every aisle and darkened corner, acquainting herself with each plant, educating herself in both their medicinal properties and customary use.
Tucked in between two buildings, this deceptively tiny store was her own special place.
Her safe haven.
"Ah, Sakura-chan!" the soulful voice drew the medic's attention away from her musings towards the woman watering a pot of bamboos. She stood tall, slim with a straight back. Her dark hair, tied into a neat bun, was peppered with grey. Despite the wrinkles lining her face and the plain, yellow yukata with a red obi she wore, she was evidently beautiful, and it was emphasised by the refined way she carried herself. "You're back again?"
A fleeting memory of her bunshin visiting the shop sprang into her mind. Sakura grinned as she approached the owner. "Meisa-san, you know I cannot resist seeing your charming self for too long."
The old lady threw her head backwards, laughing without constraint at the younger girl's shameless flattery. "Oh child, you are bad for my ego, even though we both know you're only here for these herbs of mine."
"Well, you do have an exquisite collection."
"Of course. They are my pride and joy."
"Do you have anything new for me?" Sakura asked eagerly.
Meisa set aside the watering can before shaking her head. "I'm afraid not, child. Nothing new since the last time you came here."
Sakura sighed dejectedly. Meisa had an impressive array of connections to merchants from across the five great nations and every other village in between. It enabled her to procure several herbs not native to the Fire Country. From time to time, she even manages to get a hold rare or seasonal plants during its offseason; Meisa called it talent, but Sakura personally believes it to be a work of pure magic.
The young medic made it a point to study each one of these plants, convincing herself it would be useful someday, whether as a poison or an antidote. Too bad there weren't any new arrivals today. She had been hoping to armour herself with more knowledge.
"You're free to roam the place as usual, though."
"Thank you." Inclining her head in respect, Sakura sauntered to the section unilluminated by artificial light where the sun-shy herbs thrived. Those had always oddly intrigued her. The herbs didn't conform to the nature of its kind, gravitating away from the sun rather than towards its warmth. It made her feel an odd sense of connection. A sort of kindred spirit.
Ting-a-ling-ling.
Sakura reached for a pot hanging from the ceiling, but the moment her fingers touched its snaking vines the bell above the door jingled again, signalling the arrival of another customer. Sakura craned her neck in time see a girl wearing a luxurious purple kimono enter.
"Good afternoon, Meisa-san," the raven-haired girl strode up to the owner and bowed politely, "Is my order ready yet?"
Hyuuga Hinata, heiress to one of Konoha's most prestigious clans and another disguised member of Kuro no Senshi. Sakura doesn't know how her friend gets away with it when she has a guard keeping track of her twenty-four-seven for her safety. She was next in line as the head of her clan, after all.
But then again, her title as an heiress was just that; a title. In truth, it would be Hinata's husband who would inherit the position whereas she would be left with a glorified label as ' lady of the house.' A label which gives Hinata neither power nor relative use other than to sit beside her husband looking pretty.
Sakura can sympathise. Never has she been more thankful for her mother who chose to sever ties with the Haruno clan. In doing so, her shoulders didn't droop with the weight of the burdening duties of a female heir.
Meisa rounded the counter, grabbing a bag brimming with herbal supplies from under and passed it over to Hinata. "All the ingredients you requested are in here."
"Are you making another batch of your balm?" Sakura asked as she approached them, minutely startling the heiress. Hinata smiled welcomingly nevertheless.
"Sakura-san, it's been a while," she greeted as she handed the payment to Meisa, "and yes, I am. There's not much else I could do these days."
Of course not, Sakura thought to herself, not when you're a newlywed.
Double checking the contents of the bag, Hinata asked, "How did the mission go?"
"Oh, you had a mission recently?" Both girls turned to the older lady.
Meisa rested her weight on her elbows as she leant across the counter, eyeing them curiously. The store owner had been a member of Kuro no Senshi back in her youth. It was during her active years she managed to amass her endless hoard of connections. Meisa had deemed it worthwhile to befriend the people she came into contact during her mission travels, from clients to random passersby.
Sakura especially loved hearing the story of how Meisa tried to charm the pants off of this one trader but failed epically. He was now her husband.
"Yes, we were sent to take care of a child trafficking issue at the borders," the pink-haired medic responded, having to qualms about discussing a completed mission with a former member.
