Cherry Blossoms and Chakra Strings: The Return of Resolve

The forest seemed to loom around Sakura, darker than ever before. The mist in the air clung to her skin as she moved deeper, feeling like a second, suffocating layer of clothing that constricted and choked the air in her lungs.

But she didn’t stop running, not even when the burning in her lungs eclipsed the burning in her wrist and lungs. Her feet slapped against the damp earth in a chaotic rhythm that mirrored the storm in her mind, and the world passed by in a blur of faded green and brown. She didn’t know where she was going except for away. She needed to get away from her team, away from Naruto and the knowledge of what she had nearly done. Of how she had lost control.

Minutes later, the distraught genin finally stumbled into a small, secluded grove surrounded by towering mangroves and collapsed against the slick, mossy roots of a large tree. She slid to the ground, clutching her arm to her chest and heaving as if she had been the one stuck with the poison instead of Naruto.

The scene played over and over again in her mind, barely visible through the red haze of anger and frustration that had consumed her. She saw Naruto's surprise as she kept the battle going after it was already over, felt his body twitching between her legs as she forced her poison into him, and heard her own teeth grinding in her mouth as she refused to relent long after she should have.

Her fingers dug into the meat of her forearm like claws. It was throbbing again. Not the sharp, jagged pain of the initial injury, but a dull, sickening ache that radiated from the wrist bone up to her elbow. She wanted to clench her fist, overwhelm her nerves with pain until they couldn’t take anymore, but she couldn’t manage more than a twitch.

Sakura squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back the hot prickle of tears. 

“Move,” she whispered to the empty air, focusing on the seal painted on her forearm. The ink burned slightly as it activated, sending pulses of chakra to bypass the ruined biological pathways, hijacking the muscles of her fingers directly.

Crack.

Her hand curled into a fist, but it was all wrong. It was jerky and violent, lacking the fluid grace she had spent years cultivating under Chiyo’s tutelage and her own obsessive practice. There was no feedback. She could barely feel how tight the fist was; she only knew it was closed because she could see it.

It was clumsy and ugly and completely…

“Useless,” Sakura hissed, slamming her good hand against the tree root.

The art of puppetry was a dance of millimeters. It required a sensitivity so acute that a puppeteer could feel the wind resistance against a wooden finger from fifty yards away. It was an art of finesse, of ghost-like touches and precise twitches.

And now she was completely incapable of it.

With her hand like this, Teashi had turned from an extension of her will to a heavy burden. The complexity of her creation had come back to bite her, and now what used to come as easy to her as breathing was only an exercise in frustration. Teashi simply couldn’t be used to her fullest extent with one hand. She was clumsy and slow, and as the battle with Naruto had shown, even a slight difference in speed was the difference between a successful strike and a shattered puppet.

Or a dead teammate.

The image of Naruto seizing on the ground flashed behind her eyelids again and she grit her teeth so hard she tasted blood.

“I'm an idiot.” Se murmured, the realization tasting like ash in her mouth. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it, but I tried anyway.”

What was she going to do now? Without the dexterity to weave intricate webs of chakra, without the ability to manipulate the hidden gears and springs of her creation, what was her purpose? She felt hollowed out. All those sleepless nights, the woodworking until her fingers bled, the poisoning of her own body to build immunity… it all felt like a waste. A massive, tragic waste of effort for a career that had ended before it truly began.

As Sakura wallowed in her misery, a twig snapped in the world above. The sound was soft, barely audible over the dripping of condensation from the leaves above, but to Sakura’s heightened senses, it stuck out like a sore thumb in the natural cacophony around her.

Her head snapped up and her right hand dived into her pouch, emerging with a kunai that she pointed with purpose. She didn't stand; her legs felt too shaky. Instead, she pressed her back against the tree roots, making herself small as her eyes scanned the mist.

“Who's there?” She demanded, her voice tight.

A figure emerged from the white haze, moving with a silence that unnerved her and put her on edge immediately.

It wasn't a bandit, nor was it one of Gato’s thugs. It was a girl–no, a boy, she realized a split second later, noting the adam's apple and the breadth of his shoulders beneath the pink kimono. He had long, dark hair and a face so delicate it looked like it belonged on a porcelain doll, and was carrying a basket filled with flowers. 

