Sakura tapped the screen of her phone, causing a row of colorful gems to burst into confetti, accompanied by a musical jingle. More gems fell into place, filling up the screen. Fluorescent lights buzzed dully overhead, and a fax machine whined and crackled as it slowly printed out forms. It was a rare, slow day at the clinic, and she had a rare bit of time to herself in which she could simply relax. Part of her was tempted to close early. There weren't any appointments set up for today, and it had been too long since she'd taken the time off. But the more responsible part of her restrained Sakura from doing that—if someone did come to see her, she would want to be there.

At the very least, though, she could justify taking a break. And she supposed that was what this is. Ding-a-ling-ring went the app's jingle as she cleared away another row of gems.

Grimace. Tilting head. Sloping shoulders. Sakura's thumb twitched, dancing over the pixelated graphics. Her eyes flitted dully over the patterns, analyzing without employing real analytic thought. In a zombie daze, conscious of her listlessness but not having the energy in her will to do anything to change it, Sakura continued to absorb herself in this dumb, pointless, soul-draining skinner box of a mobile game, whiling away the time as irretrievable, infinitely precious seconds ticked by on the clock behind her. She understood roughly how the game manipulated her neurological wiring, exploiting the brain's reward mechanism to snare her in an inescapable gameplay loop moderated only by the game's own limitation on how many levels could be played in a day. And that limit could be circumvented for a price.

It was a cynical little thing, this game, a manipulative and even Machiavellian moneymaking scheme of a program. There was no passion behind it, no artistry or ingenuity beyond that of a snake oil salesman conning his victims into forking over relatively exorbitant sums for nonexistent benefits. Properly speaking, the game wasn't even fun. There was just barely more to it than pulling the lever on a slot machine—and at least with a slot machine, you knew what you were in for. This thing did not even have the decency to be honest about its slimy intentions, and a part of Sakura hated it for being this way. But she still played the game, as an alcoholic might still take another swig from the bottle even if they knew it was destroying their mind and body.

She could have done something with this free time. She could have been doing anything with this break. Maybe call her husband, meet up with an old friend for lunch, or anything at all. But a part of her knew that she wouldn't have done anything meaningful. Maybe grab a snack, maybe check social media. But she didn't want to do the former because she was worried about putting on weight, and she tried to steer clear of the latter because it would either make her envious of the happier lives of her old schoolmates or piss her off with a timeline tainted by political bullshit. This game was the safest option to waste her time, depressingly. At least it gave some kind of positive stimulation, even if it was entirely artificial.

Better to sink her free time into a dumb, meaningless game. There wasn't any more positive option within her habitual choices. Sakura couldn't remember how to decide to do something different. She couldn't remember how to be spontaneous. The mind-numbing grind that was her career had deprived her of any and all such abilities—it had reduced her to this dull, insensate husk of a creature. But maybe that was just life in a nutshell. Maybe everyone else was equally as miserable as her.

…No, it was impossible for Sakura to believe that last proposition. She was sure there were plenty of people as bad off as her, and even plenty more in much worse situations, but she was too miserable in her own place to feel any real empathy. And she was certain that a majority of people were happier—or at least not so overtly unsatisfied and frustrated.

But she was ruminating again. Shaking her head, Sakura forced herself to focus on the screen, and she tapped it, clearing out another row of gems to another ding-a-ling-ring from her phone. A buzz of reward, a tingling of chemicals released somewhere in her brain. Sub-rational, sub-emotional, barely rising to even be called pleasure. Still, it was something. It was better than THAT.

Again, Sakura tapped the screen, selecting another gem for destruction. The row was cleared, and the ring of a bell greeted her—not the jingle from the app, but a chime from above her clinic's front door. And now she heard footsteps walking up to the front desk. Who could this be? Is someone looking to set up an appointment?

Sakura sighed and put her phone to sleep, then rose and walked to the front desk. Part of her was glad to be pulled away from the inanity of the game, barely any better than boredom, but another part of her resented the arrival of a client, hating her work still more than she hated her play.