"And how'd it go?" Meisa inquired.
"It went without a hitch. The children are now at the Hagihara Child Protection Centre." The older lady nodded approvingly.
For a brief moment, Sakura realised it has almost been a week since the mission was completed. Any day now, the Hokage would be notified of the children's whereabouts. Tsunade decided Kuro no Senshi would be better off allowing Konoha to take credit for returning the children to their rightful homes rather than inciting the council's rage by doing it themselves. It would save kunoichi from unnecessary encounters with ANBU trackers.
Hinata tugged up the sleeve of her kimono, adjusting her hold on the bag, "I'm glad, but I wish I had been able to go with you."
"Already sick of the married life, my dear?" Meisa joked, "It hasn't even been a month."
"No, no, that's not it," Hinata blushed, her hand waving frantically. Her quick move to dissent the suggestion made her companions laugh. "It's just… my clan hasn't stopped nagging me about having a child since then."
To say Sakura was horrified was an understatement.
At the age of nineteen, Hinata was still young with so much potential ahead of her. She was capable of being and deserved to be more than just a housewife. What about her aspirations in life? Her goal to be one of Kuro no Senshi's top reconnaissance specialists?
Hinata may not voice it, but Sakura knew it upset her when she was promoted to Jounin level but was unable to go on any mission for months on end because of her wedding preparations and now being wed itself. A child at this point in her life would wreck her kunoichi career altogether.
"I'll be heading over to Ichiraku's after this," Hinata informed Sakura, a clear attempt at changing their topic of conversation, "would you mind joining me for a late lunch?"
Seeing as she was off duty at the hospital and unwilling to step foot in her own home, Sakura had nothing more important to do. Shrugging her shoulders, she accepted the invitation.
Waving their farewells to Meisa, they went their way.
ʚ—ɞ
Midway to their destination, Sakura and Hinata's small talk was disrupted by a booming voice calling out their names. A familiar voice, unmistakable even over the raucous of the villagers.
The two girls glanced behind them, catching sight of a tuft of blond weaving through the crowd in a hurry. Finally catching up to them, the boy's hands dropped to his knees, hunched over as he tried to catch his breath.
"H-how do you move through this crowd so effortlessly?" he asked between gulps of air.
Sakura quirked her brow in amusement. "We're ladies of grace. We've been taught to do every activity without breaking a sweat."
Hinata giggled behind her hand, but the boy scoffed, apparently not finding her sarcasm amusing. Straightening himself, he hit back, "If that's so, then why are you so clumsy?"
Sakura narrowed her eyes at his audacity. He merely grinned smugly in response. Checkmate.
Shifting his attention, he reached for Hinata, his arm encircling her shoulder as he dropped a kiss on her forehead. "How was your day?"
Uzumaki Naruto, son of the Rokudaime Hokage, self-entitled future Hokage and, of course, Hinata's husband. The annoying pest has been Sakura's close friend since their academy days, their friendship developing after Sakura recognised him as the cheeky kid who ran past her on the way to the academy on the first day. She could never misplace that blond hair, after all.
In self-righteous anger, little Sakura had stomped towards the swing where he was playing with his friends and rightfully accused him of almost tripping her. Pointing her dainty finger at him, she demanded an apology.
Needless to say, little Naruto, obnoxious, impulsive and competitive, didn't take it too well.
A verbal fight ensued.
But heated words were quick to escalate into a physical brawl. Even so, before Sakura could permanently disfigure his loathsome, pretty face, the academy instructors intervened. Sakura had gotten into a load of trouble for instigating the fight, but it was the defining moment that gained her Uzumaki Naruto and Uchiha Sasuke's respect.
She never did regret 'not acting like a lady' that day.
"It's been good, Naruto-kun," Hinata replied, holding up the bag from the herb store to show him, "I just went out to collect my order from Meisa-san."
Naruto bent his neck to peep at the contents. "Oh, are you making more of that balm?" At her nod, he grinned cheekily "I could always use more of it."
"Naruto-kun," Hinata admonished with a sigh, "if you didn't get injured as often, I wouldn't need to make it."
"I'll be more careful, Hinata. I promise."
