Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto
Warning: This story contains abuse, child neglect, child abuse (teen), violence, torture, and assault (brief nonconsensual contact, not rape). Nothing graphic in description but over all dark themes of human society. There is also adult content, adult themes. Not suitable for children so please be mindful. Later chapters (towards end) get kind of lemony.
This story definitely has its dark moments so please be mindful.
AN: Hi there! I'm back again with another MinaSaku story. And it's a loooong one (around 40+ chapters and a epilogue) because I can't be concise to save my life. I'm excited to share this one with all you. Some things to get out of the way:
1. This story takes place in an AU where there are no ninja just samurai (so not cannon at all. I tried to explore how I think the characters would be in a new setting)
2. This story is not historically accurate in anyway or culturally accurate even though it is based loosely (very loosely) on Feudal era japan
3. The characters are all over the place in terms of age for example Minato and Kakashi are the same age in this story but Rin is a teenager
4. There will be MinaKushi moments (no Kushina bashing) especially in the beginning in the form of flashbacks. But this is a MinaSaku story, I would like to stress that. That being said be prepared for complications
5. There is some world building since it does not take place in the Konoha of the Manga/Anime
6. This is slooooow burn. Minato doesn't enter the story until chapter 6 or so (world building) so please be patient (there will be plenty of MinaSaku moments, promise!)
7. It is Sakura centric (mostly). It explores her journey. She has a darker backstory but it is important for the plot and her character
8. There are a number of very important side OC
If you're still reading after all that, great! I think this is a good story. I'm excited about it. The first few chapters are on the shorter side. But they will get longer. The story is drafted so I will try to have weekly updates at least. More frequent if possible. I'll stop now. Hope you enjoy!
~L.H.
Chapter 1: Leaving Home Behind
Flashback:
Her body was nearly as rigid as a corpse. She counted to ten in her head four times. The breathing of her mother lying next to her on the futon mattress did not change in the slightest. The setup was forgiving. It would not betray her movements too badly. Her mother had become somewhat of an insomniac. She could not really blame her mother. Ever since her sister had left home in the dead of the night at the age of twenty-one her mother was determined to keep a close eye on her, her remaining daughter. She was all that remained of her family's honor. She was to rectify her sister's mistakes. She was to right the wrongs.
She would be the reason why her father, a proud general in the Emperor's army, could hold his head up again high. She would marry into the family her father dictated. Just as her mother had married and her mother before her. She had every intention of doing so. She was still too young when her sister ran away three years ago, to marry the man that was picked for the eldest daughter. A quiet, dark-haired, dark-eyed man in his early thirties. There was nothing outwardly wrong with him. He had all his appendages still which were starting to become exceedingly rare for men between the ages of seventeen and forty on account of the wars. She would even go as far as to say that he was handsome. He certainly knew how to conduct himself in the meeting that was chaperoned. She had begged her mother to let her tag along as her sister and the man had taken a stroll through the gardens of the complex. She had promised to not utter a peep and to maintain a distance.
Her sister had been so unlike herself; she recalled. Her sister, with her blonde locks done intricately atop her head, had barely lifted her head much less her eyes. Maybe the headpiece she was wearing was simply too heavy. Or maybe she was not used to it. Her sister never did show much respect or interest in the classes their mother enrolled them in. She remembered the tears of frustration many tutors cried. Their will bent before her sister's did, always. So that was why it was so strange to see her sister so meek, so demure, so agreeable.
It was the last time she saw her sister for a long time. Her sister ran away from home that very night. Just as their father had finalized the date of her wedding. At sixteen she did not understand why her sister left everything behind for a man. At nineteen she found herself just about to do the same.
She inched the covers from her body. She kept her eyes trained on her mother's face. The lilac rhombus tattooed on her forehead, the mark of nobility, stared at her in disappointment. Today with her actions, She was going to make it impossible for her father to be able to look anyone in the eye. She was adding to his shame, tenfold. She was going to be the reason why people would continue to claim that having daughters was worse than being cursed.
She was two-thirds of the way out of the protection of her covers when her mother's arm came out to rest across her body. She froze. Her mother muttered in her sleep. The nineteen-year-old's heart pounded her in chest frantically. She looked up at the beams of the ceiling. She resisted the urge to gulp. She counted to a hundred.
She gingerly reached for her mother's hand. She grabbed hold of her index and middle fingers with clammy fingers of her own. With gentle, barely there movements she slowly began to lift her mother's hand from her, just enough that she could slip out from underneath it. It felt like she was holding her breath for a lifetime. Maybe she was. If she was caught, her life was all but over. Over before it even began.
