8 (Last edited 4/22/24 1pm)

How dare he. Pfff, as fabric stuffing flew, struck free by Sakura's furious fist.

How dare he. Again, and the punching bag swung around in a feverish circle, the chain it hung from rattling loudly. Sakura hit the bag with a flurry of hits so ferocious that it deflated in wheezing defeat, its final bits of textile stuffing floating down to the tiled floor of the small personal gym.

She ripped it from the hanging chain, tossing the wrinkled skin of the dead punching bag onto the pile of other patched, destroyed ones nearby. Brushing off her hands, Sakura bristled with her tension, wishing she could destroy an entire training ground like the old days rather than having to resort to the restrictive and utterly unsatisfying alternative of beating the hell out of gym equipment.

She huffed the hair from her face, seizing a new punching bag from a separate pile and hooking it onto the chain; readying her fists, she levelled her glare upon it again, the rage flowing through her in pure, hate-fuelled adrenaline.

Every swearword, every curse she knew flew past her mind's eye as she attacked the bag with hate like it was the subject of her rage himself.

Never again. Never again, would she let him touch her. Never again would he mock her. Never — and she'd deny him the pleasure of seeing the pain in her eyes from his wicked words. She would train, and she would train, and she would train.

Sakura's succession of punches were so fast that the punching bag couldn't swing in any one direction, battered and shaking beneath a blur of vicious strikes. Leather began to break free from its stitches beneath her knuckles, her breaths short and controlled where the fury behind her eyes reigned uncontrolled entirely.

She would train until she reached a new level of strength, strong enough to ensure she could never be pinned, subjugated, or embarrassed again.

Shhh, the air hissing loose from the bag, the stuffing flying free in a burst of feather-like bits.

She would reassert her mind. She'd never have an off-kilter thought again about the evil and utterly heartless bastard that was her quarry.

Ripping sounds; the leather had ruptured thoroughly, and the punching bag gave an apologising creak, Sakura's fists a fiery streak, her teeth clenched and her face red with rage.

She would win this whole damned war even if it killed her.

The punching bag exploded with Sakura's final punch. White stuffing burst in all directions, Sakura glaring at where the torn skin of the ruined bag collapsed to the ground with a rustling sigh. Her hands flexed in her gloves: still, Sakura felt unsatisfied, unfulfilled. She needed to keep training, no matter the strain, no matter the time. She'd already begun to receive the memories of her similarly enraged clones as they were dismissed, their memories fogging Sakura's red-tinged vision, and she had never felt like training herself into blackout exhaustion more than she did now.

Turning to the side, she saw that she had run out of punching bags.


The tank would be too heavy for a normal person to carry, but Sakura barely felt its weight as she hefted it under her arm, padding sleepily towards her quarters. The lights of the facility were already off, the others asleep, and she silently prayed that Karin in her nearby cot wouldn't awaken.

With the heavy, slightly glowing lab tank in one arm, Sakura pulled open the heavy door, her breath held. Her muscles twinged in mild complaint as she tiptoed through, her eyes glued to the ruffled red hair poking out from a slump of covers in the bunk across the room. Moving over to her own bed in silence, Sakura set the heavy tank on her end table, sitting back on her bed with a deep sigh. Idle in its luminescent solution, the gashed Rinnegan eye floated gently.

Sakura pointedly avoided its glassy, unseeing stare as she laid back, pulling her sheets over herself and closing her eyes. Settling back into her pillow, she willed sleep to come, no matter her due nightmares; but with every second she counted, each minute she sunk through in patient quiet, she found that she could not will herself to sleep.

The teal glow of the tank and its strange occupant called to her. Wearily, Sakura turned her head, her gaze reflecting its dim luminescence as she regarded the single eye that stared down at her from its place in its tank.

No, it did not stare. There was no presence behind that impossibly dark pupil, not with the slash through its center. The saline solution was gently aerated like an aquarium would be; small bubbles floated up past it, reflected in the eye's deep black pupil and metallic, lavender-shaded rings. It floated limply, its aura of power replaced by that of mystery and endless frustration.

Sakura's fingers twitched as she watched it float. What if her experiments continued to end in failure? Would Sasuke be doomed to have a dead eye for life? He would never forgive her; she doubted that Naruto could fully forgive that she'd lied to them all about her skills, either.

Remembering Sasuke's resentful looks… Naruto's dubious words—

She had not lied to them. Sakura gripped her fists, frustrated, but increasingly determined. She had been telling them the truth that she'd studied what she could of the delicate inner workings of eyes in particular within her medical studies. With Sasuke shadowing her mind so frequently throughout the last several years, her thoughts had frequently drifted to the what-ifs of needing to heal Uchiha eyes, and the level of skill she would need to succeed. It had been partly what motivated her to catch up to her teammates; not just to prove that she could, but to make sure she could be there for them and help them when the time came.

The time had certainly come. It had passed. Sakura lifted her head, ignoring the weary twinge in her neck from countless hours of research; she levelled her glare upon the eye in the tank, chewing on a new theory.

Sakura pulled open her bedside drawer, pulling out a pair of latex gloves from the box she kept there and snapping them on. Sitting up tall, she began to undo the complicated series of locks along the tank's outside, all of which were only known to her — part of her contractual agreement with Orochimaru. Chains made of her mint-green chakra ghosted the metal, curling around the glass protectively, reinforcing it against breakage and force.

Sakura sighed as she freed the last few locks, reminding herself that these inconveniences were a good thing. She had made sure to be almost obsessively fastidious with keeping the eye within her sight and at her side at all times: each room she frequented had places for the tank to sit, and she carried it around like she was chained to it, knowing better than to trust it alone for even a moment no matter her alliances. Perhaps she had come to tolerate Orochimaru and his team well enough, but she knew better than to be trusting on any level.

Snapping on a pair of clean elbow-length vinyl gloves, Sakura carefully unscrewed the top of the vertical tube, easing her fingers through the warm solution. She caught the eye, tugging it free; it dripped as she cradled it in her palm, settling back with it in her cautious grip.

It lolled back and forth before settling. Sakura positioned it carefully, examining the horizontal slash through its pupil and iris. Her hands glowed with soft green light as she drew her fingers along its surface, tracing the rings.

Seventeenth failure, read Sakura's clipboard in the open bedside drawer, dated for the night before.

Using only her index finger, she traced the central ring of the eye, a thin, steady thread of chakra following her fingertip. She gradually wove her finger in a cautious, painstakingly slow pattern over where the gash cut through the violet iris; the threads bound in fine, spiderweb-thin lines that glowed in a sweet green hue.

The glassy layer of saline covering the Rinnegan had halfway evaporated, and Sakura's finger stuttered over a somewhat dried breadth of the iris. The fine threads broke, the light fading away as the gash fell back open, oozing slightly.

Sakura sat back with a curse, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her arm. She pulled the nearby empty tank of saline mixture closer, positioning it beside her left hand. Dousing her hands with saline, she held the eye still with her left hand while positioning her right over the damaged iris, taking in a slow, deep breath.

Sasuke's face shimmered past her mind's eye, twisted with disappointment, and her fingers shook slightly for a moment as she regathered fine chakra, her brows furrowing deeply. Madara's cruel half-Rinnegan stare replaced Sasuke's in a clearer image, made more vivid by his other eye that was currently staring back at Sakura from where it rested in her hand.

Had he really meant all he'd said?

Pausing, Sakura shut her eyes, disturbed that the hurt she felt had welled back up on its own like this; it still seeped from where Madara's words had lacerated her. She swallowed tightly, shunning him from her mind once more – though she couldn't help a strange feeling about it all, like she was missing something.

