Transmission #0-0-3-0 Designate: "Quies"
North Side the Wall, Tokyo Urban; Hidden Village: "Leaf"
Quadrant 3, "Hero District"; Haruno household
0730; Dec. 7th, 1963
"The core of the Juritsu outlook on the revolution is loyalty to the party and the community. The cause of socialism and communism is started by the people, and is carried out by those whom the people choose to lead them. I was not chosen to lead forever, and soon one among many will take my place, and gyide our cause to the next level of evolution."
Treatises of the Modern Man; Nosaka Sanzo: Chapter 1, page 10."
Loyalty...
To Konoha.
To The State.
To her friends.
Sakura had given herself over to it a long, long time ago.
So long, in fact, she barely remembered the girl she'd been before The People, The Noble One, The Village took precedence over all else. Probably just a child lost in childish dreams—pretty dolls, embroidered kimonos, perfect smiles, and storybook princes. But as she became older, Sakura figured if she could prove herself worthy enough, her faith would reward her.
Loyalty would bring her a good man, a decent man; Sasuke would be the husband she'd always desired, and she the wife he deserves. They would have not a perfect life, but a decent one. They'd have one child. Maybe. A boy. Though secretly she loved the idea of a daughter - Sakura even had a name chisen for her and everything.
Tomorrow, together. She'd dream; these things The State will bring if she stayed faithful and on course.
But this realization didn't happen all at once; there were still fragments of that little girl who longed for those simpler joys, fleeting regrets over a life that could have been.
Yet, if Sakura could pinpoint a moment which set her on this path, it wasn't the relentless bullying, the wasted years chasing Sasuke-kun, grasping for his affection that ever felt out of reach.
No.
It was the day her father came home.
Haruno Kizashi was a soldier. Not a shinobi, but simply a member of the rank and file of the Imperial Japanese Army. He served in the Shikoku Brigade, 4th Squad, with Team 85 as his Konoha attachment. In the beginning, he was a man of easy laughs and bad jokes, a soldier who wore camaraderie like a second skin, always boasting a man's true honor weren't the medals on his chest, but the friends he made standing beside him.
Itit was those friendships, not his rank, that indeed saved him in the end.
He never spoke much of Peleliu, though Sakura learned enough in whispers and hushed conversations behind closed doors. About airfields choked with fire and lead, American bombers that turned the island's tunnels into graves. The slow, brutal retreat across the Pacific, losing island by island until a last stand was made at Shuri Castle. There is where it ended for him. Where a K-Bar knife found its way between the L-4 and L-5 vertebrae of his spine. A wound like that should have meant death, if not for the men who stood by her father. They and not Kizashi's medals pulled him from the wreckage. Survival, though, came with a price.
They were captured soon after and sent to a POW camp. Father's friends died there, whilst he waited till after the invasion.
Sakura had been too young to understand any of it. The war, the battles, the father lost somewhere across an ocean she had never seen. Her mother, Mebuki, doing what she could—raising a child alone while fulfilling her own duties as a kunoichi of the Leaf Village. Till by the time Kizashi came back, nearly a year had passed since the war had officially ended.
Of course, "ended" was a relative term. The world did not simply return to the way it was before, and neither did Konoha. Nosaka-sempai was making headway to the south, consolidating his influence in the chaos left behind. The village was caught between his advance and the creeping pressure of the Allies, who were sweeping through the remnants of the old order, deciding what would be allowed to stand and what would be buried.
And yet, Kizashi returned.
Mebuki had told her once, long ago, that when her father finally came home, it was as if no time had passed at all. That he walked through the door with the same infectious grin, the same wild, unruly hair—just a shade softer in the light, like falling cherry blossoms in the wind. That his face was still rough with stubble, his laugh still deep and unrestrained, and his jokes just as terrible as they had always been.
But there were fewer friends to share them with.
So instead, he poured all his energy into making his daughter smile.
He would scoop her up into his arms, spin her until she was dizzy with laughter, tell stories that had no endings, only more absurd beginnings. He would sit with her in the evenings, tracing patterns in the dirt with a stick, sketching out ridiculous battle strategies where princesses rode into war on the backs of giant toads, or where a single kunoichi with a perfect punch could topple a castle with one well-placed blow.
It was warmth. It was love. It was everything a child could ask for.
And yet, even then, something in her must have sensed the unspoken weight he carried.