"Yes?" Sakura said, arriving at the front desk. "What do you want?"

She was greeted by a tall, fantastically buxom blonde. At first glance, it was difficult to tell the woman's age. Her complexion looked good, but in a way that was a little too good to have been attained by natural means, and there was no way that tits so big could also be that perky, no matter what kind of bra you wore. The woman was beautiful, Sakura had to admit—she hated to concede this, given the woman's substantial endowments, but it was a self-evident fact.

"Hello, is this the practice of Sakura Haruno?" said the buxom blonde woman. "I wanted to talk to her."

"Yes, it is," Sakura said. "And you're talking to her."

"Oh?" The woman smiled dazzlingly, flashing a neat row of pearly white teeth. "Well, that's convenient! Hello, Sakura. I'm Tsunade."

The blonde held out a perfectly manicured hand over the counter. Sakura eyed it dubiously for a second. The woman didn't have a ring, but this wasn't what stood out most—Sakura recognized something in those hands, in the particular calluses and the resting alignment of the digits. She had a good eye for detail, and she could read much in the shape of a person's hands and how they carried themselves. This Tsunade had skillful fingers, and Sakura could tell that she was dexterous. Looking up at Tsunade's frame again, she saw that the blonde held herself confidently without coming across as intrusive or overly assertive. And those brown eyes glinted with manifold kinds of intellect, emotional and analytical, and everything in between.

Tentatively, Sakura reached out and took Tsunade's hand. They shook. The blonde's grip was firm—not excessively so for a woman, but in a way that revealed confidence and competence. This was somebody used to performing precise manual operations, who could use a knife exactly and efficiently without wasted movement or inaccurate fumbling. Sakura could tell from that handshake, on top of what she had read in the callosities and digital proportions, that this was a woman who worked in the same field as herself, and she was probably pretty skilled in it too. Especially given the calm and pleasant way Tsunade presented herself, Sakura guessed that the woman was experienced.

"Hello," Sakura said belatedly, slipping into a tone of professional courtesy. "It's a pleasure to meet you. What can I do for you today, Mrs. Tsunade?"

"It's Ms., actually," Tsunade said. "I never bothered with getting married. The career was more important, you know."

"I see," Sakura said. She disagreed with Tsunade, at least as it regarded her own profession, but she was polite enough not to bring it up immediately upon meeting her. "Ms. Tsunade, then. Did you need something from me?" She paused, giving the woman's body a once over. "I'd ask if you wanted to make an appointment, but…"

Tsunade laughed.

"It's both the privilege and the curse of a plastic surgeon!" she said. "If you want work done, you have to go to someone else to have it done. And if you're any good at it, you'll be damn picky about who you let put you under the knife. I take good care of myself, of course, but time doesn't care about how many diets or exercise regimens you undergo, so past a certain point… well, I'm lucky enough to know a handful of surgeons estimable enough for me to trust to work on me. Needless to say, I don't need any work done."

"Sure… I figured," said Sakura. She was partly rueful and partly relieved. If Tsunade had asked for breast enhancement surgery, she might have finally snapped. "Are you just here to say hello, then?"

"Something like that. I've heard good things about you, Sakura."

"Professionally?"

"Yes, yes." Tsunade nodded. "They say you're a very good plastic surgeon! I know Shizune recently had you do some work on her…"

"She did, yeah. She still needs to come back for her follow-up at the end of the week." Sakura smiled thinly. She was still sour about having gotten talked into working on her mentor and former instructor. "But you know her?"

"I know just about everyone in this line of work, honey. But Shizune used to work for me, so we're especially close."

Sakura opened her mouth to ask why Shizune hadn't gone to Tsunade for her work then, but she decided against it. She didn't want to seem rude. Tsunade hadn't rubbed her the wrong way so far. Not especially, at least. She seemed like a genuinely likable person. Sakura guessed that this warm, cheery friendliness was at least partly an act, but even just being able to act amiable and charismatic was a lot better than some people she knew.