Minutes passed unnoticed as Sakura wholly focused upon sealing the part of the gash that cut through the central iris. She no longer thought of anything else; her stare reflected a teal blue from the nearby tank. Her surroundings were steeped in a cool, creeping quiet, interrupted occasionally by the bubbling of the tank and Karin's distant snoring. Sakura was utterly intent upon her work, and the slightly luminescent Rinnegan stayed still beneath her gentle, painstaking ministrations, her fingertips aglow.

She didn't breathe as she paused. She withdrew carefully from cradling the eye, dipping her hand into the saline tank beside her. She brought her dipped fingers over the sclera and rings in a cautious, dripping caress, soaking its surface. Reasserting her firm but mindful grasp around the back of the eye, Sakura refocused, right hand aglow as she threaded another increasingly quick and masterful set of chakra threads as fine as hairs through the inner iris of the Rinnegan. She worked in intense, almost furious silence, her shoulders unconsciously hunched, her cherry-blossom locks tied back behind her head in a ponytail.

Time did not matter to Sakura as she sewed the eye in her grasp with more finesse and concentration than she'd ever had to use in all of her medical training, binding the cells and viscous matter with patient, immaculately particular attention to detail. Neither time, tiredness, or the world around her mattered at all: she would prove that this was possible. She would prove to them that she was reliable. She would prove it all, ultimately, to herself.


Orochimaru hummed as he read over Sakura's clipboard, drawing a finger down her cramped, cluttered notes. "Your assessment is incorrect; I would call this a successful experiment."

"Successful?!" She threw her hands in the air before wincing, rubbing at her aching fingers. Orochimaru glanced at her as she gave a heavy sigh, running a brief glow of healing through her aching knuckles. "With respect, I disagree. It was an utter failure. The stitches didn't hold… they all dissipated, just like I worried they would. It was a stupid idea to work on the inner iris first. What if I'd spent all that time on the only somewhat damaged outer one to start? Maybe next time…"

Orochimaru tapped the pen against the clipboard, leaning back in his chair. Slitted golden eyes slid from the page to her flustered, sleep-deprived face with a blink. "You noted that the stitches held for approximately five minutes. During that time, the gash through the inner iris did not worsen; specifically, it did not ooze, bleed, nor show any other sign of increased damage. You even noted that it seemed to regain an 'aura of power, or perhaps creepiness, like it can see me'."

"I crossed that part out. I left an explanation in the margin there about my lack of sleep." Sakura's brows knotted as she pointed at where she meant on the note-cluttered clipboard; she glanced away wearily. "It doesn't matter. My work still failed." She glanced upwards before squinting, the bright white lights of the small office-hybrid lab too bright for how little rest she'd had.

"It was the greatest success yet. No attempts have worked to hold for any amount of time before this experiment. Additionally… the eye did not seem to reject your chakra stitches. I wonder…" Orochimaru looked over to the floating eye, watching its gentle rising and falling through the saline. "...your threads were how thin?"

"I was aiming for um," Sakura glanced away with a frown, "cobweb-thin. That's probably why it failed."

"It's why it went well." Orochimaru rose, his white lab coat shifting around his tall frame; he blinked calmly at Sakura, his expression neutral as ever, though his tone was approving. "Tsunade has taught you well. Even she cannot make threads as fine as spider-silk. Retain your focus; go, and meditate. You should plan on doing this experiment again in the future; perhaps on your dear Sasuke, eventually. It will be worthwhile to try this on an eye within a host when it is safe enough to do so."

Sakura stared at Orochimaru for a moment, his words standing still in her head, and she stood away from the counter, cheeks pinking with embarrassment. "Er… thank you. I will," she said awkwardly before taking a step back, unable to process that Orochimaru of all people had just handed her what appeared to be a genuine compliment. She nearly forgot to grab the captive Rinnegan in its tank from the counter before padding back to her quarters. Hugging it under an arm, Sakura shut her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to feel a minute breath of relief that perhaps — perhaps, there was still plenty of hope.


Sakura reached into the dumbwaiter, hoisting the large wooden crate free with a grunt. Securing it in her grip, she swung around, nearly knocking Suigetsu over as he was passing her in the hallway.

He halted. Perplexed violet eyes flashed with curiosity as he peered at whatever it was Sakura was doing. "What in the world?"

"I'm glad this made it through that dumbwaiter system unscathed. It went through quite a ways to get here," Sakura was commenting as she set the crate on the ground, looking it over worriedly. She tested its nailed-in sides, looking for stains or marks and finding nothing abnormal. Excitement sped up her movements, and Sakura rested an ear atop the lid, hearing what she was looking for and smiling secretively to herself.

Remembering that Suigetsu was malingering beside her where he continued to stare, Sakura shot him a lighthearted glare. "This isn't any of your business. Go in the lab with the others, will you? I'll be there in a second."

Suigetsu folded his arms. "No. I want to see what you went to the trouble to send here." He leaned over the crate with a toothy grin. "Weapons? Food? Drugs?" He huffed with amusement. "You know we have pretty much all of that here already, right? You just have to ask."

Sakura's soft scoff was lost in the crate's creak as she used her fingers like gloved crowbars, prying open the lid with relative ease. She peered into the dark of the box, her breath held.

Suigetsu was already nearly hopping from foot to foot with impatience. "So?" He tried to peer over her shoulder as Sakura hunched over the opened crate, picking carefully through several smaller boxes on the inside whose contents he couldn't quite make out.

"Thank goodness," Sakura breathed as she peered beneath lids. She shut her eyes, releasing a steady exhale. Everything really had come through just fine.

"What! Tell me!"

Bending over the box, Sakura pulled a smaller box free. There was a conspicuous sloshing sound as she handed the parchment-wrapped parcel to Suigetsu, who accepted it dubiously, his eyes going wide. "For me?"

"Yeah, you impatient idiot." Sakura folded her arms, though she eyed him with a slight smile as he tore at the paper.

Shreds of parchment fell away to the ground, and Suigetsu was left blinking at a pair of mean little eyes and a mouth full of sharp teeth.

"It doesn't have a name yet." Sakura ran a hand through her hair, feeling inexplicably embarrassed. "And I didn't get something just for you. I mean, that is just for you, but I got something for everyone, so don't feel too special. I just thought that little guy would be a fitting pet for you."

Suigetsu moved his head, and the piranha in its small aquarium followed him. When he looked over the other way, his eyes unwavering from the little fish, it tracked him again, fins wriggling.

A finger slid along the glass, and delight lit up Suigetsu's face when the piranha snapped at the glass. He paid Sakura no mind whatsoever, the sloshing aquarium tight in his grip, his expression full of glee as he led the piranha around on a fruitless chase of fingers.

Sakura scooped up the three other parcels with a hidden half-smile, leaving him to entertain himself with his new best friend and making her way into the nearby shared office-lab that she and Orochimaru's team regularly shared.


Jugo was utterly delighted with his new canary, and promptly joined Suigetsu in the nearby kitchen, chatting over their new pets.

Karin did not take her gift so well. She and the little white alley cat made the same screeching, hissing reaction at each other.

"What the hell is this!" she was yowling at Sakura, swatting lightly as the cat clawed at her. With another angry hiss, she chased the feral cat out of the lab, leaving Sakura alone with Orochimaru.

She shifted uneasily as his amused stare slid over to where Sakura stood with her tank under one arm and a wrapped package in the other. "Did you catch it yourself?"

"Karin's cat?" Sakura sighed. "Yeah. A friend I made while I was still sleeping in the streets." She cleared her throat, an uncomfortable but polite look on her face as she tentatively handed the last gift to Orochimaru.

His face went blank, his slittled pupils contracting. He didn't accept it, sitting back in his chair like Sakura had offered him a lit bomb. "What's this?"

