Chapter Text
She remembers.
She remembers another world, another life, another family, another face staring out of the mirror. Books that will never be written, songs that will never be sung, languages that will never be spoken. There are too many things she shouldn’t remember, that she should just forget, if only for her own peace of mind.
(She remembers what the girl whose skin she’s now living in is supposed to be like—how she’s supposed to speak, to act, to live.
Except…she’s not that girl. She doesn’t even know if that girl ever existed.
That’s the whole fucking problem, isn’t it?)
Then…then there are things she doesn’t remember. Or, more accurately, things that aren’t as she remembers them to be.
She grows up with an absentee father and the smiling photo of a mother who drew her last breath as her newborn daughter drew her first. Haruno Kizashi isn’t the man of her vague recollections. Haruno Mebuki might’ve been, but she’s never cared to ask, and Kizashi’s never forced himself to tell the few times he’s home. They aren’t a real family, just two people sharing the same surname and living space, and that’s honestly less complicated than the alternative.
(Perhaps, if things had been exactly the same, she could’ve been that girl: Haruno Sakura.)
Becoming a shinobi isn’t the career she’d normally choose in an ideal world, but it’s what will provide her with the most autonomy. Sakura’s come to that conclusion early on in her new life.
Kizashi’s been hiring ninjas to macro-manage practically every facet of their life, from escorting him on his merchant trips to babysitting his daughter to managing his household affairs. Utterly ridiculous, she knows, but true nonetheless. It’s not even something out of the ordinary either.
She’s had minimal contact with his chūnin guards, but plenty of interaction with the various genin teams responsible for her care. Children aren’t expected to have large attention spans or be interested in the current sociopolitical climate, but that doesn’t mean she can’t listen to what they say or don’t say.
In the end, when you have to live in a quasi-feudal society, you choose the devil you know.
(Sakura’s tired—she’s tired of being cooped up in an empty house, pretending everything’s fine as she lives vicariously through the tales and books and trinkets Kizashi brings home to imitate some sort of familial affection, idly wondering if today’ll be the day when a ninja will knock on her door with a body scroll and a few scripted words before being shipped off to her last living relative, a great-aunt she’s never met, somewhere in the Land of Water.)
Within two months at the Academy, she’s labeled as that quiet, polite, studious, civilian girl with the shockingly pink hair who’s made nothing more than passing acquaintances with her classmates. Part of the blame lies with Sakura—she’s kind of forgotten how to reach out to others—but an even bigger part of it has to do with her circumstances.
It starts (and ends) with her decision to sit beside Hyūga Hinata on the first day of class. Sakura doesn’t put much thought into it, honestly; she just plops down onto the bench and smiles at Hinata when the girl stammers out a timid greeting. When the bell rings, two thirds of the class split into their own groups and rush off into the courtyard, their laughing shouts ringing in her ears. It’s obvious they’ve known each other for years; they don’t need to add to their circle of friends. Sakura scans the classroom, reluctant to approach the established groups—she’s never been a fan of large crowds or loud noises—and takes stock of who’s left behind: Hinata, Aburame Shino, Uchiha Sasuke, and the latter’s…fanclub. Lovely.
Taking out her bento, she gentles her voice as she turns to address Hinata, an open smile on her lips. “Do you want to have lunch together, Hinata?”
Hinata startles, choking back a squeak, wringing her hands on her lap; nervous, surprised, clearly out of her element. Still keeping her head down, but staring at Sakura out of the corner of her eye, she nods hastily, as if afraid Sakura’ll retract her offer in the next second. “I—I would l-like that, yes.”
Sakura’s smile widens, and Hinata’s mouth curves ever so slightly in response, though there’s a hint of some indecipherable emotion to that almost-smile.
(Regret, she recognizes later; by then, it’s too late to take it back.)
They end up spending fifteen minutes in semi-awkward silence as they enjoy their bento. Not the most auspicious beginning, true, but Sakura’s left with the impression that Hinata’d be willing to give her a chance.
The problem, she discovers at the end of the day, isn’t Hinata’s skittish nature. Simply put, it’s the fact that Sakura’s never had to interact with clan children outside the context of a shinobi-client relationship, and thus is ignorant of the unwritten rules most civilian children are aware of. It becomes painfully evident when Hinata’s caretaker comes to pick her up, and Sakura, rather naively, waves at her with a smile and a promise to eat lunch with her tomorrow.
Before Hinata can even reply, the Hyūga gives Sakura a critical once-over, as if he’s searching for something that should be there but unfortunately isn’t, then shakes his head. There’s something infuriatingly dismissive in his blank, white eyes, not quite condescending, an inborn superiority softened by the barest traces of pity. Hinata’s face falls, chin tucked low and lips half-bitten, and Sakura realizes she’s probably made things even more difficult for that sweet girl in her stupid ignorance.
Heart sinking, she inhales sharply and curls her mouth into a mockery of civility, careful not to show her teeth.
“Goodbye, Hyūga-san.” She waves at Hinata, her arm suddenly, unbearably heavy, never mentioning Hinata’s telling lack of reply, then bows in her caretaker’s direction with as much grace as she can muster and none of the contempt boiling under her skin. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on is what she doesn’t spit out as that asshole leads the poor girl away without a backwards glance.
In truth, it isn’t even directed towards him specifically. Sakura’s noticed his covered forehead, knows he must be a branch member. This…this casual act of unnecessary cruelty has been bred into him. Any anger she feels over the situation becomes hollow. Sakura takes the lesson she’s been taught today to heart, readjusts her expectations, and greets Hinata with a close-lipped smile the next day. Nothing more, nothing less.