"She told you she was getting work done?"

"Oh, yes. She has told me all about her brilliant former student." Tsunade smiled at Sakura. "She takes pride in how famous you are."

"Famous, huh…?" Sakura said glumly. "I guess I am."

"You don't sound too happy about that."

The pinkette hesitated for a moment. Then she sighed.

"Because I'm not."

"No?" Tsunade gave her an insightful look, a look that seemed to peer clean through Sakura. She wore a more relaxed and faintly mysterious smile now, and she stroked her chin. "I wonder why? You're trusted and respected by an increasing number of people. I've heard people say you're one of the best plastic surgeons anywhere, and Shizune always said you were so passionate about it when she was teaching you."

"Back then, I thought it would do some good for the world," Sakura replied, making a face. "Shizune had convinced me that it would be more than just… well, what it actually is. But I'm only ever approached when somebody wants their boobs bigger, or nip and tuck, or Botox… God, I hate it. They're all so fucking vain and shallow. They almost always just want bigger, nicer tits. You know? Why can't people just be happy with what they've got?"

"If they ever were, we'd be out of a job," Tsunade said blithely. "But is it really so shallow? Beauty is part of virtue. People want to be like the naturally beautiful, and who are we to tell them they can't? Because they weren't born that way? Because it isn't natural? But science is the master of nature, and man is the master of science. Why should we decide to limit ourselves in conquering the natural world? Why should we not choose to remake ourselves as we see fit?"

Sakura bit her lip. Hearing Tsunade put it in such romantically humanistic terms. She could see the point if it was put like that; the phrasing appealed somewhat to her own worldview. Still, she was intransigent. Petulant affect obstinately stood its ground, a core of shallow resentment defying this attempt to move her heart and mind. After a moment, thus, Sakura shook her head.

"It's vain," she said. "And I hate the kind of people I have to work on. They're so vapid and materialistic. It's insulting. I didn't go into this field to make easy money. I don't just want to work for the highest bidder."

"But that's the economic reality," Tsunade said. "You need money to live, and the kind of people who most value your skills and can afford to pay you appropriately will naturally tend to be a little on the… worldly side of things."

"I know…" Sakura sighed. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it. Anyway, it just bugs me. I hate having to give bigger tits to women who already have bigger tits than me…"

She trailed off with a blush, realizing what she was saying. She was embarrassed to admit quite this much, especially to someone she had only just met. Exhaustedly, sheepishly, she shook her head. Looking into Tsunade's eyes, she ruefully saw that the woman understood what she had been saying. The blonde was smiling knowingly, and her eyes had dipped down to Sakura's bust, or lack thereof. The pinkette fidgeted.

"And you don't trust someone else to do the work on you, right?" Tsunade guessed. "You've thought about getting them enhanced, but everyone you looked up to was either too expensive or worse at it than you. You wanted to get work done—maybe for a long time. But you've gotten bitter because you couldn't find the right person to do it for you, and you've started to resent the entire profession as a result."

"No…" Sakura said weakly. "It's more complicated than that. I mean… I guess that doesn't help matters, but…"

Tsunade cut off Sakura's words, putting a finger to the woman's lips. Sakura stared into Tsunade's eyes.

"How about this? I think your skills are top-notch. From what I've heard, you have the potential to be one of the best plastic surgeons in the world, and I'd hate to see that kind of talent walk away from the field. I'll give you a special offer: a free breast enhancement surgery. I'll make them as big as you want. And in exchange, you stay in the profession."

Sakura looked away uncertainly. The offer was tempting, loath though she was to admit it. But she didn't know if she would be okay with accepting it.

She pursed her lips.

"I don't know. I need a little time to think about it. And… maybe I should ask my husband first."

"By all means," Tsunade said. "Call him and talk it over. I'll be waiting in the other room when you're done."

She headed for the waiting room, leaving Sakura to herself. The woman watched the older surgeon walk away for a moment.

Then she took out her phone and dialed her husband's number.