"I wasn't going to give gifts to them without getting something for you, too," Sakura replied moodily, glancing to the side. "That would be rude, and since we're allies…" She offered Orochimaru the nondescript paper-wrapped parcel once more. "Promise, it's not going to bite you. Probably. I think?"

He tentatively grasped the package, eyeing Sakura with a calm, subtly warning look before neatly working the folded edges free. Untorn, the paper fell away from the wooden box.

As he flicked the lid open, Orochimaru's golden eyes flared wide, catching the lab lights in a bright metallic flash.

"It's a snake," Sakura explained unnecessarily as he continued to stare intensely into the box. She leaned against the doorway from a safe distance. "The pet store told me it's a new morph of Plains garter snake. Viridian Line, or something. I don't really know a lot about snakes." She glanced away, fingers tapping along her arms. "I figured you probably don't have one like it? I don't know. I hope you don't hate it."

Orochimaru said nothing, white hands a flash as he snatched something from the open box. Sakura tensed, worried, but saw the small serpent slithering between his fingers, seemingly content in his patient, gentle hands that danced and shifted to accommodate wherever the snake wanted to go.

Sakura watched as he lifted it, his pupils widening as he examined its every detail. A white finger traced along the black patterns down its sides, the bright yellow and green colours in its scales, the smooth symmetry of its belly. The garter snake didn't mind, looking around curiously with a flicking forked tongue, calm and relaxed in her new owner's grasp.

Sakura stood away from the doorframe, subtly passing her sweaty palms over her shirt. She debated walking away without another word, and upon deciding that was the safest option, she turned to leave, pleased with herself that he didn't react to his gift like Karin had to hers.

"Sakura," she heard Orochimaru say, and she paused, glancing over to meet his deadly serious slitted gaze. His new snake companion had already curled up comfortably along his shoulders, settling beside his collar and half-hidden in falls of straight black hair. "Thank you."

Sakura gave him a respectful nod with a shy smile before disappearing into the hallway. Passing by the open doorway to the kitchen, she paused. Suigetsu was beaming at his angry little fish. Jugo was smiling kindly down at the canary in his palms; it was peering at the other birds hanging around his person and upon perches on nearby cabinets. Even Karin had settled down somewhat, leaning on the edge of her chair and having a silent, narrow-eyed staredown with the stray cat that stood regally nearby. Karin nudged Suigetsu with a remark about how her pet's still better than his.

She left them to enjoy their gifts, a hand pressed over her chest, her tank gently sloshing where it was cradled in the crook of her arm. With the air of tension between herself and her motley team of new allies melting away, the feeling that this place was her hell was now gone. Smiling to herself, Sakura's heart was warm to the brim for the first time in a long while, her fresh resolve cemented with a brighter outlook for the future.


Madara glared at the plume of steam, watching as it dissipated into the pollen-speckled summer air.

He turned, releasing the breath he'd drawn to speak. Scowling, he strode off down the sunny street, numb to the touch of the high afternoon sun nor the humid breeze.

He had approached Sakura at first with his silver tongue prepared; ready to salve, ready to sweeten, well-seasoned with knowing she must be at least somewhat angry with him. To his irritation, she had disappeared with tangible distaste the moment Madara had shown himself, rendering his prepared words useless and his suspicion that she was still angry confirmed.

He had sharpened his silver tongue upon approaching the next clone, razor-edged as a blade, but still intending to disarm rather than cut through. He had wounded her enough, which was more than obvious from her petty efforts to utterly avoid him at all costs. How disappointing it had been when she had made her second abrupt disappearance, Madara's quick-footed approach to her not quick enough as she dismissed herself without so much as meeting his eye.

His third approach had been more cautious. Drawn from the shadows, he'd gotten close enough to startle her, speaking her name with a tone crossing between coaxing and commanding; perhaps with a derisive hint of annoyance. Sakura's green eyes were wide upon his face as he had appeared at her shoulder, his own expression thunderous and looming. Again, like he had taken her life himself, she had gone, the fires in her eyes telling him there was no chance her avoidances were out of anything but anger and spite.

Madara's scowl deepened, showing a hint of his years as he strode like a slice of serrated white through the sunny street. He ignored the accompanying yelps and screams of civilians fleeing his presence.

What a mistake it was to assume the girl was intelligent enough to glean that there was no point in being this angry. How doubly irritating that he was frustrated at all; but the state of the war required him to retain interest in this hunt, in solving this problem he hadn't premeditated would be quite so tiresome. Madara's glare sizzled forward, robes sweeping about his tall frame.

A shadow far too dark to be natural followed Madara's striding steps, trailing after his boots, and it clung to his silhouette as he leapt upwards, dashing between tiled rooftops until he perched at the highest point of one of the taller buildings. Staring down, Madara's mismatched eyes narrowed, poised as if ready to kill as he scanned over the tangled streets and bustling people.

Sakura's stubborn rebellion was trying his patience. She'd thrown him a look scorching with hate in her fourth disappearance, and it was the same in this one just now, Sakura declining to grace him with a single word, let alone a new clash. She had no interest in further word play, refusing to hear whatever he might have to say. It was a complete turnaround from his encounters with her before, where he had been able to tease such a bouquet of amusing reactions from her however he pleased while drawing out the occasional surprise or two.

His shadow broke free, sliding up along a sooted chimney and taking a shape of its own. Yellow eyes opened over an inhuman smile as Black Zetsu stood near Madara, watching him with vague interest. "Another one disappearing the moment you show up without so much as a single word to you. I believe that's the fifth time this week alone. Where do you think she got the extra chakra to replenish her little clone network?"

Uninterested in discussing this, Madara ignored Black Zetsu, remaining focused upon observing the streets. The wind pushed past his face, billowing his white mane into a cloud of spiky white that drifted past his stony features. He watched for hooded heads as he scoured the streets below, knowing that one more elusive clone existed in this village to root out.

His gloved fingers twitched along the rooftop. He would be less patient with this fifth encounter. He was tired enough of all of this wasted time. Now that the once-entertaining dance of idiocy was through, it was time to focus completely upon cinching his win — a reminder Madara was well aware was on Black Zetsu's tongue.

"Probably that troublesome jinchuriki friend of hers," Black Zetsu answered himself before his grin widened a little. "She didn't even look at you. It seems you did manage to scare her off, after all, just like every other woman that crosses your path." He made a low, scratchy hum. "Though this one seemed actually 'reckless' enough to show an interest in you, at least for a little while."

Brows drawing together over his frown, Madara released a sigh, tossing Black Zetsu a side-glance before returning his attention to the crowds below. "She is not frightened," he rumbled, lips pinching to the side with annoyance, "she is upset."

Black Zetsu tilted his head, yellow eyes flickering with unkind curiosity. "What exactly did you do that made her avoid you as thoroughly as this? It seemed we encountered her daily, before."

Gloved fingers flicked the hair from his vision; Madara adjusted where he crouched atop the roof, spotting several civilians with hoods and tracking them silently as he answered Black Zetsu. The genjutsu he'd thrown Sakura into rolled past his mind's eye, a bittersweet memory he shelved with an irked twitch about his stare. "I had theories I wanted to test; I dug into her weak spots. The outcome wrought interesting details, vexing as it has come to be." Madara hummed, remembering half-truths spun. "The façade of my wordplay is what has her throwing such a tantrum now… a colourful illustration of what she could have become, had she surrendered to my will there and then."

Black Zetsu paused before inclining his head with understanding. "Your toy."

"That is indeed how she understood it." Madara's gaze flicked to the clouds as they drifted over the sun, casting him in a fleecy gray shade. "Though I am glad she has proven to have a backbone, I did not expect her to pursue such sheer avoidance rather than continue to fight with me." He briefly shut his eyes. "It doesn't matter. I will quell her irritating mutiny."