Because for all his jokes, for all his laughter, there was a hollowness in his eyes when he thought she wasn't looking. A momentary flicker, like an ember struggling to stay lit.
Sakura hadn't understood it then.
Now, she knew better.
As she went through the ritual of her uniform check, Sakura's fingers moved with methodical precision, yet her mind drifted elsewhere. The weight of the insulated battle skirt settled over her high-riding boots, their calfskin polished to a dull sheen—the "finest" the supply corps could issue, or so they claimed. The 61 Shiki-gun top, crisp and new, itched slightly at the collar, the dog-fur lining still stiff from manufacture. Extra pockets, good for rations or field notes. The Ryaku-bou field cap sat snug over her braided hair, its gold star and hammer catching the morning light.
And, of course, the Little Red Booklet of The Noble One's Teachings, tucked firmly into her left breast pocket. Every comrade in the North had one, but this one belonged to Kizashi. Father had given it to her the day she was admitted to the Academy, pressing it into her hands with a familiar, lopsided grin.
But only at Mother's behest.
She remembered how he had looked at her then, his expression distant for just a moment—far away, as if recalling something he couldn't quite grasp. But it passed, replaced with his usual carefree mask: an easy smile, a terrible dad joke, a swift peck on the cheek.
The same as this morning.
She stood before him, adjusting the strap of her sidearm holster, centering her belt with practiced efficiency. Kizashi looked her up and down, his gaze lingering on the insignia, the way her uniform fit, the way her stance had changed. Mebuki, standing beside him, looked proud. What a fine woman I've raised, she said.
But Kizashi said little.
No jokes. No wistful remarks about how fast she had grown. No casual optimism about what this opportunity meant for their family—how it would finally allow him to get the medical care he needed, how maybe, just maybe, he could walk properly again.
Nothing.
Sakura straightened and saluted, bandaged hand and all, half-hoping to pull something more out of him. Some acknowledgment. Some warmth.
Kizashi returned the salute without a word, then turned and limped back toward the breakfast table.
Mebuki went on cooking as if nothing were amiss, cracking egg whites into the pan. The conversation meandered, but inevitably, someone brought up the incident last night. Not every day that a band of ROOT operatives and the Hokage himself stake out your house.
"Almost makes one feel young again," Mebuki quipped, flipping the eggs with practiced ease.
Kizashi chuckled. "Nothing to worry about," he said lightly. "So long as Sakura and Sasuke are around to handle things, I can sleep easy."
"Ah, yes. Timely of Sasuke to show up when he did." Mebuki's tone was casual, but there was a pointedness to it. She didn't look up from the stove. "Boy's got a bad habit of letting himself into our house without using the front door."
"Well, that wouldn't be cool of him at all if he did that, dear." Kizashi's laugh this time was fuller, the first genuine one of the morning.
"With everything else going on, a boy in my room is really the biggest concern right now?" Sakura muttered, arms crossed.
"Of course, it does; ROOT can come and pester us all they like. The State may collapse tomorrow. The Imperialists can enslave us all. But still that Uchiha boy will be first thing on your mind."
The sound of egg whites sizzling is all the response Mebuki gets. Or perhaps it was the anger rising to Sakura's forehead.
Sasuke had always been a mixed bag when it came to her parents. Kizashi didn't seem to mind the boy as much as Mebuki did. Whether that was out of genuine approval or just an attempt to stay in his daughter's good graces, Sakura was never quite sure.
Naruto, on the other hand, was more their speed. Loud, open, easy to read. Not that he was without complications—Mebuki had bristled at the idea of her daughter being paired with a gaijin, enough so that she once threatened to march into Asuma's office and demand Sakura be transferred to another team. It never happened, obviously. And over time, Naruto had warmed his way into the family, whether Mebuki liked it or not.
To her credit, she had softened toward him. She admitted, despite all his quirks, the boy at least had manners. And she thought his crush on Sakura was cute for the most part. One-sided as it was, she had once remarked, "the boy at least tries."
"Mebuki casually topped off Sakura's bowl with more rice before settling into her own seat. "That's why it's odd he didn't make an appearance, too," she mused. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "I know he was here last night—I sensed his chakra signature before all that ruckus truly woke us up. Figured you and he were up to no good."
Sakura froze mid-bite.
"What?!" Her scowl deepened as she set her chopsticks down with a sharp clack. "He was here?"
She knew it. Of course he was. That uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach at the time, the nagging sense of something just beyond her awareness—it had been him. And it had only gotten worse as Sasuke faltered, as the fight against the ROOT agents dragged on.