He stopped a few meters away, looking at her with dark, compassionate eyes. He didn't look surprised to see her.

“You possess a great deal of killing intent for someone sitting in the mud,” He said. His voice was soft, melodic. Utterly calm and utterly familiar.

“Please do not struggle.” The masked nin’s voice cut through the pain in Sakura’s wrist as hey brandished three more senbon.  “The end outcome is inevitable either way. You are coming with me.”

Sakura’s grip on the kunai tightened at the memory.

“You,” she breathed, rage and fear filling her in equal measure. “You’re the ninja who attacked us. The one who–”

Made me useless. She cut herself off before she said it but the words still burned in her throat as if she had uttered them. She glared at the ninja who didn’t deny it, but also didn’t seem to revel in the fact either. Brown eyes passed over Sakura, deceptively gentle, before the boy turned away and knelt down into a patch of indigo flowers.

“I suppose my disguise was not as perfect as I thought,” He said, as he examined the plants in front of him. “Or perhaps you are simply very perceptive.”

After a moment, he reached down and gently plucked one of the flowers from its stem, dropping it into his basket. Silence reigned between them as he continued examining the plants, before he turned to offer Sakura a gentle smile.

“You don’t need to worry. I’m not here to fight. I’m gathering herbs.” He said quietly. “There are a surprising amount of wild flowers in this country, and many of them are very useful for healing deep wounds.”

The nin’s eyes flickered to Sakura’s left arm, resting limp in her lap, and the pinkette twitched. She pulled her arm closer to her chest, hiding the ink-stained bandage. “Stay away from me,” she hissed, eyes darting around for an escape route.

“I have no desire to fight you,” The boy said simply. He slowly stood, dusting off his knees. “Like I said, I’m just here for the plants. Our paths crossing was just an unfortunate circumstance.”

Sakura stared at him, mind racing, and she soon realized that even if he wasn’t telling the truth, there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn’t beat this ninja with Teashi, what hope did she have without it? She slowly lowered the kunai, gripping it with white-knuckle force as she slumped back against the tree.

The nin examined her, his eyes like tiny kunai as they stabbed into Sakura from afar. He frowned and tilted his head, speaking softly. "You are suffering, aren’t you? Not just from your injury."

Sakura scowled. "You don't know anything about me."

“I know the look of someone who feels like they have lost their purpose,” The boy said. He took a step closer and Sakura flinched, raising her kunai again. The nin stopped immediately, raising his empty hands.

“I was like you once,” he said softly. “unwanted. Unneeded. Possessing a power that brought only misery. I was adrift in the world, empty and without purpose.”

“I'm not empty!” Sakura snapped. “I'm a ninja of Konoha. I have a purpose.”

“Do you?” The boy asked. It wasn't mocking; it was a genuine question. “You are sitting here alone, hiding your wounds. A tool that cannot function is discarded. Is that what you fear?”

Sakura flinched as if he had slapped her. “I am not a tool.”

“We are all tools,” he said simply. "Even if you don’t care for the idea, the truth remains that all shinobi are merely tools to be used by our masters. We exist to protect, to kill, or to sacrifice. Zabuza-san found me when I was nothing. He gave me a purpose and made me his weapon. And in being his weapon, I found happiness.”

He looked at her with a terrifying intensity. “Who is your master? The person most precious to you? Who do you fight for?”

Sakura opened her mouth, but the words died in her throat. She thought of her parents and sister. She thought of Ino, of Hikari, Tsu, and Iwabi. She thought of Chiyo and the promise she made, the oath that drove her forward to new heights time and time again.

“I fight for my Nindo,” Sakura whispered. The words tasted sour on her tongue. “I swore to be the greatest, and that’s what keeps me going.”

The boy smiled, but it was a sad, pitying thing. “Then you will remain weak. Strength does not come from ambition or desire. It comes from the desire to protect something precious. When you have a person who gives your life meaning... only then can you become truly strong.”

He turned away, deciding their conversation was over.

“I suggest you return to your friends,” he said, turning his back on her. “The mist is getting thicker. And I would hate for you to catch a cold before we meet again.”

“Wait,” Sakura called out, struggling to her feet. “Why are you telling me this? We're enemies.”

The nin paused, looking back over his shoulder.