Black Zetsu shrugged. "Perhaps you intimidated her successfully this time. She finally understands she can't win against us, nor our noble cause; if she surrenders, or not." He paused, thoughtful. "If you require her attention for the sake of re-establishing manipulation, you could always take one of her loved ones hostage. There's nothing like a hostage situation to make things move faster. If we planned it right, she would be forced to make a decision on the spot." Black Zetsu leaned forward, flat eyes widening slightly. "It's the most logical move now that she is attempting full avoidance. She will have to come forward… and with a valuable hostage or two, we can corner her into a deal in order to get us closer to the missing Rinnegan. May I suggest… a parent? Both? My investigations have found she has plenty of vulnerable close contacts. Her foolish superiors haven't yet put them into protective custody; we should take this opportunity before they do, while it has the fewest risks."

"Hmph." Madara's rankling scowl returned. He glanced back towards the network of tangled streets with disdain. "That would be worse than useless in this case. Keep your suggestions to yourself, Black Zetsu."

Black Zetsu scowled. He'd thought that suggestion was perfectly valid and within Madara's interests. His eyes narrowed as he reasserted which things he was going to say: it would not do to allow his actions and words to differ too much from Madara's, lest he rouse suspicion that he was not what Madara believed he was.

"Then perhaps," Black Zetsu tried through a tersely patient false smile, "I could shed more light on the situation, if you inform me of your intentions. Though I am only but your will incarnate, there is a reason people self-reflect."

Madara snorted. "I do not need to self-reflect."

Black Zetsu's smile lessened. He folded his arms, mirroring Madara; he noted the look on his face before continuing, hating his own words regardless of how they were the right ones to say. "I suppose the benefits of reconciling a bond with the girl outweigh the usual detachment of being enemies in this… unique case. If you could regain influence over her body and mind as it appears you had been doing, we could bend her more easily to fit to your will; to suit our goals. She has limits like any other, and it's obvious that you affect her strongly. With planning and patience, she will eventually bow to us."

He saw Madara's expression flicker just enough beneath his wooden expression to know that his words had held some relevance to whatever was going on in his head.

Success: Black Zetsu had avoided his suspicion for now. He relaxed against the chimney he leaned on. He'd resecured that trust, but he knew how thin it could be, and how much more careful he needed to be. Though it was highly unlikely his cover would be blown, Madara was no fool; Black Zetsu would need to support his decisions in shepherding the girl where he wanted, even if he was certain that doing so was a long-winded waste of time.

Black Zetsu's dark fingers tapped along his arms as he thought, his aura sizzling with murderous impatience; his eyes strayed to Madara's back, where black symbols patterned in neat symmetry. Yes… he would continue to look for the pink kunoichi on his own, as well. To find her original and fetch her for Madara would win him all the validation in his false identity that he could possibly want.

Patience. He willed himself to be tolerant of the wasted time. He could be the most patient being in the world if it guaranteed that he would be able to bring Mother back after the long-awaited casting of the Infinite Tsukuyomi.

Disregarding Black Zetsu's pensiveness, Madara continued to scan the village below. Black Zetsu ventured further cautiously, his tone neutral and flat. "Naïveté is usually predictable. Perhaps she's just misguided," he suggested. "We can remain patient. Anger makes inexperienced shinobi like the girl more reckless. Perhaps if we wait and see, she'll make a stupid mistake."

Neither of them reacted when a head of greenish grass-like hair pushed up from the roof tiles between them. Yellow eyes emerged as White Zetsu took shape, cracking his neck and offering Black Zetsu and Madara a hapless smile. "Good afternoon. Things seem tense, as usual."

"Report." Madara's stare followed one hooded civilian, pausing as the wind rippled over them; hair fell loose in dark waves around an unfamiliar face, and he lost interest, his attention narrowing down to the two he'd seen moving between streets that were left.

"Well, your hunch is right," White Zetsu said, settling beside Black Zetsu and scratching his neck. "I've heard more than a few rumours of two Sakura clones remaining in this village. Haven't heard much else, though; I can't confirm if there are any more in the villages nearby."

"Just one, now," Black Zetsu corrected him. "He was snubbed by the other only a short while ago, before she disappeared."

"Tch. You're useless." Madara rose to his feet. "Need I do everything myself?"

Black and White Zetsu exchanged looks. White Zetsu's murmur to Black Zetsu made Madara's scrowl grow cantankerous. "What's gotten into him?"

"Be quiet," Black Zetsu growled. The two of them began to combine. "The girl remains problematic," he muttered back when he was sure Madara was out of earshot.

"Oh, the pretty pink kunoichi!" White Zetsu grinned. "It's like watching a play when they're talking. All drama. Maybe we'll get to see them back at it again soon."

"Unlikely," Black Zetsu replied coldly. Gods, sometimes he really hated White Zetsu.

Madara was staring into the distance, and White Zetsu nudged Black Zetsu with an impish look before gasping dramatically. He pointed, hopping from foot to foot. "Oh wait! There she is!"

Madara swerved to look, white hair shifting around his face.

There was nothing where White Zetsu had pointed. Madara blinked at the irrelevant point in space before throwing a black staff at the chuckling Zetsus that they narrowly dodged.

He shifted his anger-sparked stare back to the streets in time to stiffen, recognition flickering across his mismatched eyes. He was gone in a flash, the Zetsus sinking into the ground to follow him.


The hard-packed earth of the dirt street exploded in a cloud of earth and debris that spat high into the air in all directions. The ground shuddered with a groan, spiderwebbing with deep cracks. Civilians screamed, scattering in mortal desperation, launching through shattered shop displays and collapsed street-vendor stands.

Pink hair whipped about the hidden face of a single figure. She stood alone, her back to the impact site, her cloak fluttering around her where her hood had fallen free of her head.

Madara rose from the heart of the destruction, white hair wild around his ferocious expression. Dirt clouded the wind, drifting around his poised, lean frame. The screams of civilians and the crumbling of structures around where he'd landed in the street was the soundtrack to his rumbling, vehement challenge. "Face me, coward."

Cold, baleful green clashed against mismatched red and metallic as Sakura turned enough that she met Madara's eye, a hateful twist about her lips.

"No."

Then she was gone, leaving Madara with empty fists and a thunderous scowl. The winds shifted his black and white robes around his tall frame, dirt billowing in drifting clouds as the destruction continued to settle and crumble around him.

Black Zetsu emerged from a nearby shadow, White Zetsu his half-host; matching flat eyes drifted across where Madara stood.

Before they could speak, Madara paused, a strange look flitting across his features; he turned, nostrils flaring in an intense expression, stepping forward.

While Black Zetsu eyed him curiously, White Zetsu was commenting to him under his breath. "Wow, he got a whole word out of her!"

Madara looked down at his feet where he stood among destroyed chunks of the dirt road. His gaze gradually narrowed upon the earth. "It could make sense…"

"What?" the Zetsus questioned from their safe distance.

"She is underground." With that, Madara swept off into the distance, burning eyes brighter than the setting sun as he prepared to end this war at long last.


Madara left the final trap behind, the steel blades collapsing in on themselves. He flicked dust from his robes, leaving not so much as a shadow as he made his way deeper into the extensive tunnel network.

The traps were an annoyance, though they were child's play for him to avoid. Without power nor even chakra, Madara had no doubt he could make his way through trap after trap without issue.

Some had needed to be triggered in order to be bypassed. Madara glanced around at the blades coming out of the walls from the room he'd just left behind, their movements jammed by a glance of his Rinnegan eye. There was dried blood on some of the blades; not enough to suggest a death, but significant injury, perhaps.

Hm. The stains weren't very old. Madara shelved the image in his head, judging their age as perhaps a month or two old – plausibly Sakura's blood, though it was certain that these traps had taken the lives of many others foolish enough to venture this deep through Orochimaru's labyrinth.

