I don't own neither Naruto nor Samurai Warriors.


-Chapter Two-

Welcome Back to Hell

Some things never change.


There was one thing she was certain of when she opened her eyes.

She was not in her tent—or in any tent—camped just outside of the Imagawa lands.

When she opened her mouth or tried to move her body, she was met with a serene silence by her limbs. She remembered the unearthly pain just before she lost consciousness, as well as the inability to move then, too, but there was no pain now. It was like living death.

Utterly confused, she tried her best to survey her surroundings, shocked numb by what she saw and felt. When a high-pitched war horn erupted in the doorway, she visibly jolted, unsure where to focus her eyes.

"Ah, well, she seems to be awake,"

Panting, she scanned again. It wasn't the alarm for battle—someone dressed in something white was talking to her. She tried to peer for closer inspection. It was so damn bright

"Can you sit up?"

She blinked—suddenly the pale figure was in front of her, wavering in front of her face. The kunoichi sucked in a breath, wondering where her weapons were. Where anything was, really. She was profoundly perplexed.

"I guess not," the woman dully noted, passing something even brighter than the rest of the room over her eyes. She did her best to avoid the light, earning a scowl from the older lady.

"Sakura? Sakura?"

Another being entered the room, bringing in a swirl of sound and light. The kunoichi felt a prick of pain behind her brow as her vision began to whirl—this was getting to be overwhelming.

"Oh, thank god! I thought—oh, god!"

Watching the newest addition to the room burst into tears and continue to call her Sakura, she wished someone would do her a favor and send her back to hell.


Wordlessly, she stared back into the mirror, occasionally picking a strand of impossibly colored hair off of her cheek. Her jade eyes remained rooted on the lightest dusting of freckles across her nose.

"Sakura? Would you like something to eat? I have your favorite here…,"

The lightest panic touched her stomach with that name again, followed by the bewildered confusion she was all but numb to by now. Her gaze never left the mirror stationed on the opposing wall.

"My… favorite?"

She cringed at the sound of her voice.

Actually, I am hungry, she thought as she finally turned to look at the strange woman who had not left the room since she gained consciousness. She reached for the plastic tupperware—now not an unfamiliar sight—with shaking hands. After opening the lid and discovering it was not in fact grilled salmon and rice, she quirked an eyebrow and shook her head, mostly at herself. Of course this wouldn't be her favorite food, because she wasn't herself anymore.

The girl swallowed and bit back cold dread.

It had taken three days for her to finally come to accept this decision—that she was somehow someone else.

Like most things she didn't understand, she simply put it off to the side and tried to focus on something she could comprehend, or the next course of action. Where to go next—who to report back to. Not any of that did her any good now. Though she knew this, she still had a burning desire to ask one question, as if the answer would put everything to rest.

Licking her lips, she gripped the edges of the strange container and brought herself to look up.

"Where is—," she forced herself to drop the honorific duty usually required, "—Yukimura?"

Though she probably knew the answer, she hoped anyway. Before she could consign herself to defeat, her shinobi mind had to know she did all she could.

As expected, her companion blinked several times in confusion before shaking her head, concern written in her features.

"Here, eat this up. The doctor is going to come take one last look at you before we check out."


"Are you sure you can walk by yourself?"

She merely shook her head, not totally understanding the full sentence. Though the dialect was close enough to her own, she found herself puzzling over most of the conversation. When she went to answer a question, she used mostly vague gestures and definite yeses or nos. Even if she wasn't a kunoichi anymore, it wouldn't pay to show weakness in front of these people, and incomprehension was right up there with ignorance in her book.

Gritting her teeth, she dared to look up. For once, the woman—her half-hearted research told her she was her mother—had her back turned to her as she talked to another female behind some sort of barrier. Quickly, she gave the large room a perfunctory glance for escape routes and possible usable weapons, but the shear unfamiliarity overtook her and she dropped her eyes back to her toes.

On the way home, she bit her pride and allowed the mother-woman to lead her through the streets, clenching the insides of her cheeks.

She was so unlike herself it hurt.