Sakura didn't miss how Naruto never made a move to take the bag from Hinata, rather returning it back to her. Most men would have insisted on carrying the bag for her, deeming it their duty to do the supposedly heavy work. But as much of a knucklehead he could be, Naruto respected women as his equal. He would never assume a woman didn't have the strength to carry heavy objects, unlike the rest of the pigs who shared his anatomy.
It was why Sakura easily found a friend in him.
"Were you aware her clan's been nagging her for a child?"
In a whirlwind of brash whim and invasive curiosity, the words floating in Sakura's mind slipped past her lips before she could fully comprehend it. Her friends' heads snapped towards her, staring in gawping surprise, yet Sakura couldn't find it in herself to be bewildered by what she said. It wasn't in her place, yes, but she truly wanted to hear where Naruto stood.
"I know," Naruto replied after a short pause, taking a cautious glance at Hinata. The hand laid across her shoulder tightened a fraction. "But I don't care what they want. We're too young to raise a child of our own. I'd rather wait until we're both prepared for it."
"Their… opinions on the matter will only worsen until you give them what they want," Sakura pointed out.
"Hinata can handle them," Naruto huffed, the look on his face telling her he wholly believed it.
"And if she can't?"
Sakura saw his cerulean eyes turn a shade darker, an evident sign of his displeasure. "Then they'll deal with me. Besides, I want to lend a hand in raising any child we have. With the number of missions I have now, it wouldn't be possible."
His response elicited a smile from both women. It showed the exact shades of Naruto's feathers, and it made Sakura unbelievably proud of how much her friend had grown and matured over the years. She had no doubts he'd be a wonderful father someday.
Hinata huddled closer to Naruto. "He said his parents too waited for years before having him."
"That's right! If my parents can do it, then so can we, dattebayo!"
Sakura watched her companions drift off into a world of their own. She couldn't help but think of how lucky Hinata was getting to marry someone she actually loved, at her own accord. As much as Sakura wanted to remain in denial, she knew her own clock was ticking. She could only hope for her future spouse to respect her as a person of equal standing.
But if Sakura could have her way, she would never marry.
Naruto turned, directing a question at her. "So, where were you two headed anyways?"
"To Ichiraku's for a late lunch."
The blond visibly perked up. "Alright! Let's go, I'm starving so much my stomach is tearing itself up."
Sakura prepared to jibe at his unfailing addiction to the broth and noodles, but a passing commentary caused her to stiffen. Two women strolled passed them, whispering their snide remarks behind their hands as if it would hide their venomous words. "That's her, the one who brings shame to the Haruno name."
"Oh my, how despicable. She should be searching for a husband instead of wasting her time playing nurse."
It was a well-rumoured fact that Haruno Sakura had never attended an omiai despite that she was beyond the appropriate age for it. Her father showed neither interest nor resolve in acquiring a husband for her, causing the rumours to sprout, spreading throughout Konoha faster than wildfire.
The villagers claimed she was too rowdy, too stubborn, with no ounce of elegance in her bones. She held the manners of an untamed animal and the grace of a slithering worm. They labelled her as an embarrassment, a disappointment to her family. According to well-wishers, her profession as a shinobi medic was reason enough for her father to avoid sending her to an omiai, because what kind of man would take notice of a woman who associates with a rebellious faction let alone consider marrying her?
What a waste of such a pretty face.
"Sakura-san," Hinata called out. The sympathy in her voice rung clear, but Sakura didn't think it was necessary.
Sakura had long learnt to disregard the false assumptions people around her have concocted. Despite his odd behaviour over the past few days, she knew her father was very much fond of her. Kizashi was quite reluctant to let her go even if her mother had made it her personal mission to get her wedded into a respectable family. Preferably an acclaimed clan.
Besides, the unwed life gave her the freedom to pursue a career as both a medic and a kunoichi.
Clapping her hands once, Sakura let the comments roll off her shoulders, unwilling to ruin her day agonising over instances beyond her control. "Right!" she chirped, "let's get us some ramen."
"Now you're talking, Sakura-chan," Naruto exclaimed, equally upbeat.
ʚ—ɞ
"I'm home."
Sakura used the toes of her feet to tug off her sandals. Knowing her mother would burst a vein if she left her belongings laying haphazardly, she bent over to pick it up then shoved it into the shoe rack beside the door.