It was unlikely she had gotten this far down, but Madara was nothing if not thorough. He scanned over the grooved walls and deceptively simplistic tunnel design, wary of further traps and hidden rooms. Each had yielded nothing of interest to him so far; he'd found seal-littered libraries full of forbidden and stolen Konoha literature, more wearisome traps, and subtle alcoves that led to additional pathways extending to other tunnels. There were hidden sensors as well, but Madara easily surmised that there were not sensors that could detect him in his Limbo clone form as he was now.

It was quite the network. Madara brushed the dust from his gloved hands as he walked, shadowed eyes slightly aglow in the dark as he continued to stride onwards, reflecting upon everything he observed. Some of these tunnel-linked areas were vaguely familiar from his previous years having investigated and kept tabs upon Orochimaru's activities and networks. In his investigations on his way down here, he had found evidence of these tunnels extending between other villages, if not all the major villages. It was a valuable heartline to everything, though much was shut down, abandoned, or closed-off. The amount of traps set was ludicrous in some areas, indicating perhaps recent activity to defend the tunnel labyrinth.

It only made what Madara had gleaned from his phantom-limb sensations all the more convincing.

Madara scowled as the snake sannin slithered through his thoughts. Though the experiments Orochimaru and Kabuto had done had resulted in a much more powerful, youthful Edo Tensei body for himself at the crest of this war, he did not like how much the duo had pried into his secrets in order to do so. And to credit themselves with his power… Tch. He still had some interest in breaking at least Kabuto's neck in recompense for his presumptuous arrogance, should the bastard still live.

Eerie quiet followed Madara as he strode through the foggy dark of a long corridor, his bootsteps making no sound in the cavelike tunnel stretching ever deeper down. He paid close attention to his own senses as well, having long learned to be wary of any incoming ghostly signals from his lost eye. This last delivery of wavering vision was the clearest of them all, and Madara brought it to the forefront of his mind as he made his way forward, keeping his recollections at close hand so he might compare what he'd seen to the details within his surroundings.

Cement walls, structured in stone without a trace of wood in their construction, a strong indicator of an underground room… a dull blue glow in all directions, indicating that the eye floated within its own tank. Curious, that it was in some sort of side-room rather than a lab, and Madara glanced around, comparing what he'd seen in the phantom-limb vision to the walls around him.

They were different, but not too much so. These hallways were painted in a faded lavender, the grooves a cross-hatched set of lines, much less rough-hewn and more decorative than industrial. The utter darkness also indicated that he was not yet near where she might be holed up, assuming they did not have previous warning of his arrival, which he knew wasn't possible.

Madara's eyes narrowed as he strode onwards. Good. She would not be able to escape him, this time – unprepared, taken by surprise, and without the easy convenience of disappearing at will, since this was her original hiding down here and not just another godforsaken clone.

He found himself looking forward to this unfortunate reunion, and for viciously vengeful reasons: Sakura's original would face hell for her irritating rebellion.

It was an unpremeditated blessing to have caught these little signals of where she was hiding. The vision had been brief, but so fleetingly clear. She had been most of what he could see, hunching over the eye. Her face was ghostly white and her eyes heavy with weariness, though they burned with intense, unwavering focus.

Remembering the phantom-limb sensations also brought back the feeling of caressing fingers, cool with a healing glow. Stitches; fine as silk, lacking the poking and pulling of a true needle, the vision of Sakura's face coming to his mind in a clear image once she had completed stitching the gash across the Rinnegan. For the briefest moment, before the stitches had lost their hold, he had watched the hope bloom into joy across her face, transforming her weary image.

Enemy. Madara gripped his fists, dismissing the memories. With the tone of this idiotic clone game reverting, he had no interest in keeping thoughts above a freezing temperature. He was all ice within as he summoned a long black staff, his mismatched eyes penetrating the darkness in a discordant glow: ready to rend, to control, to reign.

The lab room was the first one to be illuminated in miles of searching, and Madara stood within its doorless entryway, folding his arms.

Large tanks lined up in rows from the front to the far back of the vast room, stretching beyond his view in nearly all directions. They were connected between floor and ceiling in glass and glowing blue fluid, adorned with small screens and endless tubing that snaked across nearly all available surfaces but the tiled pathways between tanks. Sensing something that set his instincts off, Madara stepped forward, glaring eyes shifting between what was easily a hundred different tubes — with nearly every one containing a human subject.

There was no one consistent age, race, gender, nor look between each person he could see. Walking through the aisles in silence, Madara glanced around with a tightness about his mouth. He himself had likely once been a lifeless body in a tank here, experimented upon to their satisfaction; his other hand passed unconsciously over where the subtle indent of the unnatural face was imprinted into the left of his chest, hidden beneath his Six Paths robes.

Madara stopped as his stare paused upon the slender figure of a woman who floated in a thick, transparent liquid. Toned limbs crossed over her chest and slim legs as she hung suspended in a modest pose, her hands clasped gently shut. Her eyes were closed, her forehead bandaged; pale, colourless hair floated around her face, obscuring her features. Her skin was a corpse-white in the tank fluid, the curves of her figure diminished by the unhealthy shade of her body and the deathlike look upon her half-hidden face. Like the others, she was unconscious, unresponsive.

The screen blinking at the bottom of her tank read New experiment – In stasis.

Another test-patient. Madara scowled. He didn't know what it was that gave him pause, and he looked around at the other nearby tanks, noting that several were empty while others contained a few nondescript men and women. None quite matched Sakura enough to warrant further investigation, though he didn't like how his instincts had pointed him here, only to find himself empty-handed. Madara's searching gaze returned to the woman in the tank, rising to her slightly twitching, half-hidden face with suspicion.

"...topside, the camera by Door Five. She's throwing a fit out there, clearly trying to get our attention. Shouldn't we go see what she wants?"

"Perhaps. I find it interesting that she had tried doing something in one of my labs closer to the surface without permission… only to be forced out, after triggering a trap. Why would she linger afterwards?" A thoughtful hum, and then a silent decision, audible in his tone. "Suigetsu; Karin; Jugo. Let's go."

Madara turned slowly, picking up the distant conversation far down the hallway. It didn't matter that they spoke in hushed tones, as if they were already worried they'd be overheard; he'd caught every word. And how interesting… that was Orochimaru's voice. It seemed these tunnels weren't abandoned after all, their original owner still sowing chaos from the shadows.

Madara left the tanks of human experiments behind, already knowing exactly who the unfortunate nearby strangers were discussing and gripping his staff tightly as he prepared to follow them to where he'd finally wrench the elusive Sakura into his unyielding control.


"Please," Sakura was saying, her brows knotted where she stood drenched with rain and dirt. She was dishevelled, her clothes stained and torn; she looked like she hadn't slept in days. Orochimaru looked on from the tunnel entrance with a neutral expression. Karin and Jugo stood behind him, poised and ready as if Sakura could attack at any time.

"I need your help. He's been hunting me down faster than I expected," Sakura reiterated, "and your tunnels… your resources — I would have a real chance, if we only became allies."

"I have no reason to accept such a risk," Orochimaru replied coldly.

Madara's Limbo clone strode out from behind him, standing in shadow at the tunnel mouth, watching the scene unfold with great interest. He could sense one of his other, visible clones approaching, watching from a distance.

He hummed to himself. This particular Sakura wouldn't make it far, whether she went beneath or stayed above ground. Hn. It annoyed him enough that this was a clone rather than the original he hunted, who turned out not be hiding in Orochimaru's network; though it seemed she was desperately trying to gain that access now.

"Lady Tsunade would reward you," Sakura tried, shivering in the cold rain. "Forgiveness. Freedom. If your help meant we win this war against Madara, then you could be exonerated."