"Because," he said, his voice listless and hollow, "it is a terrible thing to die without a purpose. And I fear that when we next meet on the bridge... I will have to kill you. I would prefer to kill a warrior, not a lost child."

With that, he vanished into the white haze, leaving Sakura alone with his words echoing in her skull.

A tool.

She looked down at her hand. She flexed the chakra threads, the movement jerky and mechanical. Was that all she was? A broken tool, terrified of being thrown away?

Sakura gritted her teeth. A spark of anger, hot and clarifying, burned through the pity she had been wallowing in. She wasn't a tool. She wasn't a weapon, and she wasn't some tragic orphan. She was Sakura Haruno.

And she had people to protect, whether she admitted it to herself or not.

~~~

The house was quiet when Sakura returned. The construction on the bridge had drawn Tazuna away, and it seemed most of the others were with him or training elsewhere.

She walked up the wooden steps to the porch, her footsteps heavy. She felt drained, emotionally and physically, but the frantic panic from earlier had settled into a dull resolve that sat like a brick in her chest – uncomfortable, but better than the hollow panic from before.

“You look like shit.”

Sakura stopped at the voice and slowly raised her head. A pair of brown eyes met hers and she swallowed as she saw Tsu leaning against the wall just a small distance ahead of her, seemingly waiting.

The Inuzuka didn't look happy. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and Tadao was sitting at her feet, his ears flattened against his skull. He gave a low yip as he smelled Sakura and his tail wagged back and forth behind him but he didn't bound over to greet her. It was like he could sense the tension between her and his master.

Sakura wasn’t able to hold Tsu’s gaze for long and lowered her eyes, moving to walk past her without another word. Before she could make it a few steps however, Tsu pushed off of the wall and stepped directly into her path.

“Where do you think you’re going?” She asked, and Sakura twitched.

“Inside.” Sakura answered, keeping her eyes on the door handle just behind the Inuzuka. "I'm tired, Tsu. I don't want to talk.”

“Too bad.” Tsu chuckled. It wasn’t a nice sound.

Sakura sighed, her shoulders slumping. She looked up at her teammate. Tsu’s usually wild, carefree face was set in a hard line. Her dark eyes were searching Sakura’s face, looking for something that the pinkette wasn’t privy to.

“Fine,” Sakura said. “Go ahead and yell at me. Tell me I shouldn't have attacked Naruto. I know. Sensei already told me.”

“That’s not what this is about.” Tsu said, her voice surprisingly level. “It was a dick move, yeah, but he's already fine and he doesn't give a shit. Hell, that weirdo’s more worried about finding beetles than working off the poison.”

Sakura blinked, “Okay, then what is this about?”

Tsu stepped closer, eyes boring into Sakura’s from only a foot away. She raised her hand and poked the pinkette in the chest hard enough to push her back slightly. “You ran away.”

Sakura bit her lip, looking away. “I wasn’t running. I just needed air.”

“You needed to throw a tantrum and go pout in the woods.” Tsu corrected her brutally. “You know, I thought you were smarter than that. Running off into the woods alone in enemy territory is rookie shit. Stupid shit. If you wanted to pout, you could do it in the house.”

Sakura’s lips turned downwards and she subconsciously grabbed her messed-up hand. “I’d like to think I had a good reason to,” she muttered.

“Good reason to go off and get yourself killed?” Tsu’s face twisted angrily, “Sakura if you don’t get your head out of your ass, I’m gonna have to pull it out myself. I understand that you’re hurting right now, but you need to get a hold of yourself. You’re better than this!”

Sakura wasn’t sure why that last part made her so angry, but as Tsu glared at her, Sakura found herself glaring back with twice as much heat as the Inuzuka. 

“I’m not better than anything!” she snarled, stepping away from her teammate. “My hand is ruined, Tsu! It's not just a scrape or a bruise I can walk off. It’s my entire fighting style! And you’re sitting here telling me to get over it like I just tripped on a rock!”

She held her injured arm against her chest, eyes wet with frustration. “You have no idea what this feels like. To have everything you worked for just... crumple. I spent years perfecting my art, but now it was all for nothing. I’m borderline useless now.”

Tsu didn't flinch at the outburst. If anything, her expression hardened, her lips pulling back in a snarl that mirrored her ninkin’s. She stepped forward again, invading Sakura’s space until they were nose to nose.

