Chapter Text
'-thoughts
''-talking
''Those who have knowledge, don't predict. Those who predict, don't have knowledge.'' - Lao Tzu
The air inside Ichiraku Ramen hummed with the familiar symphony of clattering bowls, sizzling noodles, and the comforting aroma of simmering broth. Hikari leaned against the counter, a quiet smile on her face as her father, Teuchi, stirred a large pot, a furrow of concentration on his brow as he perfected a new broth, a new ramen recipe that he swore would "change the game."
"Two miso, one shoyu—extra narutomaki for the birthday boy!" she announced, flashing a grin at the blushing genin at the far end.
Behind her, Deidara, an eight-year-old bundle of controlled chaos and her affectionate "little menace," skillfully chopped vegetables. Next to him, her younger sister, Ayame, now a pre-teen, nodded sagely at his every eccentric comment, utterly engrossed in his unique worldview.
"No explosions in my kitchen, hnn," Ayame warned, pointing a ladle at him.
Deidara sighed, holding up a perfectly sliced mushroom.
"I’m reformed, yeah."
The real spectacle, though, was out front, where Naruto, his little legs a blur, was captivating the ninja patrons. His golden hair, grown out significantly, framed a face that was an uncanny replica of the Fourth Hokage, Minato Namikaze. The adult Ino-Shika-Cho trio—Inoichi, Shikaku, and Choza—were utterly charmed, putty in the tiny blonde's hands.
Naruto, cerulean blue eyes wide and sparkling with infectious enthusiasm, was in the middle of trying to explain a complex seal.
"And then—BOOM!—the glitter goes everywhere!" the tiny blonde exclaimed, waving his arms wildly as he explained his latest "prank seal" design. "But it’s not just glitter! It’s sticky glitter! So it’s art, dattebayo!"
Shikaku, nursing his sake, smirked. "Kid’s got his old man’s brains and his mother’s… enthusiasm."
Inoichi chuckled. "And his sister’s flair for chaos."
Choza, already on his third bowl, nodded solemnly. "Future Hokage material."
The blonde chibi, oblivious to the nostalgia he was stirring, scrambled onto the counter (ignoring Hikari’s half-hearted "Naru, down—") and proudly unrolled a scroll covered in lopsided seals and orange doodles.
"Look! This one makes frog noises when you open it!" He tapped the paper, and suddenly—
"RIBBIT. RIBBIT. RIBBIT."
The entire ramen stand burst into laughter as the seal looped endlessly, much to Naruto’s delight.
Deidara, wiping tears from his eyes, grinned.
"Okay, that’s art, hnn."
Hikari watched the scene unfold, her heart full.
Her father was inventing "Ramen 2.0."
Her little sister had somehow tamed a bomb-loving artist.
And her son—her son—was charming the village one glitter bomb at a time.
She leaned against the counter, shaking her head.
"This family is ridiculous," she muttered.
Ayame, passing by with a fresh pot of broth, smirked. "And it’s all your fault."
The samurai grinned.
"Damn right."
The afternoon sun, now a lazier, warmer gold, dappled through the leaves of the Nara clan's ancient trees, painting shifting patterns on the engawa. Four-year-old Shikamaru, true to his nature, was sprawled out on the wooden veranda, hands tucked behind his head, his gaze fixed on a solitary cloud drifting by.
Usually, this was his sanctuary, his thinking spot, where the world's complexities could unravel with minimum effort. But today, even the clouds seemed to mock his peace, their fluffy forms vaguely resembling a certain troublesome pinkette.
Sakura Haruno.
The name itself felt like a jolt of static in his carefully calibrated, low-effort existence. He replayed yesterday's events in his mind. The shogi match, where she'd not only beaten him—a Nara—but had done so with a Pawn. The utter, mind-numbing shock of checkmate.
And then, the kisses. Not one, but two. Swift, unexpected, and undeniably…warm. Right there. In front of his dad, who probably now expected him to start solving world peace before he hit puberty. And Shino, who was probably already devising complex entomological strategies to win her over.
A groan, tiny and filled with profound weariness, escaped Shikamaru. He'd thought getting her attention would be the troublesome part. He'd even plotted for it. But now that he had it, now that she'd declared her affections and sealed them with those bewilderingly effective gestures, the true trouble had begun.
This wasn't just about winning a game or charming a girl. This was… feelings. And those, his nascent genius brain already deduced, were far more complex, unpredictable, and energy-consuming than any shadow jutsu or shogi strategy. He could almost feel the weight of future headaches settling on his small shoulders.
"How troublesome," he mumbled, watching the cloud morph into something that distinctly resembled Sakura's determined grin. He supposed he was stuck with her. And somehow, despite all the bother, a tiny, almost imperceptible warmth settled in his chest.