If they could even be called that.
In reality, there had been only two of them last night: Comrade Commissar Terasoma and his colleague, Comrade-Commissar Sasori. The rest? Mere kugutsu. Puppets. About thirty in all.
A distraction.
Her head still swam from the lingering effects of the encounter, her bandaged hand pulsed in dull protest. And yet, one question gnawed at her more than anything else—who were they here for in the first place?
Her first instinct had been Sasuke-kun. Of course, it had to be - what with the Curse Mark and Comrade-Sensei Kakashi geing out of commission. But now…
She was loath to say it—didn't even want to admit it to herself—but she'd been thinking about Naruto more than she ever wanted to. Last night. The night before. All the way back to when his sorry ass was lugged back across The Wall from the South.
Her teammate had been alworrying her. Granted, a lotnof things were worrying her lately. Though for the sake of her standing, she wasn't going to let any of their proctors know. Like an axe head, Sakura fashioned herself to he sharp, solid, and ever with an edge. Yet deep down she really did mean what she told her two friends yesterday; that without them she wouldn't be who she is. But when she needed Naruto to be his usual self the most, though? He'd been letting her down.
Sakura clenched her jaw, pushing the thought away as quickly as it surfaced. It wasn't fair to say that. She knew it wasn't fair. He hadn't even known about Sasuke's condition—kept in the dark deliberately, something that had never sat right with her, even if Sasuke had insisted it was for his own good.
But of all the times for Naruto to start acting "off"…
Now really wasn't the time.
Then again, when did Naruto ever make things convenient?
Sakura's morning routine was no different than any other, at least in execution. The muscle memory of preparation kept her moving even as her thoughts drifted elsewhere.
She rinsed her bowl, stacking it neatly in the drying rack, while Mebuki busied herself wiping down the counter, humming an old tune under her breath. Kizashi remained at the table, nursing his tea, pretending not to watch her.
She ignored the feeling of his eyes on her back.
Instead, she focused on each step ahead.
She double-checked her bandages, rewrapping her still-throbbing hand with fresh gauze, making sure the tightness was just enough to stabilize but not hinder movement. Next came the gloves—reinforced, well-worn leather fitted snugly over her fingers. She flexed them, rolling her wrists as if testing their strength, but she already knew they would hold. They always did.
Strapping on her sidearm holster was next. Then her belt, her kunai pouch, the additional compartments carefully packed with rations, wire, and sealing tags. Her mother had insisted on adding a folded handkerchief to one of the pockets, as she always did. Sakura didn't protest.
Her reflection in the hallway mirror stared back at her, crisp and composed.
No, she would never voice her misgivings aloud. Not when her duty was clear.
And yet, she wasn't so naive as to believe she and her classmates were truly prepared for what lay ahead. No amount of conditioning or training could completely steel them for the unknown.
They were shinobi—of course, they weren't powerless. They could walk on water, breathe fire, meld a person's mind with a single look. Control an army of puppets with nothing but strands of chakra. Revel in the unnatural appreciation for blood that some of their comrades held like religion.
They had suffered through Curse Marks, through attacks on their Village. They had honed their skills in the shadows of deception, veiled themselves in the lies they told to others—and the ones they whispered to themselves.
That, more than anything, was why Kizashi had tried so hard to tell her a joke this morning.
He had forced his usual carefree grin, reaching for levity, for normalcy. Desperately trying to be the father she had always known, the one who ruffled her hair and made her groan at his terrible puns.
But Sakura knew better.
She had caught the hesitation, the forced ease in his movements, the shadow in his gaze that hadn't been there before.
If she were anyone else, if she allowed herself to think about it too long, she might call it what it was.
Seditious.
"Been quite a long while since I had the pleasure of serving with your father, Junior-Commissar Haruno. He looks well, for what it's worth."
Sakura was pulled from her thoughts by the low, measured voice of Comrade Commissar Terasoma. His grip was firm yet clinical as he examined her hand, turning it slightly to inspect the swelling along her knuckles. Normally, she wouldn't have bothered coming to Tree Leaf for something like this—there was only so much anyone could do for a broken hand. It would heal when it healed.
But her responsibilities at the hospital compelled her to stop in. Patients to refer to other nurses. Medical staff to prepare for her departure. And, of course, seeing Comrade-Sensei Kakashi before they left for an adventure without him.
He was right where he had been since the attack.
In a coma.