Immediately after lunch at Ichiraku, Naruto had been called out for a short mission. Looking for some company, Hinata suggested an afternoon tea and some girl talk at the Hyuuga compound. Sakura went along, wanting to avoid her father a little longer.
The girls sat on the engawa overlooking the gardens as Sakura regaled Hinata on all that she missed during her absence from Kuro no Senshi, making sure to speak in codes in case of eavesdroppers. But when the sun sank beyond the horizon, and dark hues of azure began to seep its way into the sky, Sakura realised she could only escape from her father and his unusual nitpicking for so long. If she knew Kizashi enough, he would worry about her whereabouts if she failed to come home before nightfall.
Now, standing in the entryway, she glanced at the empty, darkening hall, wondering why no one has responded to her yet. Last she was aware, her parents didn't have any plans for the night.
Sighing languidly, she slipped on her house slippers and padded through the hall, towards the staircase. She itched to wash away every speck of dust and worry with a warm shower then sleep off the stress weighing down her mind. As she planted her foot on the first step of the stairs, she noticed the yellowish glow of the opaque glass door leading into the kitchen. Light seeped through the crack on the side where it hadn't been shut properly.
That was strange. It wasn't like her mother to leave the lights on whenever they go out. Or perhaps they're having dinner early? She might as well go greet them if they were. If not, she should switch the lights off in case her mother nags her the next morning about environmental responsibilities.
Sakura approached the door like an impenitent thief, stopping short when she heard a murmur of voices drift from the kitchen. Their tone was soft, and her ears strained to pick up the words exchanged, but it was too muddled for her to make sense of. There were more than two distinct voices, striking Sakura as odd.
It wasn't often they had a visitor.
Placing her palm on the cold glass, Sakura applied a little force to slide the door open. The sudden brightness blinded her momentarily, causing her to blink hastily in an attempt to regain her vision. The first person Sakura saw was her mother who stood by the stove, transferring hot water from a kettle into a china pot.
Mebuki peeked over her shoulder to check who had arrived like she didn't already know. Upon seeing her daughter as expected, her face visibly brightened. Fake as it was, Sakura didn't even know her mother was capable of such emotion.
"Ah Sakura, you're back." Replacing the kettle on the stove, Mebuki picked up the tea tray and moved towards the table, "Welcome home."
Sakura nodded in response, a little too tongue-tied at the sight of their visitor.
Her father didn't spare her a glance, sitting at one end of the six-person table, conversing with another woman who looked vaguely familiar. She appeared to be around her parents' age, if not older. Two decorative hair sticks held her hair in a firm twist. Her face was caked with a thick layer of face powder, lips painted a glaring red. In Sakura's personal opinion, it looked unflattering, like she was trying too hard. The woman also wore a blue-black silk furisode with intricate designs meant to be flamboyant, to show off her wealthy status.
A formal kimono, really? Sakura snarked in her mind, What's the special occasion?
"Come join us, dear," Mebuki said as she served their visitor a slice of cake and some biscuits. Pouring her husband a cup of tea, she added, "Let me introduce you to our guest."
Sakura's initial reaction was to refuse. Something in her screamed for her to run away—to turn around and never look back. The warmth in her mother's overzealous smile struck the warning bells in her mind; she would regret stepping further into the room.
Her father was too quiet, too serious. Where were the jokes? The belly-shaking, ear-splitting, contagious laughter? Sakura parted her mouth to decline as politely as possible, but as if he could read her intentions, Kizashi threw her a sharp look. He was telling her he disapproved.
And of all people, her father's approval was what she sought the most.
Her mouth ran dry. She gulped.
With profound reluctance, Sakura lifted her stiff foot. One step at a time she walked closer to the occupants of the room, and with each move forward she felt her breath grow more hollow, her heartbeat more irregular—resoundingly dull. When she clenched her fist in an attempt to gain mental composure, her palm felt surprisingly moist. The thud of her slippers against the wooden floorboards floated to her ears, sounding unusually loud. Heavy.
She let it lull her into a false sense of security.
The short walk seemed to last hours instead of the mere seconds it took for her to reach her parent's side. Taking a stand next to her mother beside where her father sat, she eyed the woman sitting pompously on the chair to the immediate left. Now that she was closer in proximity, Sakura finally took note of the little orange metal ornaments shaped into flames that hung on her hair stick as glitzy décor.