"You have no proof of this," Orochimaru waved dismissively, "is that all you have to offer? I'm not convinced."

"You would be helping Sasuke too!" Sakura said, shoving rain from her face and hugging herself, freezing in the cold rain. "Karin, Jugo, Suigetsu. I know you would want to help Sasuke. His eye's damaged. I need a safe place and time to heal it, and I can't, not with how things are going right now. If you help me—"

"Then he can ask us himself," Jugo said calmly. He blinked at Sakura apologetically. "Sorry."

Karin had a mean little grin as she eyed Sakura. "You're just trying to get back into his favour, but that won't happen."

"Silence, Karin." Orochimaru shot her a glance that made look down at her feet, running a hand through her red hair with a grimace. He looked to Sakura, shaking his head. "I have no interest in helping you. Seek help from your many other resources; don't come back here again."

Sakura gave a curse as the three of them turned, disappearing into the darkness and leaving her in the rain.

She stood, letting out a long, defeated sigh and hanging her head as the rain fell harder around her in cold, icy sheets.


Did it work? Sakura thought to herself as she turned from the cave entrance. Her heart was pounding desperately, and every part of her prickled with warning, highly aware of Madara's nearby presence. She didn't know where he was, but she knew he'd overheard that conversation, should things have gone according to the thoroughly-plotted backup plan.

She took in a cold, rain-touched breath. Every thought she had demanded that she dismiss herself before Madara inevitably made himself known. Passionate anger continued to fuel and fire her up, hot across her skin; it boiled beneath her every emotion, demanding a fight, demanding violence. Being the cause of her rage and far more resilient than her punching bags, all Sakura's itching fists wanted was to be thrown at Madara, to unleash all the fires she felt were scorching her from within.

But it was her job as part of this plan to draw him away, and Sakura broke into a run in a random direction away from the cave mouth, hoping her attempted escape would goad him into chasing her.

She unclenched her impatient fists as she ran. Regardless of how badly she wanted confrontation, she prepared to deny Madara the privilege of her presence once more instead. Her desire to fight did not outweigh her resented knowledge that his words had a powerful effect on her – and denying him the chance to wield them had been working to keep her on the right path so far.

The hiss into her ear startled her so hard that she would have stumbled if it weren't for the stony shadow at her back and the iron grip around her arms. Gloved fingers dug into her skin. "A pathetic show of beggary," Madara's growl shook Sakura, "you have stooped lower than I would have expected of you. Do you plan to disappoint me with yet another show of cowardice and flee from me again?"

Sakura could feel Madara's anger, his building ire having risen into a sizzling frustration expressed in his unforgiving grip and harsh tone. She recognised that she had properly pissed him off with her clone's recent abrupt exits: he was as angry and affected by her actions as she was from his, and it gave her a smouldering, empty sense of satisfaction that he lacked the apathy she had worried he would default to.

Sakura threw her head back with a bark of a laugh, her hair splashing against his broad shoulder that towered behind her own. She shoved free with a powerful ripple of strength, fingers like glowing green claws slashing around in an arc as she swerved — blood sprayed, and as the pair skidded away from each other from the force of Sakura's cutting twist, she tossed both of Madara's severed hands aside, green eyes cutting through him.

"I told you not to touch me."

The hands fell limp in the bloodied underbrush, oozing red from the stumps that once were wrists. Madara stared at Sakura in a somewhat stunned silence, standing in opposition to her across the forest clearing; his arms were awash with steam while he began to gradually regenerate his lost hands, his black and white robes spattered with blood.

What he could see in the twist of her lips and the wildfires within her glare was only the tip of the iceberg. Derision… resentment; fury, and Sakura became a plume of steam just as she heard Madara draw breath to speak.

A pale head poked out from behind a nearby tree, closely followed by an unnaturally black shadow, their two sets of flat ochre eyes taking in the scene. White Zetsu's grin was positively beaming. "You got a whole sentence this time!"


"You need to visit us much more often. What took you so long to meet me even just for tea? Why don't you come by lately?"

"Mom, we're at war," Sakura sighed.

Mebuki made a cutting gesture, her daily resentment of Sakura's recent distance resurfacing. Bracelets clinked as she gestured while leaning over her side of the two-person table. "It certainly doesn't seem that way. Things have been quite normal in Konoha at least. We've barely seen a difference, day-to-day, but that one time, weeks back." She drew a long breath, glaring at Sakura. "I don't care what mysterious mission you say you've been put on. You need to come see us more often, no matter your excuse. I'm your mother! Doesn't that mean anything to you? You're no where near old enough to just go off and do everything on your own…"

Sakura pressed her hands over her face, exhaling wearily through her nose. "Mom, you're being embarrassing again."

Mebuki sniffed as she sipped her tea. Embarrassing. Her daughter's favourite word, and never the right one. She was concerned, and she had every right to be. She took a moment to compose herself a little, savouring her tea before she would impart the next thing she'd been meaning to make certain Sakura understood.

The little tea shop around them was bustling and lively with weekday traffic, the noon hour drawing in businessmen and students alike on break from their classes. Nearly every paper screen-separated booth and table was full, the air awash with herb-scented steam. The gentle gloom of the constant rain and darkened day outside made soft pattering against the windows. Cheerfully undiminished by the mood of the weather, the tea shop was lit in the neons of the street and the warm yellow glow of the paper lanterns that hung from the ceiling and settled at the edges of tables. Chatter rose through the rain-drizzled breeze that pushed through the front doors, leaving a taste of petrichor in the air, an easy, relaxed vibe carrying between all who lingered.

Mebuki relaxed somewhat, opening her briefly-shut eyes and glancing back to Sakura, who was peeking at her moodily though her fingers. Sliding her hands around her hot cup of tea, she took a breath of soothing scents before continuing. "It isn't that I don't want to see you and Dad," she explained, "and maybe things seem peaceful enough right now, but that's partly because of the covert stuff I've been doing." Sakura cleared her throat. "I shouldn't even meet you here like this, even if it is just a civilian tea shop, hidden away as this is. It's just not safe for me to be anywhere right now."

Mebuki glowered, her slim blonde brows lowering in a thunderous expression as she thought she detected a slightly entitled tone in Sakura's voice. She leaned forward, her expression as scolding as her words. "Don't talk like you're above us civilians. You were one yourself before all this kunoichi nonsense."

"For the last time, it's not nonsense! I'm doing important work! Ugh, you know what — it's not worth arguing…"

Mebuki folded her arms, leaning back in her chair and watching as Sakura hunched into herself, scowling down at her tea. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, her hair lank, her skin pale.

As much as she wanted to knock that attitude all the way out of Sakura, Mebuki sensed something else more important was amiss. She sighed, bracing herself; she had a good idea on what, or rather who, it was about.

"So?" Mebuki sipped her tea with a wistful knowing look. "What did Sasuke do this time?"

A strange expression tightened Sakura's features before she snorted, shaking her head. "No, no," she waved dismissively, "Someone else that I um — work with." Her features pinched as she cast her gaze out through the nearby window, wandering along the where the rain made the late-afternoon streets glisten.

Sakura didn't notice how Mebuki sat back in her chair, a stunned look resetting her expression. A quickly reigned-in hope sparked in her smile. "Oh?"

Sakura glowered out the window like she was seeing the mysterious coworker out on the street. Mebuki glanced outside just in case, and upon seeing no one stand out in particular, she decided to carefully prod Sakura a little further. "What happened?"

Sakura scowled, swirling her tea and watching the steam rise from its verdant honey-sweetened green waters. "It's nothing. I can't talk about it."

"It's clearly not nothing. I know you; you're my daughter," Mebuki sighed, "and this is bothering you."