For the remainder of her time at the Academy, she keeps to herself, keeps her words measured, her thoughts hidden, her smiles without teeth. It’s not as extreme as manifesting an inner personality with its own voice and mannerisms, but she can understand how that girl whose face she’s wearing must have felt much better now.
(Some days, particularly on those Hinata does well in spars or scores high on tests, she’ll grow just that little bit bolder, sit just that little bit closer, her left palm laid flat on the bench, small, callused fingers outstretched, but always misjudging the distance. Sakura’s homemade cinnamon rolls will mysteriously be missing from her bento by the time the bell rings for lunch break on those days.
Deception is the name of the game, and Sakura learns to play it well; so well, in fact, she even succeeds in fooling herself.)
Umino Iruka pays attention to all of his students, indiscriminately; in part, because he’s a genuinely nice person who cares for his charges, and in part, because he takes his duties seriously, including filing an accurate assessment of their skills, latent potential, and psychological profile.
Sakura graduates from the Academy at the top of her year for the simple reason that it’s expected of her.
(She knows what to expect of Team Seven, and that’s enough of a reason for her.)
“My name is Haruno Sakura. I like animals, sweets, and history. I don’t like abusers, crowded places, and nattō. My hobbies include reading, cooking, and calligraphy. I don’t have any long-term dreams or grand ambitions in life, but I want to travel and see the world for myself.”
Uzumaki Naruto’s unabashedly gaping, blue eyes full of shock and jaw dropping, then points a finger at her and declares she’s ‘way too boring, ‘ttebayo!’ in his usual overdramatic manner. Uchiha Sasuke appears a mixture of disinterested, scornful, and relieved. Hatake Kakashi smiles at her, lone eye crinkled at the corner, the kind of smile Sugiwara-sensei used to give her after she cottoned on to the fact that the majority of Sakura’s flower arrangements spelled out a variation of ‘I deeply regret not being born with a dick’. “On the contrary,” he tells her in a slow, lazy drawl edged with amusement, “I think that’s very ambitious of you, Sakura-chan.”
“Thank you, Hatake-sama,” is all she says, smiling back at him, serenely watching his masked face as he processes the title she’s attached to him.
Nothing shows on the surface, of course—she doubts he ever projects anything with true depth—but she’s certain he’s received her message.
(Whatever else he may be, Kakashi will always be the Hatake Clan Head first. Sakura can’t afford to ever forget that in a public setting.)
At quarter to six, Sakura enters the training grounds, each step laden with purpose, wide awake and well-provisioned. When a still-groggy Sasuke and a barely-awake Naruto arrive, she unpacks a picnic blanket, a portable tea set, a small stack of books, and sets about making herself comfortable for the long wait ahead. Mid-yawning, Naruto calls her weird again, tactless as ever, then flops down onto the blanket and promptly falls asleep. Sasuke, surprisingly, sits down across from her, cross-legged, accepting a steaming cup of green tea and picking out a beginner’s book on chakra theory. Two hours later, Naruto wakes up to find them snacking on her homemade rice balls, each with a book in hand, shrugs off her weirdness in record time and proceeds to stuff his face while bemoaning the notable lack of ramen.
Kakashi won’t make an appearance until noon at the earliest—openly, at least. For all Sakura knows, he’s already here, hiding his presence, prowling the woods, laying traps, fucking with their minds—
It won’t work.
(Until it does.)
“Maa, don’t you three look cozy? I hate to break up your little tea party slash book club gathering, but you do realize this is a life-or-death kind of thing, right? It’s called survival training for a reason.”
“You’re late, ‘ttebayo! Latelatelate!”
“Good afternoon, Hatake-sama. I’m sorry, but I must have misheard your instructions… I could’ve sworn we were supposed to meet six hours ago. How odd.”
“Hn.”
A voice rises over the birdsong, sudden and deep and creeping through the canopy; like a wolf circling prey he won’t catch, half-sated and doing it for the sheer pleasure of the act. “Shinobi Tactics Number Two: Genjutsu.”
“Kai,” she hisses out before the genjutsu can even latch on to her. In another life, she’d be seeing the cold, dead bodies of her family.
(In this life, Haruno Sakura’s the one deaddeaddead—)
In a swirl of leaves, Kakashi disappears into the foliage. Sakura sucks in a shaky breath, fingers digging into her throat where her heart still beats, and trudges onward. A dead girl walking.
“Do you even know what this test was about?” Kakashi sounds wistful rather than angry. His gaze encompasses all three of them, and while he seems resigned to the boys’ mulish scowls, he stares at her with utter disappointment.
“Teamwork.” It rolls off her tongue crisply enunciated and all business. There’s no point in holding anything back; she’ll only be sabotaging herself, and that’s the fastest way to arouse suspicions. Kakashi’s not testing her intelligence, but the reasoning behind her judgement call. If you knew, why didn’t you do anything? Why are you making the same mistakes I did? Sakura’s mouth quirks up wryly. “Knowing the correct answer and solving the actual problem are two completely different things.” She then pulls out a kunai, the edges of her lips twitching at Naruto’s comically alarmed expression, and cuts off the rope tying him to the pole. “There’s also the matter of timing, Hatake-sama,” she says, sweetly, tongue dripping with venom, “but I’m sure you know all about that.”
Sasuke scoffs, though a thoughtful gleam enters his gaze as the tension in his shoulders fades, while Naruto scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “I don’t get it,” he admits, all but beaming at her, “but thanks, Sakura-chan! We’ll be the best team ever, believe it!”
Face impassive, Kakashi scrutinizes them intently, one by one. “Team Seven,” he finally announces, tone bordering on a self-pitying sort of exaggerated cheer. “You pass.”