And Sakura finally remembered.
She had seen this woman several times in passing whenever she accompanied either Ino or Hinata on their way to their omiai meetings. Never had she spoken to the woman, but from the stories that circulated, her personality was strict, like it was laced with steel, and tolerated no foolishness. She looked down her nose at superficial women—a laughable irony if you ask Sakura— reprimanded those who were undisciplined and thoroughly despises women who resist accepting their position in the natural hierarchy.
She despised women like Sakura along with everything they believed in.
There was no doubt about it, though. The woman in front of her was someone Sakura never thought she'd be acquainted with, let alone encounter in her own home.
Her heartbeat halted.
"Kamiko-sama, meet my daughter, Haruno Sakura," Mebuki placed a hand on Sakura's shoulder as if to hold her down to prevent her escape. Sakura thinks she didn't need to. The implication of this meeting weighed on her legs, on her tongue, and in her mind like lead mixed with cement. She couldn't move even if she wanted to. "Sakura, this is Uchiha Kamiko-sama, the Uchiha clan's personal matchmaker."
"It's wonderful to meet you, Kamiko-sama." Sakura bowed at her waist, grateful her voice came out steady, if at all. Feeling the unceasing quivering of her hands, she interwove her fingers in front of her, burrowing them under the flaps of her yukata to avoid it garnering scrutiny. Consciously, she straightened herself before looking directly at the woman's sharp, unforgiving eyes. "What brings you to our home?"
The matchmaker raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow, mutely portraying how stupid she thought Sakura was for not figuring it out. Sakura already knew, though. She knew it well. The sudden flip in her father's behaviour, her mother's evident thirst, the matchmaker's presence… it finally made sense to her, and it all amounted to one thing.
But could you blame a girl for clinging on to pointless hope?
For so long, she knew it was inevitable. It only was a matter of time. Sakura thought she had come to terms with it, but standing in front of the adults, she was left feeling bare and inexorably exposed. She felt like the clown who failed to grasp her own joke.
"She's here as an intermediate," her father speaking up startled her, "A member of the Uchiha clan has shown interest in you."
The key to her cage turned.
Her fate was sealed.
She couldn't escape anymore.
ʚ—ɞ
The day of the omiai arrived too soon.
On the third morning after receiving the daunting news, an irritable Sakura found herself walking the southern village streets between her parents. The bright yellow rays have yet to overthrow the navy tinge of the night sky as the sun took its sweet time to ascend past the Hokage Mountain. Warmth wrestled with the fresh, cold breeze embracing the village. The musical harmony of birds twittering their songs pierced the waking silence.
Even at this early hour, Konoha was already astir. Several shops stood open, the owners bustling to clean the place and prepare for their regular patrons. Police officers patrolled the streets, patiently awaiting the morning shift to arrive so they could be relieved of duty. A handful of people who seemingly rose with the crack of dawn roamed aimlessly. These early risers were drawn towards the family of three, their necks magnetically craning in curiosity as they passed by with an undeniable air of nobility.
Sakura knew it was to be expected. It was rare for her family to be seen together in public. Occasionally, she would attend tea ceremonies hosted by other clans with her mother, and her parents would often have dinner out by themselves, but otherwise, her family has no reason to be parading in public together. What's more, they were wearing formal attires that screamed for all the wrong kinds of attention.
It wouldn't take the busybodies long to deduce it was an omiai. By the time this meeting ends, Sakura was sure the news would have travelled from this end of the village to the northern side. More rumours stemming from baseless assumptions would soon follow.
Suddenly, the chirrups of the morning birds no longer sounded melodious.
Veiling her emerald eyes from the world, Sakura threw her head heavenwards, praying to every last deity she knew of. She would need all the patience, and restraint she could muster if she wanted to last through the day without crushing something or someone beneath her fists.
"Sakura, mind your posture!"
At her mother's sharp reprimand, she straightened herself but swallowed the sarcastic retort weighing on the tip of her tongue.
It was safe to assume Sakura and her mother weren't on the same wavelength. Over the past couple of days, while her father had nothing to say, her mother couldn't stop gushing about the deities blessing their family with great fortune. Why would she? Mebuki made it no secret her ultimate goal in life was to marry her daughter into a prestigious clan.