"I just don't know what's wrong with me," Sakura answered after a pause. Her brows twitched over a look of muted anguish, her stare drowning in her tea. "I keep trying to see the good in people, and it backfires on me. It never goes well."

"You tried that with this new guy?"

"Yeah." Sakura took a drink of her lukewarm tea with a long, weary sigh. In her pause, Mebuki silently congratulated herself on subtly baiting out not only that her apparently troublesome coworker was indeed a guy, but that Sakura was opening up about it – the first time in a while.

"I should have just trusted what everyone has already accepted as fact about him, rather than look for the softer side I thought he had. I was stupid to try." Sakura shoved at her eyes, wiping the sleep from their corners; she settled her chin in her hands, a hopelessness shadowing about her frame.

Mebuki sat back across the small table, folding her arms as she regarded Sakura. She didn't like how worn down Sakura looked; not quite defeated, but something akin to it. She appeared more depressed and exhausted than Mebuki had ever seen her before, and it worried her that she was in such a state. She'd be sure to soothe her however she could before they parted ways, especially if it was going to be this long between visits.

Mebuki cupped a hand around her tea, eyeing her with concern and interest at the same time. She had seen Sakura be upset over Sasuke far too many times, and sometimes to this extent; but she was affected by someone new? Was it possible that her and Kizashi's hopes were finally coming to fruition, or was that wishful thinking?

While Sakura drained her tea, Mebuki continued to ponder this concept, almost boggled by it. Though she knew Sakura loved both of her teammates, she'd never been swept so strongly into such a mood by anyone but Sasuke and his unreceptive cruelties before. Mebuki's painted nails tapped excitedly around her cup. Could it be that Sakura was moving on, finding interest and investment in someone else… someone much more deserving of her devoted attention?

The signs were there. Mebuki noted the intensity that remained behind Sakura's stare as she stirred her tea, the tension in her shoulders, her telltale fidgeting and pensive expression she held as she lingered upon the thought of this new coworker. Soft side. Mebuki smirked to herself.

Thank every god that existed. She sent a silent note of gratitude upwards that Sakura was growing up a little. Now she could only hope that whomever it was had a good income and was healthy so Sakura could have a decent future and a family, like she knew she wanted.

Grandchildren. But Mebuki cleared her throat, recognising she was looking much too deeply into this in her eager hope to see Sakura love someone new. She should leash her hopes a little… but she'd be sure to encourage Sakura — because it wasn't possible this new love-interest of hers could be worse than Sasuke.

Reasserting her attention to what Sakura had said, Mebuki made a properly stern frown, nails tapping along her arms. "I'm disappointed to hear you say such a thing. I thought we taught you better than that."

"What?" Sakura lifted her head, eyes widening slightly as Mebuki went on. "It's a valuable trait, seeking out the good in people. I didn't think I'd ever need to remind you of that. Take example from your own teammate, Naruto. Isn't that something you told me yourself that he does?"

Sakura blinked, her expression slackening; she glanced away with a troubled sigh. "I guess. Naruto has brought out the best in those who themselves thought they could never be redeemed… like Obito." Her expression darkened. "But it's not like that for me. I don't have Naruto's talent… I think my colleague is beyond help."

Mebuki sipped her tea, watching Sakura thoughtfully. "So what, you had a fight with him?"

Sakura clutched her teacup with a pinched scowl. "Something like that."

"And you're giving up on him already?"

Sakura scoffed, taking a sip of her tea. "Stop it, Mom. It's not like I'm dating him, or anything. That—" she took an unsteady breath, "—is out of the question."

"You were fixated on that Uchiha boy for something like four years, and didn't give up, even after all he's done. He certainly wasn't dating you; I don't think he's your friend, either." Mebuki hummed. "Is this mystery man not interested in you?"

"Well—" Sakura straightened in her chair, a pretty pink flush warming her cheeks. She swallowed her tea, looking away quickly. "Um… he is. Was. In at least one way. I guess… I think? It doesn't matter," she waved her hands as Mebuki's eyes widened.

Mebuki set down her tea abruptly. She just couldn't help herself. "Finally!"

Sakura blinked back at her as Mebuki went on excitedly, clasping her hands. "I'm so glad to hear it. We've been hoping for so long you would get over Sasuke. Now…" Her expression grew serious once more. "I don't think you should give up, Sakura; not just yet. What did you two fight about? Tell me. Girl talk. As your mother, I'm more than happy to help you figure this out." Mebuki's stare glimmered as she beheld the sight of Sakura's red face, the visible signs of her crush on her coworker; she was emotional with relief at the sight. "Your father and I were hoping you'd find yourself someone who treats you right, or is at least interested in you at all in return." She set hers and Sakura's drained teacups aside, leaning forward with an earnest expression. "Where did you meet? What does he look like? What does he do for work? Tell me all about him."

Sakura let out a huff. She glanced around uneasily, as if checking to make sure there was no one she or Mebuki knew nearby in the quiet little teashop. Colour continued to stain her face as she then looked down, the redness seeping to her ears, tinting them to match her cherry-blossom hair. Mebuki glowed as she watched Sakura's red-tinted embarrassment mark her happy suspicions correct, especially with how much less shadowy and defeated Sakura seemed in just discussing this already.

"Okay… but only a little. And I can't tell you any real details; anyone would recognise his name if I said it." Sakura bit her lip, pushing a hand through her hair before shutting her eyes beneath drawn brows. "It'd be nice to talk to someone about it, for once."

More subtle things that Mebuki would worry about in every day to come, but she wouldn't let the subject change just yet, even if she didn't like hearing that Sakura was unable to discuss whatever she was going through with her peers.

Even more curious was that Sakura thought Mebuki might even recognise the coworker's name. Her curiosity was thoroughly piqued, and she leaned forward on her clasped hands, forest-green eyes shining with interest. "I'm all ears, Sakura. I'm always here for you."

Noticing Mebuki's obvious eagerness, Sakura rolled her eyes. "Mom, he and I are not a thing. We aren't, won't be, and can't be." She snorted, glancing out through the rain-streaked window. "I think everyone's heads would explode just at the concept itself. I'm worried Naruto already knows… something. I hope he can keep his mouth shut."

Mebuki frowned, and Sakura shook her head before she could ask. "I can't really specify why."

"What, your man is unpopular?"

Sakura made a bitter laugh. "Yeah. You could say that."

"Hm. That's a shallow reason to drop him." Mebuki stirred her tea with a disapproving look; Sakura rolled her eyes. "There are a lot more reasons than just that…"

"Is he unattractive?"

"Definitely not." Sakura coughed behind her hand, the blush across her face reddening brighter. "No, he's… well, I guess you could say he's a lot like Sasuke." She scowled upon saying that with a mildly perturbed twist about her lips.

"Hm." Mebuki withheld any comment about that as Sakura continued, gesturing as she spoke with a knot between her brows, a shade of intensity behind her eyes. "But he's somehow more intense than him, and instead of ignoring me, he mocks me. He's mean to the bone. He's outright cruel. Maybe I had fun making him angry before, the banter fun, thrilling, even. But now—" Sakura drew herself up. "Now that he's shown me just how selfish and awful he really is, I'm having nothing to do with him." Sakura smirked to herself, though her smile was empty. "He's finally got it through his head that I'm done with him. I think he's pretty frustrated now, which is good." She clenched her fists, staring out into the rain with visible anger resurfacing in the flush of her skin.

"What in the world did he say to you? Are you sure that he meant it?"

Sakura paused with a frown. Mebuki's words stood somewhere behind her eyes, interrupting her resurfacing anger. "Of course he did. …Probably?"

Mebuki tilted her head slightly, curious what it was that had Sakura hesitating. "Is he the type to be straightforward, or play games?"

Sakura slouched with a scowl, taking her empty teacup back and draining it of its last cold drops. "Both," she answered, moodily.