The air in Orochimaru's Hokage office, usually filled with the scent of old parchment and the faint, sterile tang of medical experiments, now carried a faint, earthy sweetness. Four-year-old Sakura stood before him, her small brow furrowed in intense concentration. Her little hands were pressed together, chakra swirling visibly around them.
"Oro-sensei," she murmured, her voice tight with effort. "Look."
A tiny, green stem slowly pushed its way out of her palm, followed by two delicate leaves. Then, with a gentle pop, a perfect, miniature pink cherry blossom unfurled. It vibrated with a soft, warm chakra, unmistakably a testament to a unique blend of Earth and Water chakra, a testament to an innate affinity for Wood Release. The blossom was exquisite, fragile yet undeniably real, a living thing birthed from her small hands. It was startling, reminiscent of the First Hokage, Hashirama Senju, who had shaped entire landscapes with his unparalleled Wood Style.
Orochimaru, for once, was utterly still. His serpentine eyes, usually so calculating, widened fractionally. A slow, almost imperceptible smile stretched across his face, not one of amusement, but of profound, unsettling satisfaction.
Just then, the office door slid open. Tsunade, the Second Co-Hokage, stepped in, a scroll in her hand. Her honey-brown eyes, sharp and perceptive, swept across the room. They landed on the tiny, chakra-infused flower blooming in Sakura's palm.
Tsunade froze.
Her own eyes, usually so composed, widened to an astonishing degree, the scroll clattering unnoticed to the floor. The scent of wood and flower, subtle yet unmistakable, hung in the air. For a woman who had trained directly under the First Hokage, and who held his legacy so deeply, the sight was nothing short of astonishing.
The Slug Sannin stood frozen, the clatter of the dropped scroll echoing in the sudden, profound silence of the office. Her honey-brown eyes, usually so sharp and commanding, were stretched wide, unblinking, fixed on the delicate pink blossom blooming in Sakura's tiny palm. The faint, sweet scent of wood and flower, that impossible, unmistakable aroma, filled her nostrils, a ghost of her childhood, a whisper of a power that should have been unique to one man.
No. It couldn't be.
She trained under him. She knew his chakra signature, his methods, his unique ability to manipulate Earth and Water chakra into life itself. This was not merely a subtle chakra control exercise; this was the raw, undeniable essence of Wood Release, wielded by a four-year-old. Her own chakra flared instinctively, a defensive spike of pure disbelief.
Her gaze snapped from the flower to Sakura's earnest, focused face, then to Orochimaru, who was watching his student with a look of predatory satisfaction that sent a shiver down Tsunade's spine. The implications hit her like a physical blow: the power of the Shodai Hokage, reborn in a civilian child, and already under the tutelage of one of the Sannin's most dangerous minds.
A myriad of emotions warred within her: awe at the sheer prodigy before her, a bittersweet pang of nostalgia for her legendary grandfather, and a sudden, bone-deep dread. This was a power capable of creating entire forests, of subduing Bijuu, of shaping the very landscape. In innocent hands, it was miraculous. In the wrong hands, or without unimaginable control, it could be catastrophic.
The blonde swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "Sakura-chan..." she breathed, the name barely a whisper, filled with a complex mix of wonder and burgeoning fear. This was far, far more than just "troublesome." This was a monumental shift in the balance of power, a living legacy.
Tsunade's eyes, still wide with shock and a dawning, complex understanding, fixed on Sakura. "Is this how you managed to get Yama-kun to be your brother?" she asked, her voice hushed, the question more a statement of revelation than inquiry.
Sakura, unfazed by Tsunade's intensity, nodded with a bright, innocent earnestness. "Mm... Yama-nii-sama grows pretty flowers and it was really easy sneaking into ANBU HQ to ask him to be my brother," she explained, her logic simple and direct. "Since Sasuke-kun and Naruto-kun have brothers, I didn't want to be left out."
As she spoke, a delicate pink rose, perfect in every petal, bloomed from her tiny palm, radiating that same faint, earthy chakra. She held it out to Tsunade. "Here you go, Tsuna-obaa-kage-sama."
After leaving the office, Tsunade had made a rapid detour through the hospital, the little pink rose clutched in her hand. She found Shizune dutifully managing the charts in the main ward, offering a strained smile and a brief update on the Team Ro prognosis. Then, she sought out Itachi, who, despite his tender age, was meticulously reviewing medical scrolls in a quiet corner, his focus absolute. A gentle touch on his shoulder, a silent affirmation of his incredible skill during the crisis. She needed a moment to ground herself, to confirm the world still made sense, before facing the one person who probably understood exactly what she'd just witnessed.