And there were none more prestigious than the Uchiha.
To have one of Konoha's founding families take an interest in her daughter as a potential wife for their clansman was an immense honour. Honour that could compel more suitors to come knocking on their door. Sakura didn't need the Yamanaka clan's kekkei genkai to know her mother was hoping it does. That way, there would be several more to choose from in case the Uchiha weren't fond of her or if she does anything to purposefully compromise the possible engagement.
Sakura couldn't decide which was worse.
Approaching the Uchiha district, Sakura easily spotted the silhouette of a woman standing by the gates. It was the matchmaker. She knew because three nights ago, it was decided amongst the adults they would meet at the entrance. It would've been pointless for Kamiko to pick them up at their house only to trail back to where she came from.
The matchmaker didn't wait for the family to reach her. Once she deemed them close enough, she spun on her heels, briskly leading the way without a word of greeting.
And Sakura thought she was rude. The Uchiha woman's icy exterior was even colder than the winters at the Land of Lightning. Idly, Sakura wondered if the man who took an interest in her was of similar demeanour.
A frown line creased the medic's forehead as she realised she never learnt who he was. Throughout her nineteen years of existence, the only Uchiha she had ever truly associated with was Sasuke. Every now and then she'd encounter members of the clan as patients at the hospital, but it didn't account as knowing them personally, so Sakura didn't know what to expect.
If she were to go with biassed opinions and dubious gossip, then the Uchiha family would be comparable to the Hyuuga; traditionalists, bigoted and brimming with aristocratic arrogance. But believing the village hearsay would make Sakura ignorant. She would be no better than the gossip mongers who spread them. Having been at the other end of such spite, she should know better.
Uchiha Sasuke should be proof enough the rumours aren't justified. After all, a boy who can overlook prejudices could not have emerged from a family who practised suppression of women's social privileges.
Right?
Or perhaps she was hoping for too much.
Perhaps Sasuke was just different.
"We're almost there." Uchiha Kamiko's flat voice drew Sakura away from her inner monologue. Refocusing her attention ahead of her, she caught the older lady staring back at her from over her shoulder, clearly indicating to whom she was directing her words. "Prepare yourself."
Sakura didn't understand what she meant but nodded nonetheless.
Inhaling long and deep, Sakura held her breath up to the count of three before she exhaled slowly, wishing the nervous flutters stewing in her stomach could dissipate with it. She was shaking. Why was she shaking? One meeting doesn't equate to the end of her freedom. One meeting doesn't mean she'll be engaged. One just means there will be several more to come, but it also gives her enough time to figure out a way to save herself.
She only needed to make sure this man and his parents don't come to like her.
Easy.
So why did the acid in her gut churn more viciously?
Smoothening the cloth of her kimono with the palm of her hands, she convinced herself she could do this. One omiai. One man. She's fought underhanded battles with shinobi outnumbering her a dozen to one. This was a relaxing onsen in comparison. There was nothing to be afraid of.
"We're here."
Sakura looked up to inspect the house they stopped at. Recognition knocked all air out of her lungs, and she stumbled backwards. Panic rose like bile in her throat.
"Sakura!" she heard her mother hiss, "what are you doing?"
She glanced at her parents, wondering why they lacked even half of the surprise that overwhelmed her—but then it hit her. Omiai were arranged between parents and a matchmaker. The two candidates were mere pawns left in the dark until the time they were exhibited as festooned goods in the matrimonial market.
Sakura struggled to contain the hysterical laughter exploding up her chest.
Her mother has truly outdone herself. How many connections did she charm with bogus flattery just to get a hold of this opportunity? And her father, she could no longer afford to believe his fondness for her prevented him from sending her to omiai before this. In fact, she can't help but think her parents were no different from one another.
They were both lying in wait, anticipating her highest bidder.
And standing in front of the Uchiha clan leader's house, it seems they have succeeded.
AN: - First off, to answer a question from a guest reviewer, H4H. What would happen if the village was attacked?
Well, I've already figured it out, but you, my lovely readers, are going to have to wait and see ;) I promise it would be worth it :D
Now that the historical background has been cleared out (somewhat), the next chapter is when all the fun begins. Itachi and Sakura are finally going to meet!
Tune in for it ^^