Another week passed without event. She saw little more than the inside of the house, spending most of her time in the tiny room she assumed belonged to her. Perhaps she was waiting—waiting for that awful pain to swallow her whole again and spit her back out into her world. It worked once, right?

Another few days pass.

Apparently not. Thought it was nice enough to not be trapped forever looking over a boring pond.

She was restless, having regained full function of her alien body and nowhere to vent her pent up energy and fear. Sleep was her biggest escape, and she dreamed vividly about her past. Mostly Yukimura, whether she liked it or not. It took death and a half to make her realize she had somewhat of a crush the man.

Rolling over, she sighed and admired the dying sunlight illuminating the burgundy curtains. Light knocking shook her from her light reverie.

"Sakura? I'm coming in—"

Sakura.

She was named after a plant. She had pink hair. She was twelve again.

She took back her earlier brief relief about not being sent back to purgatory.

"Hey."

The bed sank down under the older woman's weight.

"I was talking to your father on the phone…"

She sucked in her breath, though she wasn't sure why. Perhaps out of residual fear for that word. Otou-san.

"…and though he is very concerned and wants you to be better, he wonders when you will be going back to the academy."

Unsure of the full meaning, she remained silent, waiting for familiar words to cue her into what the word school meant. Taking her silence as pained hesitation, the woman backtracked.

"I mean, it's okay if you don't go back—if you don't want to be a kunoichi anymore. You can stay here and—"

"Kunoichi?"

She perked up, rolling over to regard the woman with desperation in her eyes. She was met with an encouraged smile.

"Yes, yes! You want to be a kunoichi."

I am a kunoichi, she thought to herself with indignation. However, it was something familiar to grasp hold of, some way out. She simply bobbed her head up and down, light in her eyes for the first time since… well, she died, she supposed.

Her mother mirrored her movements, grinning.

"Good, good. I'll call up the academy right away."


Eavesdropping.

One of her specialties, in fact.

Even before her formal shinobi education, she excelled in the art of being noisy as a child. Though it wasn't difficult, living in a house with no walls save the ones that kept the snow and wind out. She grinned like a pouncing cat as she squatted near the kitchen archway. If she was going to be back in the saddle again, there was no time like now to get started.

"…no, I'm aware of the risks—but this is the first time in weeks I've seen some life! This is the only thing she wants. I—"

She twirled the chord, biting her painted lip. From her position, the girl could see something of a slump in the woman's features.

"…so, you got the report, then… There is… something off about her, but they—the doctors said she's suffering from post-dramatic stress from being so close to death…"

The man—it was a man, she decided—barked something harsh on the other end. Apparently it touched a nerve.

"I'll have you know my daughter is very capable, and if she wants to do something, goddamnit, she can do it! She will be in class tomorrow, and if she requires help from you, you will give it to her or I will personally see you killed."

The eavesdropping shinobi almost fell over in surprise by the sudden change in the sunny woman's personality. She caught her balance on the door frame and listened, trying her best to understand everything.

She smirked. Though she doubtlessly missed the nuances, it wasn't hard to get that she had at least one person on her side. Even if it was just her own mother.


Morning found the girl dressed and ready by the kitchen table, armed to the teeth with every scrap of metal she could find and just as much paper stuffed in the pack she found hanging in the closet. After racking her brains about the intelligence she had gathered so far, this place she was going to was one to gain knowledge and skills, not unlike the inconspicuous shrine she spent a third of her life learning the art of survival from other women. However different this place was from her own war-torn world, the term shinobi seemed to be the same. As far as the obvious differences…

She pat the stuffed pack with appreciation.

She would gladly take notes.

"You're already up?"

Her new mother came yawning into the kitchen, glossy blonde hair coming free from its bun. She smiled and turned her attention to the large white box in the corner to fetch something from within, handing it to the girl with a sleepy grin.

"Your lunch."

She accepted it with as much grace as a confused foreigner could, scrunching up her eyebrows in concentration.

"Thank…you."

When the other woman smiled, she breathed a sigh of relief and went to put the wrapped meal into her already full bag. She stiffened when a hand gently touched her shoulder with a hesitant question.