Intensive care ward. Silent as a dream, with only the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest as proof he still belonged to them.
That's where Sakura found Comrade Commissar Terasoma. And where a gut feeling—cold and uneasy—unfurled inside her.
He had been standing near Kakashi's bedside, just watching. Not speaking. Not touching anything. Just observing, the dim lights casting sharp shadows along his face.
And when he turned and offered to check her hand, that feeling only deepened. At first, she declined. A broken hand was hardly worth the trouble. But then he asked—almost too casually—if she was all right, given the misunderstanding the night prior. Sakura kept her expression neutral and replied that she'd thought nothing of it.
He didn't drop it.
Pressing further, his tone edged between concern and something more prying, as if searching for a crack in her composure. The man had a lascivious type of look to him, like a lumbering wolf on the edges of a village, callous and carefree. The longer he spoke, the more his crude, almost flippant demeanor clashed with the expectations of his title of "doctor". "Commissar". Sakura had met plenty of men who were both, but Terasoma carried neither role with the usual decorum or responsibility as she was taught, as she was told to comport her own self to be. Terasoma Hidan was a man who was loose with his tongue, uncaring in his untowardness, and deliberate in how he made people feel uneasy.
"I was with him at Shuri Castle," Terasoma said, his grip steady but firm as he worked her knuckle between his fingers. "Of course, I was just a little shit trying not to get killed. We all were. But your father…"
Sakura winced as he pressed into the broken joint of her fourth knuckle. Pain shot up her arm, sharp and electric, but she bit her tongue, locking her expression into something unreadable.
"No, your father kept telling jokes." Terasoma's voice took on a distant, almost bemused tone. "Even as the artillery rained down from offshore, even while the American imperialists clawed their way through us, he always had his laughs."
Sakura exhaled slowly, controlling the sting in her hand before replying. "I apologize on his behalf, then. His jokes can sometimes be… grating."
"Grating?" Commisar Hidan laughs. His grin was wide, all teeth. "We were grateful for such a warrior," he said, stepping closer. "A man who can laugh in the face of death? Now that is someone to be envious of."
Hidan worked quickly, his hands rough and impatient as he set the splint in place. Sakura winced, fingers twitching involuntarily at the force of his grip. He was too rough, too forceful—more interested in efficiency than comfort.
"Ah—"
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, barely glancing up as he tightened the wrapping around her knuckle. "My bad."
It was more out of routine than any real care. That was just how Comrade Hidan was—never one for niceties, never bothering with anything resembling delicacy. If anything, he seemed more amused by discomfort than sympathetic to it.
Sakura scrunched up her nose as the scent of burning incense grew stronger. It clung to him, thick and heady, wafting closer as he leaned in to secure the final knot of the bandage.
"Pain is something you gotta get used to, Junior-Commissar," he remarked, tone casual but firm.
"My apologies, Comrade-Commissar," she replied automatically.
Hidan snorted. "Enough with the fucking apologies—think I can't tell when you're trying to be coy, huh? Despite yourself, your face gives away much."
"Apologi-... Yes, Comrade-Commissar."
"Holding yourself this tightly could prove to be a liability," Hidan murmured, his grip tightening around her bruised joints. "'Cause if you break, you leave yourself wide open—for our enemies to exploit. And then, who knows what you'll let in… or out."
Sakura clenched her jaw, forcing steel into her voice. "H-Hai, Comrade-Commissar. I don't intend to break."
Hidan let out a low chuckle, unimpressed. "So you say. If you're anything like your father, maybe you won't."
The pressure on her hand increased, and a sharp, burning pain lanced through her nerves. Sakura refused to flinch.
"But if there's one thing I learned in my first tour," Hidan continued, voice dark with certainty, "it's that everyone talks tough. They joke, laugh it off, pretend like they've got it all handled. But pain—" he twisted just slightly, enough to make her fingers tremble—"pain has a funny way of turning the boldest into liars. Or making them admit things they swore they'd never say aloud."
Sakura winced as Hidan squeezed her hand, the micro-fractures in her bones protesting as they began to crack open anew. His touch was a perverse blend of tenderness and cruelty—each of his boney fingers burrowing deep into the places where her pain was most acute, as if savoring every shudder of agony rippling through her.