She bit down on her bottom lip harder than necessary. She was out of the bed. She lowered her mother's hand back down but not before placing a featherlight kiss on her knuckles. She seared the image of her peacefully sleeping mother in her mind. She brought a hand to her heart. The tears stung in her jade-green eyes. She apologized to her mother. She did nothing to deserve the shame.
With bare feet, she counted her steps as she navigated the near pitch-black of her home. She moved to the wall. She pulled on her dark green haori. Her hands went into the pockets. She felt the gold hair clips. She left the room without a backward glance. She slipped into her shoes and entered the cold night air.
She moved through the gardens. She held the hem of her kimono up to her knees to keep it from snagging on the underbrush. She narrowed her eyes towards the gate obscured by the foliage. It was the same gate that her sister had left through. She was sure of it.
The crescent moon was high in the sky. Her fingers curled around the metal ring of the side gate. She looked over her shoulder. The soft lights of the complex bid farewell to her. It was home. She had no doubts in her mind that she would not see it again. She swallowed the sudden obstruction that seemed to be lodged in her throat. This time she did not fight the tears.
They clouded her vision. She pulled the ring and opened the gate. She stepped into the streets. His solemn face greeted her. She took his hand. He helped her onto his horse. It was almost as dark as the night. She pressed her face against his back, her arms circled his waist. Its hooves thumped against the dirt street. The beating of her heart in her chest was somehow louder still.
End of Flashback
Her body rocked with the rickety movements of the wooden cart along the dusty dirt road. The sun was sitting lazily in the sky. The crisp autumn wind dulled the sharpness of the heat on her face and neck. She watched as she moved backward, further and further from her home. From the only world, she had ever known. Her jade eyes scanned the expanse of land. Her father's land. Or rather what used to be her father's land. The orchards had been reduced to stumps. Her heart ached. She closed her eyes. She could see herself - her younger self - no more than eight years old running, laughing, screaming with glee through the low canopies of the apple trees. An even smaller pair of feet chased after her. Adamant to keep up despite the disparity in the length of their strides. Her little face was flushed and she was breathless but she was happy. So happy. She doubted she would ever be that happy again.
Sakura sighed. Gone were the trees. Gone was her childhood. Gone was her carefreeness. She pulled her beaten brown suitcase closer to her. It was her world now. It was not significant in size. It held four kimonos, undergarments, a comb, a diary, a stack of parchment, and small glass jars carefully wrapped in the clothing so they would not rattle and break before she arrived at her destination. That was it. Her worldly possessions fit neatly into a small suitcase.
The cart jolted as a wheel crushed a rock under it. She gripped the side of the wooden structure. She did not take her eyes off of Tonika Village, not even when it was nothing more than a spec on the horizon. She pulled the off-white bandana on her head. With a practiced hand, she carefully lowered it further down on her generational forehead. It was the same forehead as her grandfather and her mother. She tucked her pink strands under the fabric, ensuring that they would remain hidden from the world.
It was to be a long journey to her new place of dwelling. Tonika, the tiny village where everyone knew everyone, was on the outskirts of the Land of Fire. It did not share a border with the warring Land of Earth. Tonika was safe. Her family was safe. For however long that may be.
She closed her eyes as another unpleasant jolt of the cart jarred her frame. She was thankful she had skipped breakfast. She would have been wearing it by now if she had not. Sakura pulled the collar of her simple, brown kimono closer to her. The act brought her a modicum of comfort, of control of her situation.
Haruno Mebuki wiped her brow with her forearm. Her soapy hands returned to the large metal pot she was washing. Her hands worked to clean the curves of its body. Her mind was far off. Her heart was heavy. Her daughter left home today. For the first time in seventeen years, the home they shared was without Sakura. The day her child was born was very traumatic and bitter. The minute she laid eyes on her firstborn she had cried. She had given birth to a girl. A girl with pink hair. Then she was gone. Supposedly forever. Only to return back. And now she was gone again.
Much like how Mebuki had left home, Sakura did it without her father's blessing. Kizashi was too proud and too stubborn to acknowledge the fact that she was leaving. He refused to accept it. Just as Mebuki had broken her father's heart when she ran away from home at nineteen to marry Haruno Kizashi, Haruno Sakura broke her father's heart by leaving today.