"Do you… remember where it is?"

She met the woman's emerald eyes with something like awe.


"Sakura Haruno."

She continued to gape at the scrolls and books crammed in the corner of the room, wondering where to get started. This was, after all, a whole new world. If she was going to conquer it and regain her shinobi status, she had to learn.

"Sakura-san."

The language, the land, the rules—it was all becoming a part of a new game. With no warlords, no armies, no tents—she had the rest of her life to—

"HARUNO!"

She jumped, recognizing Haruno to be her supposed family name. A man wearing baggy dark pants with his arms crossed over an ugly green vest scowled down at her, obviously perturbed.

"Class has started, I would appreciate it if you took your seat?"

Snickers echoed throughout the room from the children seated in rows. She frowned at them and returned her gaze to the man, wondering exactly where that was. In all her early years, ninja training never took place behind a desk. A brothel? Yes. Seduction practice. A teahouse? Yes. Disguise. An apothecary? Yes. Poison 101. A graveyard? Anatomy had to be learned somewhere.

But this?

She shook her head as she went for the open seat in the front, not surprised by the age of the children, but more by their relaxed demeanors, their clothes, their hair. This was not at all like her training, where she had to crop her hair short and wear weighted gi unless she was doing field study. Though the geisha getup was just as taxing…

"Sakura, this is the work you missed," the scarred man said, handing her a packet of papers. She grasped it with a half-hearted hold, underestimating the weight. It plopped heavily against the desk, trapping her hand comically underneath. As she gaped at the weakness of her wrist, he cleared his throat and backtracked, mistaking her open exasperation.

"Uh, just turn it in at your leisure…,"

"Iruka-sensei? I gotta pee…"

The man visibly sighed.

"Class just started, Naruto."

"But I really gotta! I mean, if I don't go now, I'll just—explode!"

"Well, you better hurry up, then," he stated dryly, returning to his position at the front of the classroom. Taking one last deep breath, he turned back around to face his students for another long day of class.

"Today, as you know, we're going to talk about the foundation and history of the Land of Wind."

As usual, he was met with a collected groan.

All except Sakura Haruno, pen already in hand as she watched him with something akin to killer focus.


"Uh, Sakura-san… you can stop now…"

She wiped the sweat from her brow, dismayed by the dire results she was getting with the kunai. The kunai, her favorite weapon. Nonplussed, she took the distraction as a chance to breath as she regarded him with wide eyes. Iruka-sensei—as he was called—pointed to the sky for emphasis.

"I know it was a rough first day back, but the sun's starting to set… you don't need to be here, it's alright. Why don't you go home and get some supper? Your mom already called…," he looked down and scratched his head, something of a blush creeping up his collar as he remembered the contents of the conversation. He knew Mebuki Haruno's reputation…

"I'm… whatever," she dropped her knives at her feet and went to fetch the ones scattered around the tree and the few implanted in the target, the shorter hair around her face and neck floating freely in a frazzled halo from her pony tail. They didn't build Edo in a day, either, so she figured one night off wouldn't hurt.

Satisfied, Iruka turned and left her alone to lock up for the day.

Searching for the last kunai, she whispered her new name under breath over and over, trying to get the hang of it. As much as she hated it, and hated having a way for enemies to keep tabs on her, she knew she had to use it.

Sakura. I am Sakura.

She huffed and sat under the tree, looking up at the dimming sky through the branches.

Kunoichi just sounded so much better.


Aqua eyes peered at their target from behind the academy building. They were shimmering with uncertainty, focused on the girl walking briskly through the training yard with her arms crossed in serious concentration. Her brow grew tighter when she didn't even acknowledge the glance that Sasuke-kun almost gave her. That alone, made Ino certain. Forget everything else.

That was not Sakura Haruno.

And this was all her fault.


Laugh if you will—

I'm learning a thousand different ways

to kill you.


Revising for the sake of revising. I figured out a (lame) way to explain how she's here and where the real Sakura 'went.' Like the wind, this story is going to take itself where it wants to go.

K.