He leaned in close, his voice low and laced with a venomous curiosity. "Tell me, what did you think of my little rendezvous with Commissar Sasori last night? Why were you there? And what are your true opinions on ROOT, Mr. Numbah Three Hokage-san, the real purpose of your mission to Saigon? Are you loyal, Junior-Commissar Haruno? Do you wish to be more so?" His tone was mocking, with a genuine edge which cut sharper than any physical blow.
"As you'd stated last night, you and Comrade-Comissar Sasori were there in order to uphold the safety and protection of the Hidden Leaf Village. The ambush was intended to uncover one of the perpetrators of the attack..they...they were present. As you're reported." Sakura winces.
"That's right: as Comrade-Commissar Sasori reported. It's all right there. But... no questions? Why it was around your abode we were waiting? Don't find that at least a little interesting?"
"Hero district is known to have many unmanned housing developments in the area - perhaps the criminal was using one of them to hide out in."
"Terrorist, Junior Comrade-Commissar. They're a terrorist; criminals are citizens of the state who break laws within the instated order. Stealing is a criminal offense. Treason is a criminal offense. Yet, our Democratic Republic under The Noble One's guidance still affords these people rights. But destroying a Watchtower, causing the deaths of how many of our comrades holding top seats in the Presidium? A terrorist is nothing but an enemy who needs be destroyed at all costs. For the safety of The State and The People. Do you agree?"
"Hai, Comrade-Commissar."
His casual cruelty hangs there between the two before he asks if she's noticed anything different about her teammates these past few weeks.
Her voice came out hoarse and pained, barely more than a whisper. "No."
"No, huh? Okay..." Hidan's grip tightened again, and the pressure made tears pool at the corners of her eyes. "Uchiha Sasuke was with you last night past curfew - some within my organization would consider this a crime. Minor one, but a crime nonetheless." His tone shifts, mockery now edged with a calculated force as he pressed harder. "Cold last night. Must've been important for him to pay a late night visit to you. One last tryst before you all get shipped over, eh?"
"N-No, of course not."
Despite herself and the pain, Sakura's face blushes at Hidan's question; she's ashamed just the thought of such a suggestion could elicit this reaction, and Hidan pounces on that.
"Then what was he there for?" Hidan presses - literally and figuratively. The graveyard scent of upturned soil and acrid smoke seem to pool about him, causing Sakura to nearly gag out a muted response. Again she tells him "nothing". It was routine, she goes; Sasuke-kun always comes to confer with her before a mission. "Sasuke-'sun', hm...? And Comrade Uzumaki?"
"As Comrade-Commissar knows, Comrade Uzumaki wasn't with us last night." She lies, trying to sound as sure and matter-of-fact as possible. "Naruto knows about the curfew, and plus he's in the genin dorms - he doesn't leave."
"Oho, so just 'Naruto' then. Not 'Naruto-kun or anything like that?" Hidan nods. "You and he are not as close?"
"No, that's not it at all. I..."
"Only reason I ask you is because if you say if you and Comrade Uchiha aren't, perhaps we can forgive your not knowing of his whereabouts last night. Cus, uh, yeah: he wasn't in his room. Hasn't been there the last few times we checked. We've been keeping tabs, as you know, on everyone. Especially, him. And, well, looking back on his records, it shows he's got a penchant for acting up. A constant habit of his, huh? For most of my 'coworkers', that's some bad juju he's got going on for himself. Little subversive. And that type of behavior can be contagious. Wouldn't want that spreading, right? Considering developments surrounding his other 'interests' that we know of. So,... if you and he aren't as close...maybe we forego the assumption you knew anything about them, yeah?"
The room seems to narrow on Sakura, her vision pin holing her vision till she's not able to focus on anything but the searing sting in her palm. The mask she kept about herself holds. Barely. Despite Comrade-Commissar Hidan probing, prodding, doing what he could to get her to drip it.
It's his job, she tells herself.
It's what he's supposed to do; he wouldn't be any good if he didn't assume anything about Team 7. Doubtless, he's read their files. Obviously, he didn't simply choose her because she was the only medical adjutant applying for a position within Presidium precinct. The State - ROOT - had a reason, and sent Terasoma Hidan to evaluate.
She's come too far and worked too hard to be anything else, Sakura tells herself. This is what she wanted - needed - to be. She couldn't fail in this man's eyes, lest she'd be confounded into a world of obscurity. Living in a Village appointed house much like the one she shares with her parents currently. Getting the bare-bones minimum of what non-clan member shinobi are expected to subsist off of.
Sakura is too smart to have that be her lot in this life, but she's also too smart to forsake Naruto for it, either.