The blonde-haired, green-eyed woman set the metal pot on the table to join the other pots and pans she had cleaned. The woman wiped her wet hands on her apron front. She wandered about to the terracotta pot that was hidden away in the shade of the structure of the brick house. She lifted the wooden ladle that was on the side of the pot before removing the cover. She dunked the ladle into the opening and poured water into the metal cup in her hands. She could feel the coolness of the water through the cup. With heavy steps that were weighed down by what was in her heart, she slowly approached the faded blue door.
She stepped through the threshold. She lowered herself onto her heels.
"Dear," she said in a soft voice. His blue eyes blinked open to regard her lethargically. She lowered the cup of water to the ground by her knees. She helped her husband sit up. She reached for the cup and brought it to his chapped lips. She watched as he took three very small sips.
Kizashi grunted. She first lowered the glass before gently lowering him back down onto the thin pillow. Mebuki lifted the worn blanket, with numerous patches, to his chin.
"She left," Mebuki said with a sigh. "She promised that she would write when she was settled." Mebuki looked down at her rough, calloused hands. They never let her forget what choice she had made. Her husband was pointedly looking at the ceiling. His jaw was clenched tightly. "Oneesan," she pictured the face of her sister. "Oneesan assured me that she will be treated well there. They are kind. They are fair. Our daughter will be fine. She is resourceful. She is smart. She will look after herself. You have taught her well."
Mebuki wiped the lone tear that broke free from the corner of her husband's eye. She lowered her gaze back down to her lap.
"Are you hungry, Dear?" She asked him gently.
He continued to glare at the ceiling as if it had wronged him in some way. Maybe he was looking past it and straight into the heavens. Her husband had many grievances with them. She waited painstakingly with diminishing hope for another minute. Only silence answered her.
"I'll let you rest now," Mebuki pushed up to her feet. Her wary body creaked in protest. She was already at the door when his audible inhale caused her to stop in her tracks.
"She did not take the bag," Kizashi's voice was throaty, from lack of use.
The woman looked at the small white cloth pouch sitting on the table by the front door. She had not slept through the night to prepare food for her daughter's journey. She doubted that sleep would have come to her regardless. She had spent what was left of the night looking at Sakura who was lying next to her on the floor mat. It was as if she was worried she would forget what her child's face looked like.
Mebuki's jade-color eyes rose up to the lone picture on the wall. She blinked back the tears as she took in the painting of a smiling face with strawberry blonde hair and green eyes.
"She must have forgotten," Mebuki turned back around. Her fingers gripped the frame of the door. She was lying. She knew Sakura did not forget. She was like her father. Stubborn. She knew her daughter did not take them on purpose. She did not receive her father's blessing so she felt she was not worthy of her mother's labor of love.
She stepped back into the outdoor kitchen. She put out the fire that had been reduced to embers. There was no need for it now. They would not eat until Sakura had.
Her stomach rumbled. The cart came to a stop. Her pink eyelashes fluttered open. She used her hand to wipe the drool from the corner of her lips. Boots hit gravel as the man jumped down from his seat. She could hear footsteps as he rounded back towards her. She quickly ensured that her bandana was still in place and that no wayward strands were exposed.
She blinked her eyes, wiping the sleep from them. It was dark outside. The moon was full and there was not a single star in the dark expanse of the night.
'You better get used to it. You're not in the countryside anymore.' The voice that never truly let her be alone told her.
"Do you need help with that miss?"
Sakura looked at the middle-aged man. He was gesturing to her suitcase. She suddenly felt a wave of anxiety hit her. She pulled the handle towards her.
"No, thank you." She slid onto her feet. Her back hurt from all the bumps she felt along the way. She gripped the suitcase handle with both hands. She bowed. "Thank you so much for ensuring my safe arrival."
The man dipped his head. "Would you like me to wait with you?"
Sakura looked at the imposing gate of the property. The walls were taller than her and whiter than the moon. The dark green painted gate was made of metal. The double doors were easily ten feet tall and maybe just as wide. She felt every bit as small as she was. In more ways than one.
"It will be alright, sir," she bowed again. "Thank you." she watched as the man got back into his seat and pulled the reins. The two horses clip-clopped down the street. She could not see him anymore, but it took a couple of minutes for her to be able to no longer hear him.
'You can do this. Remember just keep your head down and do your work.'
Sakura nodded to herself. She squared her shoulders. She grabbed the metal ring and knocked it against the right door of the gate. She felt the vibrations from each thud deep in her bones. It felt like a lifetime had passed as she waited for the ground to be flooded with the glow of a lantern. The gate opened. She let out a breath.
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