“Stop calling yourself useless, idiot!” She growled. “And stop looking at your hand like it's a death sentence! So what if it's broken? So what if you can't twitch your pinky perfectly? You're still here! You're breathing!”

Tsu grabbed Sakura’s injured wrist and held it up between them. Sakura tried to pull away, wincing as the movement jostled the damaged nerves, but Tsu held firm.

“Look at it, Sakura,” Tsu demanded. "It's just meat! It’s not your talent or your skill, it's just a part of you–”

“It's the part I need!” Sakura cried, tears finally spilling over. “I'm a puppeteer, Tsu! I need my hands! Without them, I can't control Teashi, I can’t build another puppet or even fix the one I have! I can't be who I'm supposed to be!”

“Who cares who you're supposed to be?” Tsu let go of her wrist, baring her teeth angrily. “Be who you are right now! You're Sakura Haruno. You’re a ninja, and ninjas adapt. If you can’t weave signs, bite their throats out. If you can’t use your hands, use your legs! If you can’t use your legs, crawl over there and headbutt them!”

Sakura stared at her, and Tsu lowered her voice, her gaze intense. “You're the smartest person on this team, Sakura. Hell, you're smarter than me and Hikari put together. If anyone can figure out how to fight with a busted hand, it's you.”

She stepped back, her expression softening from anger to a rough, clumsy sort of concern.

“Hikari is nice," Tsu grunted, looking away. “They'll tell you it's okay to be sad and pamper you and whatever, but we don't have time for nice. Those Kiri assholes are coming back in a few days. If you go out there feeling sorry for yourself, you're gonna die. And I'm not losing another teammate.”

Sakura stared at Tsu, and for the first time saw past the growling bravado she was putting up. Tsu wasn't angry because Sakura had failed; she was angry because she was terrified Sakura was going to give up. The memory of Jin hung heavy in the air between them, an unspoken ghost that haunted the Inuzuka more than she let on. By running away, Sakura hadn't just endangered herself, she had forced Tsu to relive the panic of losing someone she cared about.

The anger in Sakura’s chest deflated, leaving behind a cold clarity. She wasn't just failing herself, she was failing the people who were counting on her to stay alive.

“I…” Sakura wiped her eyes with her good hand. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m frustrated and angry and I don’t know what to do, but I’m working on it. I’m not okay, but I’m not gonna go off and get myself killed. I wouldn’t do that to you guys.”

Tsu looked back at her, studying her face. She seemed to find what she was looking for, because her shoulders relaxed.

“Good, because I really wasn’t looking forward to kicking your ass. Hikari would give me an earful for it.” Tsu said briskly. She whistled, and Tadao trotted to her side. “I’m gonna be keeping an eye on you from now on though. You can fucking count on that.”

Sakura nodded, sniffing slightly, and Tsu’s face became more gentle. She reached out and grabbed Sakura’s shoulder, squeezing softly. “We’re here for you, alright? So don’t be an idiot. Now get inside and wash your face. You look like a mess.”

She strode past Sakura, heading off of the porch and Sakura watched her go, before hesitantly calling after her. “Tsu?”

The Inuzuka paused, turning her head slightly to indicate she was listening.

“Thanks.” Sakura whispered.

Tsu didn't turn around, but Sakura saw the tips of her ears turn pink. “Yeah, whatever. Just figure it out, alright?”

The Inuzuka then disappeared, leaving Sakura alone on the porch again. As her jacket disappeared into the foliage, Sakura looked down at her hand. 

A tool, That kiri had said. Adapt, Tsu had said.

She flexed the chakra threads again. Click. Snap. It was jerky, mechanical, but it was working. The sloppy seals she slapped on in a moment of desperation held and did their job.

Sakura thought about the lag. The clumsiness and the delicate, dancing maneuvers that defined traditional puppetry. She wouldn’t be able to perform them for a while, if ever again, but puppetry was an art composed of multiple interwoven talents. Teashi was her work made manifest, but she wasn’t the pinnacle of what Sakura was capable of.

Sakura clenched her fist again, the motion just a tad smoother than before. Mastering puppetry was her life’s dream, the goal to end all goals, and the finish line of her journey.

And she’d still get there. But for now, it looked like she would have to take a small detour.