You and he are not as close...
That's not true.
That's the furthest thing from being true.
Naruto was - is - someone she needed, couldn't see herself without; barring Ino, he was the only one who took her as is. Accepted her, even when Sakura couldn't for herself. Loved her for what she is, and not because of what he might receive by doing so. Which maybe would only be a fist in the mouth, or the satisfaction of finally beating Sasuke-kun. Her mind tells herself it's only a rivalry thing between them - Naruto was too much of a child. She couldn't - shouldn't - feel for him the same as she did Sasuke.
In spite of whatever flutters she feels in her chest.
"Comrade Uzumaki hasn't confided in you anything, has he? Hans't come to you recently for anything important? About certain thoughts, feelings, wants, needs, 'things'...? His words tumbled out, each accusation a new lash on her already raw spirit. "You've not been providing him with any sort of aid have you, Junior Commissar Haruno? Thievery, Junior-Commissar Haruno, is a high offense during a time of quarantine according to State legislature. Akin to smuggling contraband. Who knows what kind of things can find their way across The Wall. Perhaps, the kind of equipment needed for a, I don't know, homemade explosive device? Hm? Possible, yeah? Yeah, of course, possible. Very possible, if you catch me. Do you?"
The room seemed to narrow around them as Hidan's interrogation pressed on, every question designed not just to extract information, but to shatter the carefully constructed mask of loyalty Sakura wore. The pain in her hand, the burning trails along her nerves, and the weight of his relentless inquiries all conspired to force a confession. Yet, even as she trembled under the strain, a steely resolve burned within her—a silent vow that she would not yield, no matter how much he tried to break her.
Sakura refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Pain was nothing new—she endured worse. She focused on regulating her breath, pushing through the burning sensation spreading from her wrist.
"I fully understand, Comrade," she ground out, her voice steady despite the throb in her joints.
Hidan tilted his head, considering her with a lazy sort of amusement. "Guess we'll see, then." He released her suddenly, letting her hand drop like dead weight. Blood rushed back into her fingers in a cruel, prickling wave, but she didn't move to rub the pain away. Wouldn't.
He then leans in, voice lowering to something almost conspiratorial. "I've watched plenty of people like you before. Stubborn, proud, carrying their pain like it's some kinda badge of honor. You've masked yourself well. Why I think you'll make a good Commssar. That I've no doubt. And why, if you play your cards right, you'll reap the rewards justly owed to you. You've worked hard for them. So be careful who you keep close. Nothing's more damning than misplaced faith. Take it from one intimately aware of such mistakes."
Afterwards, Sakura leaves the hospital with trembling fingers still numb from Hidan's grip. She steps out into a world that feels as frigid as her thoughts. His words—the relentless litany of accusations—echo behind her like a sinister refrain.
They stung more than the pressure on her hand, carving fresh worries into her already raw spirit. Hidan's implications...threats... were clear: not only could she be under suspicion, but Naruto was the web who could ensnare them all. Her, Sasuke, Noble One forbid her own parents - maybe that's why Hidan hovered over Comrade-Sensei Kakashi's sleeping form. All the fears she and Sasuke shared—the dread Naruto's antics were being watched, that every whispered word could be a crack in the facade—now surged to reality.
And yet, as her heart quivers, a stubbornness takes hold: Naruto would never be so reckless to endanger his friends like this. He couldn't. All her doubt was swiftly drowned by the unwavering belief in his loyalty.
The Village itself mirrored her inner turmoil. The once-familiar hum of chatter in the market square had dwindled to an eerie silence. The square lay barren, punctuated only by the steady march of Sendai infantry armed with AKs and clusters of wary genin squads. As Sakura walked past, a few soldiers saluted her—an acknowledgment of her uniform, a subtle nod to her standing. A brief swell of pride warmed her, a reminder that she was respected, even revered. But the moment was fleeting, dissolving into a bitter, acrid ache as her mind involuntarily wandered back to him.
She couldn't shake him from her thoughts—the memory of his fierce gaze, the unyielding intensity in his touch. Even as Hidan's threats and promises loomed large, a part of her clung desperately to the belief that Naruto would never abandon them. Her. He had never done so before, had never turned his back on their team, which only made the idea of her and Sasuke being forced to do the same—to distance themselves for their own survival—all the more tormenting. It felt wrong. It felt unthinkable. Naruto's presence had been woven into the very fabric of her being, into the rhythm of their team's bond. She had to find a way to help.