"Is he simple or complicated?"

"Complicated," Sakura answered without missing a beat.

Mebuki watched as Sakura seemed to realise something, and she sat up taller on her cushion, green eyes flickering. She looked back out at the street, her slackening expression tightening into a troubled one. The anger faded from Sakura's features; her frown was deep enough that she looked older.

"Too complicated," Sakura thought aloud, "for it to make sense. That offer — some of the things he said…"

Mebuki stayed silent, sensing that Sakura was having revelations she would be wise to not interrupt. Rising to her feet, she left Sakura to it, heading to the counter to order a fresh pot of tea.

Upon her return, she poured Sakura a hot cup of oolong, subtly observing her at the same time. Though Sakura still seemed weary, troubled, and reserved, there was a strange sense of relief hanging about her person that Mebuki was anticipating understanding.

"So." Mebuki curled her hands around her own steaming teacup, biting back a smile at the warm feeling she had in having such a meaningful visit with her daughter. "You do love the fickle, complex types, don't you?"

Sakura huffed with lighthearted irritation; Mebuki made a catlike smile. "Those types tend to say things they don't mean to draw reactions they want out of you. I dated someone like that when I was much younger, before I knew your father… Drove me nuts. And he was impossible to read. Not a man that ever showed his emotions, at least in the ways he should have." She sipped her tea, burning her tongue and wincing slightly. "Thank goodness your dad is nothing like that. Simple, sweet, and a little too open about everything sometimes. A bit like your friend Naruto, perhaps."

Sakura was looking out the window again, and Mebuki was still talking, swirling her tea. "'Cruel', huh? So you two have a bantering dynamic? Perhaps he took the mean humour too far and didn't mean to. Sometimes… men like that say things that hurt you, when that wasn't their intent. Goodness, who doesn't, really… just look at your father and I, sometimes."

"Oh, my coworker meant to," Sakura muttered darkly, but then a shadow of doubt shaded her expression as Mebuki hummed. "Has he done anything like this before?"

Sakura sat up taller, mouth opening and then shutting. "Yes…" Her gaze was softer, almost anxious. "He likes to weaponise the truth, rather than lie. But he's also a manipulator. He likes to test my boundaries; he really just likes to test me."

Sakura paled, going silent. Mebuki sipped her tea, finding it to be at a tolerable heat. She pushed Sakura's tea towards her encouragingly. "Go on, now that we've waited a little, it's the perfect temperature." She set down her own tea. "Well, if he likes testing you this much, he's obviously interested." She shrugged. "If he wasn't, then he wouldn't waste the time."

Sakura flinched before staring down at her tea. Her expression had grown conflicted, and she slowly shut her eyes, her shoulders slumping. "I don't know, Mom. I'm tired thinking about it. I've been so angry; for weeks I've tried to just forget him entirely, but my job means that I can't. I can't get the bastard off my mind."

"Sakura," Mebuki said sharply, and Sakura made an apologetic laugh, gesturing placatingly. "Sorry."

"We don't have to keep talking about it if you don't want to. But," Mebuki went on, a stern look returning to her eye, "it sounds like there is something there between you. I would reconsider if he actually meant to upset you with whatever he said, especially if he's one to play mind games. Though I'd caution you with dating someone like that, he's most certainly a better choice than that Sasuke. He has never made the smallest effort for your sake; he doesn't care about you at all. Don't you dare go back to chasing him around."

"Mom," Sakura protested, "it's not that. Sasuke just has a cold exterior, so it's all about the subtle things with him. Little things mean a lot."

"Being infatuated with that boy has made you develop the bad habit of trying to read too deeply into the little things." Mebuki folded her arms, eyeing Sakura sternly. "Which is why it's more than relieving to see that you're moving on."

"I haven't moved on," Sakura replied quickly, her throat tightening.

Mebuki scoffed. "If this new man didn't matter to you, Sakura, you wouldn't be talking about him so much. Perhaps you should call upon the forgiving nature I know you have, and try to understand his perspective rather than just be upset at stupid things he might have said."

Sakura opened her mouth, then closed it, looking back into the rain-spattered street and pressing a hand over her chest.

"Maybe," she answered, her voice a soft murmur. She briefly shut her eyes, exhaling slowly. "You've given me some things to think about that I didn't realise before. And — well. Thank you, Mom."

Mebuki smiled at Sakura, her heart warm.

Downing the rest of her tea, Sakura rose to her feet, glancing at Mebuki apologetically. "I should get going. I can't stay in one place too long as of late."

An alarmed look on Mebuki's face as she got to her feet had Sakura quickly changing the subject. "I promise, I'll come see you and Dad more often once it's safe."

Mebuki set a hand on her shoulder. "Good. I look forward to it."

Sakura huffed as Mebuki pulled her into a tight hug, speaking into her hair. "I'm worried about you. We both are, with this war."

"I'll be fine," Sakura managed.

"And," Mebuki added as Sakura adjusted her coat, a glint in her stare above her returning smile, "after you patch things up with your 'colleague', bring him by sometime."

Sakura stood ramrod-straight, eyes wide. "Mom! I—"

"No arguing. We'll be excited to meet the one who managed to rip your attention away from Sasuke after so long."

Ears hot, Sakura let out a shaky sigh, giving Mebuki another quick hug before hurrying towards the back exit. Feeling better than she had in months about Sakura – perhaps years, Mebuki settled back at her table, intent on finishing that pot of tea while pondering what interesting drama her daughter had gotten herself into now.


Sakura stopped at the back door of the tea shop, her hand suspended above the handle; her breath was stuck in her lungs, her eyes unblinking, as paranoia took its icy hold on her.

She really had lingered here too long. Her clones had needed to be as transient as possible in every previous encounter before they dismissed themselves; staying anywhere more than a passing moment boded poorly, and though she had intended for her visit with her mother to be only perhaps twenty minutes, it had stretched past a full hour.

Sakura shut her eyes, exhaling slowly. She should count herself lucky that her "colleague" had not walked through the front doors and interrupted them himself.

Could she never escape Madara, even in her own mind? It seemed he was the shadow to her thoughts, as consistently unshakeable from her head and in her daily life as the rising and setting of the sun. He had even consumed most of her conversation with her mother, somehow.

Sakura settled back against the wall near the door, a hand passing over her face. She shouldn't have talked about him at all… but it had, no matter her feelings about it, been helpful. With new light shed upon the disastrous confrontation she'd had with Madara back at that library, Sakura had even stronger conflicts within her chest, pushing and pulling at her patience and sanity in a constant internal war.

You're moving on. Her mother's confident, pleased words hung in Sakura's head, and she stared hollowly at the opposite wall, heart pounding. No, she wasn't. She absolutely wasn't. Sasuke was her sole interest. She wasn't attracted to anyone but him; he was still her destiny.

The thought tasted like the lie it was, and Sakura flattened back against the wall in horror like it had been declared false by fate itself.

She swallowed tightly. Okay, perhaps she was less invested in Sasuke lately, which was a shock to recognise in itself after her years of blind loyalty.

But it was not because of Madara. Sakura asserted that with herself immediately, her fists gripping tightly. She turned back towards the exit door, setting a hand on the handle and exhaling.

If he was there, she'd dismiss herself without a word. If he wasn't, she would take a long walk to clear her head; because surely, the things she'd realised couldn't be true. It was healthier for her to remain stubbornly angry at the man who was supposed to be her enemy rather than return to the strange gray area she'd dipped into with him.

Sakura pushed the door open, her breath long-winded and unsteady with the desperate pounding of her heart.

She sucked her breath back in through her teeth as the very person she hoped both the most and the least to see was standing directly before her at the bottom of the steps, arms folded and mismatched eyes ablaze.