Returning to the Hokage office, the door slid shut behind her with a soft thud. Orochimaru was still there, perched on the edge of the desk, his back to the window, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. He turned as she entered, his golden eyes observing her, no doubt noting the rose in her hand.
"A rather unique specimen, wouldn't you agree, Tsunade-hime?" Orochimaru's voice was a low, sibilant murmur, filled with a satisfaction that made her skin crawl.
Tsunade's knuckles whitened around the rose stem. She walked directly to his desk, her voice dangerously calm.
"What have you done, Orochimaru?"
He tilted his head, his smirk widening. "Done? I merely observe, Tsunade-hime. Much like yourself, I witnessed a truly remarkable phenomenon. A civilian child, with no known lineage to the First Hokage, demonstrating a perfect, innate command over Wood Release. It's truly... fascinating."
"Don't play coy," she snapped, her frustration flaring. "This is Sakura. A four-year-old girl. This isn't some experiment for you to dissect. Did you... did you do something to her? Is this another of your abominable creations?" Her mind flashed to the stories of his past, the horrific human experimentation.
Orochimaru let out a soft, dry chuckle.
"Hardly. If I could create such a perfect genetic anomaly, don't you think I would have done so already? No, Tsunade-hime, Sakura-chan is entirely... natural. A delightful surprise, one might say. Her aptitude for healing is matched only by her talent for life manipulation." He eyed the rose. "She is, indeed, very much like your grandfather. A true child of the forest, despite her pink hair."
"Then why didn't you say anything?" Tsunade demanded, slamming the rose down on the desk, though carefully. "This kind of power... it needs to be understood, protected. Controlled. She's just a child!"
"And I have been understanding, protecting, and guiding her," Orochimaru replied smoothly, his tone laced with a subtle challenge. "Or do you believe a mere medical scroll could prepare one for such a divine intervention? I have been observing her unique connection to nature for some time. Her affinity for chakra control, her thirst for knowledge. It only became clear what truly lay beneath that facade recently."
He paused, letting his words hang in the air, a clear implication that he was ahead of her, that he knew more. "She is a blank canvas, Tsunade-hime. A potential beyond anything we have seen since Hashirama-sama himself. The question is, what shall she paint?" His gaze, sharp and unsettling, locked onto hers.
"And who will hold the brush?"
Tsunade stared back, her jaw clenched. He wasn't denying his involvement in nurturing this power, only his direct creation of it. And he was right, in a twisted way. This was a force to be reckoned with. But it would be her brush, her protection, not his.
"She will be protected," Tsunade stated, her voice low and resonant with unwavering resolve. "And she will learn to control it. For Konoha. Not for any... personal ambition." Her eyes narrowed, a silent warning passing between the two Sannin. The fight for Sakura's future, and perhaps the future of Konoha, had just begun.
The Nara forest was a place of quiet shadows and whispered secrets—until four-year-old Sakura Haruno decided it needed more pink.
With her tiny hands pressed into the earth, chakra humming through her fingertips like a song, she poured every bit of her Water and Earth nature into the soil.
"Grow big," she whispered.
And the earth listened.
Branches burst forth, twisting skyward in a shower of petals. Roots wove deep into the forest floor, tangling with ancient deer trails. And by the time Sakura sat back, grinning, a full-grown cherry blossom tree stood proudly in the heart of the Nara woods—its flowers glowing faintly with residual chakra.
The great stag, leader of the Nara herd, stepped forward, his antlers crowned in falling petals. He lowered his head, nuzzling Sakura’s cheek.
She giggled, patting his muzzle. "Don’t you love it? It’s for Shika-chan!"
The stag huffed, as if to say, "Foolish child. But sweet."
Shikaku Nara felt the seals tremble the moment the tree took root.
"Again?" he groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
"That pink tornado is in my forest again."
When he arrived, the scene before him was equal parts infuriating and awe-inspiring:
Sakura, curled against Rikomaru's side, covered in petals.
A massive cherry blossom tree that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday.
And the entire Nara herd lounging beneath it, looking absurdly pleased.
"…Kid," the Nara Clan head said flatly.
"What did you do?"
The pinkette blinked up at him, utterly unrepentant. "I planted it! Now Shika-chan can nap here! It’s comfy!"
Shikaku opened his mouth—then closed it.
Because, well.
She wasn’t wrong.
Shikamaru, when dragged to the scene, took one look at the tree, the deer, and Sakura’s proud smile—and flopped down beneath it immediately.
("Troublesome. But… nice.")
Yoshino nearly cried at the sheer romantic implications (and started planning a wedding in her head).
The Nara elders grumbled about "unapproved landscaping"—until the stag glared at them, and they suddenly remembered urgent business elsewhere.