Last night had been the perfect opportunity.
And it may have been the last.
Naruto had something to tell them—she had seen it, clear as day, in the way he carried himself after dinner.
But then, nothing...
According to her parents, Naruto had been there. He had shown up, yet… relented.
That was not like him.
Naruto didn't run. He didn't hesitate, didn't shrink away from confrontation, no matter how reckless or self-destructive his actions sometimes were. He had thrown himself into the chaos of the Forest of Death without a second thought, had faced down impossible odds time and again with that same unwavering resolve—whatever happens to me doesn't matter, so long as I can protect the people I care about.
So what had changed?
What could have possibly made Naruto hesitate when it came to them?
Unless…
Her pulse quickened as the thought took shape, sick and insidious.
Unless what Naruto needed to say was directly connected to why Commissar Terasoma and Sasori were staking out her house.
And if that was true—if the reason Naruto kept silent was the same reason dangerous men had been circling her home like vultures—then whatever he had been about to tell them was something far bigger, far more dangerous than she had realized.
Something he was willing to hide bear alone.
And that terrified her.
Loyalty had defined Sakura throughout her years of shinobi training. It was the foundation upon which she had built herself, the measure by which she would be judged—not just by her superiors, but by herself. Steadfast resolve. In her beliefs, in her wants, in her friends. Kakashi. Sasuke-kun. And…
"Naruto?"
Her heart pounded as she turns the corner, only to be met by the baleful stare of her idiot friend. Speak of the devil, she thinks.
Naruto stands there, silent, his usual vibrance dulled to something unreadable. His blue eyes—normally so full of fire, so quick to flash with stubborn defiance—held none of their usual light. He's outfitted in the customary uniform of a genin on parade, and for once Sakura is somewhat impressed. Spit-shined boots to a high sheen, tan uniform crisp and neatly straightened with nary a crease, his shining headband pressed tightly against his forehead. The Konoha logo of a swirling leaf emblazoned brightly upon the clean, silvery metal.
There had been a time when she could claim to know every version of Naruto Uzumaki. The loudmouthed fool. The reckless fighter. The unwavering dreamer. He had always been transparent—wearing his emotions on his sleeve, his heart bared for the world to see, for better or worse. But the Naruto standing before her now—this quiet, shadowed thing—was too unfamiliar.
And for the first time, the fear she had been pushing down, the unease that had been curling in her gut since last night, took a sharp, jagged turn.
Because if Naruto had truly changed—if something had gotten to him, made him hesitant, made him afraid—maybe Hidan's implications weren't just threats.
Maybe there was some truth to them.
"You?!" Sakura blurted.
Naruto's hands shot up in a placating gesture, his expression shifting—not to guilt, not to anger, but to something worse. Something tired. Resigned.
"Take it easy, Sakura-chan," he said, voice quieter than she had ever heard it.
Somehow, that only made the dread settle deeper. Sakura's breath caught somewhere between a sharp inhale and an unsteady realization. Her mind raced, trying and failing to make sense of the storm of emotions tearing her—fear, anger, disbelief, something else she wouldn't, couldn't name.
"You?!" she accused, and now that the words were out there, she didn't know how to take them back.
Naruto sighed, his hands still raised as if to steady the space between them. "Sakura-chan, just—just take it easy, alright?"
"Take it easy?!" Her voice pitched higher than she intended, but she couldn't help it. "How am I supposed to take it easy when you—" She stopped herself, her pulse pounding in her ears. "Dammit, Naruto, just tell me what's going on!"
Naruto hesitated. Not because he didn't want to answer—no, she could see it in his face, feel it in the air around him. He was tired, and wanted to let her in. She recognized the same look
"I had every intention of telling you last night," his voice was low, varely above a whisper able to tell a secret. "Last night. All the nights, really. Noble One's balls I wanted to tell tou guys the first time i learned any of this, but..." He runs a shaking hand through his hair, frustrated. "You know I'm not someone who runs away, right? If it were up to me, I would never have left Sasuke and you."
"But you did." Samura says, sizing him up. She pokes him hard with her bandaged hand. "And I want to know why. Right now." She exhales sharply, shaking her head. "Please please PLEASE tell me anything to convince me ROOT aren't after you. What on Earth have you possibly gotten yourself -Us!- into this time?"
"Hey, it's not that easy to explain, okay!? I didn't even believe it when I learned about it all. Hell, I can't even be sure if you'll believe me."
Sakura swallowed hard, barely managing to keep her voice steady. "NOT for you to decide for ME. I'll be the judge of that. Tell me so I can at least understand!"
Naruto then looks down to meet her eyes. For the briefest second, she thought she saw something crack beneath his surface; Naruto wore a mask, too, Sakura had come to learn.
Difference between them, though, is he wanted to so hadly to take his off.
But not her.
"Fine...," he goes, his voice choked and raw. "Fine. Being ninja doesn't mean lying to my friends. From you." He clenched his fists. "I'm so tired... But Sakura-chan… before I tell you anything, I wanna make a promise to you. Okay? Theb you promise me something. Deal?"
Sakura's heart twisted painfully at the way he said her name, at the weight behind it. She had known Naruto for years—had seen him at his worst, at his most reckless, at his most determined. But never like this. Never so… lonely.
Would it be wrong to admit that, even now, part of her mind was still with Sasuke?
To her, not really.
Because she had seen that same look before—etched into Sasuke's face the night he had asked her to keep his Curse Mark a secret, to help him in whatever small way she could. She had done the bare minimum, slipping him pain meds from the hospital's supply closet, knowing full well it wouldn't change anything. But she had done it because it was him, because Sasuke had looked at her and trusted her with something he refused to share with anyone else.
Was that what Naruto was doing now? Bearing something alone because he thought he had to?
Sakura inhaled sharply, stepping closer, hands clenched at her sides. "Deal, Naruto," she said, softer now, but no less urgent.
For a long moment, he just looked at her, something unreadable shifting in his expression. Then, finally, he nodded.
"I promise I will never lie to you. Ever. From this moment to my last breath."
Sakura groaned, rolling her eyes. "Ugh, don't be so dramatic."
"No, I'm serious." His voice was low but firm, unwavering in a way that made her breath catch.
And she believed him.
"I won't ever lie to you, Sakura-chan," Naruto continued, his eyes searching hers, willing her to understand. "So believe me when I tell you everything I'm about to say."
Sakura took a slow, measured breath, forcing herself to look at him—really look at him. The way the glow of the torches caught the edges of his golden hair, unruly spikes casting shadows across his face. The sharp planes of his cheeks, sun-kissed and flushed. The way his lips pressed into a firm line, as if holding back words that had been waiting too long to be spoken.
And then there were his eyes. Bright. Unyielding. So intensely blue it made her stomach twist in a way she wasn't prepared for.
She felt the warmth bloom across her cheeks before she could stop it.
Still, she nodded, her voice quieter this time. "I believe you, Naruto."
There was a flicker of something in his gaze—relief, maybe. Or something deeper. But before she could dwell on it, he spoke again.
"And what do you want from me?" she asks.
Naruto's voice softens. "...The same." His hands curl into fists at his sides. "Don't lie to me. Please…"
Sakura swallowed, something tightening in her chest. She thought of Sasuke, of the secrets she had kept for him. The quiet lies of omission. The things she had told herself were for the best when that boy asked her. And now Naruto essentially was asking the same.
"I won't - I mean, 'yes'. No lying, Naruto. I promise you. I'm...sorry. For not telling you about Sasuke sooner. That was...We should've..." Naruto waves her down, saying that didn't matter anymore; they didn't want him to worry, and he could understand that. After all Naruto had his secrets, too.
That's not the point, her inner voice wanted to say. That wasn't what this was about. The Village was being subverted by Sapporo's Intelligence Service and people were suffering. Sasuke was suffering under something she has no answers for, and Kakashi was useless. They were going to be sent away for a mission she nor anyone else could make heads or tails of. Her faith in The State demanded obedience, but nothing made sense anymore.
And as she looked at Naruto, she wanted—needed—him to ease her worry, the way he always had in the past. To be that bright, unwavering light that had warmed her in the cold, had pulled her through doubt and fear and uncertainty. She wanted him to tell her something—anything—that wouldn't shatter her faith in the one thing that had been her rock for years.
Loyalty.
To the Village.
To the Republic.
To herself…
And to Naruto.
His sigh was quiet, but it carried the weight of something inevitable.
"I'll tell you everything."
His hand came to rest on her shoulder—hesitant, warm, grounding.
And he does.
And it takes everything within Sakura to hold on—to keep standing, to keep breathing, to keep the faith she has cultivated her entire career.
Because with every word Naruto speaks, the foundation beneath The State begins to crack, and so too the image of her place in tomorrow.